It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (19 page)

“Don’t you think,” I said, “it’s just a bit too coincidental that two pieces of jewelry that are given to two local women are inscribed with Shakespeare quotes found on mugs from the local gift shop? And it would also explain why Sylar disliked Alex so much—­if she was his ex.”

“If I was Ve, I’d be mad that Alex got the Harry Winston.”

“If I was Ve,” I said, “I’d be mad that he got my inscription from a mug at the local gift shop.”

Evan held the wombat steady as I turned a corner. “I never really considered Sylar to be wealthy. He certainly
doesn’t throw money around like he is. Lives in a brownstone down the street from me. Drives a Ford. I can’t see him buying a watch like that—­or having the money to.”

“Everyone has their secrets.”

He nodded. “True. How do we find out if they dated for sure?”

“I have a feeling the police already know.” I was reading street signs as I drove along, looking for the right one.

“What makes you say so?”

“He was arrested so early on in the case, yet there isn’t a lot of evidence against him. True, he was found over the body, and he was the last one to have Ve’s scarf, and then how you said Alex was supposed to meet him, but all that is fairly circumstantial. Police Chief Leighton had to have something more to hand over to the state police. Something other than a grudge. Something bigger that they aren’t divulging just yet. They would have had access to his bank accounts, his records. And something like a fifty-­thousand-­dollar watch would pop off the page.”

“You might be right, but the watch wasn’t on Sylar when he was arrested. It’s still missing.”

“He could have hidden it. Somewhere near the bookshop. He had time.”

Evan whistled. “I hate to say it, but it makes sense.”

It did, but I didn’t want it to, and clung stubbornly to the notion that he might be innocent. If he was Alex’s ex, it was pretty damning, though.

I found the right street and turned. Both sides were lined with cars, and I had to park a good bit down the block from the house with a giant inflatable bounce house in the front yard that had a big sign taped to it that said
KANGAROO HOP
. Balloons in the shapes of kangaroos, koalas, and possums were tied all around the yard, and kids ran and screamed.

“You need to tell Ve about the watch,” Evan said.

I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. “I know. Do you want to come with me to make this delivery?” I asked Evan.

He looked at me. Hardly any of his face was showing, yet I could tell he was giving me a “Be serious” look.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

I took the wombat and threaded my way through the crowd, taking my time to let the sunshine warm me up again. A group of moms were circled under a large oak tree. I tapped a shoulder of one of them. “I’m looking for Mrs. Carey.”

The woman pointed to a petite woman in a shirtwaist dress, who appeared to be trying to keep two little boys from killing each other with plastic swords.

What plastic swords were doing at a marsupial party was beyond me.

“If you can’t play nice…,” she was saying as I walked up. When she spotted me, she ushered them off with orders to stop stabbing each other. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

“Mrs. Carey, I’m Darcy from As You Wish.”

“You found one!” she cried, taking hold of the piñata. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to. I tried and tried to find one online, but there was nothing out there. And Jake wouldn’t settle for a kangaroo or a koala. He had to have the wombat. He’ll be thrilled. Just thrilled. Thank you so much!”

Her enthusiasm had me glowing with pride. It had been worth all the hassle of making the wombat myself.

“Jake, Jake!” the woman called. “Come see your wombat!”

A little boy with a mop of unruly brown hair came running over. He stopped short when he saw the piñata.

“What’s that?” he asked with much more disdain than I thought a seven-­year-­old could possess.

My glow started to fade.

Mrs. Carey looked nervous. “It’s your wombat piñata. Isn’t it great? Just what you asked for.” She tittered.

He glared at her. Suddenly I wanted to take my wombat and go. He didn’t deserve it.

“I asked for a real wombat!” He stomped his foot. I was reminded of the scene in
Willy Wonka
where the girl didn’t get her golden egg. “That’s not a real wombat!”

Everyone, I noticed, was staring. I just wanted to go. “I’ll, ah—­”

“Now, Jake, you know you can’t have a real ­wombat.…” She tittered again and looked around at all the faces lapping up this delicious meltdown.

“But it’s what I wished for!” he cried. Big tears fell from his eyes.

