What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery (7 page)

“Sorry.” I close my eyes again, calling to the ley lines. The wolf literally howls in agony as I infuse him with power. It finds the man inside the beast and jerks him out of they abyss. Like before I don’t wait and watch the change. I cover my ears as I sprint back to the car. The Dixie Chicks can’t drown out his screams. That poor man. Werewolves definitely have the short end of the preternatural stick.

About five minutes later, the noise ceases. Taking a pair of sweats with me, I walk back, picking up the nearest crystal to break the seal. Adam lays on the ground in the fetal position, slick from sweat and the sticky ectoplasm that aides the change. Naked. He’s naked. Hell’s bells.

I haven’t seen a naked man in fifteen years, though Dennis didn’t look near as good. He was stringy where Adam is muscular. Sculpted even. I can’t help it, my eyes dart to his butt. Even has dimples.
Damn.
I turn purple again. “Adam?” I ask as I quickly turn my back to him. I hold out the clothes behind me. “Brought you clothes!” I can hear him stand and shuffle toward me. He takes the clothes, and I start power walking away. “Meet you at the car!”

After a minute or so enduring visions of dimples dancing through my head, he meanders out of the barn like a sleepwalker and gets in the car. The moment he rests his head against the window, he falls asleep. He’ll be out most of the day, I know that much about werewolves. Birth twice in one day takes it out of even the strongest person. Not so ferocious now. I’ve heard stories of wild wolves unable to control their temper and ripping men apart. They aren’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined. Besides that initial scare, he was rather pleasant. He probably would have let me pet him.

Back to the house we go. Auntie Sara is at the bake sale today, and everyone else could care less, so I help him walk to the front door. When we get inside, I stay by the door. “Bathroom is the first door on the right upstairs.” I hand him the Walmart bags. “Here. I got you some extra clothes. I hope they fit. You’ll be staying in the guest bedroom where you were last night. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. If there are any problems, all my numbers are by the phone in the kitchen.”

“I’m staying?” he asks.

“We’ll get into all of that later, okay? I’m already real late. You get some sleep.”

I’m about to shut the door, when he says, “Mona?” I step back in and turn around. “I’m sorry if I scared you back there.”

“You didn’t. Actually, you looked kind of cute with your tongue hanging out.”

“Oh,” he says with a tiny chuckle.

“Just sleep, okay? I’ll be back to check on you later.” I shut the door.

Time to rally the troops.

• Lunch with Tamara and Clay
  

Goodnight Diner is, without debate, the heart of the town. There isn’t a citizen who doesn’t patronize it at least once a week to sample their down-home breakfast or best barbeque in the county. The lunch rush has dwindled by the time I arrive, so there are actually tables available. As I walk in, Tamara spins around from the kitchen with two trays full of food. Her hay-colored hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and smudged eyeliner rims her large brown eyes. She’s stick thin and muscular from all the whizzing around with heavy trays. We met the first day of high school in English class. Her family had just moved from Charlotte and she didn’t know a soul. I wasn’t exactly popular, but I had a good circle of friends. The rest have moved out of town, but we keep in touch. Only Tamara and Clay remain.

Clayton McGregor is another second cousin, though from my nonmagical grandfather’s side. He waits in the back booth fiddling with his cell phone. That man loves his online poker. He’s my brother from another mother. His mother and mine became fast friends when they were each pregnant with their respective firstborns. Clay and I played in the same bassinet, on the same playground, and then went through school with most of the same classes. I’m sure if we weren’t related we would have married by now. He’s moderately attractive with brown hair, small hazel eyes, receding chin, and always a bowtie. He even asked me to marry him once, but I’ve never had a single lustful thought about him. About two months after he proposed to me he got engaged to Jolene, who he has been divorced from for two years. She cheated, the bitch. Never deserved him.

“Hey,” I say as I sit. “Sorry I’m late.”

He puts his cell away. “You’re always late. How’s Cora? I heard about her hand.”

“Two stitches, no big deal.”

Tamara slides into the booth next to Clay with a sigh. “I hate Sundays. How’s Cora?”

“Jeez, does the whole town know?”

