Hexed in Show, page 7
“It’s not weeds,” I said. “It’s rosemary. And other things. Good things.”
Darius raised a mocking eyebrow as he finished the expensive bottled drink I hadn’t told him he could have. He was the one with a paying, salaried job, not me.
“Well, it would be a quick setup if you did exhibit,” he said. “Just dump random plants here and there, dead or alive, and call it authentic. You’ll win first place.”
“Enough.” I dropped the papers on the table and stood up. “Thanks for bringing me my mail. Now I think it’s time you went home.”
He heard the seriousness in my tone and stopped smirking. When a witch—especially me, who was quite powerful in her kitchen—told a visitor he was no longer welcome, she could be dangerous.
“I’m not saying I’ll call Willy to help send you on your way,” I continued, “but I might call Willy to help send you on your way.”
He held up his hands in a defensive pose. “Easy, Alma. I was just kidding.”
The sight of genuine fear in his eyes drained the fight out of me. I glanced longingly toward my bedroom. I was still dazed from the potion, and the delights of sleep were calling to me.
“I know,” I said, sighing. “Relax. I’m not going to hex you.”
“Tell the gnome how much you like me,” he said.
“Willy will let you go,” I said. “You’re my friend.”
He turned a skeptical look toward the backyard. “Maybe you could walk me to my bike.”
“If it gets you to leave,” I muttered, looking around the floor for a matching pair of flip-flops.
Part of me was tempted to gather up Percy’s letters and give them back to Darius. If they stayed with me, I’d be reminded of both my irritation and my guilt.
What if he really needed my help?
“Could you bring these to Raynor and ask him what he thinks?” I heard myself asking. “There must’ve been a reason he didn’t just text me. Maybe somebody is monitoring his phone.” Communication tech was usually immune from witch spells, but anything was possible with magic. Especially, for instance, if a large group of witches from Silicon Valley had suddenly moved to a remote coastal town, got bored, and invented a new type of hex.
There had definitely been something wrong about Elwin.
Darius, tying his shoes, looked up at me in surprise. “The whole point in me bringing it to you in person was so that he wouldn’t know about it. You always complain about having no privacy. I was trying to give you some.”
“And I appreciate it. In general. But this time… Maybe he could send an agent,” I said. “Percy was trained by the Protectorate. Maybe he noticed there’s something Shadowed going on. Raynor might want to know.”
Darius shook his head. “He’s busy. He’d just tell you to go yourself.” He gestured around, as if at the world outside my house. “He’s been trying to recruit somebody decent to be Protector of Silverpool. After Bosko, they’re giving him time to find somebody who isn’t a springwater-addicted, trigger-happy fanatic.”
“Glad to hear that. But—”
“And if Percy wanted to get the Protectorate involved, he would’ve asked us,” Darius continued. “He went out of his way to get you instead.”
I groaned. He was right. But Percy hadn’t given me enough to go on. “You said you felt something when you touched the envelopes that made you uncomfortable,” I said. “Can you be more specific? Percy was a mind mage. Could it have been a spell he put on the paper? Maybe it compelled you to bring it to me?”
Shaking his head, Darius opened the door to the back door. “I don’t think he’s that powerful. It’s gone now. And here in your house, I can’t use much magic anyway. You’re too potent.”
I smiled, liking how that sounded. As if I was a rare, powerful potion.
At his request, I escorted him to his motorcycle parked on the road. After he had roared away, I walked back and was happy to notice Willy’s yellow door was visible in my backyard lamplight. He didn’t answer my call, but that wasn’t unusual. The door told me he was OK for now.
I went back inside and folded up Percy’s letters, including the sketch of a hearth witch’s garden, telling myself it wasn’t my responsibility to respond to every call for help.
But even after drinking a strong blueberry leaf tea I brewed as an antidote to my earlier potion, I couldn’t forget that simple word.
Please.
Chapter
Thirteen
The next morning, after taking Random for a long walk, I went out to return the gnome books to Birdie at her store on Main Street. I’d forgotten I still had them, having shoved them in a pile under an unfinished crochet project, and she’d been too nice to ask for them back.
Silverpool’s quaint, picturesque business district ran parallel to the river. Just about a block long, it supported Cypress Hardware at one end and a few humble places to eat—a café, a taqueria, and a rotating-owner Thai restaurant.
Birdie didn’t technically open her bookstore until ten, but I knew she was an early riser. I also had a small gift for her for having unintentionally ruined her trivia night.
She came to the shop door in a bright yellow sundress with appliquéd daisies on its camisole straps. Her wavy auburn hair was down, her eyes carefully lined, her lips a glossy dark rose. I glanced down at my muddy feet, suddenly aware of the contrast between us. I was the wild forest witch; Birdie was the customer-facing professional.
As Random thrashed his tail in hello and bounded into the store ahead of me, I held up the books. “Just bringing these back. I hope this isn’t a bad time?”
“Of course not! I was just—getting ready.” She pulled the door open for me.
“You look great.” I wiped my hiking sandals on the mat before stepping inside. Random and I had made a detour to the riverbank to collect a fresh selection of magical stones—mostly jasper and agate—in sizes small enough to use in my jewelry.
