It's All Sixes

by Cindy Stark

  Olivia snorted. “I don’t know any such thing. We should use a truth candle.”

  Cora gasped. “Who would be willing to sacrifice for that?”

  Olivia shrugged. “I’d do it to prove she’s lying.”

  Hazel wanted to slap them all. “You won’t have to, Olivia. I can prove my heritage. Clarabelle’s familiar has accepted me as his own, and…I have Clarabelle’s spell book.”

  Fauna laughed. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Not the meeting I was expecting. Even better.”

  Groups of twos and threes erupted into discussion until Victor called them all together again. He swept the crowd with a fierce gaze. “I will have an answer.”

  Polly made a pretense of swallowing hard and refused to look at Hazel. “I’ve changed my vote to yes.”

  Cora squealed and threw her arms around Hazel. “You’re in!”

  Hazel wasn’t sure which emotion was the most dominant inside her. Fear. Trepidation. Victory. Could there possibly be a little excitement, too?

  She supposed she’d find out what awaited her in the coming days. One thing was for sure, she didn’t want to be in a power struggle with Polly. But she dang sure wasn’t backing down, either.

  Thirteen

  Early morning sunlight filtered through Hazel’s kitchen window. She sat at the table with a forgotten cup of Majestic Mint cooling near her right hand. She stared at her phone and then set it on the table.

  “No,” she whispered. She would not call her mother and ask for help.

  A breeze whisked across her cheek, and she knew that Clarabelle had entered the room. Hazel glanced upward.

  “What would you do? Open the doors of communication so that I can get what I want from my mother and suffer the consequences, or find another way to get a truth candle?”

  Get the candle.

  She shook her head though she wasn’t sure Clarabelle could see her gesture. “I’ll get the candle either way. The question is should I ask my mother so that I can get it faster or wait until I can get into Boston to purchase one?”

  Get the candle.

  She rolled her eyes and lifted the phone. “You are no help at all.”

  Still, she hesitated. After Olivia had mentioned using a truth candle on her to prove she was Clarabelle’s granddaughter, she hadn’t been able to dismiss the idea of using it on this case.

  Hazel knew for a fact that her mother kept one or two in the hall closet for desperate times. While Hazel had been meeting in the woods the evening before with the others of her new coven, Anya had tried to take her own life by running her car into a tree.

  Which, of course, made her look guiltier.

  The logical side of Hazel agreed. She couldn’t generate a reasonable excuse why an innocent person would attempt suicide.

  Unless she felt she had no other recourse. If Anya felt trapped and as though no one believed her, she might choose to end her pain. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done so.

  But, Hazel still couldn’t shake the feeling that Anya was innocent. And desperate. Using a truth candle was usually a last resort in Hazel’s world because of the personal cost required to use one.

  Still, a person’s life? Anya’s life? That had to be worth the consequences.

  Then again, if Hazel asked for assistance, she would be indebted to her mother. Owing Josephine Hardy anything was a position Hazel abhorred. It usually cost her more than it was worth.

  Sure, she could go through other avenues, perhaps ask Cora or another in her group where they obtained their truth candles. But those new ties were tenuous, and even once she found out their contact information, she’d still have to figure the logistics on how to get a hold of the candle sooner than later.

  That might take more time than was available to her.

  She groaned, and the sound echoed through the silence in her house. With her jaw set, she dialed her mother’s number and waited. Hazel’s only consolation was that it was before seven in the morning, and her mother never woke before nine. She would at least have the satisfaction of irritating her, as immature as that might seem.

  After the fifth ring, Hazel was ready to give up, but then the line clicked, and the ringing stopped. Someone on the other end of the call, her mother, she assumed, rustled and then released a loud sigh.

  “Hazel?” her mother said with her voice still heavy with the dregs from the previous night’s sleep. “What’s wrong?”

  Hazel braced herself for the upcoming conversation. “Good morning, Mother. Uhh…nothing is particularly wrong. At least not with me. But I’m in need of a truth candle.”

  She wasn’t willing to offer any more explanation than that.

  More rustling, and she pictured her mother removing her eye mask and shifting to a sitting position on her pink satin sheets. “A truth candle? Is someone lying to you? Not Victor, I hope.”

  Of course, he would come up in the conversation. But Hazel refused to be derailed. “This has nothing to do with Victor. Any chance you can ship one to me overnight?”

  Josephine snorted. “Hazel, darling, please be serious. There is no way I’ll send you any such thing without an explanation.”

  Hazel worked to control her ire. “I’m not a child, Mother. I don’t need to explain every life decision or request to you.”

  Her mother chuckled. “You do if you want me to send the candle.”

  She might as well confess because arguing would get her nowhere. “It’s for a case I’m working on.”

  “A case?” her mother said with laughter in her voice. “What kind of case? I don’t know of any tea inventions that are called a ‘case’.”

  This was why she should never speak to her mother again.

  She steadied her resolve, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed but seeing no way to avoid it. “The candle is for a police investigation that I’m assisting with.”

  Josephine chortled, obviously now fully awake. “An investigation? Oh, my. This wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy-toy Victor says you’ve been playing with.”

