Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2) (7 page)

"Melanie's calling in the troops for the performance tonight."

He blocked my way when I would've slid past him. "You should be in bed." His eyes were clouded over like a frozen sky.

"And give Melanie another reason to press charges— besides the fact that she hates me? Don't think so." I tried to perk up for Wyatt's sake. "Besides, the killer is likely connected to the contest. Being there ups my chances of running into him."

The conversation went downhill from there, while Wyatt's temper went through the roof. If he'd been a bull, I would've been the red blanket waved in front of his snorting nostrils. For the most part, I just stood there and took the yelling like a crowbar to the head— which it felt like. At the end of it, Wyatt was out of breath, and I was walking out the door, headed to do whatever I wanted. I was the one who was poisoned, after all.

"Be careful, alright? I'll be there as soon as I can." He said softly before the door shut between us.

The bug was reluctant to start, and I feared for a moment that I was going to have to ask Wyatt for a lift. That would've ruined my pointed exit. Plus, he probably would've given me a lift back to his house instead of to the stage.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the car finally sputtered to life, I headed toward the center of town. With each second that went by, I got a little wearier. My mouth was dry and my skin overheated. As much as it killed me to admit it, Wyatt was probably right about staying in bed. But I didn't want to spend what could be my last couple of days lying down; I wanted to fight for my life.

Melanie gave me such a look upon my arrival that I was sure it would've killed a lesser mammal. She didn't say anything, though, leaving me to get dressed slowly in the dressing room they'd given me.

The doors to Cherry and Belinda's dressing rooms were securely shut with the lights off, like someone was trying to hide them from notice. One look at the other contestants' faces told me that someone was unsuccessful. The girls looked fearful, some were grieving, and almost all of them were thinking of dropping out.

"I need the prize money," one of the witches said to her shorter friend. "Otherwise, I'd be gone."

The friend nodded. "It's been a rough year all around. Without the publicity, my tour bus company will go under."

The atmosphere was so depressing, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. If I didn't do something soon, I'd keel over.

Turning to Penny, who was decked out in bright pink that was not flattering, I asked, "Didn't you and your husband move out of town recently?"

She looked up from tying her shoe laces, blinking in the harsh light. "Oh— yes. To a farm just outside the city limits. I've got cattle, horses, and chickens now."

"That sounds nice." It sounded horrible, and it must have shown on my face. To save the conversation, I said quickly, "How's your husband? George, isn't it?"

Her expression frosted over like it'd been exposed to liquid nitrogen. "He's fine."

Leaving me standing there without another word, I watched Penny with surprise. I didn't really know much about her— only that she lived in Melanie's shadow and wasn't a very powerful witch. That last bit came from my grandmother. I wondered if I'd said something to offend her, or if she was one of the people in this town who simply hated me for not fitting in.

"Harper!" Melanie screeched, running up to me. Her blonde hair was sticking out at odd angles and sweat rolled down from her damp forehead. "You're on next! What in the world are you doing standing around shooting the breeze?"

"Coming, coming," I said, rolling past her and deciding not to say anything clever. Frankly, Melanie looked like she'd skin me for it at the moment, and I didn't really have it in me.

When the stage lights hit me, I felt sweat break out all over my body, drenching me instantly. The temperature on stage was easily twenty degrees higher than it'd been back in the offices, and it hadn't been cool there. Wiping my brow, I tried to shake off the feeling of being slow-roasted. The green wig didn't help the situation much.

The stairs were a little difficult to operate in roller skates, especially when my bones felt like they were made out of some kind of gelatin. Cheering began as soon as I rolled to the center of the platform, and I tried to smile at the crowd. It came out like more of a grimace.

Looking around, the stage seemed a lot smaller than when I'd been looking at it from the ground. I wasn't sure there'd be enough room for my tricks.

Getting up a little momentum, I skated in a tight, continuous circle in front of the audience. Pulling my foot up from the ground, I held the leg straight up, while still rolling on the other leg. Owning a disco skate will teach you all kinds of flashing tricks, and I demonstrated one after the other for the appreciative crowd.

About halfway through my routine, sweat seeping through my clothes, I started to feel funny. My head felt clogged like a million bees were buzzing away in there. Even though it was roasting on the stage, I kept shivering, feeling a chill that wasn't there.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and people were screaming. A shaking hand went up to wipe the sweat off my face, but it froze a few inches from my nose. My fingers, long and slender, were quickly turning a vivid green. My head collapsed against the wood beneath me. I returned my hand to the ground not wanting to look at my skin anymore.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Wyatt was touching my face, saying something to me in a hushed tone. The noise of people panicking drowned out his words, but I was pretty sure I couldn't have understood them at that point anyway.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

When I opened my eyes, we were at the hospital, back in the same room I'd woken up in a couple of days ago. I wondered why they didn't take me to the emergency room first. Probably because they knew there was nothing they could do.

