Gone With the Witch (27 page)

I smiled. “Definitely amazing. Like it was meant to be.”

“Some things are. Speaking of . . .” She elbowed me, waggled her eyebrows, then slipped away.

Nick walked my way, his hand held out. “Care to dance, Darcy Merriweather?”

“Love to,” I said, slipping my hand into his.

He pulled me closed, and I looped an arm around his back. “What was that about? With Harmony.”

“Things that are meant to be.”

“Like Higgins and drool?”

“Exactly.”

Laughing, he spun me around the dance floor. As he led us along, I spotted Harper and Marcus near the buffet. Her face glowed as she laughed at something Marcus had said.

She was happy, which made me happy.

She'd been spending a lot of time at the Elder's meadow.

Our mother's meadow.

The differential was going to take some getting used to.

It seemed as though the past week had passed in a flash. Between dealing with the fallout of Ivy's arrest and learning the Elder was my mother, I'd had some late nights and early mornings.

My mother had graciously allowed me to let Nick and Mimi, Starla and Evan in on the secret of her identity, and we all swore (literally—on a Wishcraft law book) to take the secret to our graves.

Harper and I had learned a little bit about the Eldership, about how the Elder had always been a spirit. Harper had dubbed the whole process the Dead Witch Society. Our mother, unlike other familiars, could morph into human form at will—a perk of being Elder. She had many ways to travel in and around the village but mostly preferred using her mourning dove form.

Mimi had been full of questions at the revelations, but had primarily wondered if it was possible her mother, too, was a familiar that was watching over her.

I told her the one thing I knew for certain: that anything in this village was possible.

Because it was.

“Is there any particular reason Dorothy Dewitt is giving us the evil eye?” Nick asked.

I glanced over at her. She was, in fact, giving us a death stare. I recalled something Reggie had said. “Probably not. Dorothy is just being . . . Dorothy.”

He laughed. “Well, I'd be glad if she did it elsewhere.”

I smiled against his shoulder as he twirled me around. I caught sight of Starla and Vince, dancing close by. Starla waved when she spotted me.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen between the two, but was glad she was happy right now, in this moment. She'd been through so much but had worked hard at overcoming her personal losses.

If only Ivy had worked half as hard at letting go of the man she loved . . .

She had no memory of what had happened at As You Wish, which was blamed on her head injury when she fell. That was perfectly fine with Harper and me, as we'd told identical stories of what had happened inside the house, leaving out only the magical elements.

It had taken some digging by the police, but an online purchase order of cyanide had been traced back to Ivy via a fake name and post office box. When confronted with the evidence, she confessed she'd ordered the poison a month ago, planning ahead to kill Natasha at the Extravaganza—right in front of Baz. When the judges were at Natasha's booth, looking at Annie, Ivy had slipped the capsule into Natasha's coffee cup.

She had been counting on me not to be watching her closely in that moment, which hadn't been an issue, as I hadn't been there at all.

I woke up at night wondering, if I had been there, if I'd have been able to stop all this.

Maybe so.

Maybe not.

I'd never know.

For my peace of mind, I had to let it go.

I didn't want to dwell on the fact that I'd been
bamboozled by Ivy. She'd used me, plain and simple. Now that As You Wish was mine, I was going to have to make some changes. Be more selective with my clientele. Trust my instincts more.

“What're you thinking about?” Nick asked as he played with the ends of my hair, twining the strands around his long fingers.

“Instincts and trusting them.”

“What do your instincts say about me?” he asked.

“They say you're going to take me back to your place early tonight.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.”

“You know what I can't wait for?” he said, pulling back so he could see my face.

“What's that?”

“For the day there's no my place or your place. Just
our
place.”

“When do you think that will be?” I asked as innocently as I could.

He kissed me. “I wish it were today.”

I admired the way he had expertly avoided the question. “You know I can't grant that wish, as much as I want to.”

“A guy can try, especially when his mother-in-law is you-know-who.”

