Witch

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Witch Page 14

by Kirsten Weiss


  The bartender shot me a startled glance, and I grimaced.

  I needed to learn more about what happened to David and Wharton.

  The volume in the restaurant slowly returned to normal, a low clatter of silverware and rumble of voices. I exhumed my phone from my purse and called Nick.

  “Jayce? Is everything all right?”

  I smiled. “Am I that big of a disaster? Why would you think something’s wrong?”

  “No offense,” he said, “but I’m not usually on your call list. We're not plotting Karin’s birthday gift, because you three just had yours, and Christmas is over a month away. What's going on?”

  I braced an elbow on the bar. “You've caught me. I was hoping for some legal information.”

  “Oh?” he asked, voice wary.

  I explained about Eclectus and the hazing incident. “He said the statute of limitations had passed, implying he had nothing to be worried about. Was he telling the truth?”

  “It depends on the circumstances. If he lied to the police about a crime – and we don't know if this so-called hazing was a crime or not – then it could theoretically affect his legal practice. Lawyers aren't supposed to commit perjury. Then again, it would depend on if he was a minor when this happened, what the laws were at the time… This is all pretty vague, Jayce.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Well, thanks. It's good to have another lawyer in the family.”

  “Let's hope no one needs me again.” Nick laughed lightly.

  I made a face. He hadn’t meant anything by it, but I wasn’t proud that I’d used his services as a criminal attorney in the past.

  On the other hand, my legal troubles had brought him and Karin together. There’s always a bright side.

  “Have you talked to Karin lately?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “This business in Doyle has made her kind of tense. But I think what's really getting to her is feeling cut off from you and Lenore.”

  “She's not cut off,” I said quickly.

  “I know. She feels guilty about what happened last summer—”

  “Why should she feel guilty? We were the ones who didn't believe her about what was going on. She was right about everything.” As usual. It was kind of annoying. “And she made it home.”

  “Right. But she does feel bad, and… let's just say she's treading very carefully, and she's worried about you and Lenore.”

  And in trying to keep Karin safe, we'd been making her feel isolated. I blew out my breath. I’d thought Karin and I had gotten through this. Apparently, that was just one more relationship I didn’t understand. “Okay. I hear ya. I'll call her tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  We said our goodbyes and hung up.

  How had life gotten so complicated? My maybe-crazy-maybe-not sister. The murders.

  Brayden.

  Tears blurred my vision, and I took a hasty sip of the cabernet.

  I could do complicated. But I couldn't think of Brayden right now.

  I finished my pasta and walked to Angela and David's unlit ranch house. Extending my senses, I probed for that malevolence I'd felt before. But I sensed nothing but cold air and wood smoke.

  I raised my hand, parallel to the ground where we’d buried a ward. My palm hummed with magic.

  Sighing, I let my head drop back and stared at the stars. The protection Lenore and I had set was working after all, probably because of Lenore’s magic. But hey, I’d been the one to bring her here, so maybe I'd done something right this week.

  I turned and trudged down the sidewalk, toward home.

  A garage door rattled up in the house beside Angela’s. A burly man walked into the driveway and unrolled a string of Christmas lights. He glanced at me. “Howdy.”

  “Hi.” I paused in front of his picket fence.

  “You probably shouldn't be out here.” He glanced at Angela's house. “There's a wild animal loose. I'm not letting my kids out of my sight until the damn thing's caught.”

  “I don't blame you.” I hesitated. Did I still want to dig into this after everything that had happened? But detecting was easier than dwelling on my broken love life. “I heard it's been attacking during the day, though. There haven’t been any nighttime attacks.”

  “Not yet. Daytime attacks probably mean it's sick, maybe has rabies. And that means it's unpredictable. You can't count on being safe at night.”

  “No, I guess not.” I nudged a small pinecone with my boot. “Did you know David well?”

  “He drove me nuts with that damn music, but my own kids will be annoying teenagers soon enough. I guess I need to get used to it.”

