Chapter 24
Hiking at night wasn’t so bad. With their vampiric powers awakened, Sal and Arthur made good time returning to civilization, nearly rushing past Other Arthur Miller at the trailhead, who was moving at a snail’s pace by comparison.
Arthur stopped, putting aside his bruised pride to bring Other Arthur up to speed on the situation.
He didn’t bother asking for help—he hadn’t entirely gotten over the betrayal in Ambrosia’s tent, and he didn’t trust Other Arthur as far as he could throw him in daylight—but someone else should know about Martha.
Before Other Arthur Miller could ask so much as a follow-up question, Arthur sped off again. He couldn’t help but suspect it would’ve gone faster if Sal had stopped floating to use his own legs. Instead, Arthur had held tight to his hand, pulling him along like a poorly inflated balloon.
“Come on,” Arthur said, hopping on the tandem bike.
“Don’t forget to fasten your headbelt!” Sal shoved one of the helmets at Arthur, the role reversal a true testament to their frenzied state.
Arthur put his helmet on and took hold of the handlebars. “We’ve got to get to Martha’s house.”
“What if she’s not there?” Sal asked.
“I—I don’t know. I suppose she might’ve made a run for it already, but we have to try!
” If Martha had already fled Trident Falls, she’d be out of their reach, and only an organization like the FPI would be able to stop her.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He wanted to ask her so many things.
Like why now? She’d been managing the coven’s money since the beginning, so it was strange timing on her part.
And the murder, too, was odd. He understood how she’d done it—Martha killed Lola by poisoning one of the coven’s potions, adding oleander to the mixture since she wasn’t a witch herself—but what he didn’t understand was why.
Ambrosia was the one with motive, not Martha.
There were still too many questions left unanswered.
They pedaled furiously. This, too, was a lot faster at night.
Soon they were going at speeds that might’ve rivaled that of a car, though Arthur felt a lot safer moving under his own power instead of that of a huge chunk of metal and flammable liquid.
The streets zipped by, until at last they reached a familiar house.
Lights were on inside. Arthur heaved out a relieved sigh.
“I’ll go low, you go high,” Sal said, but Arthur stopped him with a hand.
“Let’s try our words first.” Arthur hurried up to the front door. It was locked, but that couldn’t stop a vampire with a prior invitation. The knob snapped off in his hand, and the door swung open slowly.
As Arthur crept forward, Sal at his heels, he took stock of their surroundings.
The house looked the same as when they’d been here before.
The basket of herbs from that morning still sat on the counter, slightly wilted now.
There were no signs of any disturbance around them.
Even Al Capone, Martha’s corgi, napped in his bed, entirely unbothered.
Rustling sounds drifted from an open door. Cautiously, Arthur stepped closer. Martha stood beside her bed, neatly folding clothes into a large suitcase as though she had all the time in the world. From his vantage by the door, Arthur could see she wore a small smile on her face.
None of this clarified the mystery. If Martha had killed Lola and stolen the coven’s money, wouldn’t she be in a hurry to leave? Only if she feared discovery. Perhaps she was overconfident in her deception. Or perhaps her confidence was earned.
It was time to find out, once and for all.
“Going somewhere?” Arthur asked.
Jumping and letting out a little shriek, Martha whirled. She clutched her chest. “Arthur. Sal. You scared me. What are you doing here?”
Arthur stepped into the room, followed closely by Sal. “We’re here to ask you why you drained the Celestine Coven accounts. And why you’re packing…Feeling guilty about something?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Slowly, Martha put the blouse she’d been folding into her suitcase. “I’m going out of town tomorrow. A much-needed vacation.”
“The jig is up!” Sal exclaimed. “We know you’re on the lam!”
It wasn’t exactly the tactic Arthur would have chosen, but he supposed Sal’s exuberance might balance his own more measured approach nicely. Good vampire, slightly overenthusiastic vampire. A dynamic as old as time.
“It must have been difficult, being their friend all these years. You, Ambrosia, and Wilhelmina,” Arthur said as sympathetically as he could.
If Ambrosia had felt so inadequate as a relatively weak-powered witch, how must Martha have felt, entirely unmagical?
“I can only imagine how difficult it was to be in the shadow of two witches.”
“You have no idea.” Martha shook her head, her countenance darkening for a sliver of a moment. “But that’s all in the past.”
“Is it?” Sal asked. “I know how jealousy can fester.”
“Jealousy?” Martha’s eyebrows shot up. “Believe me, I wasn’t jealous.”
Arthur didn’t believe that for a second.
