Hex at a House Party

by Gretchen Galway

  I finished my food as quickly as possible, passed on the wine and dessert, and invited Birdie to join me upstairs. “Time for a lesson on self-defense spells during sleep,” I said.

  “Cool,” she said, jumping up to follow. Tierra and Nathan began arguing again before we reached the stairs.

  In my room, I set up another quiet boundary around both our rooms and asked Birdie if I could say good night early.

  “What about our lesson?” she asked.

  “Later,” I said. “I needed to get out of there. Those two remind me of kids I knew in eighth grade, pretending to be grown-ups.”

  “Did you go to a regular middle school? I thought you boarded somewhere.”

  “I spent a few months in a normal middle school,” I said. “That was enough.” I’d thought the lives of normal kids would be more kind and considerate than unwanted witch children, but I was wrong. Twelve-year-old nonmagical kids had been as malicious as any witch I’d ever met.

  “I was a terrible student until I started learning about magic,” Birdie said. “Now I can’t get enough lessons. Can we work together tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, Birdie. There’s a lot going on right now. The best thing you can do is work on self-defense. Blocking and hiding. Boundaries—”

  “Yes, yes, boundaries. My mom always told me I was terrible about boundaries, and I still am. I just don’t want to keep people out. I want to get closer to people. Everyone’s always pushing me away, ever since I was little. People see me coming, and I can see the second they’re like, ‘Oh no, her again.’” She laughed half-heartedly.

  “Hey,” I said. “I don’t want you to keep me out. I want you to keep out witches and demons who want to kill you. Because I care about you. If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d tell you to practice flying by jumping off a cliff. Which you definitely don’t want to do because it would kill you.”

  “I’ve always wanted to fly,” Birdie said.

  “Leave it to the birds,” I said. Some witches could shape-shift into one, but I didn’t want to give her any more ideas tonight.

  She looked out the window, but the sun had set, and only our own reflections were visible. “I’ve had enough birds for today. Warren told me more about seagulls than I thought possible.” She waved and wished me good night.

  When I was sure she was safely locked on the other side of her own door, I took out one of the bags I’d brought from home. Kneeling at the fireplace, I shook out a clump of Random’s fur, a finger-sized piece of yarrow root from my garden, and then sat on the little pile of self-protective organic matter like a hen with an egg.

  I closed my eyes and sent out my awareness to the walls of Birdie’s room and heard a high-pitched whine of her beginner’s magic. Drawing from the nest I sat upon, I shored up her spells with more force and then turned outward, searching for threats.

  The house was quiet. I detected the residue of Crystal’s domestic presence and the heavy taste of authority from Darius’s silver jacket, the playful magic of Tierra’s puppets and other props, and a magical heat from below me that made me wonder if Crystal had enchanted the ovens in the kitchen. The food had been delicious; maybe Gail’s Goodies had been supernaturally enhanced without her knowledge.

  I was thinking about trying the quiche in the morning when my cell phone rang.

  It took me a moment to get up and find it buried in the pockets of my jacket. The screen showed me a picture from a few years ago when I’d first entered him into my contacts.

  “Darius,” I said, putting the phone to my ear. “What’s happening?”

  The phone burned white-hot in my hand. I dropped it instinctively, crying out, and watched the flesh on my fingers melt off my bones like an ice-cream bar off a stick in a sauna. If I didn’t believe what was happening, it didn’t hurt much more than tapping a hot stove. I struggled to ignore my senses and trust my brain.

  By the time the first glob of my skin hit the antique rug, I’d regained mastery over my perceptions. I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the Protectorate agent playbook. The only injury I’d sustained was to my pride.

  This time with my good hand on my necklace, I picked up the phone with my skeletal fingers—it would flesh out eventually—and brought it to my ear.

  Pressing my lips together, I listened through a heightened security barrier to the being on the other end of the phone.

