What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery (5 page)

“The pack is going through its own problems right now. He’ll feel that with Alejandro dead, the threat was neutralized.”

“Then I’ll convince him it’s not.”

It takes effort, but Adam pushes himself into the standing position. “Listen, I know Jason a lot better than you do, okay? You can call him for advice, sure. But you cannot tell him I’m here.”

“Why not?”

He hobbles over to me, his slightly bug-eyed blue eyes meeting mine point-blank when he stops. “Because. He’ll order me back to Maryland, and I’ll have to go. Then you’ll be in this alone.”

I tense from toenails to top at this thought. For once the idea of being alone terrifies me. Normally I welcome it. I fear I’m about to burst into tears, and there is no way I’m letting him see me like that. I turn away. “And why—why would you help me?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Them being?”

“My own.”

I groan in frustration. What the hell am I going to do? Deep breath. The one I take doesn’t help a lick. Okay, stick to the plan for now. Get him healthy, go from there. Be strong. After a second to compose myself, I spin back around. “Well, you’re no good to me injured. Let’s get to the farm.”

With shaking hands, I open my car door and climb in. My hands don’t stop vibrating as we drive to the Hackett Farm five miles outside of town. Adam keeps glancing at me, but I keep my eyes on the road. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Every problem has a solution. I just have to think and find it.”

“I have some suggestions,” he says.

“All ears.”

“You need to act as if nothing happened. Whoever she is, she’s probably feeling desperate right now. If she knows you’re onto her, that might make her more dangerous. Just try not to be alone and isolated. Big crowds.”

“Not a problem this week. What about the girls?”

“This entire plan was a power grab. Whoever this woman is wants your position. The only way to become High Priestess is for the old one to die, right? Hurting the girls won’t accomplish that. Besides, you’re one of the most powerful witches in the world. You can protect them better than anyone.”

My ego swells a little. “How do you know so much about witches?”

“I … did my research.”

We ride in silence the rest of the way as the wheels in my head turn. Of course with every rotation I see my mangled, bloody body left in an alley being feasted on by dogs. Okay, I really have to lay off the horror movies.

The Hackett Farm was one of the most prosperous tobacco farms in the county a hundred years ago. Now the only remnant of the once great plantation is the decaying gray barn missing about fifty percent of its roof and walls. It’s isolated, with the nearest family seven miles away and one dirt road in and out, so kids come out here to party and engage in lascivious acts. This was one of my sister Ivy’s favorite spots to raise hell. I only came out here when I had to pick her drunken butt up.

After helping Adam out of the car, I locate the potion in my purse and hand it to him. “Go wait inside. I have to set up the perimeter.” As he pads to the barn, feet slapping in pink flip-flops, I retrieve my four quartz crystals. I walk around the perimeter of the barn, placing one outside at each corner. When I put down the last one, I call the magic into me to energize them. It flows from my finger to the crystal like electricity. Feels good every time. I stand up and peer through a gap in the wall. Adam has been watching me this whole time. “So nothing physical can come in or out,” I explain. “Try putting your hand through.”

He tries to reach for me, but my invisible fence stops him. “Impressive.”

“How long do you think you’ll need?”

“Earliest I can change back is two hours. After that I’ll need a minimum, bare minimum, of three hours sleep.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll just, um, come get you in two hours?”

“Okay,” he says, nodding. He holds up the potion. “Should I drink this now?”

I nod. Adam steps away from the wall into the center of the barn. He all but chokes on the disgusting potion, hacking his lungs out when it’s all down. Magic time. I close my eyes, reaching out to the three ley lines that run through this town. They’re invisible paths of energy that I draw from to boost my power. My entire body tingles and all that power is siphoned into my body, filling me like a vessel. I reach out to the ingredients in the potion coursing through Adam’s body. All originate from the earth, and I am a part of that earth. Most witches need to say a few words or an invocation, but I just need to concentrate. Another trait of a High Priestess.

