One Potion in the Grave: A Magic Potion Mystery (28 page)

S
omething wicked this way came.

It blew into the Enchanted Village as surely as the warm breeze that rustled oak leaves barely unfurled from tight buds.

Villagers had been coaxed out of their homes by an early mid-May heat wave to bask in the warmth after a long, arduous winter. Flowers bloomed, morning dew glistened on vibrant green grass, and sunshine beamed down.

It should have been bliss, but as I stepped off the front porch and scanned the village square, I couldn’t shake an uneasiness that had the baby-fine hair at the back of my neck standing on end.

My companion, Curecrafter Cherise Goodwin, paused in her descent of the steps to look at me, concern etched in her eyes. “Something wrong, Darcy?”

Wind suddenly gusted, carrying bad juju along with
the sweet scent of lilac from colorful bushes that dotted the landscape.

There was evil in the air, whirling around along with the magic that made this village so very special.

Long strands of dark hair flew across my face. “‘Something wicked this way comes,’” I said, properly quoting Shakespeare’s
Macbeth
. Looking around, I tried to see something,
anything
, that would explain the feeling.

The Enchanted Village, a themed touristy neighborhood of Salem, Massachusetts, was truly magical, filled with Crafters, witches who’d lived on this land for hundreds of years. As a fairly new Wishcrafter—a witch who could grant wishes—I believed it to be the most extraordinary place in the whole world. I’d moved here almost a year ago from Ohio, and now I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Being enchanted, however, didn’t mean this village was immune to wickedness. There’d been several murders here over the past year. Cases I’d helped solve. I’d become accustomed to trusting my instincts, and right now I couldn’t shake a strong sense of foreboding.

In her fifties, Cherise knew this village inside and out, and as a Crafter she knew not to dismiss seemingly random feelings outright. She had the decency to wait a few seconds.

“Nonsense!” She came down the steps and linked arms with me. “It’s a glorious day. A more flawless one I couldn’t have conjured even with the best weather spell out there. Breathe deeply, Darcy. Raise your face to the sun. Take it all in. It’s the perfect day to buy a house, don’t you think?”

Cherise had hired me through my aunt’s personal
concierge service, As You Wish, to help her house hunt within the village. Years ago, she’d moved out of the neighborhood, closer to the Salem coastline, and she was now at the point in her life where she wanted to come home, so to speak.

*   *   *

Two doors down, she slowed to a stop in front of her dream house, and leaned on a wrought iron fence that enclosed a weed-infested yard.

The old Tavistock place.

The large bungalow had been minimally maintained over the years—only enough to appease village ordinances.

Cherise’s hand curled possessively around a bulbous finial as though she already owned it. “It needs some work, I admit. But I think it’s a good investment. Don’t you?”

The two-story Craftsmanesque bungalow had three gables, one centered on the second floor, and two smaller ones that flanked it on the lower level. The front porch sagged, and a rotting pergola to the right of the house had collapsed under the weight of out-of-control vines. A few of the stones on the front-porch columns had long ago crumbled, and the blue clapboard facade of the home was in desperate need of new paint and repair.

I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t you think the cottage on Maypole Lane is a better choice? The location isn’t as good, true, but it’s cheaper and you would have minimal renovations.”

The sun made Cherise’s eyes sparkle. “Darcy, you’re not trying to talk me out of this house so you can have it for yourself, are you?”

I had to confess to a pang of envy. There was something about this house that had drawn me in the moment I laid eyes on it. It was a visceral connection—one I couldn’t quite describe. I’d love to own it, put my stamp on it, and bring it back to its original glory. “You know I do love it, but it’s just not . . . for me.”

Though I wished it were. I really did, which was all kinds of silly. My life was . . . settled.

I couldn’t really imagine moving out of As You Wish, leaving behind all the things that were starting to feel like home. Then there was Nick Sawyer to think about. Our relationship had never been better, and because we’d been dating for almost a year, it was becoming clear that it might be time to take the next step—and he already had a lovely house a couple of blocks away.

But this house . . . I sighed. It felt like it was supposed to be mine.

“And hardly a realistic possibility,” I added, trying to talk myself out of the impossible. Though I had a decent inheritance from my father, it wasn’t near the amount of money I’d need for a house like this. “I don’t have your kind of resources, Miss Moneybags.”

She laughed again and squeezed my arm. “If I get it, I promise to take good care of it.”

If I couldn’t have it, then Cherise was a great choice. She would honor the character, the history. But it was a big if. The other buyers didn’t seem to be backing down.

“Let’s go have another look, shall we?” Cherise finally let go of that poor finial, and I followed her to the front door. She knocked, then tried the knob.

“Locked,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s unusual for Raina to be late. She’s always early.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon. It’s a busy time of year for her.” The spring housing market had exploded. Magickal Realty, owned by Raina and her husband, Kent, had dozens of listings in and around the village. “And don’t forget that TV guy is following her around, asking every question under the sun.”

“True enough,” she said, grinning. “What a hoot it would be to have a show filmed here, no?”

Maybe. It also presented some issues. Certain things around here couldn’t be easily explained. Like how Wishcrafters showed up on video as bright starbursts. The show needed a special permit to shoot, and it was coming up for a vote through the village council soon. Right now, the decision was split.

We sat on the sagging top step to wait. I glanced next door to Terry’s and saw a curtain swish. He’d been watching us. I had to wonder what he thought about possibly living between two ex-wives.

