Hexed in Show, page 23
Dropping the pretense of not seeing them, I took the trail mix out of my pocket and held it up. If the local river fae had enjoyed the coconut, maybe the goblins would too. “Hi, guys, this is for you. Let’s talk.”
While gnomes enjoyed formality and long sentences, goblins were less wordy and certainly never let good manners slow them down.
“Witch, witch, witch, witch, witch,” one said. Goblins loved prime numbers.
The other sang a different word, rhyming the first, and they burst into cackles as they somersaulted through the air.
I closed the trail mix bag and started to put it back in my pocket.
“Eat, eat, eat,” the first goblin said, with slightly less hostility. It was almost an apology.
They really did look like gnomes. Ones with green skin who hadn’t eaten for months, never indulged in clean clothes or bathing, and filed their teeth to points sharp enough to pierce cowhide.
“The witch who was here and dug something up,” I said. “The man. What was it that he took away?”
They hovered but said nothing. I held up the bag, and each took pieces of walnut, cashew, or coconut.
“Witch drink, witch drink, witchy,” said the goblin.
A drink. Interesting. “Was it what we’d call a potion?”
“Yes, yes, potion.” He glared at me out of green eyes.
I gave him more of the bag. All were listening, but only one was talking. He deserved the best share. “Do you know what the potion had inside it? The witches were hiding it here, which means it was probably something witches don’t usually have.”
He clawed a handful of trail mix out of the bag, pushed it into his mouth, and said nothing.
“Maybe you don’t have the power to know what was in the potion,” I said. “Maybe you’re not strong enough.”
The goblin threw up the cashews, only the cashews, on my head. “Strong enough, me.”
I wiped them off and flung them into the compost. As a witch, I’d had worse things in my hair. “Tell me what was in the potion, and I’ll believe you.”
“Juice of the small ones,” he said.
The tiny hairs across my body jolted to attention. I hesitated. “Small what?”
“Small witch ones, like you,” he said.
“Juice?” I whispered.
“Witch juices, witch juices, witch juices…,” they chanted.
I fell back a step. Then I turned away from the fetid compost and flies and goblins to find a mouthful of clean air.
Small witch ones. I’d imagined black-market botanicals of some kind. Or at the worst, insects, reptiles, or spiders that had been poached from the protected forest land.
But they’d been taking something from the children.
Juice.
When I’d recovered myself, I unfurled the trail mix bag and poured a large pile in my palm. “What color was the juice?” I raked through the trail mix and held up a cranberry. “This?”
The talkative goblin spat on another goblin, who caught the green goo as if it were a game, proud and grinning.
“Not like that nasty one,” the goblin said. He looked truly disgusted, and I remembered how much Willy despised dried cranberries.
I held up a hazelnut, hoping to Brightness it wasn’t the one. “Was it this color?”
A small goblin who hadn’t seemed interested in me until now suddenly pounced on my hand and brushed everything away except a thin sheet of dried coconut.
It made a series of high-pitched whistling sounds, then brushed the coconut away too.
I stared at my empty palm. Then I looked at the small goblin. It was staring intently at me.
“Something almost white?” I spat in my palm. “Like this?”
It nodded its narrow green head.
So they’d collected the witch children’s spit. Lovely. No wonder Jill was—
Before I could stop it, the goblin came at my face and stuck a finger in my eye. It wasn’t a solid being, but the energy flowing through my flesh hurt enough to make me cry out.
Chapter
Forty-Five
The goblin nodded more enthusiastically and flapped its fingers on my cheek where a tear had fallen.
“Tears,” I said. “They collected the children’s tears.” What monsters. Goblins were green and bony and had teeth like razor blades, but they weren’t as monstrous as humans.
The goblin lunged at me again, but this time I swatted it away with a defensive spell. I got the idea. They hadn’t collected blood from the students at Elwin School, but they’d gone for the clear stuff—saliva, tears, and probably sweat.
All the biomatter from a witch held power. For centuries, the tears of a child witch, if properly distilled, had been used as an antidepressant. The taker of the potion was reported to feel an immediate lifting of mood with no side effects—other than guilt, shame, and (if I was on the jury) incarceration.
I wanted to hit somebody. How dare they? How could a teacher at the school and a parent do such a thing? Had Holly been the middleman to buy it and deliver the potions elsewhere?
The goblins ran to the fence, scrambled up to the top, and watched me from wary green eyes. They must’ve sensed my shift in mood.
I looked down at my hands. Ah. Not subtle. I’d created a ball of blue light that sizzled with righteous rage.
I spun around and stalked off school property before I flung my hex at Jill’s classroom.
There was nothing else I could do there tonight. The evidence had been removed, and my conversation with goblins wasn’t admissible in Protectorate criminal trials. My ability to communicate with the fae was a secret I couldn’t afford to expose, even if Protectorate higher-ups believed the goblins’ story, which they wouldn’t.
I got into the Jeep, furious and cursing under my breath.
I’d tell Raynor. He’d believe me and get agents up here to gather enough evidence. First I’d tell Darius. I took a deep breath, knowing he didn’t like hearing me be emotional.
