It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (25 page)

My adrenaline shot at the word “wish”; then I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have to worry about granting wishes around Evan.

“But enough about that,” Evan said. His eyes lit with pure happiness. “I answered the door twenty minutes ago and found Dennis standing on the stoop.”

The tourists dispersed, and we went inside. “I’m a little surprised.”

“I was, too, but apparently he’d had an attack of the guilts. He even apologized for how long it took him to come to his senses and track me down. Hated to think I’d been suffering.”

Dennis had a conscience. Who knew? Was it possible what I’d said to him sank in? Dare I hope he was having second thoughts about his family, too?

I poured us some iced tea. Evan grabbed my hand, and I almost dropped the pitcher. “What’s this?” He was looking at my welts.

“Hives, best I can tell.”

“From what?”

I shrugged. “You?”

“What?”

“Rumor is you’re contagious. Or were.”

Shaking his head, he said, “No way. I wasn’t contagious at all.”

“Well, there’s been an outbreak in the village. I have welts; so do Ramona, Mrs. P, and even Vince. Gayle thinks you contaminated the cakes at the village meeting.” I lowered my voice. “She’s worried about being sued.”

“Not possible. I’m always careful when baking, and use gloves. The only way to have a reaction is to have used Alex’s lotion.”

I held up my hands. “I didn’t use her lotion. I’m not sure about Mrs. P or Ramona, but Vince said he hardly knew Alex, so I doubt he used any. Unless…”

“What?” he asked.

“Is it possible you had some traces of the lotion on your hands when you made the cakes for the meeting?”

It was easy to blame Alex’s lotion, since it had definitely been the cause of Evan’s rash. She obviously had no clue what she was doing when it came to creating her own formulas. The problem seemed to be that she had been attempting the wrong Craft.

Why had she been trying to do a Potioncrafter’s job? Had she not known she was a Vaporcrafter? I thought about her remark at the bookshop the night of the village meeting.

It means that you’ll finally have to accept that I’m one of you. I’ve finally learned the truth of my past.

She’d been a Seeker—­until she finally learned the truth. And suddenly I had an idea of why Mrs. P had rushed out of the shop that night. My guess was she’d just learned the truth of her relationship to Alex as well—­it would explain so much. She hadn’t known she had a granddaughter until Alex sprang it on her.

I filled Evan in on what I’d found out about Mrs. P and how I thought it connected to Alex. “Crafting is
hereditary—­if Mrs. P is a Crafter, it was in Alex’s genes, too.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “If Alex knew she was a Vaporcrafter, why was she trying to cast spells and make potions? And why was she telling everyone she was orphaned when she had a grandmother?”

“I don’t know. My guess is that she knew she was a Crafter but didn’t know what kind. If her mother died young, as she’s been telling everyone, maybe Alex hadn’t learned all she needed to pursue the Craft. I think we need to talk to Mrs. P. She might have some of the answers we’re looking for.” I told him about the closed visitation later today, and how I had decided I wanted to go. He agreed to come with me. I also thought Mimi might want to attend. I’d have to check with Nick to make sure it was okay.

Evan’s eyes grew misty. “I know Alex wasn’t very likable—­she was too hard, and too intense, for most people to see past—­but I can’t imagine why anyone would actually harm her.”

“The guy whose hair fell out might disagree. He was plenty mad.”

Evan fussed with his glass, sliding it back and forth on the countertop. “Griffin? Harmless. Full of bluster, looking for a photo op to boost his sales at the car dealership.”

“His hair
did
fall out.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a publicity stunt. He probably saw that Alexandra had died, and decided to take advantage. Used some Nair or something on himself.”

I looked at him carefully. “You know what Nair is?”

“We won’t get into that,” he said with a grin. “Griffin is an opportunist.”

The way Evan framed it, I could picture it. Especially since Griffin had been on just about every newscast I’d seen since Alex died. “Did he know Alex before she died?”

“They’d dated briefly, back when Alexandra was new in the village, and remained friendly after the breakup. Alex isn’t really his type.”

Sylar, Griffin. Who else? A sudden thought occurred—­and I immediately wished it hadn’t.