  She would kill them both. “I have no idea which boy-toy you are referring to. That’s not my style. I don’t play with people like Victor does.”

  “Oh, honey,” her mom said in a cajoling voice. “When will you forgive him and let that nasty business fade in the past? There’s so much more to life than being petty.”

  Hazel’s anger exploded like a firework into a million tiny pieces. “Nasty business? Is that what you call decimating someone’s heart?”

  “Now, now. It comes with the territory, darling. You can’t have a man with the kind of powers Victor possesses and expect him to be perfect. None of us would be able to either if we were in his situation. He’s practically a god.”

  If she didn’t mind cleaning up the mess, she would have vomited right then and there. “If you’re so enamored by him, then why don’t you keep him?”

  Josephine sighed. “Would that I could, honey. Would that I could. You don’t realize how lucky you are.”

  She’d had enough. “Are you going to send the candle or not? If it makes any difference, the candle might save someone’s life.”

  Her mother remained silent for a long moment, and Hazel regretted ever calling.

  “Does that life belong to Petri…Petroff… I can’t recall his name.”

  “His name is Peter, Mother. He is the police chief of Stonebridge, and a very kind and respectable man. Not that you admire any of those qualities.”

  “Is that a no, then? It’s not for him?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “No, it’s not for him.”

  “Fine. I’ll ship it this morning. You’ll have it tomorrow.”

  Hazel dropped her jaw, stunned. “Wait a minute. Are you saying you wouldn’t have sent it if it was for Peter?”

  Her mother laughed, and Hazel wanted to strangle her. “Of course, that’s not what I meant. I just want to make sure it’s being put to good use. They’re getting harder and ha
rder to come by these days.”

  Which was basically saying that she didn’t think Peter’s life was a good enough reason to send it. How could she have spawned from this woman?

  Hazel’s only recourse was to shut down her emotions. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll expect it tomorrow.”

  Then she tapped to end the call without waiting for a response so that she wouldn’t end up on trial for murder.

  Fourteen

  Hazel left Gretta in charge of the shop the following afternoon and headed out so that she’d be home when the courier delivered her package. Gray skies overhead held the scent of rain and increased the humidity, leaving the air thick and heavy. She’d hoped that by riding her bike to work, she would have tempted the rain gods to pour water from the skies to give the thirsty Earth a drink. But so far, no go.

  Perhaps she should reconsider learning the spell that would make it rain. She might have been hasty when she’d thought only the colonials from three hundred years ago would find use for that spell.

  Pedaling down the tree-lined streets did force air through her hair and around her body, which was nice, but it did little to cool her.

  She reached her house, parked her bike in the usual spot on the driveway, and headed inside in search of some refreshing peach iced tea that she had chilling in the fridge.

  Hazel set the glass of tea next to her favorite chair and settled in to review Clarabelle’s spell book while she waited for her delivery. Hazel had learned the basic use of a truth candle from her mother, but she was curious to know if Clarabelle had ever used one, and, if so, how she’d used it.

  She’d barely begun to flip the pages when Mr. Kitty sauntered in from the kitchen, where he hadn’t been only moments ago. His sultry black feline friend, Sorcha, followed. Together, they sat side by side on the carpet directly in front of her.

  The intense look in their eyes sent a chill skittering through her.

  She flicked her gaze between them. They appeared to be gearing up for a confrontation or intervention. “What’s this?”

  She’s a friend.

  Hazel frowned. “What? Who’s a friend? This little lady here?”

  Mr. Kitty shook his head.

  “Then who?”

  The pretty black kitty gave a long meow.

  Hazel turned her gaze to the feline and studied her. If not this kitty, then…

  She snorted and straightened in her chair. “I hope you’re not talking about picklehead Polly. I’m sorry sweet lady, but your owner is horrendous.”

  The black cat hissed, and Hazel sat back in surprise.

  She’s a friend.

  Mr. Kitty’s words came through loud and clear.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  She’s a friend.

  A knock on the door signaling her package had arrived saved her from further harassment. She slammed the book shut, stepped over the cats, and hurried toward the door.

  A freckle-faced kid who couldn’t be older than seventeen stood with a smile on his face. “Delivery for Ms. Hardy.”

  She smiled. “That would be me.”

  She signed the delivery receipt, tipped the kid and closed the door.

  Her very first truth candle.

  She shivered. Not that she hadn’t witnessed them in use before, but this was the first time as an adult that she would manage one all on her own. The first time she’d make the sacrifice.

  She cleared the pot of parsley she had growing in the center of her table and sat down.

  A month of her life. Olivia had been willing to sacrifice the slice of time to see if Hazel told the truth.

  Didn’t seem like a lot when Hazel had first thought of it, either, but what if the required month of her life was time she could have spent hugging and kissing Peter. Or holding grandbabies if she ever ended up having children? Or just setting in the springtime sunshine anticipating the new life that would sprout from the earth?

  This wasn’t a decision to take lightly.

  But it was worth Anya’s life. If she was innocent, then Hazel would be relentless in the pursuit of the real killer, and she’d be able to look Anya directly in the eye and tell her as much. It might make the difference in Anya wanting to stick around.

