It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (22 page)

The kitchen was empty as I tiptoed through into the laundry room. I found a clean towel and dried off the best I could. Dry clothes were next. I kept the towel tied around my waist and climbed the back staircase. I was halfway up when I heard voices.

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Aunt Ve said with a strong measure of patience. “The choices you’ve made are yours alone. You knew the consequences of changing your previous form to this one.”

“Don’t remind me,” a woman’s voice said. It was the voice I’d heard the other day, when Ve said she’d been talking to herself. The voice I suspected belonged to a familiar. I inched upward, hoping to get a glimpse of the conversation taking place.

“Do you have regrets?”

There was a brief silence. Then the woman said, “How could I?”

Ve said, “It isn’t an easy task you’ve taken on, but I believe the benefits outweigh the negatives.”

The woman’s voice sounded thready and tired. “Just remind her to leave the damn door open. I’ll deal with the other stuff.”

Door? What door?

“You’ll go easy on her?”

The back door opened and slammed closed. “Hello!” Harper shouted. She stepped into the kitchen, looking a bit like a drowned rat. “It’s pouring buckets,” she said unnecessarily, slinging her backpack onto the kitchen counter. “How’d things go with Mrs. P?”

I turned and pretended I’d been coming
down
the steps. “I actually didn’t get a chance to see her.”

Aunt Ve appeared at the top of the steps, Missy trailing behind her. Tilda lurked in the shadows of the upstairs hallway. I eyed both the pets. Was one of them a familiar?

“Girls!” Ve said brightly. “I didn’t know you were home. Harper! You’re soaking wet. Let me get you a towel.” Her gaze drifted to me, to the towel already wrapped around my waist.

I didn’t dare look her in the eye. I was trying hard to process the conversation I heard. Either someone was hiding out upstairs, or there was a familiar in the house. Was it Missy or Tilda?

Or…something else. A mouse? A bee? What? And why hadn’t Ve told us about it? About
her
?

“Darcy, dear, are you feeling well?” Ve asked as she passed me on the stairs. “You’re looking a trifle bit pale. Shea Carling called, concerned about you. Should I be worried?”

Shea. My eyes drifted closed. I’d forgotten all about the locket and what it signified.

“Darcy? I’m beginning to worry.”

“You don’t have any hives, do you, Darcy?” Harper asked. “There’s been an outbreak, you know,” she told Ve.

Ve’s eyebrows dipped. “I hadn’t heard. What’s going on?”

“I’m going to change while Harper explains,” I announced, heading up the stairs. Missy’s tail wagged and I patted her head. Tilda gave me a sideways glance and flicked her tail.

“After you’re done,” Ve called after me, “there’s something I want to show you.”

“Me?” I asked, looking back at her.

“You,” she said, amusement in her eyes.

I could only imagine. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

As I passed Ve’s bedroom, I peeked in. No sign of any wayward critters.

Strange. Very strange.

I changed quickly and towel dried my hair. The rain had almost stopped, and the worst of the storm had finally moved off. I hurried downstairs. Maybe Ve was ready to share a little more about the Craft with us. I
found her and Harper in the family room connected to the kitchen, the TV on and flickering. Ve had the remote in her hand and a smile on her face.

“I thought you might want to see this, so I recorded it,” she said. “Since I’m fairly certain you may have had something to do with it.”

Puzzled, I tipped my head as she hit a button on the remote. It was the six o’clock newscast.

A perky anchorwoman said, “Investigators believe the wombat most likely escaped from the nearby Franklin Park Zoo. They are in touch with zoo officials.”

A camera panned across the Careys’ front yard. I stared, wide-­eyed, at the TV as the footage played. The recording focused on the brown blur racing across the yard and knocking into a bright white light.

“We apologize to our viewers for the quality of the video, provided to us by an amateur videographer hired to film the birthday event. As you can see,” the anchor said, “an unidentified bystander was knocked to the ground by the wild wombat, a normally docile animal.”

Harper clamped a hand over her mouth. I glanced at her—­her eyes were leaking amused tears.

Aunt Ve, too, was trying hard not to laugh.

I had to admit, it was funny, watching the partygoers scatter like confetti. The poor wombat, though. He looked scared to death—­except, I noticed, when he was with Jake, the wombat whisperer.

