It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (18 page)

“
Ma chère
, I am Pepe. You must forgive my lout of a friend. He loves to take credit where none is due.” He held out his hand.

I crouched down and took it.

“An honor,” he said as he kissed my knuckles. “The dress was indeed made for you. The moment I saw you, I knew it had to be.” He made a sweeping motion ­toward the dressing room, where the blue dress I’d seen earlier in the window now hung.

“But I don’t need a dress,” I said.

Godfrey had sat in one of the chairs and was dabbing his forehead with his pocket square. “Of course you do. For the Midsummer Dance.”

“But I don’t think I’m even going to the dance.”

Pepe said, “You are going,
ma chère
, and you will look
magnifique
in the dress.” He kissed his fingertips. “I am currently working on a piece for your aunt. Stunning, if I do say so myself.”

I didn’t dare argue that I wasn’t going to the dance for fear he’d chomp my ankle, too. “You know Ve well?” I asked, looking between the two of them. She could have warned me that there were talking mice in the village.

Pepe peered up at Godfrey, whose cheeks had colored a mottled red. “You could say so. We were, at one point…married.”

“Married?” I choked out.

“I believe”—­he dabbed his forehead again—­“I was her third husband.”

“Mr. Rat Toad?” I said before I could stop myself.

His cheeks were now in full flush. His eyebrows rose into bristly white peaks. “I believe you forgot to add ‘bottom dweller.’ Ve’s favorite endearment of all.”

“Rat toad?” Pepe said, his dark little eyes brightening. He started laughing. Great, gusty gales of laughter. He fell on his back and started rolling back and forth. “Rat toad! Bottom dweller,” he gasped, still rolling around, holding his chubby little tummy in glee.

Godfrey lifted him by the tail. “That is quite enough.”

“Put me down!” Pepe swung tiny fists.

Godfrey set him on the table at the center of the four chairs. “I can’t believe you bit me.”

“It is but a tiny scratch. This time,” Pepe warned, shaking his fist again.

Godfrey leaned down and poked Pepe’s round belly. “You should watch it, or perhaps I’ll decide a nice black cat would add to our store image and be good for business.”

Pepe’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Godfrey countered.

Pepe glared for a moment, then bowed to me. “A pleasure,
ma chère
. Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I
have work to do.” He slid down the table leg, hit the floor, and adjusted his vest. His tail shot in the air, and there was a definite swagger in his step as he strode toward a small arched wooden door in the baseboard next to the dressing room. He opened the door, strode in, and slammed the door behind him.

“You wouldn’t really get a cat, would you?” I asked Godfrey.

“I might. Perhaps. Do not frown, Miss Darcy. Pepe would be in no danger. It is very difficult to kill a familiar. However, he is not immune from being chased around. And caught.”

I sat down opposite him. “Are there many familiars in the village?”

“A few,” he said evasively.

My mind was reeling with questions. “How does one become a familiar, exactly?”

“There are a few ways. The most popular is dying.”

“Dying?”

“Familiars, after all, are spirits inside an animal’s body. Most commonly, a spell is cast when a person dies, and their spirit is brought back in the form of an animal.”

“And anyone can cast this spell?”

“Any Crafter who knows it. But the person who dies must want to come back.”

“And they’re here forever? A pet that doesn’t die?” It sounded a bit creepy to me.

“Not always. They can decide, at any time, to go back to being a free spirit and go to the place spirits dwell.”

I glanced at Pepe’s door. “Pepe? How old is he?”

Godfrey tipped his head side to side. “He died in 1798 and has been with my family ever since.”

I was struggling to take it all in, to absorb the information. “Does the spirit get to choose its animal body?”

“Usually,” Godfrey said. “It depends on the spell and who’s casting it. A form must be available.”

“What’s that mean? A familiar doesn’t come back as a newborn animal? It can be an animal that’s years old?”

“Certainly.”

This was all very confusing.

“The spirit has a choice,” he said.

I chewed my lip, trying to make sense of what Godfrey was telling me. “So, for example,” I said, racking my brain for one, “Higgins.”

Godfrey laughed. “Gayle Chastain’s Saint Bernard?”

I nodded. “He’s a few years old, but Russ died only last year. If he was a Crafter, and knew the familiar spell, could he have taken over Higgins’ body?”

