Four
FOUR
I wasn’t surprised there was a crowd on the street across from the home of Kathy Hayes—a.k.a. Cordelia Wormwood when she was in her shop, at a festival, or hosting her YouTube channel. What did surprise me was that half the building must have been engulfed in flames at some point because one side was now soaked, blackened, and gutted. Firefighters were weeding through debris with their Halligan bars, looking for anything still smoldering. The ambulance was just leaving, and Pete Rooney, my friend and one of Lorne’s deputies, was standing behind the yellow tape cordoning off the crime scene. Normally I would have raised a hand in greeting, but I didn’t want to be noticed. Lorne wanted me there, but that didn’t mean I was supposed to be.
Before anyone saw me, I turned right into the alley between the white picket fence of a small A-line house and the two-story redbrick building that had been a soap factory fifty years ago and had been vacant since they went out of business. Recently Pace had purchased the old but still beautiful structure and had plans to convert it into either apartments or commercial office spaces. I hadn’t been paying attention at the last town hall meeting. I tended to doze during those, even though Lorne gently elbowed me in the ribs whenever my head bumped his shoulder.
Riding up the slight incline, I stopped halfway up, looking down the long row of houses that every backyard abutted, noting that the lights were on in every home, on both sides, and that now there were people clustered into the backyards of those closest to Cordelia’s place. The only good part was that with all the focus on the burned-down Craftsman, no one was paying any attention to me. Usually I wouldn’t have cared, but Lorne had asked me to go around the back, which meant he didn’t want anyone to see me.
I got off my bike and walked it between two homes, one a two-story Colonial Revival-style house, and the other a three-story Queen Anne. Using the kickstand, I left it behind a toolshed, and then Argos and I jogged from backyard to backyard until we got to Kathy’s, sticking to the shadows so no one would see us. Well, me. No one would care if a now Calico cat was wandering around. It was good he wasn’t black at the moment. With Kathy’s reputation as a witch, people might have talked if they saw him.
“Is that why you’re in disguise?” I asked him as I crouched down between a couple of arborvitaes and watched the firemen, happy that, even with the lights on above me, I was hidden in the darkness. “You don’t want people thinking you belonged to her?”
He didn’t meow or chirp or chuff, merely sat right beside me, tail swishing, looking around, clearly on guard.
“Are you scared of something?”
When he moved closer, rubbing his chin on my knee, I was almost sure I had my answer.
“What do you have to be frightened of?” It felt like I was questioning myself and not him. The shudder that ran through me was a surprise, as were the goose bumps that appeared on my skin. “And stop freaking me out. You’re not helping anything.”
I was seldom spooked, but I realized that my conversation with Thero earlier had left me on edge. It wasn’t easy to kill a nymph. Between their strength and their magic, they were considered quite lethal. That Nott had been bested and murdered was great cause for alarm. And now Kathy was dead. In a town where normally nothing happened to suddenly have two murders seemed wildly suspicious. Of course, I was the only one who knew there was more than one, and I needed to give Lorne that information as soon as possible.
Argos, a kitten now, leaped and perched on my shoulder, and that was the strangest part of all. He wasn’t afraid of anything, yet suddenly he wanted to be close, as if craving protection. That made no sense, so I crossed my arms in front of me, creating a cocoon against my chest to see if he wanted to be even closer. I wasn’t surprised when he crawled off my shoulder, retreating to the safest place on my body.
“You’re scaring me,” I informed him even as I saw Lorne striding from room to room, looking around, and saw the continual flash of the camera. Malcolm Schwartz, our fire chief, was there too, with six of his people. “Which isn’t helping even a little.”
When my phone buzzed—I had turned off the ringer when I left my bike—I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hey,” I croaked out, seeing Lorne’s photo on my screen. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I—where are you?”
“I’m outside. I know I can’t come in until Kathy’s gone.”
“Yeah. I just got off the phone with the new director of the Dunkirk Police Department’s crime lab. She transferred from Albany last month. Dr. Sophia Webb.”
Osprey’s influx of tourists had brought with it an increase in crime, so consequently, it had been determined that Westfield was simply too small to assist us. Instead, we were now paired with the much larger town of Dunkirk.