  There was silence and more silence. Sensation began to return to my hand, and it throbbed with a deep pain that I reassured myself was only a mean-spirited illusion.

  Finally I heard, “Alma?”

  It was Raynor’s voice.

  I groaned inwardly. Seriously? The director himself had caught me flat-footed with a phone drill? First year Flint mistake. Keeping my hand on my necklace—for emotional strength—I spoke in a normal voice. “Good evening. Alma Bellrose speaking.”

  “You’ve gotten rusty,” he said. “Answering your calls without screening them first?”

  “Darius had just left—” I began. “I was in the middle of—” I shook my head, knowing my excuses were worthless. A strong witch could take advantage of any unguarded connection, and telephones had been a vulnerable point since their invention. Just as Crystal had nearly given me a heart attack with her explosive letter, Raynor had caught me with a phone trap.

  “You’ve been in a dangerous situation up there,” Raynor said. “I’d expect you to be more careful.”

  “Yes, I should’ve been. I am. I will be.”

  He chuckled. “I wish I could’ve seen your face.”

  “Ha ha,” I said. He was enjoying himself far too much to have been plotting to assassinate me. “Tell me about Zoe. Is she all right?”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She didn’t know he was a demon, Raynor.” I held out my melted hand, watching the muscle knit itself over my bones. There wasn’t any more pain. “At least consider the possibility he hid his nature from her.”

  “It’s not your job to tell me what to consider. You just let me set your hand on fire with your own cell phone.”

  “It didn’t get that bad,” I said, indignant. “It only melted.”

  “You’ll never survive as an undercover agent if you let Shadow touch you so easily.”

  I nearly threw the phone across the room. He didn’t want to kill me, but he just might annoy me to death.

  After a deep breath, I managed to speak calmly. “That won’t be a problem because I’m not an undercover agent.” I did a quick check on the silence spell I’d set over the room, although at this point, who was left to hear me?

  “You’re not home safe yet,” Raynor said. “I know you want to stay, but Darius is right. You’re not needed up there anymore.”

  My voice rose. “If I stay a few more days—”

  “The demon named Philip Thornton is dead. He drove the object of our investigation to suicide.” He sniffed, and I could visualize him holding a pinch of herbs to his nose. “The party’s over, Alma.”

  “But we don’t know who killed Phil.” Pacing the room in frustration, I flexed my hand, wiggling the pale fingers as the nails grew back. I shouldn’t trust Raynor to be honest with me. “Or do we? Did one of our guys—?”

  “So it wasn’t you? Darius thought it might be.”

  “Come on,” I said.

  “That’s what I told him. You’re a throwback to a gentler age.” He snorted again. “Of course, that gentler age would’ve burned you at the stake. Beat your dog. Tortured your friends.”

  “Thanks for the bedtime story, Daddy. Tell me another one.”

  “Go home, Alma.”

  “Who killed Phil? Somebody’s out there—”

  “Thornton was a very rich, very high-profile man. To hide as long as he did, he must’ve been a very old demon,” Raynor said. “The old ones have lots of enemies with powers we can only imagine. He must’ve left his guard down after killing Crystal. Or possibly by using his power to drive her to suicide, he revealed himself to h
is enemies.”

  That made no sense. “Why would a powerful, supernatural demon enemy with powers we can only imagine use a silver stake?” I asked.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Raynor replied. “What better way to sow confusion among Protectorate witches than to use one of their own weapons?”

  “So let me look for them. If they’re here—”

  “They’re long gone. A remote spot on the coast is nice for a day trip, but they’ll be long gone by now.” Raynor sniffed again, and I could hear his patience fading away. “I won’t stop you from staying for the funeral, but after that, get out of there or I’ll get you out.”

  “I never asked to stay forever,” I said. “Just a few more days.”

  “Like I said, I won’t stop you,” he said. “But watch yourself when the other witches arrive for the funeral. Don’t mention anything about my involvement.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence,” I said.