“Cora and the stolen car are the hot topics of the day,” Tamara says. “Care to comment? Clay here needs a quote.” Clay is one of three full-time reporters at the
Goodnight Star
, our local paper. Before I can say a word, Tamara starts talking again. “Oh, before I forget, that gorgeous doctor was in here asking questions about you.”

“What doctor?” Clay asks.

“The new one. You’ve seen him. Tall, thin, Yankee, mediocre tipper?”

“Him? Why would he ask about her?” he asks with distaste.

“Thanks, Clay,” I mutter.

“Guess,
mo-ron
. I saw him walk to her shop right after.” She looks at me. “Did he ask you out? Because I got the distinct impression he wanted to.”

“Not exactly,” I say.

“Wait, I think I played golf with him once,” Clay chimes in. “Blackish hair? Snooty attitude?”

“He does not have a snooty attitude,” I protest. “He’s wonderfully nice.”

“He kept complaining about how small the course was. The man could play though.”

“Shut up, Clay. No one cares about golf,” Tamara says. “Did he ask you out or not?”

“He asked if I was going to the bachelorette auction, then
strongly
suggested I sign up.”

Tamara squeals. “I knew it! He likes you! Oh Mona, how exciting! It’s finally going to happen for you. I just know you two are gonna get married! You’re so damn picky, and finally someone picked you right on back. I always said it only takes one,” says the woman on her third marriage.

“Tam, calm down. He hasn’t even officially asked me out yet.”

“He will at the auction, I know it. You’ll have to buy a new dress, but I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

“Tam, stop it,” I say.

“How can you not be excited about this? A hot
doctor
wants you. I’d be dancing in the streets if I was you.”

“I have other things on my mind.”

“What could be more important than the first date with your future husband?”

So I tell them. They both know all about us preternaturals. Hell, only a few in town don’t. They also know to keep their traps shut.

“Holy shit,” Clay says.

“Yeah,” I say, sipping my water.

“I don’t believe it,” Tamara says. “No way. Out of everyone in this town, you’re the least likely to be murdered.”

“Adam has no reason to lie, and Jason confirmed it.”

“But … kill you?” Tamara asks. “To become queen of the witches? All you do is complain about how crappy it is. Why would anyone want to do it?”

“Hell if I know. I’ll ask her before she shoots me.”

“And you can’t abdicate or step down?” Clay asks.

“There are only two ways out: die or be censured for black magic.”

“Then go start sacrificing some goats to Satan,” Tamara suggests.

Clay and I shoot her a look. “What can we do?” Clay asks.

“I need help investigating the four women, Erica and Cheyenne especially. Between the two or you, not a piece of gossip slips past. Any ammunition or rumors about them might be useful. Just be discreet. Whoever this is doesn’t think I know. She could get desperate if she does.”

“I spend thirty hours a week with Cheyenne in this diner, and let me say she does not have the brainpower to put together a hit. But I have heard the rumors about black magic.”

“I’m gonna talk to Meg and Belle tomorrow to see if I can get more out of them,” I say. “Their names keep popping up in the rumors too.”

“And I’ll pull everything the paper has on Shirley and Erica,” Clay says. “Maybe call a friend at the Richmond paper.”

“Thanks. Oh, Tam, start telling people I just picked up my cousin A.J. from Boston. That’ll explain why I have a strange man living in my house this week.”

Tamara falls back in the booth. “This is insane, Mona.”

“Believe you me, I know it. I’m really just worried about the girls. I’d send them to Debbie’s or Sara’s, but for how long? And what if whoever it is kidnaps them or something? I guess I’ll just keep Adam around them until this is over, I don’t know.”

“And you trust this guy?” Clay asks.

“Enough. I mean he—”

Cheyenne Bell, in all her glory, steps into the diner with her grungy boyfriend of the week, Bruce Nettles. She’s a pretty girl, full and lithe like her twin, but lacking Collins’s grace. Her hair is platinum blonde, her black shirt and skirt are both tight, and she always reeks of cigarettes. I can smell them from here. She kisses Bruce before stepping into the back of the house. “Guess I should start my spying now,” Tamara says as she turns back around. “If she’s upset her vampire boyfriend croaked, she ain’t showing it.”

