Ambrosia stops walking and rests the pole of her umbrella on her shoulder. “You think?” She gives him a discerning look, the way only a teenaged girl can. It’s the look that says “one of us might be an idiot.”
He belts back proudly, finishing his joke with a punchline, “Nice weather... for ducks!”
She groans. “Good one, Mr. B. That’s such a Dad Joke.”
He calls out, over his brother’s shoulder, “How’s school treating you so far?”
She shrugs and spins her umbrella by rolling the handle on her shoulder. “It’s only been one day, but we didn’t even get any homework.” She sounds disappointed. Disappointed to not have any assigned homework? She reminds me of another teenager I know.
Harry’s arm comes into view. He’s pointing to the man standing on his step. “This is my brother, Bill. He’s my twin, but you wouldn’t know it, since he took all the good looks and left me with none.”
Ambrosia frowns. “You look the same to me.” She turns her body deliberately, and starts walking away, calling over her shoulder, “Have a good day, Mr. B and Mr. B!”
The view switches from the retreating girl in yellow, back to Harry’s twin. Bill opens his mouth, as if to say something, then closes it. Shaking his head, he nudges Harry out of the way so he can enter the house. He slowly and methodically wipes his shoes on the entry mat.
Back to that email, I think. Harry, Bill, work with me, fellas. What was in that email that made Bill fly straight home?
I know that rooting for specific information will do no good inside a memory, but I do it anyway, the way anyone would root for a scratch-off ticket to reveal the winning codes, or for their bowling ball to strike the headpin just right.
Bill follows Harry into the kitchen and watches him make a pot of coffee.
“So, you flew home last night,” Harry says, summarizing. “Do you still have that same pilot? The woman?”
“No. That woman hasn’t worked for me in over a decade. Stop stalling. You always ask me questions you know the answers to when you’re stalling, Harry.”
Inside the memory, I cheer for Bill. I love a person who gets straight to the point! Almost as much as I love joking around and not getting to the point myself.
“You know me like no other, dear brother,” Harry says amiably. There’s a practiced rhythm to the phrase. He has used it frequently over his life. I feel a pleasant, plump sensation in Harry’s cheeks, and a tightness behind his ears. He’s grinning.
“You know I’d do anything for those drawings,” Bill says. He’s dead serious. His posture is rigid, leaning forward. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Harry’s voice pitches up playfully, like the proverbial devil, bartering for a person’s soul.
Bill’s ears redden. His chest caves in as his shoulders roll forward. He looks down and briefly covers his mouth with a closed fist. “What I mean is, I’d do anything for you. For my brother.”
“Come on now, Bill. You were right the first time. You and I both know it’s the drawings you’re after. My life’s work.”
Bill’s big, brown eyes flick up shyly. There are dark circles under his eyes, as though he didn’t sleep at all last night. “You know how I feel about the work,” Bill says. “Your brilliance should be shared with the world.”
Harry scoffs. “My brilliance,” he mutters.
“Your alternate fuel generation plants are nothing short of... revolutionary. They would revolutionize everything.”
“They would revolutionize warfare,” Harry says, darkly.
“Maybe. But maybe not. The world is changing. I know it’s hard to believe sometimes, but technological advances are being used for good.”
Still sounding dark, his voice coming from the back of his throat and not projecting far, Harry says, “For the good of the few, at the expense of the many.”
Irritation flickers across Bill’s face. His hands clench at his sides before he forces them open with an impatient shake. “We can’t know how everything will play out until it does.”
“Except we can. Everything ends in disaster. Didn’t you hear about the whole AI debacle at the Department?”
“I heard rumors, but you know how these things are. I heard that the program running their perimeter security malfunctioned.”
“You could say that. Their glorious creation turned evil and tried to bring back an ancient goddess to reboot humanity. It nearly succeeded.”
I feel the temperature rise. I can’t tell if it’s Harry who’s getting warmer, or me. They are talking about Mahra, and about Charlize’s program.
Bill continues, unperturbed. “But your work isn’t in AI. It’s not the same.” He shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and drops them with a sigh. “No take-backsies,” he says, sounding boyish. “You said in the email that I could have the drawings. No take-backsies, Harry. You can’t break the twin code.”
“And you will have the drawings,” Harry said.
“But when? Come on. Name your price.” Bill pats his jacket pocket. “I brought my checkbook.” He holds his hands out, palms open. “Unless you’d prefer an electronic transfer?”
“I don’t want money.”
Here we go!
“Oh?” Brother Bill is so excited and tense, he’s only breathing in the top quarter of his lungs. The redness from his ears is spreading across his neck. A vein is visible on his throat.
Harry answers slowly, “Since I’ve had this unexpected bout of good health, I’ve been entirely focused on two things. The energy plants, and also...”
“What?” Bill grabs a kitchen chair and places it between himself and his twin. He grips the back of it, as though the chair is the only thing that can keep him from laying his hands on Harry in a brotherly tussle.
Harry waves one hand, but doesn’t speak.
Out with it, I think impatiently.