“For now,” the anchor continued, “the wombat is in the care of the animal control. However, we have just learned that the Carey family has expressed a desire to keep the animal. Perhaps the birthday boy will get his wish after all.”

Aunt Ve clicked off the TV set. “I presume you had something to do with this?” She gestured to the blank screen.

“He made a wish.”

Harper said, “Where did the wombat come from,
though? When someone wishes for money, that money is taken from someone else, right? So, if someone wishes for a wombat, is that wombat taken from somewhere else?”

“I don’t have the answer to that. As far as I know, magic produces the wished-­for object. I’ve never heard otherwise.” Ve’s hand went to her neck, to swing her locket, then dropped. “I keep forgetting I’m not wearing it,” she said with a laugh.

“I can pick it up for you tomorrow,” I offered. “But there’s something I want to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?”

“Plenty of them. Is something the matter?”

“Possibly.”

“Let’s make some tea; then we’ll settle in for a chat.”

“But how does the magic work?” Harper persisted as we moved into the kitchen.

Ve smiled patiently as she set the kettle to boil. “It is not for us to understand, my dear, but to accept.”

Harper frowned. She was used to having all the answers. This was a topic, I was quite sure, that she would bring up again.

The peal of the doorbell had the three of us looking toward the front of the house. Missy barked and took off for the front door. I glanced at the microwave clock. It was almost eight thirty. A little late for a drop-­in visitor.

“Now, who could that be?” Ve asked.

Curiosity got the better of Harper and me, and we followed her toward the front door.

Ve moved the curtain on the door aside and peered out. “Oh no,” she murmured.

“Who is it?” Harper asked.

My pulse pounded. Was it the police? Had they come for me? What had Nick told them, exactly? I needed to warn Evan.…

Ve opened the door.

Archie, the macaw, flew inside and landed on the
newel post. He was gorgeous, with a bright red hood, white eye patches, and a bold blue and yellow tail.

He bowed.

Harper’s eyes widened.

“Good evening, Archie,” Ve said.

“Madame, good evening to you,” he said, bowing again. His voice was a deep, rich baritone that sounded oddly like that of a British James Earl Jones.

Harper’s mouth dropped open.

I smiled. First Pepe, now Archie?

He pivoted slightly to face me. “Darcy Ann Merriweather, you have been found in violation of Wishcraft Law forty-­three, section B, and have been hereby summoned by the Elder for your sentencing. Go now, go alone, and do not delay.”

He bowed again and Ve opened the door. He flew out into the cloudy night.

I looked at Ve. “What’s law forty-­three, section B?” I couldn’t think of what I’d done that broke any of the laws. Wishcraft Laws, that is. Breaking and entering into Lotions and Potions didn’t count, did it?

“We don’t have time to find out. You must go now.” She opened the front closet and pulled out a satin cloak. “You can wear mine until you get one of your own.” She swung it around my back, lifted the hood, and tied the string under my chin.

“But where do I go?” My heart hammered.

“To the Elder’s tree. In the woods.”

I tried to remember the directions. Down the path, past a rock…I panicked. “I don’t remember!”

“Start on the path”—­she pressed a small flashlight into my hand—­“and the Elder will guide you the rest of the way. You need to hurry.” She pushed me toward the back door.

Harper squeaked as she followed. “Is no one the least bit surprised by the talking bird?”

“Not after meeting the talking mouse earlier today,”
I said. What law could I have broken? What would my sentencing entail?

“Oh!” Ve exclaimed. “You’ve met Pepe? Charming little fellow, isn’t he?” She shook her head. “If only I’d married him instead of Godfrey.”

“Feisty, I’d say. And Godfrey is charming, too.” I slipped on my sneakers.

Ve rolled her eyes and muttered, “Rat-­toad.”

“Mouse?” Harper repeated. “Godfrey? Someone needs to tell me what’s going on!”

Ve patted her cheek. “I’ll tell you all about them, after Darcy leaves.” To me she said, “We’ll wait up, my dear. Hurry, now. You
do not
want to keep the Elder waiting.”

With that, she shoved me out the back door into the night.