Adam is of this earth, and I sense him too. His heart, his mind, especially his soul. And the wolf inside him. It’s angry. He wants to come out and roar. I call to it, all but stroking his metaphysical fur, and he comes running. The force of the wolf busting out nearly knocks me down. My eyes fly open just as Adam expels a bloodcurdling scream. He falls onto his knees, howling like a man on fire. The change is just as painful. Bones breaking, skin stretching, organs rearranging. Perhaps fire would be preferable. I’ve never seen a werewolf change, and I don’t want to break that streak now. This is private and should stay that way. As he shrieks, cries, and groans in pain, I run back to my car. He’ll be fine.

It’s my own neck I’m worried about.

• Go to work
  

Okay. Next crisis. On the drive back to town, I’m still reeling from information overload. I need to organize my thoughts. Someone I know wants to kill me. As in dead. As in no more tucking the girls in at night. No more lunches with Tamara and Clay. No more
breathing
. How the hell did this happen? I am not the kind of person other people want to kill. I’m not a werewolf who chases after rogues that attack people. I’m not a vampire who leaves bodies in his wake. I’m a witch, the pacifists of the preternatural world. I don’t even squish spiders. Hell, Goodnight hasn’t had a non-domestic homicide since the early eighties when three vampires slaughtered my cousins Emma, Lucas, and Tom for harboring a runaway witch. People still talk about it.

I keep glancing in my rearview mirror for strange cars. Goddess, I haven’t been this paranoid since the one time I smoked pot. How long have I been in danger and not even known it? And who the hell would want me dead? Someone who wants to be High Priestess. That narrows it down. There are only seven others who are candidates, and all are my relatives. I am more likely to be killed by someone I—

A honking car drives right in front of me. I slam on the breaks as Jeff Pinker flips me off. I just ran a red light. I never run red lights. I’m gonna get myself killed before someone else can do it. I think I’m going to throw up.

I park in the lot around the corner from my shop. It’s half full now and by lunchtime it will be packed. Wish it was that way now. As I pass each empty car, I tense up, convinced my murderer is hiding behind one to pop out and shoot me dead. My paranoia only gets worse as I move down the cobblestone sidewalk past all the tiny curio shops that comprise downtown. Since I know about ninety-nine percent of the population in town, they smile and nod as I pass. I keep glancing at their hands for weapons. How the hell am I supposed to act normally with the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head?

Midnight Magic is nestled between an antique shop and Lady Catherine’s Tea Room, which is owned by a man named Duke. We get a decent tourist trade here, mostly from upper-scale and sophisticated older women searching for some Southern gentility. Except my customers. Since we’re the largest occult shop within a hundred miles, I find myself waiting on New Agers along with those Southern ladies looking for homeopathic remedies to stave off aging and hipsters who’ve read the Harry Potter and Twilight series. Money’s money.

The store was opened in the early twentieth century by my great-great-grandmother Ramona, my namesake. She was High Priestess at the turn of the past century and was rumored to have had an affair with Aleister Crowley, a self-proclaimed witch who I later learned was just batshit crazy. Supposedly he’s my great-grandfather Crowley’s father. It was quite the scandal, one of many surrounding Ramona. Her reputation is hard to live up to.

We only have one customer inside when I walk in, my cousin Bethany. Strange. I was just thinking about her family. She was the sole survivor of that massacre in town when she was a child. On a normal day I’d strike up a conversation, but now I’m afraid she’ll pull out a knife and stab me. She is over by the athames, or ritual knives. Maybe being in the house while her family was slaughtered cracked her. Not that she’s a High Priestess, but still. Not taking any chances.

Billie stands at the counter reading a magazine. The majority of genetic witches try to blend in, but not Billie. Her spiky hair is dyed blue this week and today she sports a bat nose ring, but the black ankh tattooed on her neck draws the attention first. At least her dozen other tattoos are hidden by her jeans and Misfits hoodie. I had to institute a dress code when I hired her. She looked too much like a walking ad for Hot Topic, and my other employee, Alice, who’s worked here part-time since Granny’s days, kept lodging complaints about unprofessionalism. So I compromised, which means they both grumble to me on occasion.