  She unwrapped the candle and set the stubby column of beeswax in front of her. Her mother had been thoughtful enough to include a small package of wooden matches. As if Hazel wouldn’t know not to use a lighter or other method for the flame.

  She sensed movement in the room and expected to feel the brush of Clarabelle as she passed. Instead, she found Mr. Kitty watching from the doorway into the living room with Sorcha crouched near him.

  “Come to watch, huh?”

  He released two short meows followed by a longer one.

  She chuckled. “I have no idea what that means, but I hope you’re not trying to tell me I’ll blow up the house if I use it.”

  He only stared.

  She shrugged. He did seem to like to watch her create magic, so she’d chalk it up to that. Though she hadn’t realized she’d be performing to an audience.

  Hazel inhaled a cleansing breath and focused on one question. Was Anya innocent of Isaac’s murder?

  She recalled Anya’s face, the first day they’d met when Anya had still been happy. The look of terror in her eyes when she’d told Hazel of finding Isaac’s body in the street. The look of desperation when she’d begged Hazel to toss the gun back into the river.

  She replayed these and many others until they saturated her brain.

  Then with a reverence, she slid the red end of the match along the side of the box. Fire burst forth on the tip and the scent of sulfur filled the air.

  “Blessed Mother, I ask of thee to reveal the truth and set it free. Give me the knowledge that I seek. Let the truth be known, so mote it be.”

  She held the small flame to the already-burnt wick until the fire took hold. Thoughts of when her mother might have needed to use it threatened to break into her mind, but she held them at bay.

  “Anya. Only Anya,” she whispered repeatedly until she was of one mind once again.

  She focused on the flickering flame. “Tell me, Fire of Truth. Did Anya murder Isaac? If so, please extinguish.”

  The flame jumped wildly as though a wind threatened to blow it out. Black smoke rose from the wick, but then the candle settled and remained lit.

  “She’s innocent,” she whispered. Gratitude and relief poured through her.

  A second later, though, Hazel realized Anya might not have meant to kill Isaac, but she might be accidentally responsible for his death. “Tell me, Fire of Truth. Did Anya bring about his death in any other way? If so, please extinguish.”

  The candle repeated its frantic dance but remained burning.

  Okay, then. She truly was innocent.

  Hazel owed Anya a huge apology and all the support she could give her. Somewhere out there was the murderer, and she would learn who that was.

  She inhaled a breath to blow out the candle and then paused.

  Most of the stub had burned down, but she expected she still had time for a few more questions. Since she’d already donated a month of her life to light the candle, she might as well get good use from it.

  She smiled. “Does Peter love me?”

  Nothing happened.

  Then she chastised herself. She’d forgotten the mother-may-I-part.

  “Tell me, Fire of Truth. Does Peter love me? If he does not, please extinguish.”

  The flames gyrated with intensity and burned brighter than before.

  She smiled. “I love him, too.”

  She paused to consider what else she might like to ask. She wished more than anything she could ask it for answers other than yes or no. Like who were her true enemies in town? Who could she trust?

  “Tell me, Fire of Truth. Is Cora a true friend? If no, please extinguish.”

  A warm glow filled her when the flame remained.

  She’d believed it in her heart, but it was ni
ce to have the confirmation.

  “Tell me, Fire of Truth. Is Timothy Franklin a true enemy? If no, please extinguish.”

  A slight pop filled the air, and the flame vanished like it had never existed. No trail of smoke like when she’d blown out birthday candles. No nothing.

  She widened her eyes as she stared at the puddle of nearly melted wax. There wasn’t much left of the candle but certainly enough that it hadn’t died because of lack of wick.

  Still…

  Timothy was not her true enemy?

  How could that be?

  Hazel pondered that thought as she traversed the distance between her house and Anya’s. She’d been certain she’d be visiting her in the hospital, but when she called Margaret to learn where Anya had been taken, she’d learned they’d released her a day later.

  Seemed wrong to her.

  Margaret had assured her that people from the church were assigned to check on Anya regularly. Hazel hoped they would.

  She knocked on the door and waited. A moment later, Anya opened it, and Hazel was shocked to see her friend looking terribly gaunt and frail.

  Instead of greeting her with words, Hazel stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Anya, holding her in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you,” Anya said through a muffled sob.

  Hazel pulled from her and caught her gaze. “I want you to know that I believe you one hundred percent that you didn’t kill Isaac. And I’m determined to do whatever it takes to make sure everyone knows you’re innocent and to find the true killer. I can promise you that Peter and the police will do the same.”

  Anya nodded. “I hope so.”

  Hazel glanced about the darkened living room. Most of the light that filled it came from the open front door. “Could I convince you to come stay with me for a few days? My kitty and I would love the company. It gets kind of lonely out here on the fringes of town.”

  Anya studied her with a hesitant look.

  “I mean it. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and I really would love to have you stay. I have a guest bedroom that’s never enjoyed a guest. If you need anything from home or get the sudden urge to paint, you’re right next door. Please. I would feel so much better.”