Witch

by Kirsten Weiss

  “Brayden?” I asked.

  He smiled easily, and my heart gave another quick lift. Brayden strode to me, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “Jayce,” he rumbled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said.

  “We ran into each other on the eastern trail,” Maya said.

  “And I found some old Victorian fixtures I thought you could use,” he told her. “A guy I know was doing a tear down and said I could take what I wanted as long as I did it today. None of the stuff works for my place, but I thought you might be able to use them. I hope it’s okay I’m dropping them by so late.”

  Maya stood on tiptoe and peered into the box. “Oooh! These are fantastic.” She withdrew a tarnished door knocker shaped like a roaring lion’s head.

  “Where do you want these?” he asked.

  I set down my glass.

  “Put them anywhere. Here’s fine.” She pointed to a spot by the fire. “Would you like a drink?”

  He set down the box and caught my eye. “I have an early shift tomorrow morning. I'd better not.”

  I tossed back my drink. “And so do I. Thanks for the martini, but I should head out.”

  Maya saw us to the door. “Bye you two!”

  In silence, Brayden and I walked down the porch steps and to the street.

  He nudged me. “You can't drink because you've got to get up early? Since when? I've seen you go straight from Antoine’s bar to Ground.”

  My neck stiffened. “I haven't done that in ages.”

  “You did it last month.”

  “Like I said, ages.”

  He laughed. “Whatever you say.”

  “Should I be jealous?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “You bringing another woman home improvement supplies.”

  He pulled me into his arms and kissed me roughly. “Are you jealous now?”

  “Not a bit.”

  Hand in hand, we walked in companionable silence past ramshackle Victorians.

  Finally, I blew out a breath. “Terry stopped by Ground today.”

  “She did?” His brows sketched upward. “How did she seem to you?”

  “She seemed…” I squeezed his rough hand. “I'm not sure how you're supposed to seem when your daughter was murdered, and your son-in-law is seeing someone new. Are you sure you want me at early Thanksgiving with you two?”

  “I can't lie to her. Pretending we're no big deal would be as good as a lie.”

  I sighed. No, he couldn't lie. It was one of the many reasons I loved him.

  “Look,” he said, “next time you want to go for a walk in the woods, invite me. They still haven't found whatever animal killed Alex.”

  “I don't think an animal killed Alex.”

  But I remembered the buck, and cold fingers trailed up my spine.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brayden walked me to Lenore’s shingle and stone house and gave me a lingering goodbye kiss on the porch. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hang around? I can walk you home later.”

  “You said you had an early morning,” I teased, tugging him closer.

  “Not that early.”

  “Because I’m such an amazing girlfriend, I’m going to let you go and get your beauty sleep.”

  He kissed me again, a kiss for my soul to sink into, his lips gentle on mine. I sighed. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He walked backward down the porch, and I let myself into Lenore’s house, waving as I shut the door.

  Lenore leaned against the wall and grinned. “Good night?”

  “It would have been better if he’d come home with me.” I pulled off my boots, hopping awkwardly and half-falling against the wall. “But you and I need to talk.”

  Explaining what had happened in the woods, I walked into the living room and dropped onto Lenore's soft ivory couch. My sister hadn’t changed much since she’d moved into our aunt’s house. The living room was a mix of Lenore’s furniture in Ellen’s color scheme: white rug, white furniture, blue-painted walls. Inside it, I felt like I was floating on clouds, insubstantial and insecure.

  “And you said you had a vision of the deer being killed?” Lenore sank gracefully into the white armchair, opposite me. Her blond hair spilled across the shoulders of her loose, ivory fisherman's sweater.

  “Not so much a vision.” I looked away, to our aunt's periwinkle witch ball. It rotated slowly in the darkened bay window. “More a knowing that it had happened,” I said. “I sensed it. I just knew.”

  One corner of her mouth slanted upward. “You usually do.” She tucked her long legs, ensconced in thick, white leggings, beneath her.