I snuggled in close to him and smiled. I didn't point out his slip of the tongue: that she wasn't his mother-in-law.

Not yet at least.

When the time comes.

I'd wait for that marriage proposal for as long as it took, because I finally agreed with Harper and Harmony and everyone else, it seemed.

It was going to happen.

It was just a matter of when.

Until then, I'd wait.

I was a patient witch that way.

*   *   *

Across the street from the party, a small gray-and-white dog and an iridescent gray bird with blue rims around its eyes sat on the porch swing at As You Wish.

“It's good that at least one of us is happy,” Melina Sawyer, the dog, said to Deryn Merriweather, the bird. “I suppose of the two of us, it should be you, considering you're the Elder,
blah, blah, blah
.”

“Mostly happy,” the Elder said in that calm melodious voice of hers.

“You're worried about Dorothy and the Renewal, aren't you?” Melina puffed a breath upward, displacing the fur hanging low on her eyes. She was in desperate need of grooming, but with Ivy headed to prison—where she rightfully belonged—a haircut was probably a long time coming. Melina wished she'd been more of a help with the Ivy situation, but when she'd run for help, Archie wasn't in his cage, and she'd found no one else she could talk to. By the time she returned to the house, Harper and Darcy had been in the woods.

“The apprehension is warranted, Melina.”

She knew. Dorothy was nothing if not conniving. “Harper will come around.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“She will. Give her time.”

“Something that is quickly running out.”

“Patience,” Melina advised. “We have a year.”

The Elder laughed. “You know I'm not very good with that particular trait.”

“To take your mind off the matter, you can get me out of the mess I'm in. I cannot live with Darcy and Nick and Mimi as though we're all one big happy family. I'm happy for them—truly I am—but I cannot witness that love day in and day out and not start to feel some sort
of resentment. I'm only human. Well. You know what I mean.”

“Then you've decided to move on?” the Elder asked.

Move on. It had been her intention all along, and she and the Elder had had this conversation before. It had always been Melina's intention to stay in Missy's form only long enough to restore family order to Mimi, then leave her be and pass over. Darcy was wonderful with her, and Nick had never been happier. It was all she could have ever hoped for. Except . . . “I don't want to leave Mimi.”

“No,” the Elder said. “I didn't think you would once you spent a significant amount of time with her. Have you considered revealing yourself to her?”

“Every day. But no. I can't do it. She misses me, yes, but she's perfectly happy the way things are, and I'm happy enough to watch her grow from afar. What are my options for staying?” Melina asked.

“They're limited. Perhaps we can somehow convince Darcy to let Missy live with Ve after all, or maybe Harper?”

“Both would be acceptable, except that would mean limited time with Mimi.”

“Perhaps a new form? Mimi is desiring a mini turtle.”

“And be stuck in an aquarium all day? No, thanks.”

“Well, there's Cookie or the new donkey.”

“No and no.”

“Annie?”

“Then I am back to my original dilemma, no?”

“A bird, a fly, a dust mite.”

Melina sighed. “They just don't feel right. Missy feels right.”

The Elder sighed. “Then I am at a loss.”

“You know what I need?”

“What?” she asked, a hint of humor in her voice.

“I need to have that animal morphing ability that
Pepe told you Darcy had asked about. Or maybe animal hopping? The ability to enter the bodies of more than one animal, one after the other? Or perhaps simply the ability for my spirit to come and go from Missy at will.”

“A near impossibility.”

“But not entirely impossible?” Melina asked.

“Nothing is impossible within this village. It would, however, mean creating a new Craft.”

“You are the Elder, aren't you? You could create a new Craft if you wanted.” Melina blew her bangs out of her eyes again, and wished a new groomer would be found soon. She very much hoped Darcy wouldn't take on the task herself. The woman was a whiz with pencils and paintbrushes but a menace with scissors. Melina remembered quite well the mess Darcy had made of her own bangs. Plus, she might notice that the dark hair around Missy's ears was missing, thanks to Ve reversing the Lunumbra spell. A spell that was going to come in quite handy in years to come. . . .