“When I explained to Webb that we’ve been transporting the dead to Westfield, she informed me that would no longer be standard operating procedure going forward.”
“Which means what?”
“It means that from now on, starting with Kathy, if someone dies committing a crime, or is the victim of a crime, she wants one of her two medical examiners to collect the body themselves.”
“I feel like that’s not terrible, and I’m thinking you’re okay with that.”
“I’m thrilled. That’s what I was used to when I was in Homicide. The ME was normally on site to give us their preliminary thoughts on the cause and time of death, and they made certain everything was gathered with the body before the evidence collection unit showed up.”
“And is she sending out a team for that as well?”
“Yeah. Whole group of criminalists are on their way.”
“You sound pleased.”
“I am. This is a great change for Osprey, and I told Webb how much my department, and the people in this town, appreciate her, her office, and her people.”
“What did she say?”
“I think she was expecting pushback because I guess she got some from Westfield, Mayville, and Portland, but here I am, over the moon to have backup.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “She asked me where I was from, and when I said Boston, I could tell she was happy to hear that.”
“Because you’re both from bigger cities, you get how things are supposed to work.”
“Exactly. We’re gonna get along fine.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“It’s gonna make a night-and-day difference to figuring out who did this.”
I coughed softly. “May I ask how you know Kathy was murdered if there was a fire?”
“Her, um”—he took a quick breath—“her head was turned to an angle that’s not possible—at least to me—as the result of a fall or anything else. Someone nearly twisted it off.”
“Oh,” I said sadly because even though she was not and had never been my friend, I wouldn’t wish a violent, painful death on anyone.
“I just want you to come in here and look around, see if there’s anything not right.”
“And I will, but you know she wasn’t an actual magic user, right?”
“I thought if someone said they’re a witch, then they are.”
“Yes, but there’s a difference between universal magic everyone can tap into if they believe and study and use the tools others give them, and the kind of magic that’s practiced and conjured.”
“I don’t—just wait until you come inside. I’ll call you back in a bit.”
I had to be clearer with him, and I needed to think about how to phrase things so he’d understand. As I crouched there in the darkness, holding Argos, I tried to think of what my grandfather, Arthur Corey, would say. He always had a way of making huge concepts bite-sized for me. That’s what I had to do here. I also had to help the daemon in my arms remember what he was because clearly, something had spooked him.
“You know, you can get as big as a grizzly bear,” I reminded him. “What’s with shrinking yourself down?”
In answer, he meowed pitifully.
“Okay,” I sighed, clutching him tighter, and cast a circle of protection around myself, drawing it in the air, then adding my breath to the warm, sultry breeze blowing softly.
I felt electric pinpricks on my skin, like my power was rising in response to something, which was odd. I wasn’t on my land, so that shouldn’t be happening, and yet, from the earth, there was grounding, a shoring up, and I felt rooted and strong, belonging to the night. To the strange blue summer evenings I always loved. I’d forgotten for a moment there was nothing to fear in the dark.
Argos was suddenly his normal size, slipping through my embrace like water, and stood in front of me, pawing at the ground.
“Maybe I was wrong and Kathy was magic,” I said to him. “Perhaps she imbued her surroundings with her power.”
His eyes narrowed before he pressed his nose to the grass as if searching for a scent. Perhaps he was checking for anything numinous. I had to do the same.
Shoving my fingers into the dirt, sending out a call deep into the ground, I summoned the magic from the earth. Faintly, there was an answer, like the roll of thunder from a great distance. I knew that was Corvus, miles away, straining to reach me.
Freeing my hand, I glanced over at Argos, who was now as big as a dog, gazing at me through bright-red eyes.
“I get the point,” I told him. “I was right, it’s my power, she didn’t have any.”
He shrank quickly, a black cat moving in close beside me, then stepping back into the shadows, blending in so thoroughly, only his eyes were visible.
“I feel like maybe we should both go home,” I told him.
The purring told me he agreed.
We were quiet after that, Argos and I, both of us huddled together, watching strange shadows slither by, not encroaching on my protection circle, but almost pacing at the edge. And I wasn’t afraid, simply aware that there was something there.
