Chapter 19
The show barn is worse than I thought. It’s crowded.
There are multiple rings, with multiple divisions going on at the same time.
Loudspeakers crackle to life regularly with announcements about division times and parking lot issues and a reminder to everyone not to give food to pigs that aren’t yours.
It seems like every structure in the barn is draped in red, white, and blue bunting, which flaps in the breeze generated by fans positioned pretty much everywhere there’s room for a fan.
The scent of grilling hot dogs and sugary fried dough and nachos covers the sawdusty barn smell.
Pigs squeal. Babies shriek.
And in all that chaos, I’m supposed to identify and neutralize the threat.
I can barely remember my cover name. There’s no way I’m going to be able to focus long enough to figure this out.
“Okay, it’s time to line up,” Wayne says, his face more serious than I’ve ever seen it. The kid’s really invested in us.
“Thanks for everything,” I say, grabbing my show stick and gently herding Petunia where the market boar division waits for the current division to finish judging.
Petunia looks back at me, a question in his eyes. I shake my head. “Not yet. But hopefully…”
Hopefully what? Hopefully I’ll magically guess who the bad guy is?
It was a mistake to go on with the show. I should have overridden Cressida and cancelled it myself, to hell with the consequences. At least I wouldn’t have the deaths of innocent people on my hands.
But Cressida had forbidden me to cancel, and she doesn’t make mistakes.
Never.
The judge in the ring is pointing at pigs, holding up numbers to indicate how they placed. He’s just identified his top two pigs when I realize that Cressida definitely has made a mistake before.
Because she was in that coffee shop that day when The Witch was there, and she hadn’t picked up on it. She’d gone to the bathroom, leaving her mentor to face The Witch alone.
Not that anyone blames her. Agents miss stuff all the time. But I know Cressida blames herself. I mean, wasn’t that what drove her to try to catch The Witch? The need to make up for what she allowed to happen?
I never make mistakes.
“Join us in Ring 2 for the Market Boar Division,” the loudspeaker squawks.
Calm down. She was just being hyperbolic.
Of course she was. I know that.
But the pieces of the puzzle are spread out before me, and it suddenly seems like they’re starting to fit together.
What if…what if she hadn’t made a mistake the day her mentor died? What if that was what she wanted to happen?
Something bumps my knee, and I look down to see Petunia looking up at me, his little piggy brows drawn together. I realize Wayne is over by the fencing around the show ring, jumping up and down and calling my name.
Oh, right. The pig show. We’re on.
As I walk Petunia into the ring with the other boars and handlers, my inner voice starts talking to me again. Only this time, it has a new voice.
Trust your gut.
I fix my gaze on the judge the way Wayne has taught me to.
Grayson dated Cressida, and he insists he’s a good judge of character. But…
Maintaining that level of shielding spell for long periods of time would be incredibly draining.
She was obsessed with catching The Witch. It just ate up her energy.
Maybe it wasn’t catching The Witch that drained Cressida. It was keeping Grayson from finding out that she was The Witch.
And this whole thing. A pig show with no important people in attendance?
But there was one very important person—important to Cressida, that is. Her ex-boyfriend. The guy who broke things off because she couldn’t give enough to their relationship.
Someone she thought she might marry.
Trust your gut.
And while my brain is screaming, “Nope, you’re an idiot, none of that can possibly be true,” my gut keeps repeating, “Cressida Caine is The Witch.”
It’s Cressida. That’s who I’m looking for.
I’m still staring at the judge, the realization that I don’t actually need to worry about winning the pig show because I’m not actually Sally slowly dawning on me, when I see a flash of emerald green.
Yes. That’s her.
The Witch is here. And she’s about to strike.