“I could,” the Elder said, “but switching Crafts, especially as a familiar, is highly risky. The danger that you'll be lost forever is very real.”

The thought was terrifying, but she had no other options than to leave of her own will, which had the exact same end result, or to become an insect of some sort. No, thanks. “I'll take the risk, because I certainly cannot stay as I am. I do not want to resent what I helped create.”

“I'd need approval from the coven of seven.”

“The next meeting is at the solstice. . . . You can broach the subject then.”

“You're serious?” the Elder asked.

Melina nodded.

“Then I will see what I can do,” the Elder said. “It may take a while, however, so
you
must be patient.”

“I can wait.”

It would be months and months, maybe even a year or two before Darcy and Nick would move in together, not until after they were married.

Yes, Melina had plenty of time to be patient. During which time she'd keep an extra close eye on Glinda. Her growing friendship with Darcy was alarming, especially considering the coming Renewal.

During that time, Melina would also do anything she could to help Harper Merriweather change her mind about accepting her role as a witch. . . .

The future of the Craft depended on it.

I
t was one of those crisp New England autumn days that begged for hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, a good book, and a cozy spot in front of the fireplace.

But beg as the day might, this witch didn't have time to indulge. I glanced around at all the plastic bins and cardboard boxes that needed to be relocated from this space to my new home and pushed up my sleeves—my dream of curling up in front of a fire tonight was never going to happen if I kept dragging my feet.

Try as I might, I just couldn't seem to get going. I flitted from one side of my aunt Ve's garage to the other, accomplishing little as early-October sunlight filtered through grimy windows, spotlighting every dust particle in sight.

As well as my hesitance.

I wasn't known for procrastinating, but today as I
transferred all the belongings I'd been storing in this space to my new house two doors down the street, I was taking my sweet time.

My puttering had little to do with actually moving the twenty or so boxes and assorted bits of my previous life and everything to do with leaving behind Aunt Ve and the house I'd lived in since arriving in this village a little more than a year ago.

I'd eventually have to deal with the emotions, but for right now I fortunately had help with the move: My younger sister, Harper, and my aunt Ve had both volunteered to assist with the move.

“It should all go!” Ve said, tossing her hands in the air. “All of it.”

She wasn't referencing my things, though I suspected the ghostly outlines of where my boxes had once stood were what triggered her desire to eradicate everything else in the garage.

“A yard sale! Tomorrow, just in time for the weekend crowd.” Spinning around, Ve faced me, her golden blue eyes alight with a spark of purpose. Her coppery hair was pulled back in its usual twist, but she'd accented the style with a red bandanna. It was tied with the knot at the top of her head like Rosie the Riveter's. Round cheeks glowed with good health as she pushed up the sleeves of her white long-sleeve thermal henley and then bent to cuff the hem of her denim overalls. She was in her early sixties and had more energy than I'd ever possessed.

“I think she means it,” Harper whispered to me, a trace of horror hovering in her voice.

“Oh, I mean it,” Ve stated firmly. “Think of the cavernous space I'd have in here if it were empty. I could turn the garage into a craft studio.”

“You don't craft,” Harper pointed out as she wrestled a tall box into the middle of the driveway.

The box was almost as big as she was. At just five feet, twenty-four-year-old Harper personified Shakespeare's quote of “though she may be but little, she is fierce.” Her brown eyes glinted in the sunlight as she looked back at us. “Well, not in a
studio
kind of way.”

Technically we were all Crafters, witches with a unique set of abilities. My family happened to be Wishcrafters, who could grant wishes, but there were dozens and dozens of other witchy varieties that lived and worked among oblivious mortals here in the Enchanted Village. This charming neighborhood of Salem, Massachusetts, was a tourist hot spot . . . and what I now considered home.