  “Angela must have been patient with him.”

  He snorted. “If you think that, you don't know Angela. Those two fought like cats and dogs.” He unraveled a string of lights, laying them flat on the driveway. “But who can blame them? She never expected to be a parent to her own brother, and God only knows what David went through. Wherever he was all those years, that kid was never the same.”

  “Did you know him? Back then?”

  He shook his head. “Not well. He was one of the cool kids, and I was a band nerd.”

  I smiled. “Well. Happy Holidays.”

  He grunted a farewell.

  I walked down the lonely street.

  I couldn’t go home. Not yet. I had a crime to solve and a monster to vanquish.

  I called my sisters.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I collapsed on Lenore's fluffy white sofa. “This can’t be happening.” I tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  Karin handed me a cup of tea and dropped onto the cushion at the opposite end of the couch. “I can't believe it either.” She adjusted the collar of her navy turtleneck. “What is Brayden thinking? Could he be doing this because of Terry?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” But our breakup couldn’t have only been about Terry’s presence. There had to be more.

  My throat squeezed tighter. Had I not let Brayden know how much I loved him? Had I let him know too much? I looked away, blinking back a sudden rush of angry tears.

  Lenore drifted into the living room. She sat in a soft, ivory-colored wingchair and curled her legs beneath her. “I thought Brayden was past feeling guilty.” She tugged the hem of her oversized fisherman’s sweater over the knees of her leggings.

  “He was.” I rubbed my chilled fingers against the cushion. “Mostly. Their marriage was on fumes when Alicia died, and I don't think he ever really forgave himself for that. But that wasn't because of me.” Or had it been? I'd told myself Brayden and Alicia hadn't drifted apart because of me, that it had been long in the making.

  I stared at my socks. The fact was, I had been there. And even if the way Brayden and I had felt about each other had gone unspoken and unacted upon, our desire had lain between us.

  I groaned and put my head in my hands. “Oh, God. I was the other woman.”

  “Bull,” Karin said.

  “But don't you see—”

  “I see that a lot of strange things are happening in Doyle, and suddenly Terry shows up and Brayden breaks up with you by text. Text!” She dug into the massive purse on the carpet and pulled out her computer tablet. “Who is she really anyway? What's her last name again?”

  “Moreno.” I pretended to adjust the ivory pillow behind my back, to be cool. But I was far from cool. I wanted there to be an explanation. I could fix it if there was an explanation. And I knew exactly how pathetic that hope was.

  “Moreno. Got it,” Karin muttered.

  Lenore rolled her eyes. “I'm not sure obsessing on this is healthy—”

  “I’m not obsessing.” If I said it enough, it might come true.

  “Okay,” Lenore said, “you’re mourning, which is natural. But we have bigger problems.”

  “Right.” I blew out my breath. “The thing in the woods.”

  “Oh, damn,” Karin said. “Terry doesn’t have a
ny social media accounts. Who isn’t on social media? That in itself is suspicious.”

  Lenore scratched her fingertips on the arm of her chair, making scritching sounds. “Are you feeling all right, Karin? You were the one who insisted these murders were something more.”

  “And they are,” she said, not looking up from her computer.

  “So maybe we shouldn’t be dwelling on Jayce's love life?”

  “We’re not dwelling, and Jayce isn’t obsessing,” she said fiercely. “The breakup just happened. I could see the ties between Jayce and Brayden. They were real.”

  My heart constricted. I had to get it together, to stop thinking about what was and focus on what is. “Lenore's right.”

  “Oh, hey,” Karin said. “Here’s something. Terry leads a sort of goddess group. Empowering women… The goddess Isis, Brigitte, the Virgin Mary – is the Virgin Mary a goddess?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Oh, Hecate too. People did some serious cursing in that goddess’s name.”

  “So, Terry likes goddesses,” I said. “This is California. None of that is suspicious.”

  “In your opinion,” Karin said.

