It was my first time visiting the Wisteria Museum. Zoey had been there already on a school field trip, but she hadn’t seen the new exhibit featuring artifacts from ancient Egypt. The showpiece was a 13-carat emerald worth over a million dollars. Due to the value of the emerald, the Egyptian exhibit had extra security, and the museum staff allowed only a dozen people at a time in to view.
We arrived shortly after the museum opened for the day, and there was already a long line to get into the Egyptian exhibit. Zoey and I joined the line.
A little girl of about eight stood in front of us in the line. She stared up at my red-haired daughter in wonder. The girl touched her own dark-blonde hair self-consciously, as though wondering if she might be able to change her hair color and grow up to be as lovely as Zolanda Daizy Cazzaundra Riddle.
I saw my daughter in a new light, through the little girl’s admiring eyes. Zoey had a heart-shaped face with a broad forehead and a pointed chin. Her quick-moving, bright hazel eyes were fringed with thick eyelashes the color of caramel. Her skin was fair and baby-soft, her lips full and naturally deep pink. Her light-brown freckles were, in my opinion, perfectly sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Her hair was red and thick, falling past her shoulders but not by much. She was average height for her age, and her narrow waist always attracted the envious gaze of older women if she wore her shirts tucked in. That day she wore a loose-fitting, peasant-style blouse with threadbare denim shorts. I didn’t think much of that particular outfit—it was a bit monotone and dreary for my taste—but the little girl in line ahead of us stared up at Zoey in naked admiration. Worship, almost.
The little girl’s mother noticed her daughter staring and pulled the girl closer to her side. The mother confided to me, “Your daughter is such a lovely young woman. My little Rebecca thinks all redheads are mermaids.” She patted Rebecca on the head.
“I was a mermaid once,” I said, more to the little girl than to her mother. “I found a secret journal at the bottom of the sea.”
The mother laughed merrily. “Isn’t that wonderful,” she said, and then turned to greet someone else in the line.
Zoey said to me, “Sweet kid.” She sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure coming on opening weekend was such a good idea. This line’s not even moving.”
“We could always come back here after hours when it’s not so crowded.”
“After hours?”
I grinned. “They might have high security in place, but there’s no such thing as a truly locked door to some of us.” I wiggled my fingers suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”
She elbowed me. “Mom! You’re supposed to be teaching me values, not corrupting my young mind.”
I shrugged. “I blame Ribbons. He’s a bad influence on the whole household. Remember, he wanted me to go into that apartment this morning. He was practically begging me to.”
“I believe it. He loves stirring up trouble. And he always looks guilty.”
“He does look guilty! It must be the black eyes, combined with the lack of eyebrows.” I rubbed my own eyebrows. “He’s got those ridges over his eyes that are eyebrow-like, but when they smooth out, he looks shocked, like you just caught him in the middle of a crime.”
“I think he’s up to something we know nothing about.”
“Charlize said the same thing.” Charlize was my gorgon friend who worked for the DWM—the Department of Water and Magic. That was the local secret underground organization. They supposedly kept an eye on supernatural disturbances so the townspeople of Wisteria didn’t find out magic was real, or that monsters lurked everywhere.
Zoey leaned out, surveying the lineup in front of us. “I think we’ll be here a while,” she said. “Want me to get you a snack from the cafe?”
“Bless your heart. I thought you’d never ask. It’s been at least an hour since I last ate.”
She grinned and held out her hand for money.
“Just a coffee,” I said. “Unless there are some pastries that look edible.”
“You set a really high bar, Mom.”
“Nothing but the best for the Riddle family.” I winked at her. “And get a little somethin’ for yourself.”
She made grabby fingers, indicating she’d need more money. I handed over my whole wallet with a shrug. I trusted her. We often joked that my wallet was probably safer with her, anyway.
