Witch it Real Good Read online

  He made a face at me. “I promise you, I didn’t waterboard anyone in our parlor. Nor did I yank anyone’s teeth out, if that’s what you want to know.”

  I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “You yanked people’s teeth out? I always thought that was just sensationalism created by movie directors.”

  He smiled down at me. “Only when they were trying to blow up the world and refused to give me the exact location of the device. Harsher tactics are sometimes inevitable, Dove. But to pull teeth erroneously? It goes against code to do something so extreme without provocation.”

  I wiped a hand over my forehead in mock relief. “Phew. I was worried we’d have to pay for someone’s dental work.” Wiping my hands on my thighs, I eyeballed him hard. “So, you’ve vetted this person, and obviously you think they’re safe enough for me to meet. I don’t understand why you’re so worried. And don’t tell me you’re not—because I can see it written all over your face.”

  “Bloody hell. I’ve been working on facial expressions, you know. I used to excel at them, but it would seem Balthazar’s face doesn’t work quite the way mine did. It’s been an enormous effort to get my brain to agree with my physical form.”

  Inhabiting Balthazar’s body (sounds almost like a book title, right?), had certainly been, and continues to be, a learning curve.

  “Well, whatever the case, you’re not doing a very good job of hiding it. I know you well enough to know this has you stressed. So why not simply spit it out?”

  Win grabbed my hand, pressing my open palm to his cheek then dropping a kiss on it. “I’m not sure it’s my place, Dove. Yet, I wish to protect you.”

  “Protect me? Your place? Don’t be ridiculous. My life is your life, yours is mine, blah, blah, blah. You can tell me anything, Spy Guy.”

  His finger shot up in the air. “But this—this is quite sensitive, Mini-Spy. The visitor in the parlor claims she’s—”

  “Your sister. I’m your sister.”

  Chapter 2

  “Well, half-sister, if we’re being technical,” the voice said as it entered the rapidly darkening kitchen. The sun had begun to set, so I couldn’t see the details of the face who belonged to the voice very well, but that didn’t matter as much as the words she’d uttered.

  So, surprise!

  I know I hadn’t misheard when she said she was my half-sister… Had I? That’s just not something you mishear, or, for that matter, hear someone say every day.

  As she entered the kitchen by way of the entryway at maybe all of five feet four in work boots, a cute faux leather burgundy jacket and some worn jeans, Whiskey instantly ran to her and nudged her hand, a good sign from our dog she wasn’t a murderer.

  It was important for your pets to like your surprise half-sisters, right?

  When she finally came into view, she got down on her haunches and smiled at Whiskey, bending her head to coo against his cheek, “Oh, aren’t you a gorgeous George? And big, too, huh, guy?”

  Whiskey usually didn’t need much encouragement, but her words were akin to the phrase “who wants a cookie?” to his eager ears, and that’s when he really became excited, knocking her to her knees.

  “Whiskey! Down!” I chastised as Win grabbed him by his collar and gave him a stern look. “Er, his name’s Whiskey.”

  “No, no!” she protested, her voice warm and soft as she rose and scratched his ears. “It’s all right. He’s beautiful and so sweet. Aren’t you, Whiskey?”

  He wagged his tail and panted with excitement.

  Finally, I got a good look at this woman Whiskey appeared so fond of—and if she didn’t look like my father, Hugh, I’d be a liar saying otherwise. She was a carbon copy of him. Gorgeous inky-black hair fell in swirls to her shoulders, wavy and shiny but not at all frizzy like mine. Just gloriously smooth and soft.

  Her blue eyes had the exact shape his did, round, and so thickly fringed with lashes it looked as though she wore eyeliner. Alas, she was one of the lucky ones who didn’t need it.

  In fact, she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, not on her prettily blushing, rosy cheeks, nor a lick of foundation on her pore-less creamy skin. Unless you counted the raspberry lip stain gracing her full-ish lips, she was a natural beauty.

  I looked to Win and then back at this woman who held out her hand to me with a beautiful white smile, her nails shortly clipped and neat, wearing no visible jewelry.