“I feel bad about selling those books, knowing how wrong they are,” Birdie said.
“If you only sold books that had accurate information about magic, you wouldn’t have any store at all,” I said. “More like one of those little free libraries on a fence post with only two books in it.”
She looked stricken. “There are only two accurate books about magic?”
I thought about the two I had in my own possession and regretted my comment. If anyone knew about one of them—an infamous book I’d collected the previous year—Willy wouldn’t be the only one hiding up in the redwood tree.
“Sorry, ignore me,” I said. “It’s all useful in its own way. I’m sure there are bits and pieces of good stuff even in these books.”
“Even the one with the giant North Pole Bigfoot claims?”
“Sure. Who knows? Maybe they exist too.”
Birdie looked thoughtful. “I’ve always wanted to see the Aurora Borealis. Raynor said the first time he was in Norway, he—” She cut herself off and turned red.
Pressing my lips together, I set the books on the checkout counter near a spinning rack of my magic jewelry she let me sell on consignment. The pull-on bracelets were surprisingly popular, and I’d been spending hours in my garage making new redwood beads to meet the demand.
She was my friend—my best friend—and now my business partner. I was determined not to make the same mistake I had earlier and flip out about her and Raynor. “I’ve always wanted to see it too,” I said. “Maybe we could go someday.”
Random trotted over and sat on my feet. The word go was one of his favorites as long as he was the one going.
Birdie grabbed the books and hugged them to her chest. “Could we really? I’d have to get somebody to watch the store.” She walked over to the shelf along the far wall and began putting the gnome books back. “Or I could close it for a week or two during the slow times, which unfortunately seems to be always. Since the equinox, there’s been hardly any foot traffic. I’m hoping the summer solstice brings some witches to town. Or even nonmagicals. Nonmags. So funny to call them that when it’s basically everyone I used to know.”
I knew she was rambling because she was nervous. It had been a long time since I’d made her so anxious to be with me, and the setback made me sad.
“I brought you something.” I took out the gift I’d made in my garage studio the night before. “It’s a good luck charm.”
The only thing that worried me about her and Raynor having a relationship—if there was one, and I told myself it was unlikely—was her getting hurt.
The charm was from the oxalis in my backyard. Instead of transforming the leaves into a lucky four-leaf clover shape, I’d put them in a pot with springwater, simmered it down to a paste, and filled a tiny bottle that she could carry or even wear around her neck. To all that I’d added a pinch of polished jasper sand I’d just collected at the beach.
She took the pinky-sized item from me and let out an appreciative “Ooooh,” that made me feel warm all over.
“It’s a new concoction,” I said. “I hope it works.”
“Of course it will.” She brought it to her face and peered through the clear glass at the murky gray-green liquid. “I can feel it.”
“I was going to make a chain for it, but I think it’ll be stronger if you make it yourself. Hair, jute, maybe copper wire.” I cleared my throat. “So you like it?”
She hugged it to her chest, smiling. A second later, her gaze turned thoughtful. “Could you make a few more and see if they sell?”
I laughed. “You want me to commercialize this unique gift of my heart so you can make a few bucks?”
She grinned at me. “So you can make a few bucks. I’m rich already. You’re not.”
“Ouch.” I stared at her, impressed at how much she’d changed since learning what she was. “You… witch.”
We both laughed. She broke off and put a hand over her mouth.
“I hope you’re not mad,” she said.
“If you didn’t have any Shadow in you, we wouldn’t be friends,” I reassured her. “Anyway, thanks for always dog-sitting. I don’t know what I’d do without—”
Both my watch and my phone chimed with the sound reserved for Raynor.
For a moment, I had the crazy thought it was Birdie’s good luck already kicking in. She wanted him; there he was.
But if that was the case, he would’ve called her, not me.
“Excuse me,” I said to Birdie, not telling her who it was. I didn’t want to see her hopeful, blushing face. For Brightness’s sake, having a crush on Director Raynor was as big a curse as being possessed by my demon mother. At least that had been a spell I’d been able to break.
Out on the sidewalk, I drew upon my beads for a protective shield before taking the call.
“You alone?” Raynor asked.
“Almost.” Gesturing apologetically at Birdie through the window, I turned my back to her. More experienced witches could listen in on a nearby conversation even after it had happened, but she wasn’t there yet. “Yes.”
“Darius told me about the letters,” he said. “He should’ve given them to me.”
I muttered another protective spell. He could hex me through the phone if he felt like it. “They had my name on them.”
“They were sent to the Protectorate. My office. The one they gave me the fancy title for. Director. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Anyone in the Diamond Street office could probably hear him shouting. Demon’s balls, even Helen next door could probably make out the words.
I stroked the big redwood bead at my throat and began weaving a thicker guarding spell around my head. Just muffling his voice would ease the pain in my eardrums.
“Is Darius OK?” I asked. At least I was a hundred miles away. Darius was—hopefully—breathing the same air as he was.
“What, you think I killed him? Transformed him into something?”
It wasn’t impossible. “You’ve locked me up in that attic room more than once,” I said.
