Deadly Forest: A Green Witch Mystery, page 2
“The recipe is easy; the key is in the fresh herbs I grow here.”
Sensing Nel’s defences were down after the satisfying meal, she decided it was the perfect time for her questions. “Soo, how’s our favourite pathologist doing?”
Nel, who had been in the midst of a graceful sip from his glass, choked on his drink, his composure hijacked by surprise. After a brief and undignified struggle with the laws of swallowing, he managed to regain his voice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Rhianne, doing her utmost to maintain a straight face, hid a growing grin behind her cup. “You know, Dr Isobel Dupre of the mysterious supernatural kind?”
CHAPTER 2
Nel took off his jacket and draped it over a nearby stool.
“Quit stalling, Nel.” Rhianne speared a piece of her omelette with her fork.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he finally said.
“You mean, after two months, you’ve made as much progress as a snail on a leisurely stroll?” Rhianne shook her head in mock despair.
“Really, princess, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nel’s gaze fled to the window, where tall eucalyptus trees swayed as if nodding along to the conversation unfolding inside.
Rhianne sighed. “Yes, you do. At the very least, Isobel intrigues you because she’s immune to your charm.”
“So are you,” Nel shot back, but his comeback lacked its usual spark.
“Yes, and I’ve been the sole rare exception — until now. Besides, you are not interested in me in that way.” Rhianne air-quoted with her fork, a smirk dancing on her lips.
“Which way?” Nel undid one of the buttons in his collar and rolled up his sleeves.
It was strange to see him flustered. This was the man who could charm anyone, from prime ministers to janitors. He had the romantic attention span of a goldfish, with a new woman on his arm more often than a new shirt, not out of shallowness but simply because his supernatural allure could turn admirers into stage-five clingers.
As an incubus, Nel’s romantic escapades were more about dietary requirements than emotional connections, leading some of his past flames to be affectionately termed ‘snacks’ rather than partners. Incubi needed intimacy to maintain their life energy. Yet here he was, stumped over Isobel, a woman as impervious to his charm as a vegetarian at a barbeque.
“You’re being deliberately obtuse,” Rhianne accused, her words muffled by a mouthful of omelette. It was yummy, even if the conversation was veering into less savoury territory.
“She’s different,” he said in a wistful tone. “And it’s not just because she can resist my devastating charms. She’s got a brain that could probably power a small country and projects enough energy to short-circuit a telephone tower — when she’s not keeping it under wraps.” Nel raked his hair. “But it’s a moot point because I’ve failed to get even a hint of what she is. Comparing my progress to that of a snail is an insult to snails everywhere.”
“Is that all it is?” Rhianne tilted her head. “You’re itching to solve the mystery of her supernatural pedigree?”
Nel’s lips parted, on the brink of confession or perhaps denial, then snapped shut. He glanced at his watch, a classic Nel move to dodge emotional quicksand. “Of course,” he said, the blasé grin returning as if he’d found his footing back on familiar ground. “Like you, I can never resist a puzzle.”
“Nel—”
“I’ve got to dash, princess. Duty calls, and it’s notoriously impatient.” He shrugged on his jacket, a shadow of his usual charm in place and he leaned to kiss Rhianne’s cheek. “Your breakfast is always a win, and yes, I still want that recipe.” He retreated towards the door. “I’ll even spring for your fancy herbs and tomatoes. It’s that good.” With a bow that was more dramatic than dignified, he made his exit.
Rising from her seat, Rhianne leaned against her windowsill and watched Nel slide into his car. Was it her imagination, or did his steps lack their usual energy and merriment? The sight tugged at her heartstrings.
The problem was she didn’t know how to help him. Nel meant the world to her. Her best friend was more like a big brother — an irresponsible big brother who needed her watchful eye.
Nel had come into Rhianne’s life when, as a rebellious sixteen-year-old, she sneaked into his club. With the eagle eyes of a seasoned bouncer but the heart of a teddy bear, Nel had caught her red-handed, choosing to regale her with mocktails and tall tales instead of kicking her out. It was an unconventional beginning to a friendship that had weathered over two decades of life’s storms and sunny days.