  “Something wasn't right about the buck’s death. It wasn't natural. Have you sensed anything?”

  She drummed her fingers on the wide arm of the chair. “Not like before.”

  “But something?” I insisted.

  Slowly, she nodded. “Something. It's like…” Her delicate hands rose, fluttered. “Like when you drop a stone into a pot full of water. The water overflows, and the stone doesn't belong. Have you told Karin?”

  I grimaced. “I'm not sure we should. She's getting her life back on track. I don't want her to go off the rails over this fairy business again.”

  “She'll ask. Karin will know something's up. And not knowing what it is will only make her crazier. Not that she was crazy before,” she added quickly.

  “Let’s call a spade a spade. She had post-partum depression. Thank God she had the sense not to tell the cops about her so-called trip to Fairyland.”

  “And now she thinks something's come through again.”

  I rose and walked to the window, crossing my arms. “We closed that door.”

  “But you think she might be right; it’s reopened, and something’s come through.”

  “I don't know what to think.” And I definitely didn't like playing Karin's usual role of rational skeptic. I was becoming my own buzz kill. “But yes, I'm sensing something. That doesn't mean it's from Fairy. There could be other things out there. We're witches. What if there are vampires or packs of werewolves?” I spun to face her. “What do you even call a pack of vampires?”

  “A thirst. A thirst of vampires.”

  “Really? That’s a thing?”

  She laughed. “I don't know. I made it up.”

  “Though what was done to Alex sounds more like the work of… zombies than vampires.” I rubbed my bottom lip. “What would you call them?”

  “A shamble.”

  “That's good.” I smiled, not really feeling it. “I overheard something at Candace's house, that the police think her husband was murdered. That implies something human at work. Could you ask Connor what he's heard?” Lenore was dating a local sheriff’s deputy, Connor Hernandez.

  She shifted on her chair. “I don't know. It isn't fair to take advantage of his position.”

  “Are you kidding? What’s the good of having a cop for a boyfriend if you can’t get help? This is exactly the time to take advantage. Besides, if there is something… not-quite human out there, he might be the one dealing with it. He should know.”

  Lenore paled. “All right. I'll tell him what we're thinking. But no promises.”

  I sat in the bay window and rubbed my palm across the bench’s rough, blue carpet. Lenore would find out about the changes to Mike’s place one way or another. Better she hear it from me. “I met the woman who bought Mike's house. Her name's Maya. She invited me in for a drink.”

  “I'm glad his niece and nephew were able to find a buyer. They were worried they wouldn’t be able to sell.”

  “They were horrible. Maya’s changed a lot inside, but she's trying to keep the Victorian look,” I said quickly. “A sort of modern Victorian.” I described what had once been the library.

  Lenore glanced around the living room. “Maybe she has the right idea.”

  I
frowned, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I haven't changed much here. It's been… comfortable. We grew up in this house, around Ellen's things. And now that she's gone, I haven't had the heart to change much. Maybe that's a mistake.”

  My brow scrunched. “You can't change it! I love this place.”

  “I know. I do too.”

  We were silent for a beat.

  “What are we going to tell Karin?” she asked.

  “For now? Nothing.”

  “Jayce—”

  I raised one shoulder in a shrug. “Let's figure out what we're dealing with first. She's got a baby and husband to manage.”

  She nodded, her expression grudging. “All right. For now. But if she finds out my boyfriend knows more about a potentially magical crime than she does—”

  “She'll flip her lid, I know. We'll just make sure she doesn't find out. How hard can that be? She's living in Angels Camp now.”

  Lenore walked me to the door.

  Dissatisfied, I ambled home past juniper bushes twinkling with fairy lights. An inflatable snowman sagged, swaying in the light breeze that jingled a distant windchime. I sniffed, the cold night air burning the insides of my nose.