“Maybe whatever came through the rift is out here walking around,” I said to Argos, who kept his rapt attention on the shapes moving in and out of the darkness as well.
There were sirens then, layering on top of one another, before red and blue lights bathed the street and house. A whole group of people emerged, in gloves and booties, and followed two guys in scrubs into the home. We waited together beside Kathy’s neighbor’s residence, pleased they weren’t there so I could lean back against it, legs crossed, daemon next to me, still as stone but for his continually flicking ears, listening to all, missing nothing. Finally, the body was taken away, and Lorne came into the backyard. He looked around but didn’t see us, which was strange, since we were only twenty feet away. My circle must have created an even better shroud than I thought.
“We’re here.” I waved.
He gestured for me, and I crossed the yard quickly with Argos right behind me.
“What’s with him?” he asked as I reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the tiny porch where Lorne stood.
“He wants to go home. Something has him spooked.”
He pointed at Argos. “He’s scared?”
“Maybe not scared exactly, more wary.”
When Lorne crouched down, Argos shot up the stairs and vaulted onto his shoulders, balanced there so that when Lorne stood up, Argos was curved around the back of his neck, tail swishing on one side, making biscuits on the other.
“Yeah, this is weird,” Lorne said, holding out booties and gloves for me as I climbed the stairs to him. “I had no idea anything could rattle him. I mean, he gets a bit bigger than this, yeah?”
“You know he does,” I stated, taking the coverings from him, slipping the booties over my sneakers first, then putting on the gloves. “Normally I would tell you to put him down and we’d have him stay out here, but I don’t think he’ll leave you.”
“I can’t have him jumping down in the middle of a crime scene.”
“I think he was happy to have found me, but he’s even happier you’re here.”
“But you’re the powerful witch.”
I tipped my head at Argos, who was now surveying the house, happy, it seemed, with his new vantage point. “Corvus makes me powerful, but you’re physically stronger, and I think he needs that at the moment.”
“Weird, but okay,” Lorne said softly, reaching out and fisting his hand in my henley, easing me in close. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
I was going to say I was happy to do anything for him at all, but he bent and kissed me, and all my words abandoned me. It was a kiss meant to reestablish a connection, so it was quick, his lips on mine, and then gone, but still, my pulse raced and my body flushed with heat because there was love there and my magic flared, rolling through me to him and then back again, the sacred loop I’d discovered by accident making me catch my breath.
“Okay,” he rumbled, and the slight smile let me know he felt the same. “So it turns out that the CSI team is on their way, along with the arson investigator from Jamestown.”
“So I should have a look around before everyone gets here?”
“That’s right,” he said with a slight, reassuring smile.
I began walking around slowly, careful where I stepped.
“We have things like this at home,” he commented, pointing to a small unburned plaque on the wall, hung by a strip of leather.
“Yeah, that’s a witch’s knot. For protection and luck.”
He scoffed. “It didn’t do a very good job.”
“Oh no? It looks to me like that entire section of wall is unharmed, and the bookcases are untouched as well.”
He studied it a moment, and then his eyes returned to me. “You’d have me believe that a nine-inch piece of wood is responsible for protecting that area?”
I shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s just luck.”
“Which would mean either way… I see what you’re saying.”
“All I know is that there’s a small fortune in books in that room that weren’t hurt when the firemen had to hose this place down. What is that other than lucky?”
“I’ll give you that,” he replied, then pointed at other pieces hung on opposite walls. “Tell me what those are, and then I’ll leave you alone and let you look.”
“Those are staves. Protection pieces to stave off something bad.”
“And what do the symbols mean?”
I indicated the one at the top. “This one is for protection against evil witches”—then moved down, explaining them one by one—“this one protects your dreams, and this one is another protection bindrune.”
“What’s a bindrune?”
“It’s when you combine two or more individual runes so they’re bound , and that way, they become more powerful together.”
“Oh, okay. I know what that is. I’ve seen you draw runes on the underside of your wrist.”
I nodded. “And sometimes I combine a couple to keep my focus and energy, like Raido and Ansuz. These five here on her sign are basically to protect her space from negativity.”
