Witch Way Did He Go? Read online

I heard his anxious tone, and took note of it before dismissing it entirely again.

  But hell’s bells, right at that moment, I should have listened to Arkady. I’m pretty stubborn, I’ll give you that, and I really felt like Win was playing me, but I’m not so stubborn I don’t usually pay heed when someone who’s not prone to histrionics, like my dead Russian spy, is all but panicking.

  Though, in my defense, at this point I was still convinced this was a joke they’d cooked up together on Plane Limbo, laughing like a couple of fourth-graders at how funny it would be to teach Stevie a lesson for being such a sass-mouth.

  So, I decided I could play along. “So he’s still angry, I gather?” I asked, the smile still on my face as I picked up Whiskey’s bowl, clean as a whistle after finishing his breakfast, and grabbed Strike to give him a quick cuddle.

  “This is what I try to say to you!” he huffed in an explosion of words, as though he’d been holding them in. “I do not know what he is, my malutka. I do not know if he is angry. I have not seen him since last night. It is as I told you, he disappeared as I napped and has not returned to our bench since. We always watch the sunrise by the waterfall while we wait for you to awaken. Every single day. We have never missed one time. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong!”

  Now, more than ever, I really thought they were in cahoots. Did Arkady really expect me to believe Win had disappeared into thin air when he’d never disappeared for this long before? And this bit about Arkady napping? As I recall, Win said they didn’t sleep up there. Come now. After all they’d taught me? I wasn’t buying it. I felt like I was being pranked.

  Except, you heard Arkady snoring, Stevie. You’ve heard him snore before. Yes, yes. But I ignored this very important clue and stayed with the idea they were having a go at me.

  Strike rubbed his cheek against mine before I set him back on the floor and grabbed my purse, throwing my phone inside with a sigh. I pulled my chunky gold sweater from the back of the kitchen chair and rolled up the sleeves.

  “So question, Arkady?”

  “Yes, malutka?”

  “How could you have been napping,” I made air quotes with my fingers, “if you guys don’t sleep? I distinctly remember Win saying something to that effect. Have I caught you in a fib, my favorite Russian?” I teased.

  “Do you not hear me snore?

  “Bah! It is Zero who does not sleep, and because we are silly men and we like to compete, I pretend Arkady stay awake as long as him. I close my eyes when he isn’t looking.”

  As crazy as that sounded, I believed him. They did like to one up each other with stories of their spy days. “Of course you’d turn it into a competition. Whatever was I thinking?” I asked on a chuckle.

  “This is why I tell you something is wrong, zucchini bread!” he insisted, really playing up the urgency in his tone.

  “Hmmm. I don’t think anything’s wrong, Arkady.” I wanted to follow that up with the words and you know it, but I was going to let them have their fun for the moment.

  Belfry buzzed down through the hallway, his tiny body the color of a marshmallow, pulsing through the air until he landed on the kitchen island, where I tied the tiniest scarf ever made (A Barbie scarf, if you must know, but don’t tell Belfry) around his neck to keep him warm.

  “Man, Winterbutt’s not fekkin’ around, huh? I tried calling him while I was upstairs, but I got the old silent treatment. You think he’s okay, Stevie?”

  I scratched under his chin and wondered it all the men in my life were pranking me—even my loyal familiar.

  Nah. Bel wouldn’t do that. Right? They’d all male-bonded, without a doubt, but Bel’s loyalty would always lie with me, even though technically, he wasn’t really my familiar anymore because I was no longer a witch.

  “Not you, too? Of course I think he’s okay, Bel. He’s just making a point. It’s not like him to make a point for this long, but that’s what he’s doing.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Isn’t that right, International Man of Mystery? And Arkady’s helping you make your point, isn’t he?”

  When I was once more greeted with silence, I nodded with a smile and jabbed my finger in the air.

  “See? Making a point. Either way, I guess the grocery store can wait another day. I have to make a run to Madam Zoltar’s, anyhow. I left some papers there we need to file away.”

