Basic Witch_Witches of Salem

13

Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Beau asked. He frowned at me as I adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit lapel. It had taken me two days, and one successful immobilization spell, to convince him to ask her out on a date.

“Because Clara Cook is obsessed with you, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep her away long enough for me to snoop around her place,” I said.

“I don’t love the idea of you breaking and entering,” he pointed out.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” I said.

“What happens if you get caught?”

“I have a very plausible neighbor-and-landlord-appropriate story. I’ll just say I thought I heard a noise and went to check on Clara. When she didn’t answer the door—because she’s out on a date with you—I got worried and let myself in. It’s not too much of a stretch. And besides, if there’s any chance that Clara killed Morty, I’m willing to risk a few hours of questioning over a minor violation of her tenants’ rights.”

“Send for me if you need help.”

“Will do. The cats have promised to stand guard. Smallish will hang out near the end of the street, and call out to Titus if anyone approaches. Titus will be posted up at the front door, close enough to relay any messages of danger. Besides, I have my wand!” I held up the plain wood dowel and wiggled my eyebrows.

“Oh, gods, Emma. Please don’t use that while I’m gone.”

“I thought you said I was getting the hang of it,” I argued.

“You managed to immobilize a candle flame without burning the building down. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He grasped my hands in his as he gazed at me, his dark eyes shadowed with concern. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course,” I nodded as I pushed him out the front door of my shop. “It’ll be easy as pie.”

Spoiler alert: it was not easy as pie.

I waited for Beau and Clara to disappear into the darkness, watching through my living room window as I tamped down the stabbing pangs of jealousy that assailed me when she draped her arm through his. I knew the date wasn’t real, not for Beau at least. But I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of the fact that he was taking her out in public for dinner.

Beau was still on edge, thinking someone might get the wrong idea about us if we were seen spending too much time together. Every meal we’d shared so far had been enjoyed behind closed doors here at the shop, or in my apartment.

I did my best to disguise my annoyance every time he uttered the phrase “the wrong idea.” So we hadn’t kissed. Yet. But considering we spent every night cuddling while sharing the same bed, whatever conclusions people might draw about us if we went out to dinner together wouldn’t be too far off base.

As soon as the coast was clear, I crept downstairs—as if walking like a normal person through my own apartment would somehow cause Clara to hear me and alert her to my plan—and, after sidling up to her door, let myself in.

The bookstore was marvelous, with floor to ceiling shelving on every wall and shoulder-height bookcases lined up in neat rows, the selection illuminated by sconces mounted on the end of each shelf. The musky scent of old leather-bound books mingled with the fresh aroma of bergamot. In the center of the store was a cozy seating area with a couple of cushy sofas in much better condition than the ones at Morty’s, along with two wingback chairs arranged in front of a fireplace.

On another night, in a less murderous situation, I could have lost myself for hours in that store.

I tiptoed through the store, making my way to the office. With a deep breath, I reached my hand up to turn the doorknob.

Locked.

“Oh, for fang’s sake!” I muttered. I tried every key on the ring, but none of them worked. She must have had this lock installed without Morty’s involvement. I jiggled the handle, but it didn’t budge. I paced the length of the room in silence as I attempted to work out a plan in my head.

If I knew more wand spells, I probably could have opened it with magic. But the single immobilization spell I had learned wouldn’t do a thing for me in this situation. I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumping with disappointment, and eased back out onto the sidewalk, beckoning to Titus as I locked Clara’s front door. She let out a vocal mew, and I knew she was calling Smallish to return home with us.

Once we were all safely back inside Montcrief’s, I flopped down on the shop sofa, wallowing in self-pity. Trapped. Accused of murder. Sitting at home alone as the man of my dreams took a perfectly awful woman out on a date at my request. And I couldn’t even perform the most basic magic spells.

Some witch I was turning out to be.

“It’s okay if you can’t do magic,” Titus said as she hopped up onto my lap, placing a soft paw on my arm. “You still have me. And Smallish.” The giant calico jumped onto the sofa, dropping onto my feet as she purred. “Smallish is a good cat. And she likes you.”

“Aw, sweet girl,” I replied. “Tell Smallish I like her, too. Thank you both for your help tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t get the job done.” Titus snuggled her face into mine and went to sleep. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to her if I went to prison. Maybe Beau would take care of her. I pushed the thought out of my head as quickly as it came, hoping she hadn’t heard it.

I let out a long, drawn out sigh as I pulled out my wand, pointing it at a candle sconce flickering on a bookcase across the room. Might as well get something done while Beau was busy romancing Creepy Clara.