  My footsteps sounded loudly in the narrow alley, and I caught myself straining my ears. I pushed beyond my aura, sending out an exploratory feel for whatever I’d sensed in the woods.

  The street lamp went out.

  Darkness swallowed the garbage bins, the high wall, the brick buildings. I reached into my basket for my headlamp and flicked it on, racing up the wooden stairs to my apartment.

  The new light flashed on above the door. On the landing, I turned, scanning the alley. Empty.

  I blew out my breath, the muscles in my neck and shoulders unraveling. Brayden had been right. The automatic light was an improvement.

  Unlocking the heavy door, I let myself in.

  Picatrix bounded to greet me and rubbed against my leg.

  I bent to pet the cat’s fur, the color of a cinder. “Hey, babe. Nice to see you too.”

  She trotted to her food bowl, beside the stove in my new open-plan kitchen.

  I laughed and opened a can of cat food. Her affection generally came with a price tag.

  The blue-black quartz counter top glittered like the night sky, and I ran my hand across its cool surface. My aunt Ellen's cast iron cauldron stood between the new stove and the metal sink. The cauldron was one of the few things I’d been able to salvage from the fire. An ache gripped my heart, and I blinked away tears. I still missed Ellen.

  Picatrix meowed, impatient.

  “All right, all right.” I forked the food into her bowl and tossed the can in the garbage beneath the sink.

  I ambled to my unmade bed and dropped onto the mattress. Tugging off my boots, I sighed and wiggled my toes. Heaven.

  I burrowed beneath an exotic, pink and yellow coverlet and extracted my laptop. Karin thought I was disorganized, but I knew exactly where all my stuff was… most of the time.

  While the computer booted up, I lay on my back and studied the skylight. If I turned off the light, I'd be able to see the stars. But that would mean getting up, and right now that seemed like too much effort.

  The cat leapt onto my bed and climbed atop my chest. I sat up, scooping Picatrix into my arms and dropping her onto the mattress. “Let's see what we can learn about our victim.”

  I searched for Alex Mansfield online. Once I got past the reports of his death, which told me nothing I didn't already know, I turned up an interview from two months ago.

  Doyle Times – August 15th

  By Tom Tarrant

  ALL IN A DAY'S WORK: UNEARTHING THE DISAPPEARED

  Alex Mansfield, a forensic scientist for the Doyle Sheriff's Department Crime Lab, doesn't look like the type of man to deal with murder. But he may be the key to unraveling the mystery of the Doyle Disappeared.

  Q: How can forensics tell us what happened to the Disappeared, where they've been all this time, and why they came back?

  Alex: [Laughs] I don't know that we can answer all that. But we can use DNA to confirm the identity of the people who've returned.

  Q: And have you been able to confirm their identities?

  Alex: It's a long process. We're by no means finished, but in many cases, yes. We can compare the returnee's DNA to that of their living family members, and in some cases, to original DNA of the person who disappeared themselves.

  Q: You have that?

  Alex: In some of the more recent cases, yes. We have evidence that was gathered at the time of their disappearance along with trace DNA.

  Q: What has it been like for you, personally? You're dealing with families whom in some cases, haven't seen their loved ones for years. Now it's up to you to prove the truth.

  Alex: I admit, it can sometimes get emotional. But in the end, the truth is what people need.

  Q: You said it's a process. How long do you think it will take to work through all the DNA evidence?

  Alex: We're a small department, and this isn't my only task. There are ongoing crimes that have to take precedence. But I think we'll be through it all by the beginning of next year.

  Q: But that's months! How are the families dealing with the wait?

  Alex: They're doing the best they can. It's all any of us can do.

  I ran my thumb along the edges of the laptop’s keypad. When the Disappeared had returned, Doyle didn't exactly get a happily ever after. Karin's sister-in-law had returned, but she'd never really come back. An indefinable piece of her had been left behind.

  Little wonder families had questions about their returned relations. DNA evidence must have been a huge relief for many – confirmation that their loved ones were indeed home.