“Fine,” Ve said, relenting to the truth of the matter. “How about a yoga studio?”

Shooting her arms out to the sides for balance, she placed the sole of her right foot on her left inner knee, attempting, I presumed, the tree pose. Her arms windmilled wildly as she swayed to and fro. I resisted the strong urge to shout “Timber!” as I grabbed hold of her to keep her from tipping over.

Flicking me a wry look, she said, “Maybe not yoga.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed.

“Well, I'll think of something.” With a sweeping wave of her hand, she added, “But first, this all needs to go.”

By
all
, she meant the decades of flotsam that had been stashed and stored in the massive garage. Floor-to-ceiling stacks of boxes, bags, and trunks. Christmas and Halloween decor. A tattered love seat and other assorted furniture, dust-covered bookshelves and side tables. Simply sorting through everything was going to take weeks, never mind pricing it all. “Maybe waiting till spring for a yard sale would be best,” I suggested.

By then this particular flight of fancy of hers might pass.

I hoped.

“No, no,” she countered as she strode over to a clothing rack stuffed with zipped dusty black garment bags. “An impromptu yard sale is just what I need to take—”

Abruptly, she bit off her words, and I swallowed over a sudden lump in my throat.

To take her mind off the fact that I was moving out
.

I sent Harper a pleading look. She gave me a sympathetic nod and said, “You know what can occupy your time, Aunt Ve? Helping me figure out how to avoid having dinner with Marcus's parents tomorrow night. The Debrowskis don't like me as it is, and you know how I get when I'm nervous. I'm bound to spill or break something.”

“They like you,” I said, trying to reassure her.

“No, they don't,” Harper returned, perfectly calm and absolutely serious.

I picked up a plastic bin. Its label said only
BEDROOM
. Sheets and blankets, I figured. “Of course they do.”

Ve unzipped a garment bag. “No, Harper's right. They don't. They don't like any of us.” She said this as though it was common knowledge. “I'm sure they're having a full-sized cow that Marcus fell for Harper in the first place.”

Harper looked at me with a smug smile. “Told you so.”

She loved being right.

Still disbelieving, I stared at our aunt. “Why don't they like us?”

“That Penelope is a jealous prune.” Ve wrinkled her face, mimicking the dried fruit. “She fancies herself a free spirit, and was always most annoyed that I could grant wishes while she had to practice law. Don't let her bother you,” Ve advised Harper. “Just focus on that man of yours and all will be well.”

Color rushed into Harper's cheeks. “He's not
mine
.
 . . .”

Ve met my gaze and we both burst out laughing.

Harper, who until she met Marcus had compared marriage to a prison sentence, shot us an annoyed look.
She then picked up another box and carried it out to the driveway, stomping the whole way. She hated being wrong about anything. Especially about strong beliefs such as marriage and lifelong commitments.

Ve unzipped another garment bag and laughed as she pulled out the frilliest wedding gown I'd ever seen. “Well, lookie what we have here.” She held it up to herself, nearly poking her eye with a wayward ruffle. “It's the dress I wore to my wedding to Godfrey.”

Godfrey Baleaux had been the third of Ve's four husbands, the one she once referred to as a rat-toad bottom dweller. She didn't call him that anymore. Not often, anyway. He owned the Bewitching Boutique, and I considered him family. An uncle of sorts, though he liked to say he was my fairy godfather.

“Did Godfrey design that?” Harper asked. “Because if so, maybe you shouldn't let him be in charge of your wedding dress, Darcy.”

I couldn't imagine the dress was one of Godfrey's designs. He preferred classic, timeless fashion. That gown was . . . neither. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? I'm not even engaged.”

“Yet,” Ve and Harper said in unison.

I couldn't help smiling. Police Chief Nick Sawyer and I had been dating for more than a year, and a few months ago we'd had The Talk. A proposal was just a matter of time, and thanks to a slip of the tongue by his teenage daughter, Mimi, I knew he already had the ring. The anticipation of what he had planned—and when—was killing me.