  Lenore grimaced, drumming her fingers on the arm of the wingchair.

  Karin’s fingers flew across the tablet’s screen. “And… that’s it.”

  “Good,” I said, throat tight, “because I think I'd rather talk about the murders.”

  Karin looked up, and her face creased. “I'm sorry. Of course. Whatever you want.”

  “What do we know about the victims?” I asked, brusque.

  Karin tapped on her screen. “There's an article about Alex Mansfield and DNA testing the Returned.”

  “I've read it,” I said.

  “Here's something about David's disappearance,” she said. “It's in the newspaper archives section. Actually, there are quite a few articles…” She whistled. “Foul play suspected…” She handed me the tablet, and I read aloud.

  FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED IN THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DAVID SENATOR

  An anonymous source at the Doyle High School has confirmed rumors of hazing on the varsity wrestling team. The source pointed to a hazing incident as a possible cause of David Senator's disappearance. The Doyle Sheriff's Department is pursuing this lead.

  “It's a thing,” this reporter's source said. “Tying wrestlers up in the woods and leaving them overnight. It was just David's turn.”

  The search for David Senator is ongoing.

  Lenore scratched the sole of her foot through her thick gray socks. “Those woods get cold at night. Someone could die of exposure. What an awful thing to do.”

  “But it explains a lot,” I said. “Angela told me David blamed some of the guys from his high school for what happened to him – including Eclectus, Alex and Wharton. If they left him in the woods overnight, and then he vanished, they were partially responsible. I would have been pissed off at them too.”

  “You wouldn't have sent threatening letters,” Karin said.

  “Yeah, but I would have done something.” Do no harm, but take no crap was my motto

  “Okay,” Lenore said. “And now Alex, his wife, and David are dead. Is that the link? The hazing in the woods?”

  I scrunched my forehead, glad to have something else to think about beside Brayden. “It doesn't make much sense, does it? Alex was killed first. Why? Revenge for what he'd done to David? Then who killed David and Alex's wife?”

  “Maybe there's more to that hazing incident than we know,” Karin said. “Maybe Eclectus or Wharton are killing people to cover it up? What if Candace was killed because she knew too much? Alex must have told her something about what had happened.”

  “Candace implied she did know more,” I said slowly.

  “So that's it,” Lenore said. “With Alex and Candace dead, we're left with Eclectus and Wharton as suspects. What can you find out about them, Karin?”

  She typed onto her tablet, shook her head. “It's all society page stuff. Puff pieces.”

  Lenore arched a pale brow. “Doyle has a society page?”

  “After a fashion,” Karin said. “You know what I mean, who's who at events. Eclectus at the local Lion's Club, the expansion of Wharton's saw mill…”

  “Wharton had crows around him,” I said abruptly.

  Lenore shook her head. “I don't know what it is about you two and crows—”

  “They attacked me once,” I said. Crows were bad omens for me, and I wasn’t going to discount bad omens – not in Doyle.

  Karin's mouth thinned.

  “But sometimes a bird is just a bird, you know?” Lenore shook her head, her long blond hair cascading in a waterfall about her shoulders. “And I like crows.”

  “Crows remember,” Karin said darkly.

  “Speaking of which...” I shifted on the white couch. “I met this weird couple the other day, Mrs. Raven and Mr. O’Hare. Have you seen them? They like to dress in vintage clothes?”

  “No,” Karin said. “Why? Do you think they’re connected to the murders?”

  “No, but… there’s just something odd about them.”

  Karin rolled her eyes. “Odd compared to the bikers and UFO hunters and—”

  “Point taken,” I said, smiling. “New topic. Monster in the woods. What is it?”

  “Well,” Lenore said, “it doesn't seem to have been killing anyone. According to Connor – and you didn't hear this from me or him — all the victims were shot. That implies human agency.”

