Hex at a House Party

by Gretchen Galway

  “What did it look like?”

  “Just… movement. A flash of something moving. It was probably just a bird.” She rested her head back against her seat and closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I almost killed us.”

  “I don’t think you’re strong enough—” I began, but I didn’t know. I’d been so focused on the road I hadn’t noticed any spells coming from Birdie.

  Every witch had a specialty. Maybe hers was telekinesis. Only time would tell. “It’s less than a mile to the house. Maybe just keep your eyes shut for the rest of the way,” I said.

  “Deal,” she said.

  I turned around and felt for Crystal’s spirit in the back, but although I could still feel a diffuse, unpleasant energy rising up like a bad smell, it hadn’t grown stronger or nastier since we’d left Fort Bragg.

  I put my hands on my necklace. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “I’m really sor—” Birdie began.

  “Not you,” I said, staring into the rearview mirror at the back. “Her.”

  Birdie kept silent. But so did the dead witch in the box.

  “Let’s go,” I said finally. “Crystal, we’re bringing you home. If you run us off the road, you won’t get your last rites. Your ashes will be dumped at the bottom of an unmarked cliff with the bits and pieces of Birdie and me and all the litter that losers throw out their windows.”

  Feeding the protective spell around us, I started up the engine, signaled, checked my mirrors five times, then merged onto the mountain road with the care and speed of an elderly tourist from Iowa driving her first motor home.

  I parked my Jeep in front of Warren’s barn and let out a long, controlled sigh through my teeth. My hands fell into my lap, cold and sweaty. It was hard to keep my eyes open. I wanted to get up to my room and refill the well of my power with every botanical, mineral, and metal object I’d brought with me.

  “We made it,” Birdie said.

  We shared a weary look. Then each of us twisted around in our seats to face the quiet force in the back.

  “We have to move her.” I pushed open the door.

  “I’ll get Warren,” Birdie said.

  I walked around to the back and opened the hatch. The box had slid halfway out of the bag and now sat wedged to one side between a pile of Trader Joe’s shopping bags and Random’s dog bed.

  Brushing my fingers across my bracelet, I pulled the bag the rest of the way off the box and shook it out. Nothing felt strange, but…

  Birdie returned from the carriage house. “He’s not answering his door.”

  I muttered a formal invocation of peace and eternal sleep for the dead before I bent over and picked up the box. “We’ll knock harder,” I said, carrying it at arm’s length to the carriage house door.

  But even when I rudely kicked the door, he didn’t answer.

  On the narrow porch, there was a sheltered table and chairs with dozens of potted plants, welcoming enough to house a family of tiny flower fae, little green and brown creatures I saw peeking out at me from behind a blood-red begonia. I set the box down on the table next to a container of succulents. The garden had been Crystal’s; hopefully it would soothe her spirit. With the box out of my hands—and my breath already coming more easily—I turned and headed for the barn.

  “Let’s try him at the studio,” I said. “He’s usually there.”

  He didn’t answer there either, but I heard music. I turned the knob and ducked my head in. “Mr. Hawk? Warren? It’s Alma Bellrose. Can we come in?”

  The music was Beethoven, and for a wild moment I thought it was an appropriate choice, given the two men had the same hairstyle.

  “He probably just doesn’t hear you with the music playing,” Birdie said.

  I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “It wasn’t the music,” I said.

  Warren lay on the floor, his arm flung out to one side, a broken ceramic bird near his fingers.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I held Birdie back. “Go get Tierra. I need to secure the scene.”

  As she ran off, I immediately fell into a crouch with one hand on my necklace and the other on the floor. I probed the doorway, the path to the workbench, the lighting fixtures hung from the exposed beams overhead.

  But the man had been working here for years and his magic was everywhere, as dominating as the Beethoven symphony blasting from the speakers. Just as I had decided there were no other people in the studio, Warren groaned and brought a hand to his head.