  “I’m Halliday Valentine, spelled h-a-double l-i-d-a-y,” she said with a small giggle and a sheepish grin. “Yes, my mother was that mother—the free spirit, you-can’t-stop-me-from-coloring-outside-the-lines kind of mother who likes to put a crazy spin on a name to make it unique, but is really leaving her kid open to constant teasing her entire childhood. Anyway, everyone just calls me Hal.”

  Still, I continued to stare at her—awkwardly, rudely. I knew my dad was a Casanova. I knew he knew his way around the ladies. I mean, look at our circumstances.

  He showed up on my doorstep one day during a party I was hosting and announced his fraternal intentions, never suspecting I wouldn’t be receptive to the Hugh Granite, international star of stage, screen and film—in Japan, of course—and that had been that.

  Don’t get me wrong, eventually I fell in love with Hugh, and he went out of his way to try to be the best father he could be, even while living abroad for his illustrious career…while also being crazy self-absorbed. But I always thought my mother, Dita, had been the love of his life. Well, second to his reflection, anyway.

  This Hal didn’t look much younger than me—which meant my father had catted around often, and at about the same time as when he’d been having an affair with my mother.

  Not that it made any real difference. There was no denying she looked like Hugh. So I guess that meant she really was my half-sister, no matter when or where it happened.

  Still, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Welcome to the family? I’d always wanted a sister—half or whole makes no difference to me.

  But I suppose that’s not really true. I wasn’t one of those kids who longed for a sibling, because I knew what they’d be getting into with my mother. Why throw two innocent lives into the mix?

  And sure, my mother was a much better person today than she’d ever been before, but there were scars still there from my childhood; one of them was my lack of insta-trust.

  I didn’t have any—at least, not right away. I’m not a face value kind of gal, if you know what I mean.

  While I stood there in shock, Win gave me a light nudge to encourage me to accept her hand, and I instantly responded by placing my fingers in hers. I’ll admit, with reluctance, but shake her hand I did.

  “I’m Stevie—”

  “Cartwright,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Stephania Louise Cartwright, to be precise.”

  My lips reluctantly tilted upward in moderate admiration, but my response was still careful. “You’ve done your research.”

  She smiled again, her white, nearly perfect teeth flashing momentarily. “I did. I wanted to know a little about you before I just showed up on your doorstep unannounced.”

  “Why did you show up unannounced, Hal?” I asked, quite cool, I suppose.

  “Dove?” Win had that question in his voice—the question that said he was wondering how I was feeling about this guest in our home who was so obviously Hugh Granite’s spawn.

  But here’s the thing—I can’t say I understand why my Spy Guy, the man who’d run a background check on the high school student who came to rake our lawn this year, isn’t much more suspicious of this sudden appearance by Halliday Valentine, even if it’s clear she’s Hugh’s.

  Sure, she was undoubtedly Hugh’s daughter, but so what? That didn’t mean Hugh, who isn’t exactly discreet about almost anything needing discretion, didn’t tell her how much money Win has and, by proxy, how much I have.

  Win is rich, and my father knows it. It wouldn’t be hard for Hal to discover that if she’d really done the research on me that she claims.r />
  Almost instantly, Hal sensed my cold tone, and she nodded her shiny head, folding her hands in front of her. “Your money. I get it. You think I want your money, right? Because you’re rich,” she said with a wince.

  Turning on the lights over the island, I motioned for her to sit at one of the stools, relaxing a little. “I’d be lying if I said no. Hugh never said a word about you, Hal. Though there’s no denying you’re his. You do look exactly like him. Still, he made no mention of you in his last phone call to me, which was only a mere three weeks ago.”

  My father and I had indulged in a rare long chat during an even rarer break from a movie set in Istanbul. I’d finally been able to tell him about Win and all that had transpired since we’d last seen him.

  Hal looked down at the floor, her big round eyes growing wet. “That’s because I didn’t know about him until two weeks ago.”

  I lifted an eyebrow, but I didn’t say anything.

