It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (14 page)

Ve nodded. “It didn’t last long at all. Just long enough to produce Dennis. He’s a lot like his father.”

“Are you sure the ‘rat, toad, bottom dweller’ wasn’t in reference to him?”

She laughed. “Terry Goodwin is an interesting man. He lives next door, you know.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

I hadn’t met the next-door neighbor yet, though my first night in the village I’d almost called the police to his house. I’d woken up in the middle of the night to loud shouting, then screaming.

Turned out the ruckus had been perpetrated by Archie, a loudmouthed macaw. Apparently our neighbor
liked to watch a lot of TV and DVDs and Archie picked up a few sounds and phrases. Like a shoot-out from
Scarface
and the Janet Leigh shower scene from
Psycho
.

“He’s a CPA; perhaps you’ve seen his shingle in the front yard? These days he’s very reclusive, so you won’t see him much about the village. He’s actually a nice man,” she said. “Just…interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about him?”

“You’ll see eventually.”

“Dennis does have nice eyes,” I said, trying to find something nice to say about him.

She wagged a finger at me. “I thought you were smarter than to fall for a nice pair of eyes.”

I suddenly thought of Nick’s brown eyes and shook the image free.

“Let’s just call it a momentary lapse of judgment.” And consciousness, but there was no need to tell Ve about that little mishap.

“Was ex number one, Terry Goodwin, a Curecrafter, then?”

Ve spooned scrambled eggs onto the corner of a piece of toast. “No, he’s actually a Numbercrafter.”

“But Dennis is a Curecrafter?”

“His powers come from Cherise.”

“Do all powers come only from mothers?”

Ve shook her head. “If two different types of Crafters have a child together—a Curecrafter and a Numbercrafter, for example—the child is considered a Cross-Crafter.” She smiled. “Kind of like a hybrid. One power will be dominant over the other. For Dennis, his strength is as a Curecrafter, though make no doubt about it, he’s also good with numbers.”

Right. So much to learn. So much to remember.

“Terry thinks he can win me back,” Ve said, motioning with her head to the house next door. “He’s been thinking that for over twenty years.”

I had to give him credit for hanging in for the long haul.

“Cherise is just happy it’s me he’s chosen to live next to. She rubs it in every chance she gets.”

I laughed. “What kind of crazy town did I move to?”

“Never a dull moment,” she said.

No. Not yet at least. “Where’s Mr. Rat Toad Bottom Dweller now? Does he live around here?”

Her eyebrows rose again. “Indeed he does. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”

“But you’re not going to tell me who it is?”

“I prefer you learn the village on your own, form your own opinions. You’ll be amazed how quickly you’ll start picking up on who’s a Crafter and who isn’t. My guess is, they’ll start introducing themselves to you because they already know you’re a Crafter and will have no fear of losing their powers. Be alert.”

“So, you’re not going to give me a list of who’s who?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun would be nice.” I thought about Amanda and Laurel Grace. “I was so worried I’d done something wrong last night.…”

She turned and faced me, her expression serious and guarded. “You didn’t, but you must remember my warning from yesterday. Your powers are great—you must be careful. If there is something you do not understand, you should call me.”

I didn’t mention how futile that would have been last night, but apparently she must have been thinking along the same lines.

“Or perhaps it is time I show you how to contact the Elder. She knows all the answers you’ll ever need.”

Harper hurried down the stairs, a pep in her step. She slung a small backpack on the counter, nearly knocking the wombat onto the floor. “Did I hear you say ‘the Elder’?”

“Does she live around here?” I asked.

Aunt Ve smiled. “Hers is not a door on which you can knock.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Harper eyed my plate, and I slid it her way. She zapped it in the microwave for twenty seconds to warm up the now cold eggs.

“There are steps in place to contact her. Take with you your message on a piece of paper. There is a well-worn path in the woods behind the house. Follow it along until you cross a small creek, and farther still until the path curves around a large boulder in the shape of a piece of cake—aptly called Cake Rock. Over rocks and roots and past mossy meadows and clovered hollows. In the middle of a small clearing there is a tree. In its trunk there is a small hole. Insert your message there, and go home. Wait for a reply.”