I walk past Billie into the back room without a word. The front of the store is all retail: books, jars of herbs, oils, jewelry, incense, posters, candles, even joke magic tricks all cramped together in stands that make it hard to move around. One entire wall is covered with ancient bookcases filled to capacity with occult books. There are a few shelves on the walls with statues and candle holders. I have to keep the crystals, herbs, and oils behind the counter or customers couldn’t get to anything.

The back room is where the real magic happens. My office/altar/storage space. I flip on the lights and toss my purse on the ancient table. My cell phone is in there somewhere. Billie strides in, towering over me as usual. She’s over six feet tall and skinny. She could be a model if not for the attitude. “How many did you get done last night?” she asks.

“Eight—no, six.”

“That’s it?”

“I know. If you can cover the front, I’ll get the rest done today.”

“We had three new orders this morning.”

“Then I’ll do them too!” I snap. We’re both taken aback. I’m known around town for my calm demeanor, so yelling is not a common thing. “Sorry.”

“Stressful night?”

“Understatement.” I pull out my cell. “I need to make a few calls.”

“Okay,” she says with a cocked eyebrow. “I’ll be out front if you need me.” With another concerned glance she walks out, shutting the curtain behind herself.

Could it be her? She’s worked with me for five years ever since leaving her coven in Orlando when her girlfriend got a job in Richmond. No way. She doesn’t have an ambitious bone in her body. I spent two weeks begging her to officially become assistant manager. And she’s not an aether. No, right now there is a short list of people I trust implicitly, and Billie is one of them, along with Tamara and Clay, Debbie, Auntie Sara, and Adam.

Adam
?
Okay, maybe not him. He’ll earn his place when he stops being so damn withholding of information.

I sit down in front of the computer and pull up my password-protected address book with all the co-op telephone numbers. I’ll try George Black first, seeing as he’s the head of the preternatural police, and this is right up their alley. He picks up on the fifth ring.

“George Black,” he says.

“George, it’s Mona McGregor. I have a problem.” I lay out everything Adam told me.

“Oh, Mona, I’m sorry. I have no idea what to tell you.”

“Tell me you’ll send someone to help me, George.” My voice is terse even to my own ears.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. The team’s already on an investigation in Idaho. They just arrived last night. There’s a wraith slaughtering people.”

“Then just send us one agent. Just not the vampire,” I say with scorn. “You know why.”

“Mona, I don’t have a person to spare. We recently lost two members. The best I can do right now is contact the FBI and have them look into it. Or your local police.”

Not gonna happen. The county sheriff is married to one of the candidates, my cousin Shirley. He wouldn’t appreciate me accusing his wife of sleeping with a corpse and plotting murder. “So after years of friendship and me helping you out on multiple cases, when I need you, the F.R.E.A.K.S. won’t lift a finger to stop me from being iced? Thanks, George.”

“Mona—”

I hang up. Of all the nerve! After all … the phone rings, the display lighting up. It’s George, but I just hit “end.”
Okay, calm down, Mona.
I take a few deep breaths that don’t help. That Valium Collins mentioned might work, but since I’m fresh out and a calming potion takes too damn long, on to option two. I dial Jason’s cell. He answers on the second ring. “Jason Dahl,” he says in that harsh tone he always has.

“Jason, it’s Mona McGregor.”

“Mona. What do you want?” This guy does not know the meaning of the word
manners
.

“I want to know why you didn’t tell me someone put a hit out on me.”

His end is quiet for a few seconds. Even his silence is intimidating. Thick even. “I wanted to get all the facts before I contacted you. How did you find out?”

Okay, in normal circumstances, I’d tell the truth. It goes against the co-op’s spirit to lie to other members, but if half of what Adam said is true—and I’m literally betting my life that it is—then I have no choice. “Lord Thomas of Richmond called me last night. Apparently he discovered Alejandro’s plot, and unlike you thought I should know.”

He’s quiet for a second, his breathing ragged. “He killed Alejandro? Did he say anything else?” he asks, voice like an ice pick.

“Like what? He doesn’t know who wants me dead, if that’s your concern.”

“Mona, has Adam contacted you at all in the last few days?” he asks, voice tinged with fear, not an emotion I thought him capable of.