If he could only get her talking, maybe he’d be able to put the rest of the pieces together.
“You were their steadfast friend, there for them through it all—Wilhelmina’s divorce, Ambrosia’s new business.
Power or not, you deserved some of Ambrosia’s success, didn’t you? ”
“Some?” Martha scoffed. “Ambrosia’s success was mine. I deserve it all.”
“So, you took it?” Arthur asked. “You admit it?”
“I didn’t have to take anything. It was mine to begin with.”
Arthur exchanged a confused look with Sal. Was this all just a misunderstanding? “So, you loaned her money, or…?”
“Who said anything about money?” Martha rolled back her shoulders and fixed him with her steadfast gaze. “I’m talking about power. Twenty years ago, Amanda Griegson stole my magic and turned herself into the magical magnate Ambrosia Celestine. And tonight, I get it all back.”
Arthur stared, mouth agape. That certainly put some things into perspective.
“So, to clarify,” Martha continued. “I wasn’t jealous of Ambrosia. She was jealous of me. She stole my magic, she stole my life. Hell, she even stole my damn Ouija board. And I took the money because it’s the least she could do, really. That bitch owes me.”
“They were your coven, weren’t they? Back in high school. You weren’t just a gardening club,” Arthur said.
Sal gasped. “Oh, I do so love high school drama! Have you seen Glee?”
Arthur prayed to no god in particular that she hadn’t. He didn’t think he could take a revived obsession over Darren Criss, on whom Sal had nursed a crush for years. (He’s my Teenage Dream, Arthur!) Thankfully, Martha seemed to be on the same page about that particular tangent.
“So, you see, it’s completely reasonable that the Celestine Coven accounts are empty. There’s nothing nefarious going on—at least on my part. Ambrosia’s the thief. I’m just collecting on a debt.”
“I can understand that.” Arthur meant it. Ambrosia and her coven were a rotten lot. What she’d done to Martha was reprehensible, and Martha probably deserved every penny she took. But that wasn’t all she’d done. “What I don’t understand is…why kill Lola Lataurelle?”
Martha shrugged, voice deceptively light. “What possible reason could I have for doing that?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d like you to tell us.” Arthur crossed his arms. Martha was taking this all quite well so far, but he doubted a murder accusation would go over so smoothly. “Framing Ambrosia and taking her money…it’s the perfect way to completely ruin her life. So…revenge, maybe?”
“Ambrosia killed Lola,” Martha said coolly. “All the evidence will prove it.”
“You made sure of that, didn’t you?” Arthur’s mind began to whir, the pieces falling into place.
“But it doesn’t make sense. Sal and I know something about Ambrosia now.
She doesn’t do her own dirty work. If she wanted Lola dead, she would’ve sent Chet after her, like she did with Wilhelmina.
To truly frame her, you’d have needed to take that into account. ”
“I suppose you’re right. Ambrosia never could do anything herself—she had to steal my magic.” Martha sighed, depositing a few more folded articles of clothing in her suitcase. “Oh well. There’s no fooling you two, is there?”
Internally, Arthur celebrated. He’d done it.
He’d solved the case. But something about Martha’s expression—her curled lip, her narrowed eyes—made him pause.
They were in the home of a killer. They’d just unmasked her.
And, now that the spell Ambrosia used on her had ended, an undisclosed amount of powerful magic had just been returned to her.
“So, uh…” Sal began. “What you need to know is, there are these three cheerleaders—they’re kind of like a coven—Quinn, Santana, and Brittany.”
“I’ve dealt with a lot of bullshit because of Ambrosia,” Martha said, interrupting Sal’s recap. “Guess I’ll have to dispose of you, too.”
“What—?” Arthur began, but his words choked off when a long scarf wrapped around his neck. It coiled around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, then slammed him against Sal, who was similarly tied up. It was over in less than a second.
“Bourgeoisie! Bourgeoisie!” Sal screamed into Arthur’s collarbone.
Arthur struggled, but he couldn’t manage to rip the fabric. Magic held it rigid around them. “I thought magic didn’t work on vampires,” he said as calmly as he could.
“It doesn’t.” Martha turned her back on them, shutting a few empty drawers. “But it works on everything else.”
It was a smart workaround. Ambrosia and Chet hadn’t had the brains for such a move. Not only was Martha very powerful, she was also clever. That would be troublesome indeed.
Beside him, Sal tried to hover, but it unbalanced them, and Arthur fell. He landed on his back, Sal atop him, still stuck together by the magical binds of the scarf. Drawn by the commotion, Al Capone trotted into the room and began licking Arthur’s face.