  He moaned. “Demon’s eyeballs.” The family friendly version of the curse.

  “Warren, it’s me, Alma Bellrose. Can I approach?” A wounded witch, especially if he’d been attacked, might strike out.

  With visible effort, he turned his head toward the door. “Bellrose?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hawk. Do you remember me?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Yes, child, I remember you.” He waved a hand, and the music stopped.

  I hurried over and helped him sit up, looking over him for signs of injury. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My pride,” he said, patting my arm. “My pride. Now help me— Oh Shadow in the morning. My cormorant is ruined.”

  I followed his gaze to the broken bird. “Can you glue it?”

  “No, no, I’ll have to make another one,” he said. “Now help me up. Please.”

  “You should wait—”

  Tierra rushed through the door with Birdie behind her. “Warren! What happened? Who did this?” Tierra fell to her knees and put her arms around her old master, her voice rising. “This has to stop. This madness has to stop. We’ve got to call the Protectorate back up here.”

  “No, no, no, they can’t help us with this, Brightness no.” He clamped a hand on Tierra’s shoulder, and between the three of us, we helped him up into an easy chair by the window. “You’ve brought her home, haven’t you?”

  Tierra frowned, then looked at me.

  “My wife,” he continued. “She’s home now.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hawk,” I said. “Her ashes are on the porch of the carriage house. We were looking for you.”

  He nodded, then flinched and touched his temple. “She always was good with a knockout punch,” he said. “Sneak up on her victim and pow.”

  “You think Crystal hexed you?” Tierra asked. “But—”

  “She attacked the cormorant,” Warren said, pointing at the broken sculpture on the floor. “I just got in the way. She blames my art for our destitution.”

  “Crystal is dead, Warren,” Tierra said. “And even if she could haunt you from the other side, she wouldn’t. She loved you.”

  Warren gave Tierra a sad look. “Would you two excuse us, please? I’d like to speak to Tierra.”

  Birdie gave me a look. I said, “Of course,” and walked out with her to the garden.

  “Did you—” Birdie began.

  I held up a finger for quiet and walked into the gnome’s territory through the arbor. Again the clean air settled around me, and I breathed easy for the first time in hours. The gnome wasn’t visible, but she would know we were there. I took out the crushed four-leaf clover from my felt pouch and set it in the birdbath. Even drained, the clover was rare, and she would appreciate the gesture.

  “Do you really think Crystal—” Birdie began again, and again I held up a finger.

  “Let’s not say her name until we know what’s going on,” I said.

  Birdie nodded and spoke in a whisper. “Do you think she attacked him? And us, on the road?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It seems that way.” But it wasn’t smart to trust what seemed to be true. Now that the immediate danger had passed, I remembered feeling something protective coming from the back seat when the boulder had fallen in front of us. Before that, my hands had gone numb. Had that been her doing and it was Birdie who had accidentally pulled the boulder down the cliff onto us? Or had something else sent the boulder?

  My head hurt. I trie
d to remember the moment clearly, but everything had gone so fast.

  “Have you ever heard of a witch haunting someone after death?” Birdie asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “But I’ve heard of all kinds of things, and most of it probably isn’t true.”

  “But it might be?”

  I rubbed my temple, willing the gears of my brain to turn faster. “I don’t know. I just—” I fisted my hands, wanting to punch something, to find answers. “I don’t know.”

  Tierra came out of the barn and began walking toward the farmhouse.

  “How’s Warren?” Birdie called out, but Tierra didn’t respond.

  “I don’t think she can see or hear us at the moment,” I said. “This is an enchanted garden.”

  And I had befriended the gnome boss. I nodded for Birdie to follow and walked out from under the arbor into the driveway.

  Tierra had her hand on the side door of the farmhouse when I called out, “Anything we can do?”

  She spun around, startled. “I didn’t see you,” she said, smiling. “Actually, yeah. Warren asked for a favor. He was too proud to ask for help in front of everyone.”

