Southern Witch - Would-Be Witch Part 5

Zach nodded. "He wasn't home when it happened. He was visiting his wife's grave. Lucky for him or today he'd be getting buried with her."

I followed Zach inside. The house was wrecked. Furniture and papers had been tossed about, gla.s.s and china smashed.

I walked to the overturned dining room table. It probably weighed more than a hundred pounds. I glanced at it and then at Zach. "And you wanted to know if I did this? You think I maybe drank a few steroid mochas and went crazy?"

"Dr. Barnaby thought you might have been involved. And I asked him why you would be if he hadn't done anything to you."

"Exactly."

"He didn't have a good answer. I thought we could all sit down and sort things out."

I pa.s.sed Zach, exploring the house until I found Dr. Barnaby in the guest room, sitting on the torn mattress of a daybed. The stuffing from a shredded cotton comforter covered the room like snow. The remnants of Mrs. Barnaby's doll collection were scattered over the floor, and Dr. Barnaby looked as sh.e.l.l-shocked as the sheriff had. What would happen to Duvall if its men all went to pieces?

I noticed Dr. Barnaby's face was streaked with dried tears, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I didn't feel sorry for him. When he saw me, he shook his head.

"I deserved it. I know I did, but did you have to mess with her things?"

"I didn't do this. How could I do this?" I asked, stepping over broken dolly parts to get to him. It was like a kiddie crime scene and somehow more sinister because of it. I sat down next to the doc and put an arm around his shoulders.

He broke down and cried. "I just wanted her back. That's all I wanted. I only took two drops of blood and four strands of your hair. You wouldn't even miss them."

"You're sure right. I don't miss them," I said and pulled off the Band-Aid and showed him my fingertip. "You can't even see where you p.r.i.c.ked me. No harm done."

"I'm sure sorry about the tea. I hated to do it, but I didn't think you'd let me try to bring her back."

"She wouldn't come back the way you want."

"No, she didn't."

I gasped. "You did a spell already? And something happened?"

He nodded.

"Could she-Maybe she came home and was confused," I said, looking around at the destruction. I'd heard ghouls were strong, and it took a person with special powers over the dead, which Doc Barnaby wasn't, to control one. He'd raised her, and now she was on the loose without anyone to stop her. Jiminy Freakin' Crickets! What the h.e.l.l were we going to do?

"No, she ran off toward the distilleries. I drove straight home, and the house was already like this."

"Did you mix the ingredients here?"

He nodded.

"What about the incantation?"

"Part of it here and some of it in the cemetery."

"Where in the Sam Houston did you figure out what to do?"

"I read it in a book."

"Good grief," I said with a shake of my head. Most spells wouldn't work for the average person, but with some of my witch blood and in the middle of a town with a powerful tor, who the heck knew what would happen? Well, apparently now we knew exactly what could happen.

"Did you do any part of the spell in the yard?" I asked, thinking of the hammock.

"No. Tammy Jo, I need more blood, just a few drops so I can put her back."

"We'll need some help, I think. We want to do that right."

"Yes, we do," he said.

"I'll come back in a few hours. Just take it easy until then. And whatever you do, no more spells."

I got up. Zach stood with his arms folded across his chest, shaking his head.

I walked toward the door, and he fell in step with me for a few paces. "The guy's looney toons. I'm sorry as h.e.l.l I didn't believe you yesterday."

"It's okay. n.o.body's perfect," I said. "Least of all, you."

He barked out a laugh.

"Let's go get my car," I said.

"That'll have to wait. I've gotta arrest him and take him in. It'll probably take me an hour to get the paperwork done."

"Arrest him for what?"

"Poisoning you."

"Oh, I'm not goin' to press charges. He's sorry enough."

"Tammy Jo, the man is dangerous. He's delusional, and I'm gonna lock him up."

"All righty, good luck with that then. But I don't know how you'll prove anything, seein' as how I'm not going to be able to make a statement on account of my head being pretty fuzzy about what happened and all." I held my head like I was dizzy and then let my hands drop. "Now, come on. I've got things to do, and I need my car."

I walked away from Zach as he sputtered, "Girl, what has gotten into you?"

I found Mercutio stationed on an overturned table in the center of everything. His head moved side to side and those big eyes watched all the doorways.

"Will you look at that," I said to myself. I shook my head as I got to him and scooped him up. "When we're done fighting evil, I'm gonna buy you a big box of catnip."

I didn't let Zach convince me to go to the station with him. And I ignored his lecture about how I shouldn't have gone along with Dr. Barnaby's delusion by acting like he really had raised his wife from the dead. I wondered if Zach might sing a different tune when a partly decomposed Mrs. Barnaby started raiding farms. I wasn't sure what ghouls like to eat, but I think, like most undead things, they go for blood. I wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to take down a cow, but you can count on the fact that the chickens wouldn't be safe.

Chapter 6.I waited until we were alone in my car with the s.h.i.+ny new b.u.mper to discuss what I suspected with Mercutio. He licked his paws thoughtfully as I talked.

