Third Witch's the Charm

by Valia Lind

  "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Peachy keen, jellybean. I'll be back."

  Then I stand and bolt out of the room as inconspicuously as I can manage.

  13

  I head for the bathrooms once more. These people are about to think I have a real bladder problem. But it's the only place I can think of where I can talk to Birdie without people also thinking I need to be locked up.

  When I slip inside, Birdie is already sitting on the counter.

  “Did you have to claw at me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

  “Yes. You don't pay attention to anything when Dean is around.”

  I—I'm not sure how I feel about a cat noticing such a thing. Note to self, be a little more discreet around prying eyes.

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” I say.

  "Of course not," Birdie replies, and seriously, having this conversation with a cat is crazier than me having magic.

  "What did you find?" I sigh, because I think she's going to argue with me for the rest of the night if I let her. She gives me a look—this cat is way too expressive—before raising a paw to give it a thorough cleaning. I try not to fidget, waiting her out, but I can't help it.

  "Really now?"

  "Patience, witch."

  "I need buckets of it when dealing with you."

  I really truly thought we were getting to be friends—almost, after the last fiasco. She's been helping me after all. But no. This cat is here to drive me mad.

  "Anyway," Birdie says, placing her paw back down on the counter. "The detective didn't leave any files laying around in the interview room."

  "You could've just told me that in the ballroom."

  "But—" Birdie narrows her eyes at my interruption. "He has checked himself into one of the rooms upstairs, and there, he does keep his files."

  Of course, that makes sense. All his suspects are here, why would he leave? It's true that the killer could've left before I found the body, but it seems like that's not the case if the detective is sticking around. There also has to be a way Detective Ames could tell the killer is still here, and now I'm wondering what information he's not sharing. Well, at this point, he's not sharing anything.

  "You're welcome," Birdie says, breaking through my thoughts. I focus on her.

  "Thank you, Birdie. Now, which room is his?"

  The cat glares again, as if my thanks weren’t good enough, but she replies, "1507."

  "1507? The house has that many rooms?"

  "No. But all the rooms start with 15."

  Birdie jumps down from the counter and heads for the door, staring at it expectedly. When I don't open it right away, she looks over at me.

  "Hold on." I hurry to flush the toilet and then wash my hands before I shut the light off and open the door. I step out first before I feel Birdie's fur brush against my legs. When I look back down, she's gone. I will never admit it to her, but she's been extremely helpful. I turn back toward the ballroom, my mind racing over possibilities.

  Now would probably be the best time to head upstairs and find room 1507. But I need to make sure I know where the detective is first. When I step into the ballroom, the tables have been all but removed. Beds are being set up in their places. I scan the crowd, but I don't see my friends or the detective. Making my way back out, I head for the main foyer, and I spot him before I step out of the hallway. He's on the opposite end, talking to Priscilla. My friends are there too, near the staircase, in the perfect position to see the front door and the stairs heading up. I smile to myself. It was probably Finn's idea because he's just as cautious about seeing all the exits as I am.

  The next problem is how to get upstairs without being noticed. I step back into the shadows of the hallway, thinking over my options. Then, it clicks. The kitchens. There’s the main one and a smaller one to the side. There has to be a staircase in there for the food to be brought up. In an old house such as this, there are probably multiple servant passageways from the olden days. I just need to find one.

  Hoping no one notices my absence, I head toward the kitchens. The place is busy with activity, just like the rest of the house, as everyone prepares for the storm. It's not the first time one of these showed up unannounced. They even mention it in their brochure, just to make sure people are prepared.

  I watch a few people coming in and out and then I notice the door at the back. No one pays me any attention when I sneak around people and to the door. It opens suddenly, and I step to the side, holding it.

  "Thanks!" one of the women says as she carries in a tray, not sparing me a glance.

  "You're welcome," I reply before heading through the open doorway. The hallway is small and there are stairs going up and down. Without hesitation, I go up, hoping I don't run into anyone else. Luck must be on my side because I don't. When I reach the second landing, there's a door there. I push it open carefully. I find myself in a small room with countertops on both sides. Stacks of napkins and sets of silverware are laid out on one side. This must be the in-between room where they place food before distributing it to the rooms.

  There's a door on the opposite end, and I head toward it. When I crack it open, I see a hallway stretch beyond it. After looking both ways, I step out, walking over to the first room. 1518. So Birdie was right. The rooms all start with 15. I wonder why that is.

  But now is not the time to think about that. Who knows how much time I actually have? Quickly, I move door to door until I find the one I need. 1507. I try the doorknob first, but of course, it's locked up tight. Thankfully, I have a spell for this.

  Well, more like a trick I've learned.

  Closing my eyes, I focus my intention, placing my hand against the metal and pushing intention into it. There's a moment of stillness and then I hear a click. After another quick glance around, I slip inside.

  There's one lamp on in the corner, and I let that be my only guiding light. I don't want to tip off anyone that I'm here. There are stacks of papers everywhere. As much as possible, I look over the papers without disturbing them. Detective Ames seems to be meticulous about keeping notes. That's a quality I can admire. It would take me way too long to go through this information. I wonder if there's a spell I can use to help me out when the paper in front of me catches my eye. It's beneath stacks of other papers, so I pick those up, keeping them hovering over where they lay so I can put them back exactly.

