She knew without a doubt Jupiter, the cook, was already in Norma’s Diner—not her idea, it had come with that name—at 4:30 this morning. By 5:00 a.m., the sign would have been flipped to OPEN, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and browning sausages would have filled the air. She glanced at her watch. Antiquated of her to still wear one, but there it was. At something over sixty, she was antiquated, at least as far as the world was concerned. As far as she was concerned, the world could go hang itself.
By now Maisie, Jupiter’s wife, would be starting on the day’s pies, which left Edwina free to track down the missing maple bars.
The police station was in an old brick building that dated back to 1910, give or take. Although somewhere along the line, someone had gotten confused, decided it was medieval times, and slapped a couple gargoyles on the roof. They glared at the town as if disapproving of everything and everyone. They were so ugly, they could give real gargoyles a run for their money.
The building also housed the town hall and the courts. It used to house the library, too, but a donation ten years ago had allowed it to move into an old Victorian with a nice view of the river and a wide lawn for picnics. Edwina approved. Books deserved better than to be crammed into a dank basement next to the jail cells. Slight exaggeration, but only slight.
Her boots clomped on the concrete steps as she headed into the building, the door banging behind her loud enough to echo. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound. Yep, she could smell him. Didn’t take a witch to pick up on Dekes’s aftershave. Smelled like a pine forest took a wrong turn and wound up lost in a bakery. It wasn’t a bad scent, just weird.
She stomped down the hall to the door marked Police and pushed her way inside. The office was quiet this early in the morning, like just about everything else in town, though the air was already thick with the odor of cheap, burnt coffee.
A young officer with a round face and a pink moustache glanced up. “Hey, Miz Gale.” He added emphasis to that final consonant like he wanted to make sure she didn’t think he was saying “miss.” Everyone knew she hated being called miss.
“Good morning, Nolan. Did you dye your facial hair?”
He brushed at his lip, cheeks flaming red. “Powdered sugar.”
She gritted her teeth. Pink powdered sugar could have only come from one place: Virgil’s. His pink champagne donuts were covered in the stuff. “I’m here to see the chief.”
“Sure thing, Miz Gale.”
The chief’s office door stood open, a light shining inside. She narrowed her eyes and headed straight for it.
“Ms. Gale,” the chief said before she’d gotten halfway through the doorway, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
A donut box was on his desk, the lid flopped back. Inside there were still two maple bars, little crumbles of perfectly crispy bacon on top. He must have already eaten the other one.
“I’m here for my donuts.”
He lifted his head. He was a tall, lanky man with a shock of white hair and a flourishing white moustache. Edwina did not approve. It made him look a little too much like Sam Elliot. She had a soft spot for Mr. Elliot. Even Dekes’s rumbly drawl sounded too much like the actor’s. “Your donuts?”
“Virgil always saves me two bacon maple bars for breakfast,” she said, propping her fists on her wide hips. “You took them.”
“I bought ’em fair and square.”
She snorted. “You know as well as anyone those donuts were meant for me.”
“And you know as well as anyone, this is a free country. Virgil can sell his donuts to whomever he darn well pleases. Today that happened to be me.”
They were at an impasse, and she didn’t like it, nor did she like that he wasn’t one bit fazed by her, probably because he had no idea what she was. Pity. If she did put hexes on people, this would be a perfect opportunity. “I’ll pay you double for the two you have left.” Virgil’s donuts were more than worth it.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? That seems fair.”
He shrugged and went back to his paperwork.
She sighed in annoyance. “Very well. What will it take for you to give me those donuts?”
He leaned back, the springs on his chair squeaking ominously. “Well now, that’s a mighty interesting question.”
She didn’t like where this was going. “And?”
“And I’m thinkin’.”
“Think faster,” she snarled.
A slow grin spread across his too handsome face. He pulled out a small object and laid it on the desk. “Tell you what. I’ll give you these donuts if you tell me what this is.”
“Looks like a scarab. Now give me my donuts.”
He shook his head. “Tell me what it really is.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure, you do.” He leaned forward. “I can smell the magic on it, like I can smell the magic on you.”
Well ain’t that a horse’s patootie.
2
How in blazes does Dekes know about magic?
As far as Edwina knew, the chief was a mundane without an ounce of magic in him and no idea that witches, shifters, and so forth existed. That was what she’d been led to believe and how the man had always operated. He’d never once let on he had any clue anything supernatural was going on, not in all the times she’d met him at crime scenes during her work for the Witch Council. Sometimes people ended up dead via magical means, and it was her job to hide that portion of the event. This couldn’t possibly bode well.
He was holding out a scarab that screamed of magic. Well, not literally screamed, but anyone with half a brain and a basic understanding of the paranormal would know it was a magical object. While Dekes certainly had more than half a brain, how could he know it was magical? Somebody somewhere had screwed up royally, that was certain. If she ever figured out who, heads would roll.
Question was, how should she address it? Claim ignorance, pretend she had no idea what he was talking about, and laugh like it was a joke? Or admit the truth and deal with the consequences?