His gaze met mine.
“You’re thinking they didn’t work, like the witch’s knot.”
“To me, they clearly don’t, but you know me, I believe in things I can see.”
“But you can’t see a lot of things.”
“Sure. But to me, this stuff is like hanging up a horseshoe. There’s no difference.”
“What about hanging up a cross?”
“That’s faith. That’s different.”
I shook my head. “It’s not.”
He took a breath. “I believe in magic now because I’ve seen you work yours. But I never did before.”
“There’s all kinds of magic.”
“Is that what you meant earlier when you were trying to explain about universal magic? I will admit to being confused.”
“That’s because I wasn’t clear,” I began, my gaze locked with his, “but there are things that all witches use, universally, and that’s passive magic.”
“I would like an example, please.”
“Okay, for universal, all around us, always present, passive magic, tools are a great illustration, as they are unchangeable.”
“Like?”
“Like salt. Salt is used for protection, and it’s so well known that you can watch TV shows and see people make circles around themselves with it. Earlier today I told Cass to draw one if she wants to keep using her Ouija board.”
It took him a second. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Don’t worry, she’s not going to be messing with it anymore,” I assured him with a dismissive wave. “But the point is that salt is an ingredient everyone uses.”
“Like sage.”
“Exactly. When we go antiquing, I have to sage everything when we get home.”
“That’s so we don’t bring someone else’s bad juju into our space.”
“Yes.” I smiled at him, as always pleased that he not only listened, but retained what I told him. It meant the world to me.
“You know, I don’t recall you cleansing my laptop or the new TV I bought.”
“Because those were only ever owned by you, so they’re imbued with your essence, and that is very good.”
“Aw, shucks,” he teased me.
“It’s true.”
“I understand what you’re getting at,” he affirmed, taking my hand and leading me farther into the house. “Everyone uses sage for cleansing and salt for protection and things like that.”
“Yes. Tools are also spices and herbs. Paprika aids in breaking hexes, black pepper will suppress gossip, rosemary repels unwanted people, and lavender promotes peace. These are things you can find anywhere, and they will work the same for everyone.”
“Thus universal, passive magic.”
“Correct.”
“What else?”
“Well, like different color candles for specific tasks. Black for banishing, green for abundance, white for purification, and then all the many different crystals.”
“The tourmaline you have in every corner of my office.”
“Yes.”
“The big chunky pieces of pyrite and citrine you put in Declan’s bistro to bring in prosperity and money.”
I nodded.
“And the stones Amanda carries that she believes keep her from murdering other people.”
I smiled at him. “Yes. And they do. Because amethyst is soothing, rose quartz does make one more compassionate, and smoky quartz is grounding. She needs all those things, so she carries them on her person at all times.”
“So bracelets, pendants with the stones you need, and the herbs and healing, those are all tools anyone who identifies as a witch can research and use.”
“Yes, as did Kathy, which is why she has staves and bindrunes.” Scanning the room, I realized how sad it was to see the charred, gutted remains of her home. It looked like a skeleton with only the bones to the right and an open cavity to the left. “She sold besoms and mojo bags, made floor washes and bath soaks, and simmer pots and candles.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning if she learned about the tools—and her shop was filled with some beautiful crystals and stones—then when people got those things from her, they could incorporate them into their own practice, and that’s shared universal magic.”
“So maybe she sold something to a real witch, and that tool, in turn, became truly magic because it became the possession of someone with—you know, I can see you scowling at me. What’d I say wrong now?”
“Everyone has true gifts,” I corrected him. “If you believe you’re a witch, then you are, but sometimes, you have to wake things up.”
“Like how you make all those spell bottles, and they all have potential, but you do that last step and tell them what they’re supposed to do.”
“Exactly.”
“But when you make something, like the witches ladders that you sell at the harvest festival, those are actually magical because you are.”
“Yes, and conversely, if I got something at Kathy’s store and took it home, in our cottage it would become magic even if it wasn’t to begin with.”
“So inherently magical things, like crystals, become more powerful in a witch’s home.”