  Hal’s words faltered ever so slightly, and I knew I was making her uncomfortable. “That’s when I found out about him…um, Hugh. At the reading of my mother’s will.”

  I let out a little gasp. I know I did. I regret that I did, but the second I felt sympathy for her was the second I remembered how many hard luck stories Win told me I’d hear once people found out we had money.

  He’d said that so often when we’d first made our original agreement about finding Madame Zoltar’s killer, I could recite his words verbatim.

  Thus, I remained skeptical as I eyed Hal and all her gorgeousness from across the island.

  Though, I did remember to offer condolences. “I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your mother.”

  “Miss Valentine, might I offer you some coffee? Possibly a cup of tea?” Win asked, intervening, I suspect, because he knew I was dreadfully uncomfortable and he was ever gracious until he wasn’t. For now, I guess he felt as though Hal should be welcomed.

  She set her purple backpack on the counter, yet still she didn’t sit. “Please, call me Hal, and no thank you…Win, is it? Hugh told me all about…well, your special circumstances.” Then she ran her tongue over her lips in a nervous gesture.

  Win dropped something and it clattered to the floor, making a ruckus and jarring me.

  Instantly, my antenna was on high alert. Did I mention my father couldn’t keep a secret? So she knew about how Win had arrived here? Was that what she meant?

  “I don’t understand what you mean by special circumstances, Hal,” I said evasively.

  I couldn’t look her in the eyes. A) because I’m a crummy liar; and B) because I’m a crummy liar.

  On a shaky sigh, Hal looked me directly in the eyes, her gaze never wavering. “Listen, we can beat around the bush about all this, or we can just get it out in the open, Stevie. First, I know all about you. I know what happened with your coven. I know you lost your witch powers and how Baba Yaga didn’t do a thing about it. I also know you used to communicate with the dead. I know Win was a spy who was killed in the line of duty and, for a few years, he was a ghost stuck in limbo—your ghost, as Hugh put it after a very long conversation on the set of his movie in Istanbul—”

  “You met him in Istanbul? That’s a long way to go.”

  Hal frowned and looked down at her hands, leading me to believe she’d been far more curious than I’d ever been about my lineage. I figured one deadbeat parent had been plenty, thank you very much.

  I know that sounds harsh, but it was how I protected myself from the pain of rejection as a child. Of course, I had no idea Hugh didn’t know about me. I guess he didn’t know about Hal, either.

  Rather than defending her choice, Hal took my comment in stride. “It is, but it was worth it to see the other half of who’d created me after all these years of…wondering.”

  “Fair enough. He took me by surprise, too, in case you’re wondering.”

  Hal nodded. “He told me, and it’s what gave me hope we’d eventually be able to have a relationship.” She paused then, halting awkwardly. “I mean, with him. Not that I don’t want to have one with you…it’s just… Never mind. Anyway, I know about Belfry, your familiar. I even know about…Arkady, is it? The Russian ghost? But mostly, I know Win did something the witch world can’t stop blabbing about by somehow leaving the afterlife and possessing a body to join you here.”

  I blinked, and all movement behind me, where Win had gone off to prepare the coffee Hal said she didn’t want, halted.

  When neither of us made a peep, she crossed her arms over her chest and spewed another litany of words. “Oh, and I’m a witch, too. Like you, I also have a familiar. He’s not a bat like your Belfry. He’s a hummingbird. An uppity one, if I’m being honest. His name is Atticus Finch, to his utter shame and horror. Also, I can see into the future—sort of. When I have a vision, it comes in bits and pieces, but usually whatever I see comes to fruition—eventually—whether it’s good or bad. As for the reason I came here unannounced, I know it was stupidly impulsive, but I didn’t think a lot about it because I forget to do that sometimes. Think things through, that is—”

  I raised a hand to attempt to respectfully slow her down, but she held up her own and shook her head.