The impromptu bet had hijacked Rhianne’s usual morning routine, typically a serene affair involving a walk in the national park and contemplation — a result of her growing impatience with Nel’s ongoing drama with Kai.
Nel had been giving Kai the cold shoulder, adopting an attitude frostier than a snowman, while Kai, ever the diplomat, managed to keep their interactions as warm as a lukewarm cup of tea. The friction between them was obvious, with Rhianne caught in the middle.
A pinch of jealousy probably contributed, but it was mostly clashing personalities seasoning their feud.
Where Kai was the embodiment of ‘speak softly and carry a big stick,’ often mistaken for a walking supercomputer, Nel was more ‘speak loudly and be the stick’ — the life of any party — and the afterparty.
Their differences were glaring; Kai viewed rules as sacred texts, his brain a meticulously organised filing cabinet. Nel, on the other hand, saw them more as ‘suggestions,’ guided by the philosophy that life was too short for anything less than full throttle. This fundamental clash of temperaments had led to a situation where the only thing they agreed on was their mutual irritation, turning Rhianne’s peacekeeping missions into attempts at aligning stars rather than simply bridging gaps.
So, Rhianne’s grand plan B was to inject some semblance of niceness into their interactions — or at the very least, broker a ceasefire that could pass for civility.
Brushing aside her concerns for Nel’s loneliness and his enmity with Kai, she glanced at her kitchen clock. In a silent but stern manner, it reminded her it was almost time to swap her mediator hat for her nursery owner cap.
A mountain of paperwork loomed on her horizon, evidence of her impressive procrastination skills.
Carl and Alice — her gargoyle employees — ran the nursery with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. In fact, she was planning on bribing Carl to help her with the admin stuff — Carl enjoyed doing it.
But the adrenaline hangover from the morning’s high-speed diplomacy, aka car vs. motorbike race, was still coursing through her. She needed to shake it off first.
Rhianne embarked on her walk, weaving her path towards a cherished clearing. The morning unfurled with a splash of sunshine, the kind that gently nudged jackets back into the closet and whispered of spring’s embrace.
Here, she had struck up a sort of friendship with a giant eucalyptus tree. Communing with nature, or as she liked to call it, ‘eavesdropping on tree gossip,’ had become a welcome addition to her day. It was her daily dose of arboreal soap opera, complete with wind-whispered secrets and the rustling tales of leaves.
She was attempting to nurture yet another nascent power — her inner dryad — a legacy from her High Witch mother’s side.
As she nestled on her customary rock and closed her eyes, the song of the bush shifted. The rhythm grew quicker and more urgent, trying to get her attention. A distinct scent, that of wood and resin with a hint of mint filled her nostrils.
Her eyes snapped open.
Grandpa Angelo was calling her.
Receiving a message from her grandpa via the local flora was new territory for Rhianne. Up until now, her tree-whispering skills were more about interpretation than actual dialogue. The urgency of the message left her with a gut feeling that oscillated between mild indigestion and pre-stage jitters.
The real conundrum, however, was how to reply. Rhianne had mastered the art of listening to the trees, but speaking back? That was about as effective as trying to text with a potato.
Grandpa’s disdain for modern tech didn’t help. His home was a black hole for phone signals, or sketchy at best. He held a firmly rooted belief that gadgets made people rush life instead of living it at the pace of leisurely tree growth. Attempting to send a mental RSVP to the trees, Rhianne got nothing but a cacophony in return, the equivalent of a busy signal or ‘not interested’ in the natural world.
With urgency nipping at her heels, she marched back to her apartment to seek the wisdom of Toto, her go-to for advice. Yet Toto was conspicuously absent, leaving Rhianne to ponder how to summon a tricky fae — always there when least expected but never when needed.
Toto may bristle at being called a ‘dog’, but there was clearly some puppy-like affection in his heart for the form.