“It’s like your police utility vehicle,” I began, and he waggled his eyebrows to tell me I’d done well calling it what it was. “I put that rowan cross on your mirror, and didn’t you tell me it feels different in there now?”
“Yeah, but…no offense to magic, but when I look at it, it reminds me of you, and I feel better going about my day.”
“Which I love,” I sighed, “but that is a very powerful charm on its own that I’ve further imbued with my power, all in the name of keeping you safe.”
“Okay, I got the tools thing, and that the whole world is full of magic that some people are aware of and most aren’t, and?—”
“That’s not what I said. What I?—”
“No, I know, but can’t something like wheat simply be wheat and not whatever it is to you?”
I scowled at him.
“Can’t it?”
“Yes, but if there are bundles of wheat at a supernatural store like the Witch and Wild, then it was meant to be bought and placed in your home to bring in abundance and prosperity. There was a specific purpose.”
“Which is again, the universal, all around us, passive kind.”
“Yes.”
“What’s the difference between someone who says they’re a witch and someone who is?”
I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“I know you’re standing in solidarity with all your fellow magical folk, but humor me. What’s the difference between you and a person like Cordelia Wormwood?”
“Actually, less than I thought before.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve always thought she didn’t believe in magic at all. That it was just a con for her. I saw her doing things I never would to make a buck.”
“Like?”
“Like dyeing stones and selling spell kits that were ridiculous and couldn’t possibly work based on the ingredients in them.”
“But you’ve changed your mind?”
“I’ve never been in here before, and though there’s nothing beyond universal magic that I can perceive, from the things I see on the walls, she was clearly a believer.”
“So she believed in magic, but she wasn’t a magic user.”
“As far as I can tell, yes.”
“But that’s hard to define, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, if I burn a candle and get a positive result from that, isn’t that magic?”
“Yes. Because maybe magical rituals and thinking influence the physical world, and maybe they just give hope that things will change. Either way, that’s real magic.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “But I need to ask, what is the main difference between you and anybody else, not only Kathy?”
“The difference is thaumaturgy and the?—”
“What was that?”
“Thaumaturgy,” I repeated as I lifted my hand and fire filled it, “means the ability to make natural forces work with you through intentional, or active, magic.”
“That is always impressive,” he murmured, and I saw how full of me his eyes were.
“Please show me any workings that linger here,” I whispered gently to the flames, making a fist at the same time, waiting several moments, allowing the fire to dance over my skin, imbuing the magic with my intention, my request. Once I opened my hand, releasing the flames, they broke away, sailing quickly through the air, flying everywhere at once, beyond what I could see from where I was.
I knew they were searching the house, checking every nook and cranny, and I stayed quiet, trying to sense anything amiss. They returned fast, the whoosh and vibration making both me and Lorne unsteady for a moment, causing a quick bout of shivering.
“That’s new, and I did not love that.” Lorne was adamant, petting Argos, who was still draped over his shoulders like a scarf.
“But you see, the flames all returned to me. Nothing remained for us to find.”
“How do you know?”
I had to think a moment. “It tugs at me,” I said, putting my hand on my chest. “Inside. I can feel it even if I can’t see it.”
“Okay.”
“Last year, I asked the fire to illuminate that area for us so we could see.”
“I do recall.”
“This time, I was looking for any remnants of spells or root work, anything crafted at all, and there’s nothing magical here beyond the tools we can plainly see by walking around.”
“But you could already tell she wasn’t doing active magic, so why check?”
“To see if I missed anything. I’m not infallible, and I am biased because I didn’t like her. It’s always best to double-check.”
Deep exhale from him. “Agreed. So we haven’t narrowed down anything.”
“No. She could still have been killed by something magical; it just means that she herself, as I always suspected, had no power beyond that which is granted by the natural world.”
He threw up his hands. “Then what the hell made the fire so big in here? Schwartz didn’t see anything that made him think the fire was deliberately set, but I’ve got an arson inspector coming anyway because looking at that.” He gestured at the side of the house that was gone. “There had to be something.”
“Where’s the inspector coming from?”
“Jamestown. Lieutenant Amy Gedrick, and she’ll be here first thing in the morning with her team.”