If I were him, I’d consider selling the place.

“Oh, here comes Calliope,” Cherise said, standing up and dusting off her knee-length shorts.

Calliope Harcourt had her head down, reading something on her phone, as she hurried along the sidewalk. After she made an abrupt right turn to come onto the walk, she gasped when she finally lifted her head and realized she wasn’t alone. She dropped a binder she was carrying and laughed as she picked it up. “I should pay more attention. Hello!”

In her early twenties, Calliope was a recent college graduate, and intelligence shone in her blue eyes. She was a tiny thing—barely five feet tall with an oval face, rectangular glasses, and shiny auburn hair pulled back in a loose
bun. Wearing dress pants, a short-sleeved floral-print top, and ballet flats, she looked every bit a bookworm.

“You seemed engrossed,” Cherise said, smiling.

“An e-mail just came in from Kent to draw up a contract when I’m through here. He and Raina are running me ragged. Plus, dealing with that TV crew . . .” She smiled, not seeming to be bothered in the least. She glanced around. “Raina asked me to meet her here with papers for you to sign, Ms. Goodwin. Is she inside?”

“She’s not here, dear,” Cherise said. “We’ve been waiting for her to have our walk-through.”

“That’s strange.” Confusion filled her eyes, and her eyebrows dipped. “I know she had a morning meeting with that TV producer. Maybe it ran late.” She shrugged. “Let’s go in. At least you can look around while we wait for her to get here.”

Calliope tucked her binder under her arm and bent to tackle the lockbox on the door. A second later, she had the key in her hand and was slipping it into the door.

My envy level spiked a little as I walked through the door, still wishing this place was mine. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and dust particles danced in the beams. The house had been emptied of furniture, and all that remained were the bare bones of the place.

Although those bare bones were in need of a little TLC, they were . . . extraordinary. The scarred wooden floor, the original hand-carved mantel and fireplace surround. The built-in bookcases. An archway led through to the dining room, which had French doors opening to a spacious backyard.

“The ceiling needs a lot of work,” Cherise said, eyeing it critically.

It did. Water stains looked like rusted clouds. “You’ll need to find out where that water came from. My guess is the roof.”

“Undoubtedly. Did you see the rotting shingles?” She fanned herself with her hand. “Central air-conditioning would be nice, too,” she said, adding to the list.

It would. Saunalike, the house was hot and humid, and I longed to open the windows to let in some fresh air. Unfortunately, all the sashes had been painted shut. The single-paned windows were just one more thing that needed updating.

Cherise headed into the kitchen and looked around. “It’s beyond repair.”

Old, cracked wooden cabinets hung from loose hinges. The white tiled counter was stained, a lot of the tiles chipped. The linoleum flooring seemed to have been waxed with a layer of grease, which made footing slippery.

Cherise lifted a pale eyebrow. “What would you do in here?”

“Maple cabinets, bronze hardware, a light-colored granite countertop,” I said, lying through my teeth. I didn’t want Cherise to know what I’d do—it would be too painful to see it be built in someone else’s house. I’d enlarge the window above the kitchen sink—which I’d replace with a deep farmhouse-style one. White cabinets, brushed nickel hardware, and a Carrara-marble countertop.

“I was thinking that, too. It would be lovely.”

As she headed for the staircase, Calliope glanced around. “It sure has potential, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I said softly, trying to hide my longing as I admired the craftsmanship of the bannister. “Any more offers come in?”

“A few,” Calliope said, trailing behind me as I climbed the steps. “The deadline is still tonight, however. Best and final.”

“Any hint of how high the bidding has gone?” I asked.

She laughed. “You know I can’t say.”

Pesky rules.

Upstairs, Cherise wandered around the master bedroom, chatting with Calliope about the changes she’d like to make, which included busting out a wall to add a balcony or a deck.

“Oh, and I’d love to knock this down”—Cherise motioned to the wall dividing the master from the second bedroom—“and create an expansive walk-in closet.” She strode across the room to the adjoining bath. “Then I’d take out the existing walk-in closet and enlarge the bathroom.”

I walked over to the closet to see how much space it would add to the bath. Pulling open the door, I happily inhaled the scent of the cedar boards that lined the space. As I scooted inside just far enough to grab the chain dangling from the light, I stepped in something wet and figured the roof had leaked in here, too. But as the light flashed on, I looked down to find I’d stepped in a large puddle of . . .

I shrieked.

...blood.

A little farther into the space, Raina’s body lay curled in a fetal position, her eyes wide and vacant, her head bleeding profusely.

Stumbling backward, I nearly knocked down Cherise and Calliope as they raced over to see what was going on.

Calliope immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She ran for the bathroom.

Cherise moved in for a closer look, bending down to reach across the pool of blood on the floor and take hold of Raina’s wrist. Looking for a pulse.

Light glinted off a golden chain resting in Raina’s open hand, and I could see a flash of color from a gemstone amulet.

The hairs rose on the back of my neck again, and I took a closer look at the closet. Some of the cedar paneling had been pried loose, but clear as day, the letter A was written in blood on one of the wooden boards.

Something wicked . . .

“Do you feel a pulse?” I whispered, not sure I could speak any louder if I tried.

Cherise shook her head and sadness filled her eyes. “We’re too late. Raina’s
dead.”