“If you’re trying to decide whether to play dumb or be honest, I suggest the latter. I know you’re a witch.”
“How?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. So much for her training, first in the military, then with the council. Good thing she’d never been captured by the enemy. Clearly she’d have spilled her guts.
He grinned. It made her feel things she’d thought long dead. A woman her age did not get twitterpated over a handsome face and naughty grin. She stiffened and gave him a glare that would have made a lesser man quake, wondering if he was mortal after all.
* * *
“Let’s not waste time, Edwina. You’ve got magic. I know about magic. This right here is magical.” He wiggled the scarab. “What I don’t know is what it is. Should I be worried?”
She sank into the chair across from him. The item could wait. She needed to know what he knew. “How do you know about magic?”
“You think I came to this town by chance? But we can discuss that another time. Right now, this”—he placed the scarab in front of her—“is what I’m concerned about.”
If it had been anyone else, she’d have up and walked out, but he was the chief of police, and something was going on she needed to know about. She studied the scarab without picking it up. No telling if there was a residual spell on it. She couldn’t see anything, not with her eyes or magical sight, but she could feel it in her bones. And it felt off. Not evil so much as wrong. Like whatever its initial purpose had been, it had been twisted somehow.
“Where’d you find it?” she asked.
“At a crime scene.”
Of course, you did. “Might help if I knew more. Like what sort of crime scene and where.”
He gazed at her as carefully as she’d looked at the scarab. “You really need that sort of information?”
“Listen, I can confirm it’s magical, but I need more info if you want to know more. So
metimes the power of an object is as much about the location and circumstances in which it’s found as the object itself.”
“Care to explain?”
She didn’t really, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell him a little more. “You ever hear of a scarab before?”
“Of course. Ancient Egypt. Mummies. Pyramids. I watch the History Channel.”
Her smile was tight. “Scarab beetles were a symbol of rejuvenation and rebirth to the Ancient Egyptians. Scarab amulets were worn by the living and the dead for their magical properties, but a large heart scarab placed on the chest of a dead man held a different power and purpose than a small charm on the necklace of a living woman. The spells, strength of the magic, even the power was different.”
He lifted a bushy white brow. “How do you know that?”
“Didn’t you just call me a witch?”
He grinned. “Believe it or not, it was a compliment.”
She snorted. “In any case, I need to know much more about this before I can suss out the details for you.”
He mulled that over, then nodded and stood. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, following him out of the room.
The look he gave her was enigmatic, to say the least. “You’ll see.”
The morgue was located in the basement of the same building that housed the police department. Deepwood wasn’t big enough to rate much more than that.
The medical examiner was a short Black woman whose gold-rimmed glasses kept sliding down her nose, giving her the appearance of a school librarian. Her natural hair, which had a streak of gray in the dark brown, was done up in the pineapple method so the beautiful curls cascaded over her head.
Dekes inclined his head in greeting. “Morning, doc. Edwina, this is Dr. Joan Lewis, our medical examiner. Doc, this is Edwina Gale. The department is using her as a consultant. She’s here to see the body.”
If Dr. Lewis was surprised by the request, she didn’t show it. She walked over to one of the metal drawers and pulled it open. “It’s a weird one.”
“Weird how?” Edwina crossed to the drawer.
“Meet Lydia Day.” The doctor drew back a sheet, revealing the face of an elderly woman. She had to be close to ninety.
“You’re sure it’s not natural causes?” Edwina asked.
“Positive,” Dr. Lewis said. “She died of arsenic poisoning.”
Edwina frowned. “Why kill an old lady with arsenic?”
“Except that’s not what’s weird,” Dr. Lewis said. “Look at her. She’s ancient, right?”
Edwina nodded. “Looks that way.”
The doctor gently lifted the corpse’s upper lip. “Look at these teeth. They’re all hers, and they’re straight, white, and barely used. No way a woman of ninety has teeth like these.”
Edwina had met a few nonagenarians in her time. Few still had their own teeth, and in those that did, they were yellowed and worn. “So what’s the deal? Good dentistry?”
Dr. Lewis snorted. “There’s no dentistry in the world that can do that. Then there’s the ID.”
“This is her driver’s license,” Dekes said, handing Edwina a plastic rectangle. “Anything strike you as odd?”
Odd barely covered it. “For one, the picture is of a young woman. For another, the birthdate. According to this, she’s barely twenty-one.” She glanced at the elderly face. “Worst fake ID I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not fake.” Dekes crossed his arms. “I checked her prints. Lydia Day is twenty-one years old and formerly from Seattle. She moved to Deepwood for a job recently, but she went missing two days ago. This is how we found her. You know of anything could do that to a person?”
It was Edwina’s turn to cross her arms. She cast a glance at Dr. Lewis.
“Don’t worry about me,” the doctor said. “My mother is a witch.”
“Couple of things it could be,” Edwina finally admitted. “Succubus maybe.”
“But you don’t think so,” Dekes prodded.