“Indeed!” Godfrey exclaimed as though I was a star student. “Though to my knowledge Higgins is simply a big drooling buffoon of a dog. Not a familiar.”

“Interesting. Can a familiar change bodies at will?”

“Once a form is chosen, it is usually permanent. There are rare exceptions.”

“Like what?”

“If the form suffers an injury, a broken paw or some such. Or if the form is relocated unwillingly.”

“Dognapped?”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “And sometimes, if the spirit has a valid reason for switching forms, the Elder has the ability to grant the requested change.”

“She does?”

“Indeed. Her powers are boundless.”

I was taking in so much information, it was hard to process. Before I could ask anything about the Elder (I had so many questions), Godfrey said, “There are downsides to consider when becoming a familiar.”

“Like what?”

“The familiar retains his spirit, but also inherits the natural traits of the form. Pepe, for example, craves cheese. A cat familiar would respond, even perhaps against her will, to scratching and start purring. A bee would search for pollen.” His gaze softened. “You’ve much to learn, Darcy Merriweather. Velma has been remiss.”

“She’s been a little busy,” I defended.

“Ah yes, this murder business. Terrible.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Between us, I am not so sad to see that tacky Sylar Dewitt behind bars.”

Tacky? I thought he dressed quite a bit like Godfrey, though I thought better about saying so. “Even if he’s innocent?”

In a serious tone, he said, “The man is not who he appears to be. That will soon come to light, I should think.”

“What do you mean?” What did he know?

He waved a hand. “Nothing certain. Only a feeling. An instinct.”

I bit my cheek. I believed greatly in trusting instincts. What he said motivated me to learn as much about Sylar as I could.

“Now, Miss Darcy, are you ready to admit you came in to finally try on your dress?”

I smiled. “Honestly, Godfrey?”

He nodded.

“I really came in to see if you’ve ever made a cloak for a Vaporcrafter.”

His face fell. “Really?”

“Really.”

He looked so sad that I added, “But I’ll try on the dress as well. I do love it.”

Perking right up, he said, “I knew it! Now, what’s this about a Vaporcrafter?”

I explained what had happened in Lotions and Potions.

“Velma’s correct,” he said. “There hasn’t been a Vaporcrafter in the village in decades.” He clapped twice, two short bursts. A leather-­bound book appeared in his hands.

I drew in a breath.

His teeth glistened as he smiled wide. “A little razzle-­dazzle meant to impress. Did it work?”

Nodding, I said, “I’m definitely impressed.”

“Good, good.”

Pepe’s voice came from behind the door in the baseboard. “Show-­off.”

“He’s just jealous,” Godfrey said, dismissing Pepe’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Now, let’s see about that Vaporcrafter.” He flipped pages through the old book filled with names and dates, written with meticulous penmanship. “Vaporcrafter, Vaporcrafter…” His finger slid down a page. “Interesting,” he finally said.

“What?” I leaned in, trying to read upside down.

“In my family’s history, we’ve made only one cloak for a Vaporcrafter.” As an aside he said, “They don’t really need them with the way they can dissolve into thin air and such. It was back in 1959 to Isaiah Clemson. As far as I know, there are no remaining Clemsons. The Elder would know for certain.”

A half hour later, I left the shop with a lot more information than I’d hoped for, a gauzy blue dress, and a pit in my stomach.

Because if I wanted to help Sylar, I was going to have to contact the Elder.

I
rushed home to find the dog door open. I groaned, thinking Missy had once again escaped. But no sooner was the sound out of my mouth than she came barreling into the room, full force. She yapped and barked happily. I grabbed her up, rubbing her ears. I slipped her collar back over her head. “No more losing it, okay?”

Tilda sat on the kitchen counter. I noticed a leaf caught on her fur and plucked it off. It wasn’t often she ventured outside through the dog door, but when she did, she never strayed far—­mostly because she liked to stare at the macaw next door, who was often in his outdoor cage. I had a feeling she was trying to figure out how to set the bird free so she could “play” with him.

I scratched her ears, too, and looked into her blue eyes. After meeting Pepe, I couldn’t help but wonder.…

Tilda stared back at me.