  “Stevie? You are going to simply ignore Arkady’s concern?” he asked, irritation simmering beneath the surface of his words, almost shocking me until I caught myself and remembered he was once a spy, too.

  They gave good face, and I’m telling you, that’s exactly what I thought he was doing. Playing a part—and playing it well, I might add. Which explains why he was so revered in the spy world, I suppose.

  Yanking my keys from my purse, I jingled them. “Weeell, I’m not exactly ignoring it, my friend. I’m just putting it off for the moment. I have a zillion things to do and I don’t have time for another one of Win’s teachable moments right now. We have guests coming, and I have things to accomplish before then. So let’s revisit this tonight, okay?”

  I was only saying that because I knew it would soothe Arkady. I didn’t think we’d have to revisit anything. I truly, truly believed Win would be back, in rare snooty/snarky British form by then. I swear I did.

  Arkady grunted in response, which was perfectly fine. He had a part to play, and he was doing it justice.

  “So are you coming? Or do you need to catch up on some sleep, Brad Pitt?”

  “Who is this Brad Pitt?”

  I rolled my eyes as I made my way to our stained-glass front door. “An actor. One you’re giving a run for his money. Never mind. Are you coming with or not?”

  “I will come with you, but I am not doing so without great reluctance!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I teased, pushing the front door open. “Come, my reluctant Russian, let us make with the haste!”

  Bel buzzed his way to my shoulder, and that’s when I felt him lean in, pressing his small snout to my ear. “Hey, you really think they’re pranking you?”

  I chuckled as I stepped onto the front porch, chock-full of mums in every available color and baskets filled with every variety of pumpkin sold in Eb Falls (Win loved to fill the coffers of the local farmers). I inhaled the chilly air and smiled before hopping down our wide front steps. “I do.”

  “I hear you, little insect!” Arkady called out, making me stop as I beeped the car door open.

  Wow. We were really doing some method acting here, huh? “Now, that’s not nice, Arkady. You’re taking this a little too far. Please apologize to Belfry.”

  “Humph,” Bel snorted, dripping sarcasm. “I don’t need his apology. He can suck it.”

  I chucked my familiar under the chin before getting in the car. “Two wrongs, buddy. You know the score. No return fire, please.”

  Arkady grated out a sigh, one that whizzed through my ears. “I am sorry. That was rude. I do not mean to be rude, but you will not listen and I am frustrated.”

  I turned the heat on and situated myself in the seat before turning on my Pandora playlist to one of our recent favorite Broadway soundtracks, Wicked. The song “For Good,” one of Win’s favorites (and mine, too), secretly made me think of him.

  “Thank you, Arkady. Now both of you hush. Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel are calling my name.” As I adjusted the rearview mirror, I asked, “You hear that, Win? I’m going to sing my face off to your very favorite song from Wicked—loudly—until you show yourself!”

  When I was greeted with yet more deafening silence from the afterlife, I did just that, using my touch screen to bring up the song.

  And as we zipped along the beach road toward town, I sang the words at the top of my lungs, “Because I knew you—because I knew yooou, I have been changed for gooood!”

  “There’s my girl!” Chester called out just as I was leaving Forrest’s café, Strange Brew, armed with a cup of coffee and a bran muffin.

  Not my f
avorite muffin by a long shot, but I hoped Win was looking down and smiling at my healthier choice while he gave me the silent treatment.

  I swung around on the sidewalk to face him, smiling at his sweater vest with a turkey embroidered on the pocket. Chester was everything you’d order up if orders for a grandfather were for the taking, and I loved everything about him, from the tip of his shiny shoes to the top of the tuft of white hair he had left on his head.

  “Well, hello, handsome!” I said with a wink, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “What are you up to today?”

  I had to laugh at how close Chester and I had grown, considering when we’d first met, he’d sort of accused me of murder. Also, I loved that he didn’t hold any grudges where Forrest and I were concerned. We hadn’t worked out, but we’d remained cordial friends, and Chester was fine with that.

  As he smiled at me, his warm grin a ray of sunshine under what was quickly becoming an overcast day, he tugged a lock of my hair and squeezed my cold hand with his warm one.