“Inmotus.” Nothing happened. Maybe I didn’t give it enough oomph. “Inmotus!” Still nothing. The candle flame continued to dance wildly, mocking my inability to perform even the most basic spell. I aimed the wand again, closing one eye, and exhaled, focusing all of my attention on—

“Inmot-ow!” Right as I was mid-incantation, Titus stretched her leg out and extended her claws, piercing my skin just enough to distract me from the spell. I heard a quiet rumbling coming from the direction of the bookcase, and I clenched my teeth, not wanting to see whatever chaos I had just unleashed. I just hoped I could clean up my mess before Beau got back and lectured me about practicing wand spells unsupervised.

But as I turned around and drank what I had done, my dismay evolved into wonder. No fires, no destruction. But the bookcase where the candle sat had moved forward several inches before sliding over to reveal an opening into another room. A secret passage, just like the one that brought me here. Only this one led directly into...

I leaped up from the sofa and peered through the doorway.

Clara Cook’s office.

“Titus,” I thought. “Keep a lookout.”

“Hello? Lack of opposable thumbs? We can’t go outside without your help.”

“That’s fine, just watch out the window.”

“That I can do,” she said.

I inched into Clara’s office, moving furtively toward her desk, which was piled high with books and paperwork. As I shuffled through documents, most of which were late payment and collection notices, my peripheral vision trained on a familiar sight. Sitting on a bookcase across the room was the same type of leather-bound ledger Morty used to keep track of his rental income, only about five times as thick. Maybe Clara’s financial records would give me some insight into her arrangement with Morty.

I crept over and slid the ledger out, then carried it back to the desk to take a peek. It was much heavier than I expected. As I walked, a letter slipped out of it and floated to the floor. I set the ledger on the desktop and bent over to pick up the paper just as Titus skidded into the room.

“Incoming! Elf incoming!” She yowled.

I snatched up the document, which had the words Eviction Notice stamped in red ink across the top. It was dated October 31, the day of Morty’s murder.

I gasped. So Clara really did have a motive to kill Morty. And with a secret passage leading from her office into Montcrief’s, she had the means to get in and out of the shop undetected without even going outside. I tucked the eviction notice into the ledger. I still didn’t have a murder weapon, but I was convinced I had enough to put Detective Otto on the right track.

“She’s at the front door!” Titus shouted.

“Spell’s bells! We have to get that bookcase back in place!”

“Gemma. I know you’re in here, Witch.” Clara called out. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to show up at someone’s home uninvited?”

Clara stepped in the doorway, all done up in her date-night best, lips painted cherry to match her flared red dress. She clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she moved toward me. “Nosy, nosy witch.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” I asked.

“I was,” she said, running her fingertips along the bookcase as she sauntered my way. “But then I started thinking, ‘Why would Beau suddenly show interest in me, after all these years? Why would he ask me out on a night when he’s supposed to be tutoring his favorite student?’ It just didn’t add up,” she snapped. “So, I excused myself to go to the ladies room and ran back here.” She eyed the ledger sitting on the desk. With the cover closed, I could see a large, rust-red stain on the leather.

“Is that—?”

“Mortimer Montcrief’s blood?” She asked in a sing-song voice. “Mmmhmm. I tried to clean it off, but the old man didn’t know how to properly care for books. The leather hadn’t been oiled in ages, and it was so dry and cracked that it just soaked his cranky blood right up!” She laughed, a high-pitched, nervous cackle. “So, I decided to keep it as a trophy, a celebration of my accomplishment.”

“What accomplishment?” I moved behind the desk, putting as much distance between us as possible. “Go,” I told Titus. “Get help!” Clara eased around the edge of the desk, and Titus vaulted across it, sprinting down the hallway into Cook’s Books.

“Door is open! I’m getting help!” she cried.

“Why, saving my family’s legacy, of course,” Clara explained. “This bookstore has been here for centuries. It’s was my father’s pride and joy! And that nasty old man was going to evict me,” she shrieked. “Can you imagine the nerve?”

“That’s what happens when you don’t pay your rent,” I said.

“You—” she stalked toward me, pointing her finger at my chest, just like she had done with Patrick McAllister. “—don’t know the first thing about what it’s like to be a woman in Salem. She stabbed her fingertip into my breastbone, and I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth.

If I could just be patient enough to let her devolve into a full-fledged temper tantrum like the one she threw back at the bank, she might be distracted enough for me to escape through the passage. But that meant holding my tongue and not reacting to her outburst.

“You just prance in here, with all your newness and your helpless magical idiocy, and all of the eligible bachelors fall all over themselves to stand at your side.”