Had she dated Nick? Suddenly queasy, I used the condensation from my glass to cool the hives on my arms. “If they were friends, would he use her death like that? Just for a little PR?”

“You haven’t met Griffin, have you?”

I shook my head.

“He’d do just about anything for PR, including going bald.”

“Do you think he could have been the one who broke into Alex’s place yesterday?” It had been a man—­a tall man. Griffin fit the bill. Right now, he was the only one who fit the bill.…

Evan thought about that for a second. “It’s possible, I guess.”

“Well, if he really did go bald from one of Alex’s lotions, he may have been looking for the cure, the same way you were looking for yours.”

“Do you think we should break into his place and see if he has any Nair lying around? I’m game if you are.”

“I think we’re done with our breaking and entering.”

Evan pouted, then looked at the clock. “I need to check in with the bakery, show off my new face.”

I walked him to the front door.

“You should see if you can catch Dennis before he leaves,” he said. “He can cure your hands.”

He hopped off the porch and waved good-­bye. I glanced next door, then down at my hands.

Even if Dennis could cure me, I had to wonder—­if Evan wasn’t contagious—­what had caused the rash in the first place.

*   *   *

I watched Tilda prowl around the backyard as I waited for Dennis to come out of his father’s house, and hoped it didn’t appear obvious that I was waiting for him.

It had been an hour since Evan had left, and there was still no sign of Harper, Aunt Ve, or Missy. I’d tried calling and texting, but neither had answered.

It was enough to make me start worrying.

Archie’s cage was just across from me, and we’d been playing a game of name that movie. He’d recite a line, and I had five seconds to come up with a title. So far I was winning twenty-­two to two.

In my couch-­potato days, I’d watched a lot of movies. Mostly alone, since Troy was more interested in playing poker with his friends or hanging out at the local pub, and even when he was home, he was obsessed with shoot-­’em-­up video games. Right this second, I was having trouble remembering how we’d fallen in love in the first place.

“‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat,’” Archie quoted.

“
Jaws
.” I’d just watched it a few nights ago with Harper.

“Lucky guess,” he mumbled under his breath. “‘Rosebud,’” he whispered in a strangled gasp.

Tilda had parked herself at the edge of the picket fence separating the yards, and watched Archie’s every move through whitewashed slats.

“Archie, are you even trying anymore?
Citizen Kane
.” I spotted Dennis coming out the front door. I stood up.

He chuckled. “‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

“
Casablanca
, and I agree.” I looked down at Tilda. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not sure he’d taste good at all.”

She flicked her tail in dismissal, as if thinking he’d taste like a nice bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

I jogged to meet up with Dennis as he opened the front gate. He glanced over and frowned when he recognized me.

I tried not to take it too personally. “I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for Evan.”

The circles under his eyes had darkened overnight. His head hung a bit. “I acted like a jerk, and blatantly broke one of the Curecrafters’ laws, all out of spite.”

He sounded like he was reciting someone else’s words. I assumed he’d received a summons from the Elder last night as well. If she’d done or said anything that changed his attitude, I was grateful.

He kicked at some grass that had poked out of the fence. “I apologize to you. I behaved badly.”

Had the Elder told him to say that, too? “Apology accepted.”

Glancing up, he squinted against the sun. “Lately, I’ve let my ego get the best of me. This past week has been a good reminder of what is really important. I miss them,” he said softly. He looked to be on the verge of tears. “I made a huge mistake.”

“You should tell them. I have a feeling they’ll forgive you.”

Archie screamed, “‘Love means never having to say you’re sorry!’”

“Not true,” I said to Dennis, and gave Archie a glare.

“I know,” Dennis said. “And I’ll tell them as soon as they come back.”

“Why wait?” I asked.

“What do you mean? I have to. I already tried calling, then realized Amanda doesn’t have her phone with her. I don’t even know if they’re still at Disney World. They can be anywhere. What if Laurel Grace lost another tooth and I missed it?”

“You know what you could do…,” I said.

Archie squawked, then fluttered around his cage. “Duh-­duh-­duhn.”

I closed my eyes and held in a groan. I realized immediately what I’d done. I’d enticed Dennis. Anxiety
exploded in my stomach. I knew, without a doubt, I’d be hearing from the Elder again.