  “I’m up to no good as usual. What are you up to, young lady?”

  Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Errands. So boring. But now I’m headed to Madam Z’s. You want to come with and we can catch up? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “It’s only been a week, but I can’t today, pretty lady. I’m keepin’ an eye out on the café for the kid, but save me some time later this week, and we’ll have a sit down and gab a couple of hours to chew the fat.”

  “You, sir, are on.” I dropped another quick peck on his round cheek before heading down the sidewalk toward Madam Z’s just as it began to lightly sprinkle.

  We didn’t keep regular hours like we did in the spring and summer months, and were mostly by appointment only in the fall and winter, but Liza still manned the register for us when she wasn’t in grad school, and we still loved her just as much as we always had.

  I was looking forward to seeing her for Thanksgiving dinner, where all her youthful exuberance for life and her studies would keep us smiling for days after she went back to school.

  I typed the code for the alarm on the door and pushed it open, closing my eyes and relishing the stronger scents of sage and lavender from the candles we sold.

  There were days I still couldn’t believe how lucky (and honored) I was to have taken Madam Zoltar’s place. Even though I could no longer communicate with anyone but Win and Arkady (the how and why still remained a mystery to us all), stepping into her shoes had given me purpose again.

  And part of that was due to Win’s insistence and his ghostly guidance with our clients, something I also considered myself insanely lucky to have.

  I chuckled to myself. Maybe Win’s teachable moment was working?

  Popping my eyes open, I stepped inside, prepared to handle some minor paperwork and straightening of the postcard rack while I waited for Win to finish out whatever this was he was doing so we could get our shopping done.

  At least, that was the plan—until I opened my eyes and saw the condition of the store.

  It literally made me gasp out loud.

  “What the fluff?” I muttered, just as I heard Bel’s feet skitter their way to the top of my purse, where he perched on the edge.

  “Sweet pickled relish, what the heck happened?” he squealed, pushing off to take flight.

  Had we been robbed?

  As I took in the smashed candles and the overturned smudge sticks, I almost couldn’t breathe. What…?

  Papers from my desk caught my eye—scattered from one end of the store to the other, and a room away, mind you.

  The register, something we cleared out every time we closed the store, was literally cracked in half, the two pieces lying on the glass countertop—which also had enormous fissures in it.

  All the essential oils—hand-mixed by a local artisan, and once lined neatly on a shelf—were smashed to smithereens, the liquid seeping over the hard floor and filling the air with myriad scents.

  Even the neon Madam Zoltar sign, which I hadn’t noticed when I’d unlocked the door, was broken, chunks of the sharp pieces of plastic littering the floor.

  I found myself speechless.

  Who would do such a thing? We didn’t keep much in the way of value in the store, other than the random items we sold from local shops, but then, did burglars really think about those things when they broke into a place of business, looking for booty?

  “Malutka?”

  I blinked as I began picking my way to the back room, where the beaded curtain separating our reading room from the store had virtually been torn from the doorframe, leaving the beads sprinkled everywhere.

  My hands instantly went to my temples, a headache forming as I took in our reading table, broken to bits, the candleholders that had once sat in the middle, tossed to the side of the room.

  “Arkady?”

  “What…?” He cleared his throat, his question full of wonder. “What happened?”

  I blinked again, my purse sliding off my shoulder and dropping to the ground. “I…I don’t know. Who would do this? Why would someone do this?”

  “It is mess, my pickled cucumber. A terrible, horrible mess. You must call police, and remember, do not touch anything!” he warned.

  Instantly, I threw my hands in the air to avoid contamination. Arkady was right. I needed to call Dana and Melba—maybe even Detective Meaniebutt (who still held a ridiculous grudge about losing his partner after I’d found out the man was a murderer. Such an inconvenience, right?), and report this.

  Yet, the moment I thought to kneel down and grab my purse, was the moment a disembodied voice boomed into the room as though shot from a cannon.

  “Save him!” it yelled, so loud, so fierce, I found myself stunned by the intensity of the echo it left behind. The two words swept around the room in wind tunnel fashion.

