The Case of the Love Spell Page 7

  Before he can open his mouth again and flash those creepy fangs, I’m running for the door.

  I hear him calling out. “Wait! Penny, don’t go! Let’s just talk about the—”

  I close the door behind me before he finishes the sentence.

  What. The. Hell.

  That man had fangs! True, honest to goodness, fangs. That was so incredibly creepy!

  Maybe I have to recalibrate my hunk-o-meter. Because I definitely shouldn’t have found a man weird enough to have glistening, sharp, pointed incisors attractive.

  As the shock subsides, I realize that I’ve just run out on my one source of information about ‘The Art and Science of Becoming a Witch’.

  What does Max know about this book? Why does he want to get his hands on it so badly? Apparently, he’s interested in it enough to drop everything and run twenty miles over a rugged mountain pass just hours after I posted one little comment on the internet.

  Or is he lying about his run? He didn’t look sweaty or tired. He looked as fresh as a daisy! Maybe he’s just an experienced distance runner and the feat was as easy as a stroll in the park... or maybe he didn’t run over the pass at all.

  Maybe he’s been here for days... lurking around Claudine Terra’s house in hopes of murdering her so that he could get his hands on the book he wants so badly.

  Uh oh. My imagination is running wild.

  Am I just stirring up drama because I’m bored? Or could mysterious Max really make it to my suspect list?

  I only know one thing for sure. Max wants the book that I now possess. Desperately.

  I have a feeling that I’m going to ‘bump into’ him again, in the next few days.

  The next time, I won’t let him charm me with his handsome dimples, muscular bod, and suave compliments. I’m going to be on my toes.

  Because though I might be ‘naive and inexperienced,’ I do know enough to instinctively be wary of a man with fangs!

  Chapter Six

  After leaving the Death Cafe, I manage to catch up with Sherry and give her my cash rent payment. Then, it’s off to the vet’s.

  Buttercup’s veterinarian office is actually a shed off to the side of her main street house. In the window of the shed, there’s a little sign with her office hours.

  Monday—noon to five-ish

  Tuesday—maybe in maybe out, depending on what the weather is like

  Wednesday—noon to five-ish

  Thursday—probably off

  Friday—definitely off

  Saturday and Sunday—it’s the freakin’ weekend, baby!

  All powder days—I’ll be on the hill, skiing. See ya out there!

  Veterinary visits are by appointment only.

  Since it’s Tuesday, I figure my chances are fifty-fifty that she’ll actually be around to help me. Are these business hours? I might as well knock on the front door of her house and find out.

  I pick my way up a front walkway that’s overgrown with flowers and weeds, and then give a good solid knock.

  After a moment, Buttercup answers.

  Her dyed red hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing head-to-toe shiny pink spandex. Her face is painted with a thick layer of makeup, and when she smiles at me her bright pink lips part, revealing crooked teeth.

  “Hello!” She says. “Penny, what a surprise! I see you didn’t call ahead... as usual.”

  Oh. Just then, I remember that the last time I visited Buttercup she asked me to call ahead. Well, too late for that. “Hi, Buttercup. Are you working today? My cat is sick and I’d love it if you would give her a check-up.”

  “Oh... you have the Siamese, right? Cranberry Sauce?”

  “Calico,” I correct her. “His name is Turkey.”

  “Turkey. That’s right. Such a festive name. Reminds me of Thanksgiving.”

  “Are you working today?” I ask again. She doesn’t look like she’s working. She looks more like she’s getting prepared for a jazzercise mission with a group of oddball superheroes. Her outfit would be complete if she had a big “B” emblazoned on her spandex-covered chest.

  “Well, I haven’t had any appointments today, and I don't have any booked. Most people call ahead of time, Penny,” she says, and then sighs heavily. “But, I suppose I could check on Mashed Potatoes for you.”

  “Turkey,” I say.

  “Turkey. Right. Hold on one second, hon. I’m making up a batch of bone broth and I just want to turn it down to a simmer. I’ll grab my vet bag, too.” She steps back into the house, leaving the door wide open.