After Zoey left, a woman with four children in tow joined the line behind me. Her kids were chatting away happily about seeing the Egyptian emerald, telling each other about the magical powers it had. At the mention of magic, they had my full attention. I turned to look them over. Uh-oh. I quickly rotated back, angling my body away before the mother could see my face.
I knew the woman, and not in a good way. Bentley had mentioned her name: Margaret Mills. She was the rhinoceros woman with gray frizzy hair who’d chewed me out last month for allegedly wearing fur. It had actually been my father, in fox form, not a fur wrap. The bossy woman and I had also bumped into each other again at the mini golf course. That interaction had not gone well, either.
Margaret Mills had taken a dislike to me from the minute she’d set eyes on me. It felt personal, almost as though she was jealous. Jealous of what, I couldn’t guess. My gorgeous red hair? I peered over out of the corner of my eye. It was just Margaret and her four children. I didn’t see her frizzy-haired, boxy-headed husband with the group. The lucky guy had gotten to sit this one out, apparently.
While I was pondering what might have made Margaret Mills so cranky toward me, the second-youngest Mills child declared a bathroom emergency. A moment later, all five were gone in search of the restrooms. To my relief, some new people I didn’t know joined the line behind me.
The new people were a group of four women, about my age—thirty-two—or younger. One of them wore a new baby in a sling, and her three doting girlfriends seemed to be having a competition for Best Godmother. Seeing them together gave me a pang of loneliness. I’d been sixteen when Zoey was born, and I’d been so busy keeping us from being homeless that I hadn’t enjoyed carefree Saturdays at the museum with friends my age. Of course, there was no way of going back and changing things, not unless someone had invented a way to time travel, ha ha, so I was determined to make up for lost time now. And my social life was improving. I had many new friends at the library, plus I got along with a couple of agents at the DWM. Unfortunately, none of them were witches. The only witch in my life was my aunt, Zinnia. She would eventually have to introduce me to the members of her coven—her coven she denied having—but she kept delaying it, saying I needed more control over my powers.
For a witch, I was a late bloomer. I should have gotten my powers at sixteen, but due to circumstances—being pregnant with my daughter—the magic had stayed dormant. It hadn’t emerged until I was thirty-two and living in Wisteria. I’d been working hard to catch up. Over the last four months, I’d been diligently mastering the Witch Tongue and spellwork, but I still had so much to learn. My daughter had a better grasp on the language theory than I did, which was ironic, since her powers appeared to be limited to changing into a fox. She’d inherited the shifter gene from her grandfather, which made her a shifter, not a witch, but my intuition told me she was more than just a shifter. After all, her father was—
The baby I’d been staring at gave me a startled look and pointed a chubby finger at me accusingly.
I quickly turned away from the women and the know-it-all baby. He or she was probably a mind reader. We were in Wisteria, after all, a magnet for supernaturals.
The din of noise around me picked up volume. The museum was getting crowded and noisy. I scanned the center atrium for my daughter. She was talking to a prehistoric caveman. Or, rather, a teenaged boy dressed in a prehistoric caveman costume.
After zero internal debate about whether or not to violate my daughter’s privacy, I did so. I cast a spell that was relatively new to me.
The sp
ell was a sound tunnel. It was an inversion plus modification of the sound-bubble spell my aunt and I used regularly to protect ourselves from eavesdroppers in public spaces. While the sound bubble spell kept energy waves trapped inside, the sound tunnel directed it outward and straight to the eager ear of the casting witch.
“That costume looks pretty authentic,” Zoey was saying.
The boy’s name was Griffin Yates. He and I hadn’t met, but Zoey had mentioned him a few times in what she’d thought was a casual manner. Being her mother, I’d immediately picked up that he was her crush. I did the usual social media research. He appeared to be a regular teenager, but looks could be deceiving.
Griffin talked about his caveman costume. “It’s sort of authentic,” he said nonchalantly. “Some of the leather is real, but the fur is totally fake.” He put his hand to the side of his mouth and stage whispered, “We have to use a lot of cornstarch to prevent chafing.”