“That’s hardly the case,” I argued.

“Oh, please,” she said. “I heard about Max Townsend hitting on you. Word at Legend’s is that every single man on the Council is thinking about asking you out. And I saw Clarence Hakim fawning over you like a precious jewel.” She narrowed her eyes, glaring daggers at me. “And do not get me started on Beauregard Bacchus. Now that you’re in his life, I’ll never have a chance with him.”

She had me cornered. All I could do was try to reason with her. But how do you reason with a crazy person?

“I never intended to hurt you, Clara. I was just trying to protect myself from going to prison, same as you were trying to protect yourself from being evicted. We’re not that different, you and I.” Except for the fact that you’re a total psycho, I thought. I offered her a hopeful smile, praying my eyes didn’t betray my true opinion of her. I slid a hand down to my belt and wrapped my fingers around my wand, willing myself to focus. It was a long shot, but if I could immobilize her long enough to get around her, I might be able to escape with my life.

“You’ve ruined everything with Beau,” she shouted as she grabbed the ledger from the desk, raising it high overhead. “I won’t let you ruin my store too!”

And I won’t let you take another life, I thought.

She lunged at me, bringing the heavy book down with a thud as I ducked, narrowly missing her strike. She screamed, pivoting toward me before taking aim at my head again. I drew my wand and pointed it at her, drawing on every ounce of focus and energy I could muster.

“INMOTUS!!!” I screamed.

My incantation was deafening, enough to make the crystal trinkets on the bookcase rattle. I gasped as I saw Clara, frozen in place before me, the deadly ledger poised just inches from my face. I snatched the ledger from her hands and scrambled over the desktop, making a beeline for the front door.

As I rounded the corner of the hallway into the bookstore, I slammed smack into a solid wall of muscle.

“Beau!” I panted. “Clara killed Morty. Ledger… secret passage… office.”

“Shh,” he whispered, smoothing my hair. “Get outside. Now. I’ll take care of Clara.”

“But the passage—” I protested. I wasn’t sure how powerful my freeze was, and I didn’t want her escaping.

“Detective Otto is circling around through Montcrief’s. We’ll handle this.” He drew his wand and pushed me toward the front door. “Go!”

I stumbled outside, clinging to the ledger as I called for Titus. She flew out of the shadows, frantically dancing at my feet.

“I tried!” she said “But Smallish was stuck in the shop, and Beau couldn’t understand me like you do! But I tried! I was afraid I wouldn’t make it on time. And then who would feed me, and pet me, and love me?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I whispered. And neither did I, thank goddess. “You did great, sweet girl.”

The door to Montcrief’s opened and Clara walked out, guided in handcuffs by a smug-faced Detective Otto as she twisted and squealed, trying to break free of his one-handed grasp. The Detective nodded at me, a silent promise that I was finally off the hook for Morty’s murder, and I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

Beau appeared, taking the ledger from my shaking hands and passing it off to Detective Otto before gathering me into his arms. I melted against him, my breath ragged with anxiety.

“Thank goddess you came,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d make it out alive.”

“But you did,” he said. “And without my help.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I argued. “Clara, she was—”

“Still frozen in place when we found her. You achieved the third level of the immobilization spell, just when it mattered most,” Beau said. He stepped back and stared at me, his mouth parted in surprise as if he was seeing me through new eyes for the very first time. He caught my face in one hand, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek as he whispered, “Clever witch.”

Those two little words were all it took to break the dam holding back my tears. All the fear, the frustration, the joy, the pride, the relief came rushing out in a flood of salty sobs. I flung my arms around him, holding on for dear life as I cried.

To his credit, he didn’t try to stop me. He simply held me as I finally let go—for the first time in forever—and allowed him to see the real me, the messy, broken parts, the weakness and jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, all mixed in with a strength and sense of fierce loyalty I never knew I possessed.

And when I was finally finished crying, he draped an arm around me and guided me inside. And then the saint of a man set a tea kettle on to boil while he spruced up the tub—with a magic spell, but still—and drew me a hot bath. Which, in case you’re wondering, does not actually involve running water. Something about not wasting the earth’s resources when we could use magical energy to clean things. It’s no wonder I nearly drove myself insane getting the faucet to work.

I laid back in the bathtub, every muscle relaxing into a blanket of golden, lavender-scented heat.

Somewhere in the living room, I could hear Beau laughing as Titus and Smallish chattered in short, chirping mews.

And for the first time in my life, in this rundown old-man apartment with its shabby furniture and Hoarders-worthy collection of nonsense, harboring unknown powers and navigating a tenuous potential romance...I felt like I was home.