When I was calm enough, I called him using another persuasion spell.
He picked up with a sigh. “Not again. If you keep this up, I’ll have to put a special filter on my phone to block you.”
“I know what was in the compost pile.”
He let out a breath. “Just a second.” Again I heard him leave a vehicle, walk a ways, then fall quiet within a bubble. “Yes? You’re safe?”
“Yes. I talked to some creatures that humans aren’t supposed to be able to talk to.”
He knew about my power. “And?”
I told him what I’d learned. His reaction was more restrained than mine, but I did feel my phone get hot as his magical anger floated through digital space.
“And they got away with it,” he said.
“Just this time. Raynor can send up—”
“They’ll be careful now. Nerissa is dead, agents are crawling everywhere—no. They’ll lie low.”
I was afraid of the same thing. “If Raynor’s hands are tied, that doesn’t mean mine have to be.”
He let out an appreciative whistle. “Listen to you, Witch of the Incurable Inability.”
“I didn’t say I was going to kill them.”
“I would,” he said. “Children’s tears? You know they must’ve gone out of their way to make them cry, right?”
“Why didn’t they tell their parents?”
Darius scoffed. “Witches. Teachers. Parents. Small town. Lots of traditions, grateful to have a school—”
“And a lot of nasty Shadow magic to prevent talk, I bet.”
“No doubt,” he said. “I’ll tell Raynor. We have a call scheduled in a few minutes.”
I looked out the windshield across the parking lot. The sun was low in the west, casting bright, happy colors into the sky above the ocean.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Somebody else.”
His tone sharpened. “Yes?”
“Holly was the last witch to visit the compost pile. She cast a pretty good erasure spell to cover her tracks, but I broke it.”
“She could’ve been working on the installation,” he said. “She went over there to reach the plants better.”
“Then why cover her tracks?”
He fell silent. I didn’t push; I trusted him to choose the Bright path whenever there was a choice to make. And his love life was none of my bus—
“I had a bad breakup once,” he said. “Really bad. I didn’t think I’d ever get over it. My relationships since… They don’t last.”
There was an awkward pause. Stunned by his revelation, I waited for him to change the subject or end the call the way he usually did when topics became too personal, but then he continued.
“When I met Holly, I felt something inside me break. It was like—don’t laugh, Alma, or I’ll hex you, swear to Brightness—as if the sun had come out after months of rain.”
I held my breath. I believed he would hex me. “I’m not laughing,” I said finally.
“I don’t know why she was at that compost pile, but it wasn’t because she’s using the biomatter of tortured children to get rich.”
I wouldn’t remind him now that right after he’d met Holly, he’d nearly killed me in the motel room. We didn’t always have control over what we did.
Time for a topic change. “Any information about Nerissa?”
He sighed as if he’d rather keep talking about Holly, which maybe he did. But eventually whatever spell was at work on him would fade and he’d see the truth of his feelings for the woman he’d barely met.
“The suicide theory looks solid,” he said. “The note is hers, expressing deep remorse for something she doesn’t explain.” He paused. “Demon’s balls.”
The thought struck us both at the same time. “Maybe she was the mastermind of the child torture trade?” I asked. “But why kill herself now?”
“Fear of exposure. She saw me here. I thought my disguise was good, but word got out.”
I didn’t buy it. “She would’ve run away. She doesn’t have kids of her own. There was just her and the dog in that house. She’s probably got plenty of money if she’s been selling on the Shadow market.”
“If Percy had gotten the secret out of her, that would’ve been a great motive for killing him,” he said.
“Except then why kill herself? He was dead. She seemed the type to fight.”
“Perhaps she couldn’t bear the thought of being caught,” he said. “She wouldn’t be the first witch to think Death Valley would be worse than death itself.”
Chapter
Forty-Six
The next day was the eve of the Elwin Flower Show. Because Darius had relocated to an undisclosed Protectorate location—probably a camper van parked next to the river—I woke early and went to the restaurant alone. I wanted to look into Bruce’s eyes for myself, knowing what I knew now, and see if Shadow like that left a mark. I’d always thought it must, but maybe I was wrong. It was a humbling thought.
The restaurant was busy, but the atmosphere wasn’t festive as it had been over the weekend; people were eating and rushing out without lingering over their food. The show had everyone on edge.
I sat at the counter nearest the kitchen in the back, watching people come in, scanning the tables, and looking out for Bruce.
But he never appeared. When it took the server fifteen minutes to bring me my check, I saw the stressed expression on his face. “Short-staffed today?” I asked.
He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “Bruce didn’t come in. Totally weird.”
“That’s not like him?”
“He’s always here for breakfast. Always. But not yesterday and not today.” The server glanced at the table behind me, where a man was shouting for the check. “We were kind of thinking about calling the cops.”
The piercings and chains as well as aura of magic told me the server was a witch. “You mean the nonmag police?” I asked.
“Yeah. Maybe he drove off the cliff like that teacher, you know?” He rushed away.
Out on the street, I paused and looked up and down the sidewalk, remembering seeing Clem walking her dog. Of course she wouldn’t—
Wait. She was there, less than a block away, walking away from me. She had the dog with her again and seemed to be hurrying.