“What I wouldn’t give for a ‘Summon Toto’ button right about now,” she muttered, contemplating the convenience of magical speed dial in a world where her current crisis communication tool was leaves rustling in the wind.
Rhianne gave the landline at Grandpa’s a try, but it rang with lonely persistence — unanswered.
Should she call her mother? She shook her head. That was akin to calling in a SWAT team for a cat stuck in a tree. Their relationship, while on the mend since the incident that had erased her blood debt, still wasn’t at the “spill your guts over brunch” level.
She hesitated, partly because she feared her mother’s reaction to the tree message might include an eye-roll so powerful it could be felt through the phone line.
And then there was the whole burgeoning dryad power issue. Admitting to that would inevitably lead to talks of formal training and joining the coven — a group that only accepted Rhianne because her mother was the High Witch.
No, dragging her mother into this was not a good idea. She needed a solution that didn’t involve coven politics or revealing her secret affinity for plant-based chat rooms.
Besides, this might be nothing.
Yet the itch of curiosity and concern was too persistent to ignore. It was high time for an unconventional approach. If she could communicate with the trees, maybe, just maybe, she could extend her newfound postal service to reach Toto.
It was a long shot, but then again, Rhianne had never been one to play it safe.
Opting for a strategic position, she settled into Toto’s favourite chair — the one he’d claimed as his throne, despite it being a perfectly ordinary piece of human furniture. It might not be a magic wand, but hey, superstition hadn’t filed a patent yet.
She shut her eyes, summoning the image of Toto as the endearing, fluffy Maltese who’d witnessed her many childhood escapades.
Toto had been Rhianne’s faithful companion when she was six; his arrival coincided with her Elven father, Caelan, discovering he had a daughter.
The enigma of Toto’s true fae nature lingered — powerful, wise, and old-fashioned traits he shared with her father, Caelan, though Rhianne might contest the ‘wise’ descriptor in Caelan’s case.
“Focus,” she muttered.
This time around, Rhianne decided to bypass the mental image of Toto in his usual fluffy form, which always made her want to offer him a treat and a belly rub, and instead, conjured his less cuddly, more regal incarnation as a wedge-tailed eagle.
This was Toto in his ‘I’m too majestic to bother with mortal shenanigans’ mode. The eagle served as a swifter means of travel — like upgrading from parcel post to email.
As she settled deeper into her focused state, a whisper of connection flickered at the edge of her consciousness, elusive yet insistent. She mentally grasped at it, imagining herself ringing a dinner bell.
A gust of warmth played through her hair, a prelude to the voice that carried a blend of amusement and exasperation.
“By the whispering winds! One does not simply bellow for a fae as if hailing a taxi in the mortal realm. Have we abandoned all forms of mystical etiquette, Rhianne?” Toto said.
Opening her eyes, Rhianne beamed. “I called you,” she said with wonder.
“Loudly,” Toto grumbled in return.
Anyone else would have reacted to the large eagle in front of them with a healthy dose of fear, but Rhianne reached out and stroked his back. His dark plumage was magnificent. Despite his earlier gripes, Toto melted under her touch, his head dipping.
After a moment, he shifted back into his dog form.
“What cosmic event has prompted you to finally harness your long-distance call ability?” he asked.
Uncomfortable warmth spread across Rhianne’s face. She’d be the first to admit that she wasn’t the best of students; she’d been working on her patience and overcoming her reluctance to learn elven magic. As a green witch, she found joy and purpose in the language of leaves and the whispers of the wind. And healing others was a privilege.
Yet, when it came to branching out into the wider realms of her inherited powers, the journey felt more like navigating a bramble patch than a clear forest path.
According to Toto, the problem was her focus — that of a butterfly in a windstorm. But she thought the real reason was that her magic was small and insignificant.
In a moment of honesty, she recognised it was mostly fear — Everyone had treated her as a weak halfling who didn’t belong in either the supernatural or the human world. Okay, not Toto or Nel, but they didn’t count because they loved her. Of course that list was now growing.