“Are you a familiar?” I asked her. I had to ask. Because on my way home I’d finally realized where I’d heard the term before. It was the day after Alex had been killed. I’d heard Ve upstairs talking to a mystery woman and they’d talked about a familiar. Ve had explained the voice away as talking to herself, but after learning about familiars, I doubted that was true. “Are you?” I asked Tilda again.

She commenced taking a bath.

I looked down at Missy. “Are you?”

She tried to wiggle out of my arms to help Tilda with her bath. Tilda
rreow
ed and took off. “I guess that means no,” I said as I set Missy on the floor.

After I looked around for little doors in the baseboards (there were none), I noticed that Aunt Ve had left a note on the counter.

Love,
Auntie Ve

Ve’s locket sat next to the note.

I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to stuff the wombat with candy, drop off the locket, and pick up Evan. I needed to change, too. The shorts and T-­shirt I was wearing weren’t professional enough for Jake Carey’s party.

I made sure Tilda and Missy had plenty of water, and took Missy for a quick walk before I left. On my way out, I slid the panel down over the dog door to make sure they both stayed in the house.

All That Glitters was just a half block down the road, so I loaded the wombat into the car, and decided I’d walk to the shop. As I passed the house next door, I slowed to a stop. Now that I knew one of Ve’s exes lived there, I was curious. As I stood surveying the cottage, the macaw, Archie, started yelling, “Stelllaaaaaa! Stellllaaaaa!”

Mr. Goodwin had obviously watched
A Streetcar Named Desire
at some point.

I hurried on as several tourists stopped to gawk. Archie seemed to love the attention—­I could hear his
spot-­on catcalls from down the block. There were more people roaming the village this afternoon than there had been this morning, but not nearly as many as usual. The bad press was definitely taking its toll.

All That Glitters was located between the Cauldron and the Furry Toadstool, its glittery awning an eye-­catcher. Shea Carling was behind the counter when I stepped into the shop. Max Carling was helping a couple on the other side of the room. The woman was oohing and aahing over a selection of necklaces.

“Darcy, hello! I believe you have something for me?”

I smiled. Shea had a way about her that made me feel welcome. Warmth flowed from her eyes, her smile. I guessed her to be early forties, but her long blond hair and bare-­minimum makeup (she truly didn’t need any) made her look years younger.

I pulled the locket out of my pocket and set it on the counter. “The clasp isn’t working right. The necklace keeps falling off.”

She held the clasp up to the light. “It’s very loose. Ve’s lucky she didn’t lose it.” She clicked open the locket. I leaned in—­I’d never seen what was in it.

“Awww,” she said, turning it to face me. “That’s sweet.”

On one side, the locket held a photograph of Sylar. It had been trimmed to fit into the oval frame. On the other side, there was an inscription.

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

I stared at the words, trying to remember how I knew them. I repeated them over and over in my head until it clicked. I’d just seen them this morning. At the gift shop—­on one of the Shakespeare quote mugs. Right next to the mug with “A Madness Most Discreet”—­the inscription that had been on Alexandra’s watch.

“Do you want to wait for this? It’ll only take me a second,” Shea said. “Darcy? Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost!”

“I—­I’ll come back for the locket,” I stammered. Turning, I hurried out of the shop. I needed fresh air.

Outside, I leaned against a streetlight. My stomach rolled, and I felt queasy.

Because if my hunch was right—­and I suspected it was—­then I knew who Alexandra Shively’s secret boyfriend had been.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Darcy,” Evan said.

We were on our way to drop off the wombat and then to the Goodwins’ house. I glanced over at him, hoping that Cherise could cure him. He looked like a prepubescent desperado with his loose baggy jeans, oversized sweatshirt with the hood up, big sunglasses, and bandanna tied loosely around the bottom half of his face.

I had the air-­conditioning at full blast so he wouldn’t overheat. I, on the other hand, was starting to shiver. Jake’s marsupial-­themed party in Melrose was a good half-­hour drive, give or take the traffic situation, from Salem. I might be a Darcycicle by the time we arrived.

I’d told Evan about my Sylar theory. I just couldn’t keep it in, and knew I could trust him. After all, as another Wishcrafter, we were practically family. I had a ton of questions about him being a Cross-­Crafter, but kept them in check in light of the Sylar situation. I thought about what Evan said, that my theory might be wrong.