  Curiosity draws me up the uneven stone steps, and I take a tentative step into her entry way. I’ll just peek around for a moment while she takes care of her broth, and then I’ll pop back outside.

  The entryway is narrow and tight. A coat rack, propped in one corner, is laden with a variety of outerwear: a long, white fur coat, a short neon pink windbreaker, and a puffy pink ski jacket. Her footwear lines one wall. On the wall, just past the coat rack, I spot photographs. I walk up to them, keeping my ears perked for signs that Buttercup is approaching.

  It’s quiet, so I let myself take a good look at the pictures. Some are full of people I don’t recognize. I see hints of Buttercup’s features in several of the strangers—her long, pointed nose, her close-set eyes, her crooked teeth. These must be family members.

  My eyes land on a photograph of Buttercup, in her younger years.

  She’s standing next to a man I recognize. A man who was just in my office, a few days ago.

  Gunther Larson.

  Marley was right! The two did date. I can tell by the way they’re nestled against each other. Gunther’s arm is wrapped around Buttercup’s narrow shoulders. She’s leaning against his broad chest, smiling blissfully.

  Hm. Funny that she never took this picture down. Or... my eyes move to the next photograph in the row ... this one. It’s a close-up of the two kissing. The next photo in the row is of Gunther and Buttercup, holding hands. In the background, a bright rainbow stretches across the sky.

  And the next one: Gunther and Buttercup in front of this very house. The garden is perfectly trimmed, weeded, and cared for. Gunther has a pair of gardening shears in one hand, and his other hand is wrapped around Buttercup. She’s leaning into him again, with that blissful look on her make-up plastered face.

  “Penny?” Buttercup says. Her voice shocks me and my shoulders jerk up to my elbows. “Can I get you something? The bathroom is just down the hallway...”

  “Oh, no. thank you. I don’t need to go. I was just...” I stop short. Crap! Why can’t I ever think of a good cover story when I need one? I shift my glasses to jolt my brain into action, but it’s useless.

  “Buttercup, did you used to date Gunther Larson?” I ask instead.

  She has a little black leather bag in her hand, which I recognize as the bag she keeps her veterinarian tools in. She places it down on the floor. It makes the clanking sound of glass against glass as it hits the tiles, and the bag falls open slightly. Inside I see at least twenty little glass bottles, filled with a variety of liquids and pills.

  Buttercup walks up to my side, gazing at the pictures I’ve just been studying.

  “Date?” she says. “That’s such a conventional word, Penny. No, Gunther and I didn’t just ‘date.’ We were lovers, Penny. Ah... Such happy times.” Her voice is soft and dreamy. “He really was the best lover I’ve ever had.”

  “How long were you... er... lovers for?”

  “Long enough. Long enough for our souls to fuse into one beautiful soul.”

  “That sounds uncomfortable,” I say.

  “Oh no. Quite the opposite. It’s the best feeling in the world. A feeling like none other that I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve experienced quite a few feelings in my day. Have I ever told you about the time I took psychedelics on the roof of the White House with the President?”

  “Um, no...” I point at the picture of her and Gunther kissing. I want to get back on track befo
re she goes off on a tangent. It’s a little hard, because now I’m also curious about what the heck she was doing on a rooftop with the President of the United States.

  She ignores my gesture and before I can steer her back on topic she continues. “I used to be a wild child... that was in another lifetime, before I became Buttercup. I was so young. Now that I’m older, I don’t have time for mind-altering substances. There’s no time, Penny. Life is so short. So precious.”

  A shadow crosses her face. “And it’s constantly running out... We each have to grab it by the horns.” Her lip curls up into a snarl as she makes a violent snatching motion with her hands, which causes me to jump for the second time since I entered the crowded entryway. “And hold onto it with all we’ve got. Priorities, Penny. It’s all about priorities.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Speaking of the fleeting nature of life... and priorities... are you seeing anyone these days?”