My senses went on alert at the word “wish.” “I really should be going,” I said, trying to edge backward.

“I wished for a wombat! A real one.”

As long as he stayed in the past tense, I was okay. I just needed to get out of there. Fast.

“I want a real wombat! I wish I had a real wombat!”

Oh. No.

I gulped, not sure what to do. If I didn’t grant the wish, I’d be in danger of losing my powers. If I did, there might possibly be a real wombat in my near future.

For the love
, as Harper would say. Taking a deep breath, I mouthed the words I needed to say and blinked twice.

At first, it seemed like nothing had happened. Relief flowed through me until I heard the screams.

The crowd parted as a terrified-­looking wombat came running toward me. It looked like a small brown bear cub who’d lost its mama. I was too worried about
it
to be concerned about
me
when it knocked into my legs, sweeping them out from under me.

I fell with a
whoosh
but had enough sense to grab the wombat around its middle. It wiggled and struggled until
Jake dropped to the ground next to me, his eyes filled with wonder.

“Everyone needs to be quiet,” he said, quite unnecessarily, since the screaming had stopped and everyone stared in shock. “Wombats are shy.”

The wombat had stopped struggling and seemed to find solace with the little boy. Jake, the wombat whisperer.

“He’s so scared,” Jake said. “Can I take him inside, Mom? He needs to start building his burrow in the backyard. You’re the best mom ever!”

Jake strode off toward the house, singing “Happy birthday to me,” the wombat in his arms.

“Are you okay?” someone asked, giving me a hand up.

I yelped at the unexpected sight of Desperado Evan. “I’m fine. I thought you were staying in the car.”

“I heard screaming. Was that a real wombat?”

“Don’t ask.” I looked around. Chatter had started up again around us as people rushed toward Mrs. Carey, who stood frozen, her hand over her mouth. “We should go,” I said. “Right now.”

We speed-­walked toward the car.

“Stuff like this never happens to me and Starla.” He slid into the passenger seat.

“Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course!”

I frowned at him. “It’s not working.”

“H
ow is it you know Cherise Goodwin again?” Evan asked me.

“Let’s just say I did some work for her.” I’d rather not go into the tulle-­y details. I gazed at the house. “Maybe you should stay here for a few minutes. I didn’t tell her I was bringing you along, and I want to give her a little warning.”

He lowered his sunglasses. “I can’t imagine why.”

I patted his hand. “It’s almost over. Hang in there a few more minutes.”

Glumly, he nodded.

I left the car running so he wouldn’t overheat, and knocked on Cherise’s front door. A moment later, it swung open. “Thank goodness you’re here.” She pulled me inside. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

“Him who?”

“Dennis. Because he’s not listening to a word I say.”

Truly, the last person I wanted to see was Dennis. I’m sure he felt the same about me.

“Ma? Who was it?” Dennis came around the corner from the kitchen and froze when he saw me. He threw his hands in the air. “Not again.”

I sighed. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I actually came to see if Cherise would wish Amanda and Laurel Grace home.”

Cherise shook her head. “Dennis was just demonstrating why that’s not a good idea.”

By her tone, I could tell he’d been making an ass of himself. “How so?”

“He’s moaning about not having had a properly cooked dinner in the past week that he’s been living on his own. That he can’t figure out which dry cleaner his clothes are at, that his fridge is empty.”

Marital separations were hard, but hadn’t he realized there would be repercussions when he moved out? “Seriously?”

She nodded.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” he said, a bit whiny.

“When was the last time you made dinner for Amanda?” I asked. “Brought her flowers or even a simple card? When was the last time you danced with her? Took a walk with her? Asked about her day, her wants, her desires?” I poked him in the chest. “Is it always all about you, you, you?”

“Hey!” he protested, pushing my hand away.

Cherise said, “When, Dennis?”

His face flamed. “I’m busy. I work. I pay the bills.”

He was apparently one of those men who believed the louder he got, the more right he was.

I was starting to get a headache.

“See what I’m dealing with?” Cherise asked, exasperation clear in her high-­pitched tone. “You know what?”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“I really wish I was with Amanda and Laurel Grace.”