Interrupting her spiralling thoughts and hoping to steer away from her internal monologue, Rhianne blurted out, “Grandpa Angelo called … via the trees.”
Toto tilted his head. “It is heartening to see your dryad magic bloom, even if at the pace of a particularly cautious tortoise. But I suspect there is more to this summoning than celebrating your newfound powers.”
Rhianne stretched her arms overhead and rotated her neck. “It’s possible Grandpa has called me before and I never noticed. Usually, he reaches out to my mother. He knows I can’t speak to the trees.”
Toto raised an eyebrow.
Rhianne sighed. “Couldn’t before, but he doesn’t know that, does he? So why call me? I tried to call him but got nothing.”
“You are concerned,” Toto said, and licked her hand.
“Yes, I am. Is there a way of contacting him?”
“I can surpass those expectations,” Toto said, preening himself.
“Oh?”
“I can portal us there.”
CHAPTER 3
“What? Right now?” Rhianne asked, her voice bouncing off the walls of her apartment.
“Are you not eager to ease your fears?” Toto asked.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Yes, using portals was a rare ability, reserved for the upper echelons of mystical beings. But Toto had used a portal to crash an Elven party in their realm during a previous case. She’d seen and sensed enough from him to know he was powerful. But, among those who could use portals, few could take others with them.
“Well, yes, but …” She had been through a portal a total of two times, and both trips had been less ‘magical journey’ and more ‘tumble dryer experience.’ They said it got easier with time, but she suspected they were the same people who claimed ‘you’ll grow into your ears.’
Toto sat on his haunches, the picture of patience, if she ignored the tail thumping expectantly on the floor.
Okay, time to lace up her boots with vines of courage. “I’ll let Carl and Alice know we’ll be gone — they’ll be at the nursery already — and then we can leave.”
Rhianne bolted down the stairs from her apartment, covering the short stretch to the nursery in no time — her place of chaos and photosynthesis.
Inside her office, Carl stared at her mountain of paperwork, but he grinned at her arrival. “Do you need a hand?” His gesture swept over the landscape of loose sheets and unopened envelopes that had claimed every inch of her desk, like a particularly aggressive paper jungle.
“That’d be fantastic! I have to go up the coast to see Grandpa,” Rhianne announced in a nonchalant but breezy tone, as if ‘visiting Grandpa’ involved nothing more than a short sunny drive rather than portal travel.
Carl’s grin vanished, his posture going from relaxed to DEFCON 1 in a nanosecond. “Is everything all right?”
Rhianne fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Carl was a teddy bear — if teddy bears doubled as bodyguards and occasional Norse gods. He was seven feet tall, and Rhianne had to stretch her neck to look at him. Kind, a tad shy, but with a protective streak wider than the Great Barrier Reef. The moment trouble sniffed around, Carl morphed into a brick wall with stony fists.
She wanted to reassure him and ignored the tiny voice in her head suggesting this was more than a casual jaunt. Optimism won. If Carl sensed trouble, he’d insist on coming along, likely dragging Alice and the rest of their motley crew into the fray. Rhianne envisioned the scenario: a road trip crammed with good intentions, ending in collective disappointment if all Grandpa wanted was to chat about the weather.
“Everything is fine, but Grandpa wants to talk, so Toto is taking me.” She shrugged.
Carl tilted his head, a soldier still at attention but now puzzled by the tactics.
Rhianne diverted his looming protective overdrive by adding, “Reception is atrocious there, and we are going by portal, so I should be back in a jiffy. All good. But hey, if you fancy tackling some of this paperwork while I’m gone, I’ll owe you lunch.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need help …”
Rhianne patted his arm and flashed him a bright smile. “You’re the best! I’ve got to run before Toto gets bored and goes off chasing possums.” With a wave, she turned on her heel and marched out. The moment she was out of sight, she sprinted back to her apartment.
Toto was lying on his favourite armchair and opened one eye when she came in.