"There was a lot of destruction there. Who's got that kind of strength? Vampires, but I can't see them using the energy. They're kind of like cats that way, no offense. They'll do something when it gets them what they want, but they're not known for kicking up a fuss just for the sake of it. Shape-s.h.i.+fters always have energy to burn, but they're not drawn to witch magic any more than vampires so far as I know. A ghoul or a zombie, but who raised it if it wasn't Mrs. Barnaby? Unless maybe Dr. Barnaby raised more than his wife." I shuddered. "If not the doc, maybe a warlock. And that might make some sense if it was the same person who broke in my house to go for the spells, the same person who got my locket. I just know that someone besides those old-timey bandits is behind the robberies. And I can't see them raising a zombie. A dust storm maybe, but not zombies."

Mercutio purred.

"You know who I bet knows more than he's telling? Bryn Lyons. He knew trouble was coming my way and gave me you. How? You think he knows who raised whatever destroyed Dr. Barnaby's house? You think we should ask him?"

Mercutio c.o.c.ked his head.

"Yeah, I'm not sure either. But what do we have to lose?"

I drove to Bryn's house. I wasn't sure it was a good idea, given the list and all, to go inside, but I thought I could ask him to come out and talk to me. And maybe I'd get him to let me borrow a book or two.

I buzzed security, and the guy let me in. I drove to the mansion, got out, and rang the bell. A butler who looked like he'd been chipped from a giant fossil answered. He didn't seem magical to me, but I couldn't really rule out that he'd been raised from the dead either.

"Yes?" he asked.

I feigned tripping so I could grab his hand. It was warm enough, barely. I don't relish the circulation problems that come with old age, but at least he wouldn't be raiding any chicken farms.

"I'd like to see Mr. Lyons."

"He is not at home. Business has taken him to the city of Dallas today."

I sure liked his English accent. "When will he be home?"

"He won't be available this evening."

"Why won't he be available? What will he be doing?" Conjuring demons and sending them out to smash doll collections?

"He's a patron of the arts. Tonight, he's going to a fund-raiser dinner for the SWWA-Southwest Writers and Actors. Would you care to leave a message? He'll be back to change clothes between engagements."

"No, thank you," I said. I went back to the car. When I got in, Mercutio lifted his head and yawned.

"Yeah, I'm sleepy, too. Bryn Lyons is going to a charity dinner for actors. Did you know he's a patron of the arts?" I shook my head, trying to wake up. It was hot in the car. According to the weather report, Duvall and the rest of Texas were experiencing record high temperatures. I wished global warming would just quit. Summer in Texas already lasts half the year.

"He doesn't support the community theater here. Never seen him go to a play in town. Don't you think that's strange, Merc?"

Mercutio blinked.

"Yeah, me, too. There's only one type of arts that I believe him to be a patron of. You got it, black arts. What should we do? Tail him?"

Merc didn't disagree.

"All right, we'll come back. First I've got to figure out a way to put Mrs. Barnaby in her grave. Then I hope we've got time for a nap because I have to get back to trying to find my missing family locket, too." I looked over and found that, conserving his energy in a very catlike manner, Mercutio was already asleep, curled in the pa.s.senger seat with the air-conditioning blowing his whiskers back.

I decided I wouldn't mind being a cat some days.

Sometimes when Momma didn't have a spell for something, she'd make one up. That's probably the sort of thing that a very experienced witch should do, not so much a novice one, but I was in a serious pinch here.

I needed to be quick and discreet. There were only six or seven people in town that knew magic was real, which was the way I aimed to keep it.

On the whole, folks in Duvall can be pretty sweet, but you just never know when some little town's going to get it into its head that Salem had the right idea about what to do with witches. And Aunt Mel always supposed that might happen right about the time folks found out we didn't keep three hundred and eighty-two Earth candles because we like the smell of dirt.

So far, we'd had good luck keeping it a secret, which wasn't the easiest thing in a small town. Now, I'm not saying that people in Duvall are nosy, but just because I don't say it doesn't make it not true. And if it got around that someone used my blood and hair to raise the dead, we'd probably have two camps. Some people would come on over to ask me to raise all their aunt Marlenes for an occult iced-tea party, and other people would start collecting wood for a town barbeque with yours truly as the main attraction.

So time was important. Zombies are basically nocturnal, and night was in an all-fired-up hurry to take over the sky. I went in the kitchen and dug out the mortar and pestle. I knew at least two ingredients that I'd put in for certain: my blood and my hair. To undo a spell, a little of the hair of the dog, or in my case, pastry chef, seemed logical because they must have been the active ingredients, but I was pretty much stumped at the rest. I consulted the Internet, vowing never to tell Momma about this. I searched by herbs and found that pa.s.sionflowers are good for peace and sleep, which was exactly what I wanted for Mrs. Barnaby. I wondered if we had any dried pa.s.sionflowers in storage, but then when I checked to see what pa.s.sionflowers look like, I realized that the big star-shaped violet blossoms blooming in the backyard were exactly what I needed.