“She might not know, she might not care,” I counter. A second later, Cheyenne strolls back out, fastening her black and white checkered apron, which matches the floor. I catch her eyes, and she half smiles before returning into the back room. That was odd. “There is definitely something up with her.”

“I’ll see what I can get out of her,” Tamara says as she stands. “Is there anything else I can do? Do you want Lonnie’s shotgun?”

Clay and I scoot out as well. “I don’t need it,” I say, “but thanks.”

We three musketeers move to the door and exchange hugs. Cheyenne eyes us as she pours Ned Larder’s coffee at the counter. I have the strongest urge to leap across it and shake her until she admits everything, but I don’t. I need more information before I confront her. It’s the Miss Marple way. Clay escorts me out and down the street toward the shop. I do love Southern manners.

“There has to be more we can do,” he says.

“Clay, I can’t think of anything.”

“I really think you need to take an extended vacation until this blows over.”

“I have two small children in school, a shop to run, a festival and wedding to put on, and a gaggle of preternaturals coming to town for a summit. Not to mention I can’t afford a vacation, and the problem will just be waiting for me when I return. I’m screwed.”

“Well, I’ll start digging on Erica. Those vampires too. I’ll just say I’m doing a profile piece on her.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, hugging him when we reach my shop.

“If you need
anything,
call me day or night.”

“Thanks.” I notice Billie watching through the window and pull away. “Gotta get back to work.” Clay nods, pecks my cheek, and walks down the sidewalk.

When I step in Billie has her pierced eyebrow raised. “Does the doctor have competition?”

“Funny,” I say, taking off my coat. “Can you come into the back for a sec?”

“Am I in trouble?” she asks, following me.

“Actually, I am. And I need your help.”

• Close up shop
  

On Sundays we close the shop at four, and in spite of the drama, Billie’s incessant questions, and schemes to sniff out the witch, I manage to get a decent amount of work done. I only have a backlog of two potions to finish tonight. The bigger task will be going through all my ledgers and computers to be on the lookout for combinations of ingredients that can be used in black magic. I’m pretty good if someone orders them all in one clump, but if there are separate orders over a period of time, I can miss it. Fun times ahead.

I pull up to the house next to Greg’s Land Cruiser. Just as I do, Sheriff Louis Andrews crosses the street, waving at me. Wonderful. He’s in his mid-fifties, balding, and far too overweight to be a peace officer. Shirley must be a hell of a cook. All smiles, I climb out of the car as he approaches. “Afternoon, Mona.”

“Sheriff. How’s Shirley doing?” She plotting my death these days?

“Great. Looking forward to the wedding.”

“Really? I heard she got into an accident the other night in Richmond.”

His eyes narrow with confusion. “Accident? Wasn’t her. We haven’t been to Richmond in months.”

“Oh, my mistake.”

“Funny you mentioned Richmond though. We found a stolen car from there this morning. There was blood inside. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Sorry.”

“The odd thing is nobody’s reported a missing car from town, and no stranger came to the hospital with odd wounds.”

My stomach seizes up, but I don’t show it. “You think whoever it was might still be around hiding out?”

“That’s what my gut tells me,” Andrews says. “Just be on the lookout, and be vigilant.”

“Well, I have my cousin A.J. staying this week for the wedding, so me and the girls should be safe as houses.”

“Good. If I have any follow-up questions, I’ll pop by.”

“Okay,” I say as I head toward the door. “Give Shirley my best.” I don’t drop my smile until the door shuts. Crap, the one week I’m hiding a werewolf, all my neighbors decide to reinstitute a Neighborhood Watch. Just my damn luck. A jubilant Cora and scowling Debbie walk in from the living room. “Howdy,” I say.

“Aunt Mona, Adam’s still here!” Cora says with a huge smile.

“I know,” I say, taking off my coat and putting down my purse.

“I tried to wake him, but he fell back asleep.”

“And he was naked,” a still scowling Debbie adds.

Oh hell. “Well, he was very tired.” I clear my throat. “Hey, why don’t you go and draw him a picture while I talk to Aunt Debbie, okay? I bet he’ll love that when he gets up. Nice surprise for him.”