  She gives me a shocked and curious look. “Are you asking me out, Penny? I’m afraid I don’t swing that way... even for a girl as pretty as you.”

  “No!” I blush. “I mean, it just seems that you’ve got these pictures up of your old... ah, lover... but you’re not with him anymore, are you? So is there someone new?”

  She frowns. “Gunther is irreplaceable,” she says. “There was never another, after him. That’s because our souls are still fused.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re twin flames, you see?” Her frown reverses, and now she gives a dreamy, loopy smile. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes back to me.”

  “I see,” I say.

  “I don’t know what he saw in that Claudine,” she adds.

  “You know that Gunther was dating Claudine Terra?” I ask.

  “Unfortunately,” she says. “Gunther didn’t want anyone to know, but he couldn’t keep it from me. Was it because I followed him around, when we first split? Maybe. But I had so many things to say to him. Sure, he told me to leave him alone, but can a woman in love leave her twin flame, her soulmate, alone?”

  I’m pretty sure that this is a rhetorical question, so I stay quiet.

  Buttercup continues dreamily. “Surely not. I wouldn’t call it stalking... per say... I would call it... enthusiasm. Persistence. Anyways, Claudine was just a passing phase for Gunther. I knew it was only a matter of time until we got back together. In fact, I still know. That’s why I haven’t weeded the garden. He’ll do it when he moves back in with me.”

  She is really crazy. I want to ask her more, but suddenly she bends down and scoops up her vet bag. “Well, let’s go check out that puppy of yours. Creamed Corn.”

  “Cat. Calico cat. And his name is Turkey.”

  “Right. What seems to be wrong with her?”

  I sigh and shake my head as Buttercup breezes past me and begins marching down the long walkway towards the shed, brushing past overgrown weeds as she goes.

  Two hours later, I load my poor poked and prodded kitten back into the carrier. Buttercup has given me a list of possible causes for his vomit: bacterial infection, kidney failure, intestinal blockage... none of which sound pleasant. She didn’t want to do anything invasive, so I’m just supposed to keep an eye on him for the next few days and call her—she emphasized this—call her rather than just stop by—if I notice any more throw up.

  Because I’m now paranoid that my kitty is on death row, I bundle him into my messenger bag and sneak him into the library with me. It feels better to have him at my side than out in the carrier while I tackle my last task of the day: making photocopies of ‘The Art and Science of Becoming a Witch’. Or, ASBW, as I’ve started to think of it as.

  ASBW is covered in cat fur when I pull it out of my sack, and Turkey gives a little yowl because I’ve disturbed him from his nap.

  I am standing at the photocopy machine, which is positioned near the library’s front desk. The librarian, Rebecca, looks up at the sound of Turkey’s meowing. I cover Turkey’s outburst with a fake fit of coughing, and position my body so that Turkey’s cute little head, which pokes out of my bag, isn’t visible to the librarian.

  Turkey settles down. He loves riding in my messenger bag. It always lulls him right to sleep. Once I remove the book, I watch his eyes seal together as he sinks back into a slumber.

  The librarian goes back to her work.

  I get down to the business of making copies. I’m on page forty-five—the last page!—when I see, from the corner of my eye, the woman with blue hair sweep into the room.

  She makes a bee line for me.

  I jerk the book out from under the copier lid, and stuff it into my bag next to Turkey. Then I have just enough time to pick up the paper that shoots out of the machine, and place it face down on top of the stack I’m working on. There’s no time to put the whole pile into my bag.

  “Darling!” She says. “I was hoping I’d find you here!”

  “What?” I ask. I don’t even know this woman.

  “Yes, Penny... it is Penny, right?”

  I nod. “Who are you?”

  “Azure. Azure Spincraft. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. All day, in fact. Well, first I wanted to talk to Claudine’s lovely niece, Lucy, because I heard that she inherited all of Claudine’s things. But then I heard that you also have a few of Claudine’s old possessions. Is that true?”

  I don’t need to answer that. “How did you know I was here?” I ask, stuttering a little.