“Good. And I’m sure when she gets here she’ll notice all the remnants of glass over there on what’s left of that side of the house.”
“Glass?”
“Yeah. Kathy had a thriving business—both online and brick and mortar—where she sold wet specimens. Lots of dead insects and animals, and they’re normally preserved in ethanol. I bet if you check her store, you’ll find lots of them there as well.”
“Ethanol?”
“Yep.”
“Holy crap, it’s a wonder this whole place didn’t burn to the ground, then.”
It certainly was.
“Does she have family here?”
“Her parents are in Westfield, I think. I’m sure Pete knows, or his mother does. Just have him call them. We all went to high school together.”
Stepping into me, he took my face in his hands. “How come Kathy didn’t like you?”
“I’m a weirdo. It’s a wonder you like me.”
“Lots of people like you,” he murmured, drawing me close, kissing my forehead and then easing me into his arms, wrapping me up tight for a moment. “I have to stay until the CSI team gets here and then through them processing the scene.”
“Which will take hours.”
“Yes, it will.”
“And you said Gedrick, the arson inspector, will be here in the morning, so does that mean you have to stay here all night? If you do, I’ll stay with you.”
“No, I called over to the state police, and they’re helping us out by putting two officers on the house. Until I know what happened, I don’t want either Pete or Victoria here alone, and I could stay, but I need to be ready to talk to the ME tomorrow and get all the information from the director of the crime lab, so yeah, I need help, and I got it.”
“You could have called over to Westfield and gotten some backup.”
The squint I got, like I was out of my mind, made me chuckle. “Okay, maybe not.”
“The Westfield chief of police hates me, and you know it.”
Not immediately not when Lorne initially took over the chief of police vacancy in Osprey, but now, I was thinking yes. Yes, he did.
The first problem was that Byron Dale knew, without question, that Lorne was more qualified than him. Lorne had been a homicide detective in Boston, so he had far more experience with people and situations than a small-town cop could even imagine. There was no way for Dale to compete with that.
Second, though Osprey was smaller than Westfield by at least a thousand people, that amount did not denote an overwhelming number of citizens. Meaning, they were more or less performing a similar job. Added to that was the jump in tourism, and suddenly, with the extra revenue and traffic, we had triple the volume of visitors Westfield had, with lots of people bypassing the other town altogether. The last time Dale was visiting Osprey with the sheriff—the man in charge of all of Chautauqua County—the sheriff had mentioned that perhaps Lorne needed to bring on another deputy to have an equal number with Westfield. From what my beloved told me later, Dale was pissed.
Third, and this was petty, but between the two of them, Lorne was much better-looking. Lorne was, without question, a beautiful man. And yes, I was biased, but how many black-haired men with cobalt-blue eyes, hard-hewn bodies, and deep, sultry voices did most people come across in their lifetime? If I were Dale, I’d have been jealous too.
“Hello?”
“Sorry. I agree. Dale hates you, and?—”
“You’re supposed to say no, that’s not true, be the voice of reason,” he scolded me.
“Or a realist,” I teased him. “But I was going to say I’m glad the state police will be here to help.”
“Me too, but I do appreciate your willingness to camp out in my rig with me.”
“I would do anything with you,” I blurted out.
“That sounded a bit like you’d be up for getting naked in the back seat with me.”
“Which makes me sound like a ghoul since we’re standing in the house of a dead woman.”
“No,” he assured me. “When experiencing a loss, the knee-jerk reaction is to make plans, get married, or have sex. There are other options, of course, but the main thread that runs through them all is that they are life-affirming.”
“So you want to fuck me in the face of death?”
His brows furrowed. “This just proves, again, like always, that there is not a romantic bone in your body.”
“You could put a romantic bone in my body,” I said with a leer.
“Get out, go sit in the car,” he ordered, taking Argos off his shoulders and passing him to me. “Take this cat, put him in the car first, then grab your bike and put it in the back. You can’t be in here anyway when the CSI folks show up.”
“I wasn’t saying I wasn’t on board with your life-affirming activities,” I argued.
“Out,” he repeated.
“You don’t even want to talk about this?”
His silence, combined with the pointing, told me we would not, in fact, be talking about it.