I hurried through the garden gate and toward the dark woods. I flicked on the flashlight.

Low clouds clung to the treetops and my pulse raced as I followed the path. The rain had brought forth the earthy scent of the forest, of pine, loam, and moss. It was ordinarily a smell I would have enjoyed, but tonight I was too nervous to take much notice.

I swallowed hard over the fear wedged in my throat. I jumped at every twig that snapped, every raindrop that fell on my hood from a branch above. My palms sweat; my nerves were shot.

The path was narrow, barely wide enough for one person. I wished I’d thought to bring Missy for company, then remembered Archie’s edict:
Go alone
. As I walked along—­it was impossible to run with it being so dark—­I couldn’t help but feel as though I was being watched. I looked around—­and upward—­for Archie’s beaded eyes but didn’t see anything—­or anyone—­out of place.

However, as I went deeper into the silence of the woods, my ears clearly picked up on other movement.
Something—­or someone—­was nearby. I could hear the footsteps disturbing the undergrowth, and a few times I thought I could hear breathing.

I paused and swept my flashlight past trees and shrubs, mossy rocks, and tall plants. I looked behind me but saw only my own footsteps on the damp trail.

My throat was thick, my mouth dry. My heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest, drop to the ground, and run back home.

I didn’t blame it. I wanted to turn tail and run as fast as I could, back to Ve’s kitchen, to the safety of the people who loved me.

But Archie’s voice echoed in my head along with Ve’s warning about keeping the Elder waiting.

This was my new life. I had to live it.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed on. When I came to a split in the path, marked by a large rock that looked like a piece of cake, I hesitated. Which way to go? I looked left, then right.

Down the path to the right, I could see a faint yellow glow. To the left, I saw nothing but tree branches overhanging the path, looking like spindly arms ready to reach out and grab me.

I went right.

Soon, I found myself at the edge of a circular clearing. In its center, there was a glowing tree, not too tall, not too short. With its weeping branches, the shape reminded me of a mushroom. The warm glow of the tree illuminated the field. It was entirely filled with wildflowers, except for a narrow path leading to a door cut into the tree.

“Come closer, Darcy.”

It was a woman’s voice, cool, smooth, and refined. Classy. It was coming from within the tree and was amplified, as though she was using some sort of microphone. Her tone wasn’t as intimidating as I’d feared, but not exactly friendly, and it was a much younger voice
than I’d expected. Nothing elderly about it. Thirties, forties, maybe early fifties at the oldest. It sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. I was sure, though, that I’d heard it before.

As I took a few tentative steps forward, I tried to recall all the women I’d spoken with recently. Just today, I’d talked with so many. Harmony at the Pixie Cottage, Ramona Todd, Starla, Shea Carling, Jeannette Dorsey at the gift shop. I was suddenly reminded of the line from
The Wizard of Oz
: “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

Who was inside that tree?

“Sit down,” the voice said.

A chair made from a tree stump materialized behind me, and I sat. I must really be getting used to this lifestyle if a chair magically appearing didn’t faze me at all.

“Do you know why you’ve been called here?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, glad my voice wasn’t shaking as badly as my hands.

“You’re in violation of Wishcraft Law number forty-­three, section B. No Wishcrafter shall prompt, suggest, hint, evoke, prod, or elicit a wish. It is akin to Wishcrafter entrapment, and you have hereby been found guilty.”

“B-­but,” I stammered, trying to think of when I’d done such a thing. Then I remembered. “Evan?” How did she even know?

“Correct.”

“Does that count, even when he’s a Wishcrafter himself?”

“Even if. It does not matter that the wish was not fulfilled, only that you violated the law in the first place. Now for your sentencing.”

I gulped.

“Consider this a warning, Darcy. Your only warning. I have let you off easy this time, due to the novelty of your Craft. I suggest you study the Wishcrafter canon, for the
next time you break a law, the consequences shall be more severe. You may go.”

I stood and the chair vaporized into glitter that fell slowly to the ground and instantly became colorful wildflowers. Okay, that was impressive. “Elder?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound old.”

“That,” she said, “is not a question.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“That,” she said, “is none of your business. I am old enough.”

“But the name ‘Elder’ makes it seem like you’re…old.”