“Holy
Mission: Impossible
,” Harper said. She hadn’t taken a bite of the food, so enraptured was she in Ve’s directions.

Ve smiled. “It is a bit convoluted, but that is the process, and it must be followed.”

I should have taken notes. There was no way I was going to remember all that.

“You will need to memorize the directions,” Ve added, “for it is forbidden to write them down.”

There went that plan.

“Crafters are very secretive about our society and how it’s run. We have to be. Even in this day and age.”

She reached for the bacon pan, and as she leaned forward, her locket came off and bounced with a loud clatter on the range top. Ve picked it up and looked at the clasp. “I need to get this fixed at All That Glitters—my little slapdash quickie fix didn’t hold.” She slipped it in her pocket. “Now, tell me. What else did I miss last night?”

Harper glanced at me. “Did you tell her about the disappearing act?”

“The Goodwins?” Ve said. “Yes.”

“No, no. Even better. Tell her, Darcy.”

“Yes, tell me,” Ve said.

I found myself retelling my experience from the night before. I finished by saying, “And suddenly there was this puff of smoke and the person was gone.”

“Just like that,” Harper added.

“Just like that,” I echoed.

Tilda hopped up onto the counter, and I noticed even Missy had come closer, sitting at Harper’s feet. It was as if they sensed the importance of this conversation.

Ve’s face had gone pale. “Describe the smoke to me.”

I thought back. “It was bright at first, like a quick explosion, but without the noise. Then smoke formed in a pluming cloud, but it looked almost like the remnants of Fourth of July fireworks—it had a touch of something sparkly in the fading fog. Within another minute, the room had cleared completely and it was as if nothing ever happened. But the intruder was gone. Vanished.”

Ve chewed her lip, then said, “It couldn’t be.”

“Couldn’t be what?” I asked.

“A Vaporcrafter. There hasn’t been one in these parts in decades.”

“Are they evil or something?” Harper asked.

Ve laughed. “Not at all, Harper, dear. But until now… everyone thought they were extinct.”

“That can happen?” I asked.

“The Craft is hereditary, Darcy, dear. If there are no heirs, the line will die out. It’s unfortunate, but it happens from time to time.”

Die out.
I shuddered at the phrase and wondered, if that was the case, what was one doing in Alexandra Shively’s shop?

And what, exactly, had that Vaporcrafter been looking for?

*   *   *

Harper left, Aunt Ve disappeared into the office, and I beelined for the shower.

My head was spinning as I thought about what had been going on the last couple of days. Between the pickpocketing and Alexandra’s death and the Goodwins’ disappearance…never mind the whole Wishcrafter thing. As I wrapped myself in a towel and wiped steam from the mirror, I caught myself smiling. I hardly thought Troy could call my life—call
me
—boring now.

My smile faded as a familiar pain thrummed in my chest, and I sagged a bit. It had been two years since the divorce was final. When would the ache go away and never come back? How long did it take to fall out of love with someone? To evict him from a heart forever?

I glanced at the mirror.

You’ve let yourself go. A lot.

I was embarrassed to admit how much so. Or why.

That I hadn’t cut my hair or bought new clothes since the day I kicked Troy out. Because a tiny part of me had wished, had hoped, that he’d come back, begging me for another chance. That he’d see I’d been perfect the way I was. That I hadn’t needed a change.

Standing here, the tiles cold under my feet, I suddenly realized something.

Troy had been right.

To a point. I had led a boring—safe—life, but I’d been perfectly happy. Or so I thought. Turns out I just didn’t know better. Now I knew that back in Ohio I’d been
content
. Content to let life live me, instead of me living life.

It wasn’t until I made the momentous decision to move here that I started to realize how much happier I could be. This village, this house, my heritage…these things made me truly happy.

Two years had been too long to live in the past. It was
time to take control of my life again. And there was no better time to start.

In the mirror, I saw a smile start to curl the corners of my lips. I fumbled around in the vanity drawers and found what I was looking for. A nice sharp pair of scissors.