  I shifted on the bed, knocking an orange throw pillow to the floor.

  And then there was Karin. She wasn’t officially a Returned, but if what she’d told us was true… I shook my head. It was a big if. And Karin’s paranoia and obsessiveness didn’t help her case.

  I thought of the presence I'd sensed in the woods, and my fists clenched. Doyle. It always came back to this town. Could Karin possibly be right? You’re not paranoid if someone really is out to get you.

  My blood chilled. If something had come through, was it here for Karin? Had Karin…? Could she be the cause of the disturbance? Had she opened the door last summer? Not intentionally, but—

  My cell phone rang, and I startled. I dug it from my purse on the striped throw rug and checked the screen. Lenore.

  “Jayce,” she said, “I talked to Connor. The paper is publishing this tomorrow, so I can tell you now. Alex Mansfield died from a gunshot wound, not an animal attack.”

  “He was shot?”

  “It was murder, ordinary, human murder. And the weapon was a shotgun. Though for now, the police are just calling the death suspicious.”

  “But… that doesn't make sense.” I scooted against the carved headboard, bolted to the wall. “What about the animal attack?”

  “Connor says they think the animal attack happened post-mortem, after Alex was killed.”

  I tried to wrap my brain around that. Was there something supernatural involved in Alex’s death or not?

  “An animal or animals must have smelled the blood and found Alex’s body. If his back door was open—”

  “Was the door open?” I asked sharply.

  “I don't know, but if it was, maybe that’s how the animal got inside. Murder followed by animal predation is the story that makes sense.” She sighed. “But the fact is, this is Doyle.”

  “Why did you have to go there? Don't tell me you're on Team Karin now, seeing fairies behind every tree stump?”

  “No, but… Do you really feel that Doyle is like other places? It's changed since we closed the door, but there's still something about this town.”

  “Yeah,” I said heavily. “There is.” The town had changed. Karin had c
hanged too. We all had. “So, bottom line is, we still can’t be positive that there wasn’t anything supernatural about his death.”

  “We know there was foul play,” she said. “Should we tell Karin that? It will put her mind at ease.”

  My fingers curled. “Even though there may be more to Alex’s death?”

  She hesitated. “We don’t know anything. But—”

  “We need to make certain,” I said. Because deep down I knew what I'd experienced in the woods. I knew what I'd sensed in my café. And I knew that this wasn't a simple murder.

  A malignant force was in Doyle, and this wasn't over.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I followed the muffled thump of music to Antoine’s old-west bar. Warmth and laughter flowed through its batwing doors, but my footsteps dragged. Maybe Brayden and I could ditch our usual Friday night at Antoine’s, drive to Reno or Sacramento or at least Angels Camp?

  My boots clunked hollowly on the wooden steps, and I stopped to wiggle my ankles. The pain from the other night’s fall was gone, and I stepped up my pace. Two heat lamps stood sentry outside. I pushed through the swinging doors and scanned the raucous Friday night crowd for Brayden.

  Paper holiday cut-outs, like something out of a school room, decorated the walls. Strands of chili-pepper lights twined among the bottles behind the bar, reflecting off the mirrored wall behind them. But no Brayden.

  My feet ached from my new, heeled boots, and I shifted my weight. I probably shouldn’t have worn the boots to work today, but I hadn’t been able to resist their slinky blue leather.

  My gaze rested on a booth.

  The tourist couple I’d seen outside the bookstore sat, unspeaking, two untouched beers on their table. The woman wore the same nineteen-forties-style, emerald green suit I’d first seen her in.

  The man wore the identical old-fashioned, brown-checked jacket with a sand-colored waistcoat beneath. A gold pocket watch dangled from one of the buttons. His hair was stark white, but he couldn’t have been much older than me.

  As one, their heads swiveled, their unblinking gazes locking onto mine.

  Unnerved, I broke the staring contest first and walked across the sawdust-covered floor to the bar.