“It doesn’t look right. When a succubus drains her victim’s life force, she leaves a dry husk, not an elderly corpse.”
“What else?”
“Spell maybe.” She gave him a hard look. “Why don’t you tell me what this woman’s death has to do with that scarab?”
Dr. Lewis raised an eyebrow. “You showed it to her?”
“I did. All right then.” Dekes shoved away from the exam table he’d been leaning against and paced. “She was found in the woods, wrapped in an old sheet. We brought her here without removing it.”
“When I unwrapped her,” Dr. Lewis picked up the story, “I found the scarab.”
Dekes fished it out of his pocket and laid it on the exam table. It was about the size of a pinky nail, painted black and red, which was unusual.
“Where did you find it?” Edwina asked.
Dr. Lewis pointed to the middle of the dead woman’s forehead. “Here.”
“Third eye,” Edwina said grimly.
“Exactly,” Dr. Lewis agreed.
“What does that mean?” Dekes asked.
“I’m not sure,” Edwina admitted. “I need to research this, but I can tell you one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
3
Edwina went straight from the morgue to the diner. Dekes had emphasized the urgency of finding out more about the scarab, but the dead woman wasn’t going anywhere, and she still had a business to run. She had to admit the whole thing was giving her the heebie-jeebies, though.
She wasn’t the sort who usually got heebie-jeebies. Too practical for that. She’d no time for nonsense, but this... well, this was something else. She didn’t like the smell of it. She should probably report it to the witch council immediately, but they’d probably freak out and do something stupid. That’s what bureaucratic types did.
No, what she needed now was a coven, preferably one with a lot of power. Fortunately, despite being a solitary witch, she knew one of the most powerful covens in the country, if not in the world. Maybe even in history.
Deepwood had three covens. There was the big one, which most of the witches with supernatural powers were part of, there was a slightly smaller one for the mundanes who followed wicca and claimed to believe in magic but had never seen actual power, and then there was the one almost nobody knew about. The one she needed.
She noodled over her plan as she turned out extra pastry for pies. There’d been a run on cherry lately. Life spun around her, clanking and loud, but she was completely focused on the task at hand.
“What did that pie dough ever do to you?”
The question jerked her back to the diner, and a pair of brilliant green eyes. “Well, speak of the devil, and she shall appear. What are you doing here, Emory Chastain?”
“Not sure I like being called the devil, but if it gets me some of your pie, I’ll take it.” Emory grinned. “Got any extra coconut cream?”
“For you, always, although I have a favor to ask.”
She shrugged her oversized fuchsia handbag higher on her shoulder. “Of course. What do you need?”
“A meeting with your coven. Tonight.” Emory’s coven was the secret one, the one she needed.
Her eyes widened. “You want to attend a coven meeting?”
Edwina understood her surprise. Perhaps “solitary witch” was an understatement. “Hermit” might be a more accurate description of her personal practice. “I have a mystery I could use your help with. All of you.”
Emory lived in a sprawling Victorian a few blocks from Main Street. The property was surrounded by a picket fence that was nearly overwhelmed by a thick hedge of climbing roses. A narrow stone footpath led to the porch and front door, which had recently been painted purple. The doorknob bore the impression of a pentagram.
Ignoring the doorbell, Edwina rapped on the door, which swung open to reveal a young woman with long, dark hair falling over her face and
a silver hoop through her left nostril. That was new. “Hello, Mia. Nice hardware.”
“Thanks. Got it last week.” Mia Chance, youngest member of the coven, stood back to let her pass.
The scent of fresh-baked peanut butter cookies wafted out, and her stomach rumbled. It had been a while since that donut, and she hadn’t had a chance to eat since.
“There you are.” Emory bustled out of the kitchen with a plate of cookies in one hand and a barbeque lighter in the other. “Couldn’t find matches. Come on into the living room. Have a cookie. It will expand your mind.”
“You put pot in them?” Edwina asked, snatching one.
Mia snorted. “More like a spell.”
Emory grinned. “They are the spell.”
Made sense, seeing as Emory was a spellwalker, a witch with an affinity for spells. She could make one out of just about anything, including baked goods. The cookie was buttery, nutty, rich, and sweet, with exactly the right crisp on the outside and chewy goodness on the inside. Frankly it didn’t matter what spell was on or in them, they were delicious.
Two more women waited in the living room. Lene—pronounced Len-uh—Davenport was curvy, blonde, and a bit ditsy as far as Edwina was concerned. She ran a bookstore dedicated to most things magical and spent way too much time with crystals and other nonsense.
Veri Laveau, on the other hand, was tall and voluptuous, with fawn-brown skin and a penchant for bright colors and ridiculously high heels. She’d gotten a new weave since the last time Edwina saw her, and her dark brown hair had wild, beachy waves that were all the rage. She was a little too into fashion, but she was smart and savvy, which Edwina appreciated.
“So… what’s the big mystery?” Veri asked after they’d gotten the greetings out of the way and everyone had a cookie.
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