I set them on the edge of the sink, picked up my comb, and ran it through my long hair. I pulled a section forward and lifted the scissors. Held them there. Then put them back down. Not because I’d changed my mind, but because I’d really come to love my long hair.

Biting my lip, I knew I had to do something, anything, to mark this turning point. Taking a deep breath, I combed the hair along my forehead forward, and picked up the scissors again.

The first cut was the hardest.

By the time I was done, I felt a little freer. The last time I’d had bangs was when I was a just a small thing, maybe four or five.

I liked them. True, they were a little lopsided, but not terribly noticeable. And perhaps a few chic highlights wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’d stop by the salon later on and make an appointment.

Until then I had work to do. I had a wombat to finish, soup to make, a sick friend to visit, and, in between, a little snooping to do.

I set my laptop up on the kitchen countertop as I set about making chicken and rice soup for Evan and searched online for Alexandra Shively. Harper was right—we needed to learn more about Alexandra if we were going to solve her murder. Her shop was one of the first hits. I browsed the site as I shredded chicken breasts and chopped carrots.

I couldn’t find anything unusual, except for the contact form for scheduling personal consultations. Since the police had confiscated her computer, they’d have the
information of who had set up appointments with Alex—and if they were potential suspects.

Another person who might have a list of Alex’s clients, at least a partial list, was Dr. Dennis Goodwin. Not that he’d share that information with me. Even if he wasn’t bound by legal and ethical laws, the man hated me. And I couldn’t say I blamed him.

I glanced at the phone. After wiping my hands, I picked it up and, taking Ve’s advice, dialed Cherise Goodwin.

“Darcy, what a surprise! What can I do for you?” She sounded like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Laurel Grace and Amanda. Have you heard from them?”

“Last night—Amanda needed a credit card number to secure her room at the resort. They’re in Disney World of all places. Laurel Grace is beside herself with happiness and is lunching with some princesses today.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Do you think I could stop by later? It might be time to wish them back, don’t you think?”

“Not really. Dennis has hardly learned his lesson after only half a day.”

“It’s just that I’m not really comfortable with making people disappear. I’d really like to bring them back.”

There was a stretch of silence before she said, “How about this? Why don’t you come over tonight and we can discuss it. If your argument is convincing, I’ll wish them back. And if it’s not, then I’ll let you call and talk to Amanda so you can have some peace of mind.”

I agreed and hung up, but as I stared at the phone, I had the feeling Cherise was up to something. I just didn’t know what. Or how I played into it.

While the soup simmered, I mixed paints to use on the wombat piñata. Once upon a time, I went through a Martha Stewart phase and became quite crafty. It just about drove Troy nuts when he came home to find the
hall mirror suddenly turned into a mosaic or the house stinking of lye because I’d decided to try my hand at making homemade candles. He wasn’t one to appreciate homemade creativity.

I went about painting the wombat, and have to say I was quite pleased with the results. It really looked like a wombat. I tipped my head. Well, it was close enough. I set it aside to dry and looked at the clock. There was just enough time to run out and shop for a pick-me-up for Evan, a little something to brighten his day.

Aunt Ve was in the office, working on a press release about the reward for the missing watch—Marcus had dropped off a template the night before. She was bent over the computer, pencil perched between her teeth. A stack of flyers, hot off the copier, sat on the edge of the desk.

“I’m going to run a few errands,” I said. “Do you need anything?”

She took the pencil out of her mouth, tucked it behind her ear, and tapped the flyers. “Can you start handing these out around the village?”

The flyers were printed on bright green paper with the words “REWARD $10,000” emblazoned across the top of the page. There was a picture of a replica of Alex’s watch underneath, with a giant-fonted “LOST” below that, along with Aunt Ve’s cell phone number.

There was no mention of Alex, or of the murder, or of Sylar. To any tourist, it would seem as though someone were simply anxious to have an heirloom returned.

“Just be sure not to tack them anywhere, especially light poles and trees—the village council frowns upon signage of that nature. I’ll be going to visit Sylar soon.”