“Out with it,” Bill urges. “You said in the email that you’re willing to give me all of the diagrams and research, in exchange for one thing. You dropped a lot of hints in that email, but I have to confess I’m not as smart as you. I couldn’t figure it out. I never was as smart as you. It’s true that I got all the good looks and you got slightly more of the brains.” He offers a tentative smile. “What’s this one thing?”
“A soul transfer,” Harry says.
Soul transfer?
Say what now?
In the seconds that follow, I hear the hum of the fridge, the patter of rain on the window, and the mechanical drone of a garbage truck doing its morning pickups on the street.
Bill, to my surprise, takes in the news with the facility of someone who understood the subtle hints in the email far better than he’s letting on.
Bill looks Harry in the eyes and says, neutrally, “When you die, you want to have your soul transferred into my body. Then you and I will share this body.” He pats his chest with loosely curled hands. “I will have access to all of what’s in your mind.” He gestures to Harry’s head with his hands. “That’s the gist of it, right?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Bill says. “That’ll be...”
“It will be like old times,” Harry says. “Like when we used to share everything. Mom’s womb. A group of friends. A whole life.” His voice gets gravelly, and I feel more tension in my throat. “I’m dying, Bill.”
“Don’t say that. You look fantastic.”
“I know I look fine, but that’s just the surface. The damage inside my body was too extensive. The serum hasn’t been as much help as I’d hoped. It’s not going to save me.”
Bill’s eyes glisten. He looks away.
I feel Harry use his strength to straighten his posture. He stands at attention. “I found someone who can do the transfer,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “Rhys Quarry’s daughter.”
My ears burn. Metaphorically. I can’t feel them.
Bill stammers, “Bu-but she’s only—”
“She’s a witch,” Harry says. “Zara Riddle. She’s Rhys’s d
aughter by a witch named Zirconia Riddle. Zara is the redhead who runs the library. “
If I could feel my face, it would be warm. It’s cute that Harry thinks I run the library.
“I don’t understand,” Bill says. “A witch?”
Bill doesn’t understand, but I do. Harry has found out about my Spirit Charmed powers, either through his contacts at the Department or my big-mouthed father, and he thinks that I can handle something as complex as transferring a soul into another body.
My mind is reeling.
Harry pours two mugs of coffee, and the brothers take them out to the small covered porch to continue the conversation.
It’s cool and humid on the porch, but a surprisingly cozy place to sit. The rain falls like a curtain in front of them, pattering on all the greenery as the garbage truck roars by. Harry has brought two blankets along, and the men place the blankets on their laps to stay warm.
“We look like Grandma Posey,” Bill says, gesturing at the colorful crocheted piece covering his legs.
“You look like Grandma Posey,” Harry says. “I look like Uncle Smokie.”
“That’s not much better,” Bill jokes.
The two brothers banter about family members for a while, and then Harry gets down to the business of explaining the soul transfer.
It’s pretty much what I expected. Harry wants me to be at his side when he passes, so that I can perform a spell—he has a book that describes the method—and transfer his soul into his brother’s body. The spell can theoretically work with any two willing parties, but the effects are temporary, unless there is a familial bond and blood connection. There is no better pair of candidates than identical twins.
When all has been explained, Bill says with wonder, “That might actually work.”
“It will work. Shall I contact the witch and find out her fee? I’m assuming you can fund the investment.”
“Of course,” Bill says without hesitation. “Should we go through Rhys to negotiate?”
They both laugh at this.
Harry wipes tears of laughter from his eyes and says, “Only if we want to pay double and still owe him a favor.”
“That guy,” Bill says.
Shut up about my father, I think.
It’s weird that I feel the need to defend his honor, but I do. He’s my father to make fun of.
“And those suits he wears,” Harry says.
Shut up, you jerks!
They laugh some more, then Bill says, “Got any food in the house?”
“I could make you some breakfast,” Harry says.
Bill accepts. They fold up the lap quilts, leave them on the chairs, and head back inside.
Back in the kitchen with the twins, I find my mind wandering. The brothers’ plan sheds a new light on the homicide. Did some other party find out about the arrangement? A third party might wish to prevent the transfer before it could happen, by killing Harry before he could talk to me.
I wonder about Harry’s invention, and how well-funded his enemies could be. If he had plans to revolutionize power generation, there were more than a few tycoons who might want the plans for themselves, if only to see them destroyed.
My mind swirls with conspiracies.
I am barely paying attention when I notice something red in Harry’s hand. It’s a big, juicy, perfectly symmetrical red pepper. Beyond his hand, on the counter, is a carton of eggs, a block of butter, a bowl of sliced mushrooms, and a salt shaker. A frying pan is on the stove, the oil just starting to sizzle.
The poisoned pepper!
Bill, who is watching the meal preparation with mild interest while he reads something on his phone, says casually, “No pepper in my side of the omelet. It gives me terrible heartburn.”
Harry waves the pepper suggestively. “Are you sure? This is a new hybrid. No burps, and no heartburn.”
“Not worth the risk,” Bill says, barely looking up from his phone. “How about you leave it off, period? I don’t want any of its nightshade juices getting on my side.”
“Fine,” Harry says. “Your wish is my command.”