  “Help with what?” Birdie asked.

  “Hopefully it’s just the grief talking, but he’s convinced Crystal will be dangerous until she’s in their house. In her favorite spot. Would you mind helping me get the box inside? I know you already went all the way to Fort Bragg for it, but Crystal always intimidated me, to be honest. If she just brained Warren, I’d rather not be alone with her.”

  I could certainly relate to that. “All right,” I said. “Sure, of course.”

  We went to the porch of the carriage house where Crystal’s walnut box sat where I’d left it. The flower fae were still there—fluttering around the begonia, hanging from an arcing branch of aloe, drinking nectar from trumpet flowers. They certainly weren’t as anxious as the rest of us. Still no demon nearby.

  I glanced at Tierra, who stayed a few feet away. Apparently help meant doing it myself.

  It was just as well. I wanted to see if dead Crystal reacted in any way to her environment. As Tierra looked away, embarrassed, I lifted the box and again felt the heaviness of the unsettled presence inside. Tierra opened the door, and I followed her through the house to a cozy yellow room near the back with bay windows overlooking the ocean.

  “This was her favorite room,” Tierra said. “Warren said to put her anywhere in here.”

  I set it on a leather chair near the window, took a step back, and monitored the box for any change in its… mood.

  It did seem to quiet down. A lot, actually. It could’ve been the existing magic in the room that dulled my senses, but it felt as if the box had become as sweet and drowsy as a sleeping kitten. Then the sleepy feeling spread out into the air, and after a few seconds I felt it licking at my eyelashes, pulling them downward.

  I looked at the doorway; Tierra hadn’t followed me into the room, and now there was no sign of her. If this had been Crystal’s favorite spot, her power would be as strong here for her as my house was for me. The sensation of sleepiness became overpowering, and I hurried out the room yawning, reaching out to the wall to stop myself from falling over.

  Hoping cold water would help me wake up, I staggered to the kitchen and turned on the faucet.

  I splashed the water on my face, slapping my cheeks to wake up, grimacing at the fetid odor of rotting food in the garbage disposal. When this was over I was going to take a long, hot lavender bath, drink lemon verbena tea, listen to the wind in the trees, and not leave my house for a decade, hopefully longer.

  The paper towel dispenser was only a bare cardboard tube, so I looked around for a cloth towel to dry my face and hands, pulling open drawers where I would’ve put them in my own kitchen. Since Crystal’s death, the kitchen had fallen into disarray, with plates and glasses piled in the sink, empty packages and crumbs littering the countertops, old newspapers stacked on the floor. There was even a scorch mark on the counter next to the gas stovetop in the center island, as if Warren had set down a hot frying pan directly on the marble.

  Now that would be a good reason for Crystal to haunt him. The countertops had been gorgeous before.

  I found Tierra outside, standing on the walkway between the buildings overlooking the ocean.

  “I’m ashamed I made you do that,” she said.

  “Carry the box?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I was indulging Warren. He told me it would be dangerous for me to touch it.”

  I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Her words didn’t match her expression, which was oddly bright, even cheerful.

  “Did you feel the way she seemed to go to rest inside?” I asked.

  “Of course she’s at rest,” she said. “She’s been cremated.”

  After a moment, I shook my head. “I could feel her. At first she was restless, but then she settled down.”

  “Really? I didn’t. It’s just a box. Crystal’s dead, and we’re alive.” She looked out to sea, a faint smile on her lips.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I found Birdie in the kitchen making quesadillas.

  “We need to eat,” she told me. “We’ve had a shock. I mean, really, we’ve had a bunch of shocks in a row, which means we should probably eat a lot, but honestly the idea makes me kind of sick, so this is all I thought we could handle.” She used a spatula to flip the tortillas over in the pan. “It’s just cheese. Somehow even chicken sounded gross.”

  “Agree,” I said.

  “I’ve also made us a salad. I put apples in it. I love apples in salad, don’t you?”