  Bingo.

  It's the medical examiner’s report. Scanning it quickly, I nearly gasp out loud. Arthur wasn't drowned. He died by bleeding out. The medical examiner didn’t seem to know how that happened. The only indication on the body were three puncture marks on the neck. Well, and he has bruising on his head, as if someone hit him first. The marks on the neck only bring one possibility to mind.

  Wait, are vampires a real thing?

  That's something I will have to ask Auntie Grace. They have no idea on the actual murder weapon, so a supernatural killer makes sense. Except, no. Vampires aren't real. Are they?

  While I'm lost in thought, a noise comes from the direction of the door. I have absolutely no time to react before Dean is slipping inside the room.

  "What are you doing here? Besides giving me a mild heart attack," I hiss at him, keeping my voice low.

  "I saw you sneaking off. I figured you'd get yourself into trouble."

  "How am I in trouble?"

  "Detective Ames is on his way up. He said he needed to grab some folders."

  I drop the papers into place immediately, and walk to the door, but Dean stops me. Yanking the door to lock, he grabs me by the arm before pulling me after him and toward the closet. It’s a very small armoire type of closet.

  "Dean, what are you—?" He clasps a hand over my mouth and pulls the doors shut. My back is plastered to the wall, but still, our bodies are touching. Dean leans down just a bit, his lips at my ear.

  "He's almost here," Dean says, and right as he does, the keys rattle in the lock. I gasp, but then go quiet. Some from f
ear, some from proximity. Dean and I are sharing the same air now, our bodies brushing ever so slightly every time we take a breath. I turn my full attention to the spot on his shoulder, hoping Detective Ames doesn't have super hearing and can't tell just how loudly my heart is beating. When Dean's hand settles on my back, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sensation the small touch sends through my body, even through the clothes. My hands grasp his shirt, curling into him as I hear the detective come farther into the room and begin moving the papers around. If he opens this door, we're in trouble.

  Well, I think I'm already in trouble.

  I have no idea how long we stand like this. The detective continues to move through the room, and I can hear the shuffling of papers. He sighs a few times, and I can almost feel the frustration. I've only played investigator twice, and I know how frustrating it can be not getting the answers you want. He's been doing this a long time.

  Dean tightens his grip on me, bringing me even closer. My eyes find his in the darkness, and then, I can't look away. It's as if he's radiating his own glow, or maybe it's my magic playing with my vision. But he's all I see—in this moment, it's just him.

  I think of all the time we've spent together recently, working on the Crooked Windows Inn remodel, then helping Mayor Moore with rebuilding the forgotten neighborhood. He's been there every step of the way, patiently waiting for me to heal from my past. Not pushing, just being a friend. And then, when I wasn't watching, he became more.

  "Cassie."

  The barely-there whisper of my name on his lips stops all sense of time, and I suddenly forget that we're hiding. His eyes are still on me. My hands curl into fists, pulling on his shirt. He doesn't hesitate to bend down. Now, our lips are barely inches apart, and I can feel his breath on my skin.

  I'm not sure which one of us moves next, but suddenly we're reaching for each other. I hold my breath as I wait for the sweet touch of his lips on mine.

  Something bangs on the closet doors, springing us apart. The doors swing open. I'm terrified to have been discovered, but when the room opens up, no one is there. Well, no one but Birdie. Sneaking under the bed. The detective is gone.

  Without meeting Dean's eye, I step out of the armoire, tugging on my shirt. I can't believe I almost kissed him. Or he kissed me. Or—I'm not sure what I was thinking.

  "Cassie?"

  "We need to get out of here," I say quickly, making a beeline for the papers I was reading before Dean came in. Quickly, I take pictures of everything with my phone before rearranging them back how I found them. There's also a map of the main house, and I snap a picture of the floor plan to study later. This will come in handy. I know Birdie is watching me, but I can't exactly talk to her now. Hopefully, Dean didn't notice her at all.

  When I straighten, he's by the door, his eyes on me. I look in his general direction as I walk toward him. Placing my ear to the door, I try to hear if there is any movement out there, but there's nothing.

  "Do you think it's safe?" I ask, still whispering.

  "I think there's only one way to find out," Dean replies. I step back as he reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door open. He steps out first before motioning for me to follow. I glance back into the room, only to find Birdie already slipping between my feet and down the hall. She moves in the opposite direction of where Dean is looking. This cat is truly something. Maybe she was a spy in another life.

  Shutting the door quietly behind me, I hold onto the doorknob for a second longer than necessary, sending my intention into it. The lock clicks into place and then we're moving away.

  "No, not that way," I say when Dean heads toward the stairs.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The detective is probably at the bottom of those stairs, keeping watch over the people in the foyer and the front door. Follow me."

  In a very Dean fashion, he doesn't hesitate to follow. That brings a tiny smile to my face, but thankfully he can't see it.