I grabbed another box and set it next to the others in the driveway, near a spot where my dog, Missy, lay stretched out in a puddle of sunshine, watching us with sleepy eyes.

She'd been extra sleepy lately, and I was starting to worry. I added making an appointment with the local
vet to my to-do list. It probably wasn't necessary, but I didn't want to take any risks with her health.

Glancing at my watch, I noted that Nick was due here soon to help move these boxes to my new house, which had been recently renovated top to bottom, including its stacked-stone fireplace. I had high hopes that Nick would end up with me in front of that fireplace tonight. . . .

“No, no, this was all me, my design,” Ve said, looking at the dress. “The fact that Godfrey still married me despite this atrocity rather proves how smitten he had been with me. Perhaps I shouldn't have divorced him.” She
tsk
ed.

“I thought you two hated each other by the end of the first year,” Harper pointed out.

“That's true,” she said thoughtfully. “But I don't hate him
now
.”

Aunt Ve had monogamy issues.

And loneliness issues.

With my moving out of her house, I had the feeling she was casting out a wide net to replace my daily presence in her life. “Don't forget about Andreus,” I reminded her. “Isn't he coming back to the village this weekend? He'll have your days occupied in no time.”

“And nights, too,” Ve mused with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Harper clapped a hand over her mouth and said through spread fingers, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“You and me both,” I added, putting a hand on my queasy stomach.

“Oh, you two,” Ve said with a laugh. “He's a good man.” She paused. “Mostly good.” Another pause. “He's a man.”

Charmcrafter Andreus Woodshall was the director of the Roving Stones, a traveling rock-and-mineral show that visited the village several times a year. Despite the
fact that he was the scariest man I'd ever met, he and Ve had hit it off the last time he'd been in town. Whether he was good or bad was one of those questions that had yet to be fully answered. From what I knew of him, it was a mixed bag.

Ve frowned. “But he'll be leaving again soon enough. He has only a week off before traveling to a show in Florida.”

“Live in the moment, Aunt Ve,” Harper said, sounding more cheerleader-ish than I'd ever imagined she could.

Lifting her chin, Ve smiled. “You're right, Harper. That's exactly what I should do.” She moved aside a dusty bookcase and wiggled behind it. “And the first order of business is to get this garage cleaned out for that big yard sale tomorr—
Oh
. Oh dear. Oh my.”

“What is it?” I asked, watching her face drain of color.

“What? Did you find the veil that went with that hideous wedding dress?” Harper asked, chuckling. “I can only imagine what
that
looks like.”

“No. No veil.” One of Ve's hands flew up to cover her mouth as she stared at something deep in the recesses of the garage. Over her shoulder, she said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, “Darcy, dear, would you please give Nick a call?”

“He should be here in twenty minutes . . .”

“We need him now,” she said, still using that odd falsetto.

“Why?” Harper strode over and leaned on the bookcase to catch a glimpse of whatever had caused Ve alarm.

Harper's voice rose an octave. “Is that a . . .”

“Yes, dear,” Ve said. “It appears so.”

“It's not fake?” my sister asked. “I mean, there are Halloween decorations all over this garage.”

“I don't think so,” Ve said. “You see, I recognize that hat. I'd know it anywhere.”

Hat? Halloween? I marched over to see what was going on for myself. I shimmied against the shelf next to Harper. “I don't see . . .”

Ve pointed.

I gasped. In a once-hidden nook created by a tower of boxes lay a skeleton fully dressed in men's clothing. By the layer of undisturbed dust covering the remains, I guessed he'd been there quite a long time.

Harper glanced at me, her eyes full of excitement. She was exceedingly morbid. Then she said to Ve, “Who is it? You said you recognized the hat?”

“That,” Ve said, wiggling back out from behind the shelf, “is Miles Babbage. My second husband. And hand to heart, if he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself.”