"Well, fancy that," I said to Merc, who was half-asleep on the counter. "My luck is changing for the better all the time."

I didn't totally believe that, but I was trying to think and act positive, to give myself the best chance of success. I walked outside and stood looking at the green vine that had climbed all the way up the tallest tree to get out from under a shady canopy. Bursting purple in the sunlight, pa.s.sionflowers beamed down at me. I kicked off my slip-on shoes and climbed up the lowest branch of the tree. It was fun, like when we were all kids and used to climb trees. It had always been a compet.i.tion to see which boy could climb the highest and which girl he'd pull up with him. The first day Zach took me to a treetop was one of my happiest memories. When we were kids, Zach did all sorts of stuff to get my attention. By the time we got married, he acted like all the sweet things he'd done as a boy meant he didn't need to do anything new, like love was money in the bank that would be there if you just left it alone.

I thought about the time I'd wanted to go to Galveston for a romantic weekend. He thought it'd be a waste of money to stay in a fancy hotel, and maybe he was right about that. But it didn't hurt my feelings any less when he bought a new fis.h.i.+ng rod and splurged on a charter with his buddies to go deep-sea fis.h.i.+ng. When I got mad about him not spending time with me, his response was, "h.e.l.l, sweetheart, you can come fis.h.i.+ng with us. Not like we've got kids you need to stay home with yet."

I shook my head. Like deep-sea fis.h.i.+ng with him and the boys was any woman's idea of romantic. But I could't change his mind by talking to him. He always did what he felt like doing, except that one time I got my way. Too bad it was in divorce court.

I plucked a flower and climbed down. In the house I showed it to Merc. "Look how pretty that is," I said, and he blinked. A deep violet color, the ten petals were arranged like a pinwheel, contrasting nicely with the silvery strands that pushed out from the center. In the middle there were thick pale flower parts crisscrossed into a pattern that reminded me of a pentacle. I decided that was a good omen.

I wasn't sure if live flower parts were more or less powerful than dried herbs so I decided, better safe than sorry, I'd use the whole thing. Then I lit a match and sterilized a sewing needle and p.r.i.c.ked my finger.

I yelped, and Merc meowed in sympathy. I dripped blood into the purple mush then ground it all together with a few strands of my bright coppery hair.

"It's too thick. I don't want to have to get close enough to smear paste on her. I need something I can splash from a goodly distance away."

Merc c.o.c.ked his head.

"What do you think? Mix some water in? That's what I do when I get a batter that's too thick."

Merc licked his paw.

I poured half a cup of water into a small metal mixing bowl and dumped the mash in it. I stirred it all up then put it in Tupperware and sealed it with a rubber lid.

"We'll start at the cemetery and see if we can follow her tracks. How are you at tracking?"

Merc didn't answer, but he was more energetic after his nap, and he hopped down and headed to the door to wait for me.

"I still probably need an incantation, you know." I shook my head. Momma and Aunt Melanie's spells always sounded pretty, like song lyrics, but I'd gotten a C-minus in poetry. I'd never heard that witches had to know poetry, so I didn't think iambic pentameter was necessary for a spell, but I figured I'd better at least make it rhyme.

With my pa.s.sionflower mash tucked under my arm, I let Merc out the front door and locked it.

"Merc, what rhymes with grave? How about brave? 'Now you've got to be brave, and just go on back to your grave.' "

Merc batted roughly at his whiskers in a gesture that looked suspiciously like the way Zach thunked himself in the forehead when he thought I'd done something really dumb.

I opened the pa.s.senger door, and Merc hopped in.

"What? You don't think I should mention grave? You think it'll upset her? I guess maybe she might not know she's dead. Like all those people in The Sixth Sense. And we don't want to upset her; she might decide to do something mean to us. Not that it'd be intentional." I closed his door and walked around the car.

I got in and glanced over at him as I turned the key in the ignition. "All right. What rhymes with 'go back to sleep'? Hmm. 'Now, no more counting sheep, it's time to go back to sleep.' Ugh. Too corny and who really counts sheep anyway?"

I drove to the Duvall cemetery. As cemeteries go, it's nice. Most everybody in town has kin in the ground there, so it's always a compet.i.tion to see who keeps the family plots the prettiest. Some people literally are pus.h.i.+ng up daisies. But plenty have roses, sunflowers, and hydrangea. My favorite area is the plumeria section where the Gaffney family is buried. It smells prettier than a bottle of perfume over there.

I walked up and down the rows looking for Mrs. Barnaby's grave. I found it at the east edge of the cemetery with all the flowers ripped loose and the ground broken open. I s.h.i.+vered and looked at Merc. His fur stood straight up on his back, and he hissed and backed away.

"C'mon. You're brave. Let's go," I said, marching past the grave, following clumps of dirt to the field behind the cemetery.

"We don't even need a bloodhound," I said, looking at the smashed gra.s.s. "This is going to be no problem."