  She’s acting like we had an appointment to meet here. However, I told no one that I would be here, at this exact time. I didn't even know how long my visit with Buttercup would be.

  Azure speaks. “Oh, a simple Placement Spell, darling. Nothing to it. Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. Where’s the book?”

  “What book?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I’m glad that the skinny book is now neatly tucked away inside my bag.

  Our conversation has attracted Rebecca’s attention, and she’s shooting us a ‘be-quiet-or-else’ stare, so I lower my voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Claudine Terra was a witch,” Azure says. “She was the last of the Terra Coven of Mountain Earth Witches. And she happened to have in her possession a rare copy of a very, very powerful book. A book that turns mere humans into witches.”

  “Hunh,” I say. “I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  I have that feeling in my chest again—the one that’s like my ribs are a cage housing a billion fireflies. I feel all fluttery and bright inside. Humans into witches? Is that what happened to me?

  Our conversation stirs Turkey out of his nap. He yowls.

  “Is this your familiar?” Azure asks. She leans down close to him and strokes his head, which gives me a chance to give her a once-over.

  Azure doesn’t look like what I’d imagine a witch to look like. She’s not wearing black flowing robes; she doesn’t wear a pointed hat; I see no sign of warts, and she’s actually quite young—about my age, I’d guess. Her long blue hair is worn down around her pretty, pale face. She’s dressed in a chic purple knit sweater and a pair of designer jeans worn low around her hips.

  She looks almost normal —except for the blue hair.

  So what’s all this about being a witch?

  “This is my cat, Turkey,” I say.

  Azure is scratching Turkey’s head. His eyes are two happy slits and he’s pressing his head into her hand as if he enjoys her touch.

  “Right. Your familiar,” Azure says.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

  “Oh, don’t try to fool me, missy. I know a witch when I see one. And I sure know it when I see a familiar. He’s quite powerful, isn’t he?”

  “He’s pretty good at jumping when he wants to be,” I say. “Usually, there are treats involved.”

  Azure shakes her head. “Oh, you have so much to learn, darling. Now, why don’t you hand over that book, nice and calmly now, so that we don’t have to make a scene in this quaint little libra
ry?”

  She gives Turkey a pat on the head and then straightens up and looks right at me.

  I swallow. First, Max tries to get this book from me. Now this chick? I shake my head.

  “It’s mine,” I say. “And I want to hang onto it... at least for a little bit longer.”

  “I’m afraid that’s just not possible. It’s bad enough that you’ve had it this long. Really, the minute I heard about Claudine’s death I got here as fast as I could. I have no idea—”

  “How did you hear about Claudine’s death?” I ask.

  “Well, the first thing we noticed was that her Portal Control Spell wore off, which opened up the pass. That was a red flag. And then, we did a quick Placement Spell on her. We didn’t get any Earth Realm results, which meant that she’d passed on from the Earth Realm—and that means death.”

  She is totally confusing me. But at least she’s not threatening to cause a scene anymore. I ask another question, to keep her distracted from said impending ‘scene.’

  “How well did you know Claudine, Azure?”

  “We were colleagues,” Azure says. “The witch community has gotten awfully small these days. There are only five covens left, and we still do the same amount of work that hundreds of covens used to do, back in the days when witching was a more acceptable occupation.” She shakes her head with disappointment. Her blue hair swishes against her purple sweater.

  “Did you get along?” I ask.

  “Not particularly. How well can you get along with a co-worker who shuts down the portal that connects you? I thought that was very rude of her. She said that the rest of the magical community shouldn’t take the Portal Control Spell personally, but how could we not? She was basically taking away our one route of access to come visit her.”

  “You mean Hillcrest Pass?” I ask. “Is Hillcrest Pass a portal of some kind?”

  She emits an exasperated sigh. “Of course I mean Hillcrest Pass!”

  I wish I had a notebook. I’d be writing some of this down. I’m sure it’s all nonsense, but if this is what Azure believes then it’s important. Claudine was obviously involved with some very eccentric, fringe-of-society people. Azure is not your average gal. Could she be a murderer?