Oh, jeez.

“Wish I might, wish I may,” I said angrily, “grant this wish without delay.”

Cherise vanished.

Great.

“Wish them back,” Dennis demanded. “Enough is enough.”

Since he hadn’t phrased it right, I felt free to ignore him. “Are you really happy on your own?” I asked softly. “Don’t you miss that warm body to wake up next to in the morning? Amanda’s smile, knowing you’re the only one she smiles at like that? Don’t you miss cuddling with her late at night, when the house is quiet, and it’s just the two of you and your thoughts and your dreams of the future? Don’t you miss Laurel Grace’s grin? Her exuberance for life? The way she’s so curious?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sadly, I do.”

There was a soft tap at the front door; then Evan’s voice carried. “Hello?”

“In here,” I called out.

Evan came in. He’d removed the bandanna and the glasses.

Dennis said, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Alexandra Shively,” Evan said. “Where’s Cherise? Did you talk to her?”

“I didn’t get the chance.” Nervously, I bit my lip. “But maybe Dennis can help?”

We both looked his way. He folded his arms and laughed. “You’re joking. Help you? I don’t think so.”

“You’re not helping
me
,” I clarified. “You’re helping
Evan
.”

Evan nodded.

“No,” Dennis said.

“But didn’t you take the Hippocratic oath? Don’t you have to help?”

“Sue me.”

Evan looked even more pained than before. “But…”

“Look.” Dennis shifted his weight. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” I didn’t trust him one bit.

“You bring back my family, and I cure your friend. Simple. Darcy, I wish my family was home.”

I rolled my eyes, but said the spell.

Nothing happened. No surprise there. His wish had all the passion of a pureed turnip.

Heartbroken, I looked at Evan. He appeared close to tears.

Dennis said, “Let me know when you’re ready to bring them home, and I’ll see to your friend. Now it’s time for you both to leave.”

As he ushered us to the door, I said, “You just don’t get it, do you, Dennis?”

“Get what?”

“I’m not the one who can bring back your family. Only you have that power.”

His eyes narrowed as he slammed the door on us.

“What now?” Evan sounded deflated.

I looked at his swollen face and made a rash (ha, ha) decision. “Plan B.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

Plan B involved doing something I was highly against—­perpetrating an illegal activity. However, I considered this an emergency and so was willing to temporarily ignore my moral compass.

For Evan, it was worth the risk.

“The key is,” I said, “to look as natural as possible. We belong here. We’re just going about our business. Nothing to see here, folks. Don’t mind us. Nothing suspicious going on at all.” I looked at Desperado Evan and realized exactly how suspicious he looked with his hood, glasses, and bandanna. “Well,” I amended, “
I
don’t look suspicious.”

“You also don’t look like something out of a sci-­fi movie.”

True. So true.

It was almost seven and the green was fairly quiet as we strolled along the alley behind Lotions and Potions, looking to an outsider as if we didn’t have a care in the world. I’d hoped sneaking into Alex’s shop wouldn’t be too hard—­after all, the back door was already cracked.

“Maybe you should start whistling,” I said to Evan. I’d never learned how.

“With these lips?” He laughed.

“Good point.”

As we passed Spellbound Bookshop’s back door, we both slowed and gave it a thoughtful glance. Each shop had two metal doors leading to the alleyway; one was the residential entrance for the upstairs apartment, and the other was to the downstairs business. The alley was meticulous. No pallets or boxes anywhere. No nooks or crannies in which to hide something small and valuable. Clouds had moved in and cast the area in yawning shadows. It was a bit creepy, and I tried not to be skeeved out knowing that someone had died in this spot the other night.

“Nowhere to hide a watch,” I said, glancing around.

“He could have thrown it in one of the Dumpsters.”

“They were all searched.” I didn’t envy that job. I glanced at the fence. “I guess it’s possible Sylar could have shoved it under the fencing—­or thrown it over.”

“Or he could have hidden it in the police car on the way to the station.”

“Or even at the station, somehow,” I said. “In a potted plant or something.”