I gave myself a full second to decide, then ran after her.
I was convinced the gnome was the clue to everything, but I couldn’t see how to pursue it without help. I needed to ask her what she’d seen when I’d been attacked. Any detail might help.
I had to convince Clem it would be better to cooperate with me and Darius discreetly before the gnome did something else and the Protectorate was forced to apply all the oppressive magic they had. She probably wanted to protect her fae neighbor who provided the magic for her fantastic garden, and maintain her quiet life of isolation, but once the Protectorate was involved, she might lose everything. Even her freedom.
“Clem!” I jogged across the street, dodging a metal witch driving a huge yellow pickup. If he was trying to fit in with the locals, he was failing. The hubcaps were made of pure silver. “Wait up!”
Clem seemed to walk a little faster for a moment, but then she turned, gave me a phony look of surprise, and waved. “Oh, it’s you.”
I caught up to her, short of breath, and eyed the little dog. The leash was tight, and it was yapping at me.
“Do you have a moment?” I asked.
“Um, sure. Of course.” She fidgeted with the herb pouch on her belt but didn’t take anything out. The dog continued to bark.
“I need to talk to you about yesterday,” I said. “I’ve got a few questions.”
Clem nodded. “I better pick up Nemesis before she tries something.” She bent over and picked up the dog, stroking her little head until she quieted. “I’m a little embarrassed about what happened to you. I should’ve stopped it.”
“It was my decision. I knew the risks.”
She shot me a skeptical look from under her red sun hat, which I noticed now was emitting a subtle stealth charm. If I hadn’t been thinking about her on the sidewalk at just the moment she’d been in my line of sight, I didn’t think I would’ve seen her.
“If I’d ever thought she’d attack somebody like that,” Clem said, “I never would’ve let you through the gate.”
“I know,” I said.
“You’re ex-Protectorate,” she continued. “If you’d been seriously hurt on my property, the great Raynor the Director would’ve come up here personally to get even.”
I had to laugh a little at that. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Oh, come on. You might not be sleeping together, but he cares about you. You’re special to him.”
“What makes you think that?”
She eyed me shrewdly. “Let’s call it a feeling.” A truth spell unexpectedly wafted over me. “Do you deny the two of you have some kind of special bond?”
I let the interrogation magic do its work and answered honestly. “I don’t deny it.” But her spell wasn’t strong enough to make me tell her why that was. Being demon stained wasn’t a safe secret for either of us to share. No matter how high Raynor climbed in the ranks of the Protectorate, he’d always have to hide his demon ancestry and the odd powers it gave him.
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Demon’s balls, I can’t believe I did that. I don’t have any right to force you to talk about him.”
I smiled politely, but I completely agreed. “Anyway, about yesterday—”
“It’s just, well, I still care about him.” She scowled, but her cheeks were pink. “I can’t help but be curious.”
It had already been awkward, but now it became truly painful. “I’m sorry.”
My apology only made it worse. She looked down at the sidewalk as if contemplating an earth-swallowing spell.
Suddenly she unhooked a chain from around her neck and held it out. “What do you think of this?”
It was metal, which didn’t fit her botanical vibe. But then I realized the dark beads on the chain were tarnished copper.
I met her gaze. Raynor had a copper ring with unique properties: it hid his demon stain from other witches’ curiosity. It was so unusual that he’d had it melted down and made into two rings so I could also have its protection.
Did Clem also have the Sight? Was she demon stained as well?
“I used to dabble in copper,” she said. “I gave Raynor a ring when we were, Brightness, sixteen? Seventeen? Just kids. It was just a junky thing I made out of a pipe in the school bathroom. Romantic, huh?”
I felt I was on unsteady ground. Telling her he still wore it might give her false hope. “Nice of you,” I said lamely.
She thrust the chain toward me. “Take it. It’s yours.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can. It’s a powerful piece. You’ve got the talent to wipe away any of my fingerprints.” Her tone became insistent. “You must. You gave me the petrified wood right before the fae on my property attacked you.”
“But I gave it to the gnome—”
“We made a deal for you to get me another. The attack on you, right after I accepted payment for the introduction, has brought me bad luck. The worst. Just a few hours later, who showed up but a crew of Raynor’s dumbest minions? I’ll have no peace until they’re gone, which might be never at the rate they’re going.” She picked up my hand and thrust the necklace into my palm. “You’ve got to take it. Please. For Brightness’s sake, accept my apology so we can call it even.”
Her skin was cold, but her eyes blazed. I closed my fingers around the chain and nodded. There wasn’t much magic in the metal that I could feel. “OK. Of course. Thank you.”
She let out a sigh of relief. Her posture visibly relaxed. “Thank you.”
“But you have to tell me—what did the attack look like to you from the outside? You knew it was the gnome?”
“Of course. What else has that kind of power?”
She was a gnome expert, but she didn’t part easily with what she knew. Typical of a witch. “Do you have any ideas about how she might be restrained? To stop her from hurting people?” I thought of young Marta next door. “Kids?”