“You’re different. You’re impossible.” Raynor let out a noise that was half growl, half sigh. “He did what he thought was right, bringing you documents marked with your name.”
“Then what are you so angry about?”
“You should’ve told me! Once you’d opened them, you should’ve told me!”
I looked up at the sun peeking out from behind an overcast sky. Although it was June, it was still chilly so near the coast until the coastal fog burned off in the afternoon. “That’s what I told Darius, not that it’s any of your business. Listen, just because I’ve done a few consulting gigs for you, I’m still a free person. I don’t work for the Protectorate anymore.” I glanced over my shoulder at Birdie, who was watching me through the window with her brow furrowed. “And neither does Percy.”
“And he never will again,” Raynor said. “Because he’s dead.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Even with my protective magical earmuffs, Raynor’s words took the breath out of me.
“Dead,” I whispered. “How?”
“Natural causes. Which of course means it wasn’t.” Raynor sniffed loudly, then continued in a slightly mellower tone. “Even without those letters, the Protectorate would be suspicious. He was recently a Protectorate agent. We never die of natural causes.”
He didn’t need to tell me. “What was the official story?”
“Heart condition. Got him while he was driving. Died in the crash,” he said. “I’m sure the death certificate will say that he had some unknown congenital disorder that he’s had all his life and could’ve struck at any time.” He let out a disbelieving snort.
“When?” I asked.
“Four days ago. We kept it quiet until now. I wouldn’t be telling you at all yet if Darius hadn’t come to me—finally—about those letters. This is why we don’t keep secrets.”
“You’re the one keeping secrets,” I said. “Four days? He wasn’t a stranger. I knew him. You should’ve told me.”
My mind swam with the memory of his letter.
That one word.
Please.
I took in a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. They were wet, prickling with emotion.
Please.
“He asked me for help.” My throat tightened. “He was afraid.”
“Yeah,” Raynor said. “Darius told me. Eventually. Too late.”
More tears fell. It wasn’t guilt; the letters hadn’t found me in time.
I’d related to Percy. He’d left the Protectorate because, like me, he’d felt he’d lacked the killer instinct for the job.
Well. Now that Raynor was involved, he could do something about finding justice for him. It was too late for me to prevent disaster, but Raynor could root out the Shadow that had ended the life of a witch not much older than I was.
I wiped my face and cleared my throat. “Are you sending Darius up there? Or would that be too obvious?” Darius and I had both known Percy during the same troubles over the winter solstice. “You probably want to send an agent that never met him. To investigate undercover.”
“Nice try,” Raynor said.
“What do you mean?”
I heard the clicks and tapping of his hands on the computer. “It’s not until next week,” he said. “That’s plenty of time. You’re already signed up.”
“No,” I said.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes. He was completely ignorant about anything botanical. Like most modern witches, he used metal for his magic—steel, gold, silver, brass, copper, even silicone. And he probably hadn’t watched all the TV from the UK showing how crazy people got about garden shows.
“You have no idea,” I said. “People spend years planning for these things.”
“It’s not like you have to win. You just need an excuse to be there.”
“It will be painfully obvious I don’t belong,” I said. “The excuse won’t hold.”
I heard him tapping at his computer. “There’s a hearth-witch subcategory. That’s perfect. How would you not belong? That’s exactly what you are. You have herbs, right? And a kitchen?”
It wasn’t worth explaining that other hearth witches were more like Helen, obsessively developing their gardens and greenhouses into financially magical enterprises. Many brilliant mail-order nurseries and famous hybridizing programs were run by witches—not that he’d know that.
“Why don’t you want to send a real agent?” I asked. “Percy apprenticed with the former Protector of Silverpool. There’s probably a link to something there you’ll want to know about.”
“And you’ll tell me,” he said.
“Raynor,” I argued. “Why not do this the official way? There’s no reason to be sneaky by using me off the books. Send one of your people. Or more than one.”
The phone went quiet. My stomach clenched with uneasiness.
“What are you not telling me?” I asked.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sure Percival Tuff was a perfectly nice guy, but his master was widely loathed. His demise has not improved his standing. In fact, his reputation has only grown more Shadowed as more have suddenly found the courage to speak openly about him.”
“You’re not going to investigate his murder because people didn’t like his boss?” I demanded.
“There is more than one way to investigate, as you well know.”
I could feel Birdie growing increasingly curious as she watched me through the window. If I didn’t want to inspire her to learn new spying spells, I should wrap up the call. “You should send your people. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Alma.” Raynor sniffed again, then coughed. I still didn’t know what the herbs did for him. Stimulant? Relaxant? Antihistamine? “You’re going to go anyway. Don’t pretend you’re not.”
“What do you mean? The only reason I’d go up to Elwin is if you’re too callous or—or afraid—to use Protectorate resources.”
“Look, I’m a busy man. I’m trying to find a new Protector, which won’t be helped by word getting out that his last app was just killed.” There was a click and a change in Raynor’s voice, telling me he’d put me on speaker and had started to do something else—something he thought was more important. “You have a whole week to dig up some weeds and rent a truck. We both know you’re going. Let’s not waste time.”