  His tone warmed. “Never, Alma. I never do. Good job, by the way. We’ll talk later.”

  On impulse, I blurted, “Did you know you had a demon ancest—”

  The phone burned in my hand. This time I dropped it before the illusion could begin.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I dug through my things for a sachet of sage and rubbed my hands over it before picking up my phone again. The second my fingers touched it, however, the thing vibrated against the rug. Leaving it where it lay, I knelt next to it, licked my finger, and tapped the screen.

  Helen Mendoza, it claimed. She hadn’t let me take a picture of her, so there was just the name.

  Under the circumstances, I let it vibrate while I prepared another spell to protect myself. I still had the dog hair and yarrow root—some of it clinging to my butt—but I gathered the rest and arranged it around the phone, now on its third musical chorus.

  Without picking it up, I tapped the screen, bent over, and hovered my tilted head over it. “Say something so I know it’s you,” I said.

  “Like hell I will. Don’t waste my time.”

  I picked up the phone. “Sorry. I got hexed on my last call.”

  “Childish,” Helen said.

  “I agree.”

  “You fell for it?”

  “I did,” I said. “It’s been a stressful week.”

  “All the more reason to be careful.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Point taken.” I settled in the easy chair near the fireplace, which was cold and dark. The idea of a warm blaze should’ve been appealing but somehow felt dangerous, even though it was only a modern, gaslit contraption encased in glass.

  “Mr. Muscle next door seems smarter than the last idiot,” she said. “Was he the one who phone hexed you?”

  I didn’t want to admit any weakness to Helen; she would either tease me, use it against me, or both. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you about Crystal Hawk’s death,” I said.

  Helen was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry you didn’t stop someone from killing her.”

  I frowned at the cold fireplace. “Yes. That too.”

  “I didn’t like her, but it’s not right she’s dead.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  “They’ve brought Zoe Thornton into custody. Were you a part of that?”

  “No,” I said. “She— I felt sorry for her.”

  Helen coughed. “I don’t know what to feel about Zoe. She was always the type of girl who wanted to be friends with everyone. A suck-up. I didn’t relate to that.”

  I can’t imagine Helen had sucked up to anyone her entire life. It was a quality I admired. “She and Phil seemed to really love each other.”

  “Word’s out he was a demon,” she said.

  “Can confirm.” A shudder ran through me. “Did you know? Were there any rumors?”

  “I should’ve known, rumors or not,” she muttered. For a witch who prided herself on collecting knowledge, a discovery like that must’ve annoyed her. “I’m a little surprised Crystal was stupid enough to blackmail one, but she never could resist a power trip.”

  “I thought the Protectorate would keep the blackmail a secret,” I said. “Does everyone know already?”

  “Everyone does not. I do.”

  “How—?”

  “As soon as I heard Thornton was a demon, I decided she must’ve been back to her old tricks. Stealing secrets and selling them.”

  “The Protectorate thinks Phil killed her,” I said. “Drove her to suicide. Do you believe that?”

  “All I know is Phil isn’t alive to defend himself, which makes me very suspicious.”

  “Me too,” I said. “She was blackmailing other people. One of them could’ve killed her.”

  “Who else was she blackmailing?”

  I told her about Tierra. Then I told her about the opal ring and how it had marked me somehow as it had probably marked Phil.

  “I don’t think you’re a demon, do you?” Helen asked blandly. “It’s not the sort of thing you wouldn’t know about yourself.”

  “But maybe my mother was one. Or up the family tree somewhere.”

  “Now look, this isn’t the time to get caught up thinking about ancient history like that. Maybe your granny was a turtle. Who knows? Who cares?”

  “I ca—”

  “We’ve got a dead witch. Crystal wasn’t easy to like—I actually rather hated her—but she didn’t deserve to die.” Helen fell silent for a second. “Or maybe she did. However, it’s not up to me. And it wasn’t up to whoever sent her into the beyond.”