  “Sounds good. Thanks. I don’t think I’ve eaten today.”

  “I thought we’d make our own drinks in our rooms,” she continued, lowering her voice. “Safer, don’t you think? You said liquids were easier to mess with.”

  I nodded. “Usually. Good thinking.”

  Ten minutes later, we sat in my room with a tray on the table between us, biting into crispy, cheesy triangles. Tea made with dried peppermint from my home garden was brewing near the kettle. The water was from the tap, but I assured Birdie it was unlikely to be contaminated when we were more vulnerable in so many other ways.

  “I have a favor to ask,” I said.

  She popped an apple slice in her mouth and nodded eagerly.

  I set down the last triangle of my quesadilla. “You’re not going to like it,” I said.

  “Whatever it is, I’m up for it.” She sprung up and poured two mugs of tea. “I’ve been practicing my defensive spells constantly. I could even—”

  “I need you to do nothing,” I said. “I’d like you to stay in your room and, well, be in your room.”

  She handed me a mug and sat across from me, eyes downcast. “You want me to hide?”

  “Basically, yes. I need to know you’re not in danger.”

  “I accept the risks—”

  “Please, Birdie,” I said. “There is one thing you’ll need to do, though, and it’s harder than it sounds.”

  She lifted the mug, pouting a little. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Not at all.” The tea was too hot, and I scalded my tongue on the same spot I’d bitten it earlier. I set down the tea and had a bite of a chilled, soothing apple instead. “It’s really hard to lie to witches. Especially this crowd.”

  “I can lie. I can totally lie. What do you want me to say?”

  “I’m going to tell them you’ve been hexed,” I said. “If anyone comes to check on you, you need to back me up. I’ll give you something to help you pretend you’re recovering from a bad spell, but you’ll have to give the same story I give about what happened, what you were doing, all that.”

  “You just want an excuse for me to be in my room?” she asked. “I’ll miss the funeral.”

  “I hope we’re both out of here before then.” I looked at my watch. “Moonrise is in three hours. Warren has asked everyone to stay away until right before the ceremony, which is tradition
al if it’s at the witch’s home. A necessary courtesy. You can imagine what a nightmare it is for the grieving family to have a horde of witches pop in. As we speak, witches are probably approaching from all over, grabbing a late lunch or an early cocktail, depending on their mood, just waiting for the sun to go down.”

  “And you want me to miss everything,” Birdie said. “And everyone.”

  I would explain to her why and what I planned to do, but she was too vulnerable to having her thoughts plucked out of her brain like apples out of a salad. Especially by a witch she liked and respected.

  “Please, Birdie,” I repeated.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked out the window at the sea. “Some people would pay a thousand dollars a night for this view. I guess I can enjoy it one more afternoon.”

  I jumped up and gave her a hug. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  If we survived.

  She sat stiffly for a moment but then hugged me back, even squeezing my shoulder. “So, you said you were going to give me something? Some cool new magic, I hope.”

  “Oh no,” Tierra said. “Not again! Can I bring her anything?”

  We stood just inside the doorway of Warren’s barn studio. I’d waited until I’d seen Tierra walk outside with a tray before running out to tell her about poor Birdie.

  I didn’t know if Warren wanted Tierra to bring him hourly deliveries of food, drink, mail, newspapers, or freshly ironed shirts, but she’d been doing it like clockwork since Crystal’s death.

  It provided an excuse for me to get inside the barn; I wanted to get another look at the spot where Warren had been struck down. It could’ve been Crystal—the universe was a vast, unpredictable puzzle, and humans comprehended only a few edge pieces of it—but I wanted to rule out other possibilities.

  Zoe had escaped. I hadn’t told anyone, but maybe I should have. I just wasn’t sure if she was a threat or a victim.

  Nathan was out there somewhere too. Maybe in San Francisco, looking for a new apartment, but maybe closer. Somebody had killed Phil, and Phil had warned us about Nathan.