“Cornstarch is not very authentic,” Zoey agreed. “What’s that in your hair? Mud?”
“Chocolate pudding. At least I hope it’s chocolate pudding. I was posing for some photos this morning with families, and a little girl decided to share her snack with me.”
Zoey leaned in and sniffed Griffin’s hair. “It’s chocolate pudding,” she said.
“Phew.” He pretended to wipe his brow. “You must have a good sense of smell.”
“Why, thank you.” She struck a flirty pose with her shoulders bunched up. She moved her hands, holding the takeout coffee and pastries, down toward her knees. My daughter was flirting! My cheeks burned. I felt embarrassed for spying on her. Not enough to stop, though.
Griffin cracked a grin and glanced around. “I gotta get back to my cave. You should come see me after the Egypt display.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of missing the chance to see you in your native habitat.”
“Hey, if you’re not busy tonight, you should come with us to the beach.”
“Us?”
“The museum staff. We’re going to build a big bonfire and take some promo photos for the website. You could be in the pictures. I’ll get you a spare cavewoman dress.”
She took a step backward. “Thanks for the offer, but I need to help my mom with something tonight.” She nodded in my direction.
He turned his head and looked right at me. “That’s your mom? I thought she was your big sister.”
Zoey groaned. “Whatever you do, never tell her that. Promise.”
Griffin chuckled. “Your mom looks okay.” He frowned. “That’s weird. It looks like she can hear what we’re saying.”
Zoey whipped her head, locked eyes with mine, and shot me with daggers. “That is weird,” she said through gritted teeth. “It might look like she can hear every word we’re saying, but I’m sure it’s just an illusion. Like how the eyes in a painting seem to follow you. I’m sure she’s just zoned out thinking about something else.”
“If you say so.” Griffin backed away casually. “So, uh, let me know if you change your mind about tonight.”
She said goodbye and made a beeline straight for me.
When she reached me, I pretended to be surprised. “Back so soon? I was totally zoned out. You know how I am.”
“I thought we didn’t spy on each other.”
“In my defence, you were in a public space. I could have just as easily walked over there and heard everything. The only reason I didn’t was because I didn’t want to lose our spot in the line.”
“Were you using your new sound tunnel spell?”
I nodded. “My first time casting it without Aunt Zinnia’s help.”
She swished her lips from side to side, trying to decide how angry she ought to be.
“It worked perfectly,” I said.
She frowned. “It’s good to know it works. Promise you won’t listen in on me again, unless it’s an emergency.”
I held up one hand. “I promise.”
She handed me the coffee and a Danish in a waxy wrapper. “I don’t know why you had to listen in. You know I was going to tell you everything he said anyway.”
“I know. But look at all the time I saved you.”
She took a mouthful of her own Danish and chewed it thoughtfully.
I asked, “Why did you say no to the bonfire party? It sounds fun.”
“I don’t know. Does your mouth ever say no when your brain says yes?”
I gave her question just enough consideration to make my cheeks burn again. Last month at Castle Wyvern, I’d said no to the monster who called himself Archer Caine. It had been difficult for me to say no, because every cell in my body had wanted to say yes. I didn’t always win the yes-no struggle. I had made the mistake of saying yes on that fateful night seventeen years ago, and look where it had gotten me.
“Uh, Mom?” Zoey was giving me a concerned look. “Is everything okay in there?”
I licked my lips. There was no good time to talk to Zoey about her father, but the longer I waited, the worse it got. I would tell her soon.
“Let’s go somewhere special after we’re done here,” I said. “Anywhere you want. How about the fancy place where they serve high tea?”
She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’d like to treat you to a nice afternoon. Why’s that so suspicious?”
“High tea,” she said matter-of-factly. “That sounds like something you’d make fun of Auntie Z for being interested in.”
“True. But I would like to be somewhere extra-civilized while I talk to you about something important.”