  “Believe me when I tell you, I regret my impulsiveness more often than not. As a for instance, taking over my mother’s Christmas decoration factory in our tiny hometown after I caught my fiancé cheating as a way to get over him and occupy my mind is just one example of my impulsivity. It’s better now. Running the factory, I mean. But ooo, boy, was it rough going at first. This very moment, while you two look at me like I’m a bowlful of nuts, is another example, and in turn, will certainly end up a case for regret regarding my lack of impulse control.”

  Hal took a deep breath, but alas, that was only to refuel. “Anyway, I came here because I had a vision, and I don’t know what it means or if it will end up meaning anything, but I had it right after I talked to Hugh. It had to do with a tattoo and Winterbottom—which I assume is Win’s full name. I don’t know why I had the vision or if it means anything to either of you. I only know whatever it’s about, it’s urgent. Or…it felt urgent.” Then she inhaled, before she said, “Do with that what you will. I’m sorry if I interrupted your day.”

  On that final sentence, Hal scooped up her backpack and pivoted on her work boot heel, heading toward the front door, her feet clomping against the hardwood with a sound that said she was upset.

  Both Win and I looked at each other in total surprise before he gathered his senses.

  “Stephania?” Win whisper-yelled, leaning into my ear. “Surely you’re not going to let your sister leave?”

  I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was still processing. “Half. She’s my half-sister.”

  “Half, three-quarters, twice removed, do the semantics truly matter, Dove? It’s clear she’s related to you by way of Hugh. And of course, you did hear what she said about a tattoo concerning me, yes? This deserves at least some investigation, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “She said so much, I almost couldn’t catch it all.”

  He placed both his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Then shall I condense? Halliday-Hal is your half-sister. I don’t think she wants your money—our money—anyone’s money. She’s impulsive at times and oft regrets her impulsivity. She inherited a Christmas decoration factory from her mother, who’s now passed. She met your father in Istanbul. No one died, leading me to believe it was a pleasant visit. She saw a vision of a tattoo having to do with me. Got that?”

  “A Christmas decoration factory?” I said in awe. Holy speaking my language.

  Win’s brows smashed together in a frown. “Was that your takeaway, Stephania? Christmas decorations?”

  “Duh. Christmas anything is my takeaway. It’s a factory of Christmas, Win. A factory,” I whispered back.

  “Stephania!” he said my name with that stern reprimand he was so good at using in order to lasso me in from my deflection. “Your sister is leaving
with possibly valuable information about the person responsible for my death. Kindly gather yourself, please, and help me investigate further.”

  “Zero is right, malutka. I stay quiet all this time so as not to make with the waves, but now you are being rash. You must investigate,” Arkady chimed in. “Also, your surprise sister is pretty. Pretty-pretty.”

  “Because that has anything to do with this, my Russian letch?” I asked on an amused chuckle.

  “And might I point out the startling similarities between you?” Win asked.

  “Meaning?”

  “You’re both witches, living in small towns. I’d bet my eyeteeth no one knows Hal’s a witch, just as no one here knows you’re a witch. You were each raised by single mothers. You have a tiny sidekick, as does she. Surely, you see the resemblances?”

  I guess I hadn’t, but what difference did it make? Those were all surface observations. “So?”

  “So, Stephania, it deserves some investigation. Wouldn’t it be lovely if you gained a halfway sane relative and we found some answers to the man with the tattoo?”

  He was right—at least about the investigation into Hal’s vision. If Hal had seen something that had to do with Win, we needed to investigate. It didn’t make any sense that she’d lie about a vision regarding Win. Also, it was easy enough to check with one of my friends back in Paris to see if she was legit.

  I flapped my hands and headed toward the door at a light jog. “You’re right. Hal!” I yelled. “Please wait!” I scurried after her with Win hot on my heels to catch her just as she was descending the front porch steps into the cool night air. “Hal!”

  She stopped and turned around to look at us, as beautiful as a movie star in twilight, her face hopeful and fearful at the same time.

  “Yes?” she asked, gripping the newel post on the railing at the bottom of the steps.

  Whiskey rushed down to her and nudged her hip, nuzzling her fingers to encourage her to pet him.