The red pepper gets bigger. It’s being brought to Harry’s face. His mouth salivates. He takes a big bite of the pepper. It’s crisp and juicy, sweet and tangy at the same time. His mouth waters more as he chews, then takes another bite.
Bill looks up from his phone, frowning. “You’re just going to eat it raw like that?” His lips twitch into an amused smile. “You’re going to be sorry.”
Harry waves his hand. “What’s a little heartburn?”
He takes another big bite. As he chews, I remember Zinnia’s warning. I have to get out of this memory before the poison affects me.
I cast the spell to get myself out.
I’m still here.
Harry takes another bite of pepper. The taste is powerful.
Why am I not out of here yet? I cast the spell again, getting frantic.
Bill, still watching Harry with narrowed eyes, says, “That’s quite the pepper, Harry. Where’d you get it?”
“Actually, it’s a funny story,” Harry says. He takes another bite of pepper.
I am dimly aware of my cheeks being slapped, and my name being yelled.
Chapter 32
When I came out of Harry’s memory, it was as though I’d been reborn.
Literally.
I was naked, hanging upside down, and someone was smacking my bottom.
Okay, I wasn’t actually naked, and nobody was smacking my bottom, but I was hanging upside down.
“There you are,” Zinnia said.
I gagged.
She was pulling something out of my mouth—a long ribbon of red. She wrapped this long, red ribbon onto a Y-shaped stick that reminded of old woodcut illustrations of ancient purification rituals, or of Medieval doctors removing tapeworms.
“The Peptyx Tapewyrm is nearly out,” Zinnia said soothingly. “Don’t gag.”
I gagged again. There was no way her tone could be soothing enough to counteract the idea that she was removing a Peptyx Tapewyrm from me.
When had she put it in? How long had I been out? Harry’s memory couldn’t have covered more than an hour, and yet I could see the sun rising through one of Zinnia’s windows. Had eight hours passed already? Or eight days?
Worrying about the passage of time was a good distraction from the feeling of the wyrm that was still being dragged out through my mouth. Just when I didn’t think I could take another second, the tail came out. It was forked. My jaw clamped shut at last.
Zinnia dropped the slimy, undulating thing into a gold-lined wooden chest, which she tucked under her arm.
She left the room, leaving me hanging upside down in the air above the coffee table.
I coughed, tasting peppermint and rosewater.
Zinnia returned a minute later, clapped her hands, and suddenly I was the right side up again. I landed on the coffee table, staggered back, and fell onto the couch.
She handed me a glass of water. “Don’t speak yet,” she said.
I gave the water a wary look. What was in it? Some microscopic magical parasites?
“It’s just water,” she said, correctly reading my mind.
I washed down the taste in my mouth, then explained, “Harry ate the pepper when I was in the memory.”
“Yes. I imagined as much when your seizures began.”
“Seizures? Am I going to be okay?”
She smiled through a tired yawn. “You are a Riddle,” she said.
“We Riddles are tougher than we look.”
She patted my knee affectionately. Up-All-Night-Zinnia was kinda fun.
“So?” She gave me an expectant look. “Who killed Harry Blackstone?”
“It’s complicated.”
I told her everything I’d witnessed. Harry’s brother Bill must have lied to the police about being out of town the day of Harry’s death, though I didn’t know why. Bill wanted to get his hands on Harry’s plans for some power generating invention
, and he wanted it bad. He was willing to share his body with his twin’s spirit in order to get the information.
“That speaks to motivation,” Zinnia said.
“And Bill specifically requested no red pepper on his omelet.”
“He knew it was poisoned?”
I shrugged. “I was in Harry, not Bill, but knowing what I know now, it sure looked suspicious to me.”
“Did the twin brother seem interested in the supposedly funny story about the peppers?”
“Not as interested as me.”
Zinnia smiled. “I suppose not.” She sighed. “What a shame. If I’d known how close you were, I might have left you in there a bit longer. Then again, you’re not much use to any of us here in the land of the living if you’re dead.”
“I like to think I’m a helpful ghost.”
Her eyes saddened. “Let us not joke about such things.”
We both looked at the book on the table.
“I’ll try again,” I said to Zinnia, reaching for the book. “Give me ten more seconds and I’ll tell you how Harry got the peppers.”
“Not now,” Zinnia said.
Before I could reach the book, it disappeared.
“You need to rest and recover,” Zinnia said. “Also, I need to procure a fresh supply of poison extractors.”
“You and your magic herbs and critters.” I leaned back and crossed my arms as I did my best Steely Bentley Stare. “How strange that the vision ended right as Harry was about to reveal his source.” I nodded in the direction of my aunt’s kitchen. “You wouldn’t be missing any special peppers, now, would you?”
She gave me a pained expression. “Go home and rest.” She pointed at my purse. My phone rose up by magic. “But first, you need to call Detective Bentley and tell him what you saw. William Blackstone lied about being in town, and he saw Harry the morning of his death.”
“You really think Bill is our guy?”
“I don’t know what to think, but the man knows things he hasn’t shared. They need to re-interview him.”
“I should interview him myself.”
Wishful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 3) Page 18