  My eyes went wide, instantly gazing at the ceiling, which had begun to shift and quake. I’m not sure why I always looked to the heavens when a ghost made contact. I’ve never been able to actually see them except for once or twice with Win. In my mind, they hovered over a room just like they did on television.

  Anyway, things began to get very dicey then. Surprise, quickly followed by panic, set in as I watched the ceiling above me ripple and the voice bellow once more. “Save him! Save! Save! Save!”

  What in all of heaven was happening? How could I hear this voice when I’d only been able to hear Win and Arkady for all this time? What did this mean?

  “Saaave hiiim!” it shrieked with rage, making the entire store quake and rumble. “Listen! Listen! Liiiiisten!”

  “Save who?” I cried when, from out of absolutely nowhere, an arctic blast of wind began to blow, tearing at my skin, clawing at my face.

  Ice began to form on the walls, thick sheets, growing, spreading across the room, climbing upward as the wind howled and tore at my clothes, pulling at the buttons of my shirt.

  “Belfry!” I screamed, tiny crystals of ice clinging to my lashes while random objects and paper swirled about my head, dancing and bobbing. “Belfry, where are you?”

  “Malutka, put your head down! Push toward the wind! You must get to the door!” Arkady cried, his voice filled with fear.

  Fear. Something I’d never heard so clearly from him as I did now. There had been times when I’d battled with a bad guy, and I could detect a smidge of concern in his tone, but he was almost always as levelheaded as Win.

  Yet, not now—not in this moment. Now, he was yelling panicked directions at me, his voice almost drowned out by the roar of whoever was screeching.

  “Malutka, Belfry, take cover!” Arkady hollered just as a chunk of the ceiling fell on the floor, narrowly missing me—because I’m nothing if I’m not good at taking direction—as I dove for the corner of the room.

  As the sheetrock fell, crashing to the floor, ice and water flying everywhere, the voice picked up momentum. “Save him! Save him! Save the imposter!”

  The imposter?

  Be
l buzzed to my shoulder, burrowing into my hair. “What the feck is going on, Stevie!?”

  Turning, I pressed my back to the wall and inched my way upward seconds before a river of water gushed across the store’s floor. Bone-chilling and dirty, it began to rise, creeping up so quickly, I thought we’d have to snorkel our way out.

  “Malutka, you must run! Run for the door! Get out! Get out now!”

  And I did just that.

  Okay, I didn’t run. I paddled, or maybe waded was a better word, but while I headed for the door, the voice—and I’m assuming he’s the one responsible—began hurling things at me, clunking me in the head with a heavy candle.

  My hand flew to my head, rubbing at the spot as I tried to push through the water, my clothes becoming so heavy I had to yank my sweater off. Dang it, that hurt!

  Now, I wasn’t so much panicked as I was angry. In all this time since I’d been witchless, I’d forgotten how to deal with a variety of ghosts because I let Win do the dealing for me. He was always my go-between.

  But no more. Today, Stevie Cartwright was going to take back the reins, for a little while at least. All of the old maneuvers I’d once used when dealing with a malevolent force came back to me at once, but the one lesson I’d learned first was to never let a ghost take control.

  With water pouring down on my head in buckets, with icy fingers, soaking wet clothes and a cute pair of shoes totally ruined, I stopped mid-escape and yelled, “Hey, up there! I can’t save anyone if you take me out! Knock it the heck off, you unruly beast, or I’m going to banish you to Plane Eleven!”

  And then everything went silent.

  Blissfully, eerily silent, giving me a moment to gather myself enough to realize something huge had just happened.

  But what? And why?

  Almost waist-deep in water, I looked around the store—a place I loved nearly as much as I loved our house—and let out a small whimper, forgetting about the enormity of what had just gone down.

  It was a disaster. The store was a complete wreck. We’d be here for days cleaning up.

  Realizing I was out of breath, I looked up at the ceiling. “That’s better. Now, what in all of the realm was that about and who is the imposter?” I asked as, without warning, the water began to magically drain away.