“Like beheaded bodies and serial killers in our neighborhood?”
“Don’t worry. It’s got nothing to do with what I saw this morning. Nothing at all.” As I said the words, I realized I couldn’t be certain of that fact. Headless bodies could be connected to any number of monsters, including genies.
“Can I get a hint?” Her hazel eyes twinkled.
Just then, we were approached by a man in a gray suit. He was walking briskly and breathing heavily. It was Detective Theodore Bentley.
“Uh-oh,” I said under my breath.
Zoey saw the detective and whispered, “Is he here to get a statement?”
“My phone call was anonymous,” I said.
Bentley reached us. “There you are,” he said breathlessly. “I knew you had to be in here as soon as I saw your rusty bucket in the parking lot.”
“Rusty bucket?” I clutched my hand to my chest in mock indignation. “Her name is Foxy Pumpkin, and she’s rust-free, thank you very much.”
He gave Zoey a pained, apologetic look. “Miss Riddle, would you mind if I borrow your mother for a moment?”
She gave him a sweet smile and a shrug. “As long as you bring her back in one piece.”
One piece? “Ouch,” I said, thinking of the morning’s headless body. “Too soon.”
She wiped the smile off her face and nodded solemnly. “Too soon,” she agreed.
I walked off to talk privately with Bentley.
Chapter 5
Detective Theodore Bentley was dressed in his usual gray suit, minus the tie. He’d given in to the summer heat wave and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. Peeking out of his jacket pocket was the dark gray tie he must have removed earlier.
As we walked over to a quiet area of the museum atrium, Bentley scanned the crowd with his hooded, steely gray eyes. The police detective was classically handsome, like an Old Hollywood actor. He had a square face, prominent brow ridge, and hollow cheeks. His neck was muscular with a visible Adam’s apple. His lips were thin, as though all the bulk had been squashed out on purpose. His nose was thick, with a mild crookedness that suggested a history of being broken by a fist at least once. His hair was dark and lush, shot with streaks of silver, blossoming outward from the sharp point of a widow’s peak on his smooth forehead. His dark, bushy eyebrows were straight when he was relaxed and curved downward when he frowned. He was frowning as he stopped
walking and turned to face me.
“Tell me who did it,” he said.
“Who did what? Are you talking about the...” I used my finger to draw a straight line across my neck.
“No more games,” he said, his voice gruff and gravelly. “I know about all your ways, and I won’t be played for a fool. Not anymore.”
He seemed more cranky than usual. I still had my pastry in its bag, so I withdrew it now and waved the flaky roll under Bentley’s nose.
“I bet you’re hungry,” I said. “You probably got the call from dispatch at dawn, which means you’ve been on the case these last few hours. You could use more than a nibble, but you can start with this.”
He ignored the pastry and continued to stare at me with those steely gray eyes. He growled, “Zara.”
The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver through my spine. There was a strength to the detective I hadn’t seen before. There was cold fire in those hooded eyes, combustion in that voice.
I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “Theodore,” I said coolly. “Or should I say... Teddy B?” That was what my mother had called him last month at the castle, when they’d been dating—or whatever it was they’d been doing with each other. I suspected she’d been feeding on his blood, not the artificial serum she claimed sustained her undead state. Not that it was any of my business either way. Ew.
Bentley’s mouth crushed into a flat line. I stared into the detective’s cool, mercury-like eyes. The din of the crowd roared around us, sounding like a crashing waterfall.
“Call me Bentley,” he said. “Things haven’t changed that much.”
But things had changed. While the detective remained a mere human with no supernatural powers, he had recently found out about magic. He knew I was a witch who channelled ghosts, and yet he hadn’t yet figured out what my mother was.
“Eat the pastry,” I urged. “You know you want to.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m here on business.”
“Of course you are. I’m sorry I tried to offer you a delicious pastry. I didn’t mean to waste your time and be difficult.”
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 35