  I'm all kinds of unbalanced as it is. That almost kiss is going to haunt me longer than Arthur. I'm sure. I have no idea what possessed me to give in to the moment, but I really need Dean not to bring it up. I don't think I'm ready to talk about it.

  We step into the tiny kitchen and thankfully it's empty. Everyone is probably still downstairs, setting up against the storm. Even being somewhere in the middle of the house, I can hear it raging outside. It was probably a good idea for everyone to stay in here for the night. Dean is right behind me when we descend the stairs. When I open the door, one of the staff members looks at me confused.

  "We got turned around," I say, shrugging. The woman looks over my shoulder at Dean and then her confusion turns into a smile.

  "Of course. Right this way."

  I dare a glance at Dean and find his half smile in place. That's when I realize the woman probably thought we were up to nothing good, which she technically would be right about. But I don't feel like correcting her. She leads us back out into the main hall with a little shake of the head.

  "Cassie—" Dean tries again, but I really can't have this conversation right now.

  "I have so much information to go through," I say, turning to him. "I need to find a quiet place to read over it. You should probably go back out into the main foyer. We wouldn't want Detective Ames getting suspicious. Cover for me if he asks."

  Dean studies me for a long, tense moment before nodding.

  "Please, be careful."

  He doesn't wait for a response, but pivots and heads back toward the front of the house. I stand there for a moment longer, watching his retreat. I wish he knew how mistimed his words are. He should've warned me to be careful a long time ago. Because I don't think anything can protect me now. Not when it comes to him.

  14

  After some looking around, I realize getting alone time is going to be difficult. While the upstairs is mostly empty, the downstairs area has people mulling around everywhere. I could go hide in the bathroom again, but I'm pretty sure I'll just bring unnecessary attention to myself. Finally, I find one of the smaller sitting areas nearly unoccupied and decide this is as good as it's going to get. Grabbing the sitting chair in the corner while the others sit in front of the fireplace, I open my phone and start scrolling through pictures.

  I read over all the information twice before coming back to the medical examiner’s report. Arthur had puncture wounds on his neck. That has to be the way his blood was drained. But that seems so specific. If it's not a vampire, is it someone pretending?

  Opening the messages up, I type out a quick text to Auntie Grace asking about vampires. But as I watch the bar on top, I realize it won't send. I have no signal all of a sudden. It must be the storm. That's the only explanation I have. This is the time it would be super helpful to know if I could send messages with my magic, but I'm definitely not there in my studies yet.

  I click over to the notes app where I've been keeping information about the case and read over that next. I'm still going to talk to the Sanchez grandson and Priscilla. Maybe right now is as good a time as any.

  "I heard this place has been losing money," I hear as I leave my chair to head to the door. Slowing down immediately, I pretend like I got a text as I eavesdrop.

  "For sure, I heard them arguing about it when I first arrived. I guess business hasn't been great since that woman took over."

  I take a step toward the three people sitting on the couch near the fire, ready to play my role.

  "Are you talking about...the manager?" I mock whisper, perching on the arm rest. The two women and a man turn to me immediately, and I lean forward. "I heard the Sanchez's grandson is so unhappy."

  Finding a kindred spirit in me, the three lean toward me immediately.

  "Oh, he most definitely isn't happy. When he first came back from the big city, he was running the show. We stayed here that year, like we do every other year, and this place was starting to thrive again. But then that woman came, and she brought her right-hand woman with her, and the whole atmosph
ere changed. I heard the gardener wasn't going to be coming back next season."

  "Lizette brought Priscilla with her?" I whisper, and the woman nods excitedly.

  "She most certainly did. It was a big deal around these parts because they booted poor Walter right out of his position and took over. Everyone has been on edge since then."

  "Wow. Everyone seems to get along so well though!" I pretend to be shocked, but also, not really pretending.

  "They have to put on a good show for the guests, but trust me, I've been coming here long enough that I have felt the tension. I wasn't even surprised one of them ended up dead. God rest his soul."

  The woman pauses, like she's saying a silent prayer and then the others are talking to her about other resorts and how maybe they should check those out next year. I won't get anything else from them without looking suspicious.

  Leaving the sitting room behind, I think over what I just found out. If the gossip mill is to be believed, this place was like a powder keg waiting to go off. If that's the case, that means the suspect list is probably a lot longer than I first thought. The one thing I need to do though is talk to Walter. I've been putting that off for way too long.

  Pivoting, I head for the kitchens. It's now or never.

  When I reach the main dining room, workers are still going in and out, now carrying trays with cups and kettles on them. Auntie Grace has always said that tea is good for the soul. We've used the same tactic at the Crooked Windows Inn when we're trying to keep people calm. There's something about sitting around and sipping tea that feels homey enough that all your worries go away.

  I slip into the kitchen, this time from the main entrance rather than the side one I used earlier. This front area is much larger, as it houses most of the burners on one side.

  "I'm sorry," I say with a smile as one of the staff stops beside me, clearly about to ask me what I'm doing in here. "I'm looking for Mr. Sanchez. Is he in here?" The man smiles back at me and then points me toward a man at the corner of the room near the burners.