  “But whatever it is, it’s been there, messing up the crime scene,” Karin said. “It's connected somehow.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “It seems more like scavenger behavior,” Lenore said. “Maybe the creature’s drawn to blood or violence—”

  “To violence.” I shuddered, remembering the feel of that thing watching us.

  “And it eats human flesh.” Karin tapped the tablet's screen.

  “What exactly are you searching for?” I asked, curious.

  “Fairies that eat people.”

  “Can we be sure that it’s something from Fairy?” Lenore asked.

  Karin looked up and glared.

  “Just playing devil's advocate.” Lenore raised her hands defensively.

  “Whatever it is, it must have come through the door to Fairy.” Karin's jaw set stubbornly. “What else could it be?”

  “We’re guessing it came through,” Lenore said. “Yes, we know there’s a door. And yes, we believe you once physically went through it. But that doesn’t mean other things are coming through.”

  “Ooh!” Karin wriggled on the couch. “There's a top ten list of fairies that eat people.”

  “Ten?” I asked weakly. Ten?

  “Vampire fairy…” Karin clawed her hand through her hair, leaving a tuft of auburn bangs sticking straight up. “No, not messy enough. A sexy man fairy that kills women – doesn't fit the profile—”

  “Great,” I said, trying not to laugh at Karin’s rooster hair. “We're profiling killer fairies.”

  “Welsh fairies that eat children, no… a fairy that kills people in the bathroom, no… Oooh!” Karin bolted upright. “The Fachan is a scaly, hairy monster that clubs people to death and is highly territorial. That's a possible. The Slaugh drops people from great heights to kill them, so that's a no. Killer mermaids, no. Red Caps – murderous, unstoppable, like to dismember. I think we have another possible. The Ankou is the fairy personification of death — too elegant. And then a killer storm fairy, which again is a no.”

  “I really don't like that there are so many deadly fairies out there,” I said, uncrossing and recrossing my legs.

  “And most on this list don’t fit our profile,” Karin said.

  “And none feel quite right,” I said.

  “The Red Cap sounded like the best fit,” Lenore said. “What do you think?” she asked me.

  “I’m trying hard not to,” I said and glanced at the ceiling, tow
ard the attic and our aunt's private space. “I don't suppose there's anything up there that might help?”

  “Like Fairy Monsters for Dummies?” Karin raised a brow. But it’s tough to look imperious with vertical bangs.

  “Sorry,” she continued, “there’s nothing like that in the family book of shadows. In the past, the only monster our ancestors worried about was the one who'd cursed Doyle, and she's gone.”

  Silence filled the room, and I glanced sidelong at Karin. After her “trip” to Fairy last summer, she’d assured us the queen was still there, on her throne. But things could change. Things had changed.

  “I hate to say this,” I said, “but I think we need to do more in-depth research than a top-ten list off the Internet.”

  Lenore sighed. “I'll hit the books.” As a book dealer, Lenore had gotten a good start collecting materials on local folklore and the occult.

  Karin's hazel eyes lightened. “I'll help.”

  I smothered a smile. Karin had been itching to get her hands on those rare books.

  I took the tablet from my sister. “And I’ll look for more top-ten lists.” Murderous fairy research beat thinking about my love life.

  But of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I rubbed my eyes at my kitchen table, notepad open before me, the beginnings of a Go Home spell scrawled on the yellow paper.

  That morning, I’d worked a gratitude ritual to get me out of my funk. By the afternoon, I’d cleaned my apartment – rosemary for purification and vinegar for protection. But magic couldn’t heal the strip Brayden had torn from my heart.

  Outside the window, a wind blew gusts of snow down the street. It had fallen last night, after I’d returned from Lenore’s and coated the east side of Doyle. Main Street’s double-yellow line was our unofficial snowline, the west side of the pavement black and glossy, the east side shimmering white.

  On the other side of the street, a three-inch pile of white lay pressed against the steps of the raised sidewalk. Snow frosted the tops of the false-fronted shops, dusted the wrought-iron railings, powdered the wreaths rattling against the doors.

 

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