  “Is it possible she actually killed herself?” I asked. “The Protectorate had arrived, prepared to arrest her. Maybe she just couldn’t face that.”

  “No. Somebody killed her,” she said. “Find out who, and your debt to me is paid.”

  “Hey,” I said. “My coming here cleared my debt to you. You said you wanted information, and I’ve given it.”

  “The deal was for the entire week. It’s only Tuesday.”

  “The funeral’s on Thursday night,” I said. “After that, whatever happens, my debt to you is paid.”

  She paused, and I could almost see her pulling at her hair. “Plenty of time to bring Crystal’s murderer to justice,” she grumbled.

  “But I’m not an agent anymore. I don’t have any authori—”

  “You’ll figure it out,” she said, hanging up.

  I sank back into the chair, arms falling to my sides. A cold draft wafted over from gaps in the closed window, but I was too tired to get up and close the heavy curtains.

  If I held my breath, I could hear the waves of the ocean crashing against the shore. But then I imagined Crystal struggling against the current, maybe managing to cry out once or twice against whoever possessed her until the merciless water dragged her under.

  Warren had already had her cremated, Tierra had told me. What a journey—from the ocean, the source of all life, to the dry, apocalyptic fire of death.

  I got up from the chair and forced myself to prepare for bed. Ruminating at night when you were tired and stressed was never a good idea. Even if all your fears were true—even if, in fact, reality was worse than you imagined.

  I climbed into the big bed, feeling as hopeless, out of my depth, and vulnerable as a possessed witch in a riptide.

  The next morning, I went downstairs early. Showered and refreshed, I strode through the living room, my senses on alert. The dining room was empty, but I heard activity in the kitchen and went inside. After the past few days, I’d begun to feel at home.

  Gail was bringing in a shallow box filled with various containers from her white van, parked just outside the kitchen door.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “I don’t suppose you could give me a hand? My girl’s not with me today,” she said, struggling with the door. “Just bring this out to the bar? It’s not too heavy.”

  I did as she asked, and a few minutes later she joined me.

  “Sun’s out,” she said. She reached into the box and took out a
bowl of sliced watermelon, which reminded me of the gnome in the garden, and set it on the bar. “That’ll be a nice change for you.”

  “Don’t you like the sun?”

  She shrugged. “I’m used to the fog. Feels like home. I hate how hot it gets inland. I don’t know how you people can stand it.”

  “I’m not far from the coast myself,” I said. “I don’t like the heat either.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Silverpool.”

  She frowned, shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

  And if she had, she’d quickly forgotten it. Even the UPS drivers had trouble remembering where it was. The Protectorate made sure of that. “West of Santa Rosa,” I said.

  “I have a nephew in Forestville,” she said.

  “It’s not far from there, just a little farther out. Small town on the Vago River.” It didn’t matter what I said. It wouldn’t stick.

  “Huh. I thought I knew that part of Sonoma County pretty well.”

  “It’s easy to forget,” I said, reaching for the coffee, stopping myself, taking a tea bag instead.

  “There’s mushroom quiche this morning. I only brought half a pie today, so if you want a slice—”

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  “Just the four of you now?” she continued.

  “Is it?” I asked. It was safer to play the ignorant guest.

  “That’s what I heard. Well, whoever’s left better come down soon,” Gail said. “I told the other lady I wouldn’t be able to stay past nine this morning. I’ve got a birthday party at noon.”

  “Are you going back to your bakery in Fort Bragg?”

  She gave me a wary look. “Yes, why?”

  “I had to leave my Jeep in town yesterday. I was wondering if I could ride with you.”

  “With me?” she asked. “In the van?”

  I nodded. “Just to your bakery. I can walk the rest of the way.”

  “I’m sorry, but no.”

  Her quick denial surprised me. “Oh. Sure. No problem.” I tore apart the tea bag, dropped it in a mug. “I’ll find someone else.”