Dennis didn’t pick up on the tension suddenly in the air. “But I don’t want to wish them home.”

I frowned. “You said…”

His eyes lit. “I want something else.”

“What?” I asked warily.

“I wish I was with them.”

Smiling, I cast the spell.

It was only after he was gone that I realized I hadn’t asked him to cure my hands first.

C
laymore Funeral Home was a stately affair, brick with large columns. Inside, a thick carpet hushed footsteps, and I had the absurd notion it had been laid so the dead would not be disturbed.

“I hate funeral homes,” Evan said, shuddering.

“Me, too.” I scratched. I’d stopped at the Crone’s Cupboard and bought some cortisone cream, and it seemed to be helping. If only I could wish Dennis back,
then
send him on his way again.

“May I help you?” A tall man, about my age, with a pronounced beer belly and a scruffy goatee appeared out of nowhere. He wore a shiny brass tag that had
MARSHALL CLAYMORE
written on it. He looked much too frat-­boy to be a funeral director.

“We’re here for the Shively viewing,” I said.

“This way.” He moved soundlessly along a wide corridor. He stopped at a doorway that had “Twilight” stenciled above its frame. Across from this doorway was another room, “Dusk.” Down the hall, there was “Daybreak,” “Sunset,” and “Evening.”

He gestured us inside and turned on his heel.

I looked at Evan. “You first.”

“You.”

I shoved him inside. My gaze immediately shot to the coffin at the front of the room. Letting out a breath of
relief, I sagged. It was closed. Thank goodness for small favors.

“Evan? Darcy?” Mrs. Pennywhistle said. “What are you doing here?”

She sat on a folding chair in the front row.

Evan nudged me forward.

“We didn’t want you to do this alone.” I sat next to her. Evan sat on her other side.

Her hair had been styled, and stuck straight out, almost in points, like a starburst. Her makeup had been caked on, and she’d swapped out her pink tracksuit for a pair of leopard-­print leggings and a belted black blouse.

“H-­how did you know?” she asked.

Quietly, I said, “That you’re a Vaporcrafter or that you’re Alex’s grandmother?”

I wasn’t exposing myself by making the statement about her Craft, because I wasn’t saying anything about
me
being a Wishcrafter. Besides, I was pretty darn sure I was right on both counts.

Her eyes went wide; her jaw dropped. “Either,” she gasped.

I explained her behavior was that of someone in shock and mourning. I added the bits about the photo I’d found in Alex’s apartment, the pink fuzz on the banister, and the confirmation from Pepe that Mrs. P’s name had once been Clemson. “Your hair is very similar as well. Alex’s was more curly, but the general shape is the same.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t know she existed. She pulled me aside at the bookshop the night she was killed and told me I was her grandmother. That her mother had been my daughter, Virginia. I was in shock—­I barely knew who Alexandra was. I didn’t believe her, but she said she had proof. A birth certificate—­and somehow she’d gotten hold of my marriage license to Mr. P. She wanted to know about the Craft, said it was her birthright, and that before her mother died, she
used to tell her about the village, and how she was a witch.”

She was talking so fast she was barely breathing.

“I was in shock and accused her of lying and ran out. It wasn’t until later, after I’d had some time to think about what she said, that I came to believe it might be true. By then, however, it was too late. She was dead.”

Evan picked up one of her hands, held it.

I wanted to do the same, but was afraid the state of my hands might scare her. I kept them in my lap, but scooted as closely as I could to her. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“My first husband, Isaiah, had renounced his Craft and didn’t want to raise our daughter as a Crafter. When I objected we started having marital problems, and finally decided to divorce. We worked out a custody agreement that I could live with, but soon he became a superevangelical zealot, and forbade Virginia to even mention the Craft when she was with him. Then one day I went to pick up Virginia at his house and they were gone. The house was cleaned out, and there was no trace of them.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the pain in her voice. I remembered the picture I’d found in the Bible in Alex’s apartment. No wonder Alex knew so little of the Craft if her mother had been trained not to speak of it. I was actually surprised she knew of it at all, and wondered if Virginia had retained a little of her mother’s spunk.