The doctors came in and said that they were going to put me on fluids and a couple of medications in the hope that something would work. I didn't reply to any of that, letting Wyatt take care of everything. His hand clenched around mine when they started talking about DNR forms and all that jazz. Before I knew it, he was kicking them out.

"It's their hospital, you know." My voice didn't sound like mine.

"Shut up, Harper." His words were harsh, but his fingers were gentle and cool against my feverish skin.

"Hey, is that any way to speak to a dying woman?" I'd meant it as a joke, but my smile vanished when I saw what my words did to him. Changing the subject, I said, "Any leads on my grandmother?"

He shook his head mutely, eyes still haunted. "I've got the whole police department looking for her— the ones who aren't mercilessly interrogating everyone at the competition."

Brushing my fingers over his palm, I said, "We'll find the antidote."

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be assuring you?"

"I'm not worried," I told him. "I trust you."

"But as soon as you're out of this bed, you're going to go sticking your finger into every pie in town." A small, unhappy smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"You make it sound so dirty."

The doctor that had seen me last time came back in, taking in my lighter green color with relief. "From what we can tell, it looks like your body fought off the poison again." His voice was stern when he continued. "I wouldn't rely on that, though. You need to take it easy while we find a cure— doctor's orders."

If possible, his face sobered even more. “We found an elevated level of the toxin in your blood. More than last time. I’m estimating that you have less than forty-eight hours. I’m sorry, Harper.”

If he said anything else, I didn't hear it, because a roaring started in my ears. I let my head fall back against the pillows, and my mind drifted for a while.

I had to sign a ton of papers so they'd let me leave. They had just about every member of hospital personnel come visit me, trying desperately to get me to stay in the hospital bed. When I pointed out that I could die just as well at home as I could here, they mostly shut up.

Wyatt was strangely talkative as he drove us home— to his home, anyway. His brain seemed to be shooting inconsequential words out of his mouth faster than he could keep up with them. It was more than I'd ever heard him speak in one sitting, and the sound of his voice, though tense, like a string pulled too tight, was comforting.

Before he could make the turn to go to his house, I said, "No, take me—"

"I am taking you home, Harper," he said irritably. "Our home. Where you'll lay in bed, while Cooper and I wait on you hand and foot."

I smiled, though the movement hurt my too-tight skin. "Lovely, but I was just talking about a brief jaunt to my grandma's house."

"Oh."

Sitting back in my seat, I said, "I don't even have a drawer at your place."

"I'll get you one," he said immediately. "You can have a whole  closet if you want it."

"I'd settle for you two eating something besides cereal."

Pulling into my grandma's driveway, he killed the engine. "Now you're just being unreasonable." When he opened my door for me and helped me out, he said, "I am happy to be included in your snooping, though. It beats getting a call that your girlfriend is in lock-up."

The front door was unlocked, so I didn't have to use magic— I'd left my spare key at home— in front of Wyatt. "Hmm, that makes me sound very mysterious and brave."

Pulling me back over the threshold, he pressed his lips to my jaw, peppering my face with kisses. Each one took my breath away, bit-by-bit, until I was pretty sure I'd need a return trip to the hospital if he kept it up.

"You are very brave," he said. "And mysterious— but I find that trait far less endearing."

Leaving Wyatt standing in the foyer, I passed by each room in the house, my heart sinking a little each time I didn't see a cranky old lady or a wickedly red robe. By the time I came back to Wyatt's waiting arms, my eyes were burning with traitorous tears, my breaths coming in little gasps.

"I thought— hoped she'd be here," I told him. "Waiting at the counter with her tea and all the answers to our problems."

He didn't tell me that was stupid. He didn't mention that he had an officer watching the house who would've told him if anyone came home. He just held me, rocking from side to side like the ocean, steadying me. I loved him a little bit more— if it was possible— for that.

Shaking off my misery, I decided to do something positive with this opportunity. “Come on,” I said to Wyatt, heading towards the attic.

In the room filled with bookshelves and ancient, dusty texts, there was a small vanity in the back. I’d never noticed this before, and I frowned, walking over to it. The rickety thing housed a couple tubes of lipstick and almost nothing more. That much was a surprise, however, because I’d never seen my grandma wear any makeup.

My eyes widening, I spun around, almost plowing Wyatt over in my haste. “They were having an affair!”

The look he gave me would have probably followed calling the men with the big nets to take me away to the loony bin, but I continued. “You found purple lipstick on Belinda’s neck, right?”

“Right,” he said slowly.

“Cherry was wearing purple lipstick when she died! Belinda didn’t borrow that awful shade from a friend; they were sleeping together. Do you remember Cherry’s cell phone number?”

Without hesitating, he listed off the digits. Pulling out my own phone, I verified that they matched the number of the unknown caller who Belinda had talked to so much.

“No wonder Cherry was so upset.” I put my phone away, thinking furiously. “Now there’s a connection between the two victims besides the contest.

“There are three victims,” he reminded me gently. A twinkle invaded his eye, and he said hopefully, “Unless you were having an affair with the two of them…”

“They offered, but there were scheduling conflicts.”

Back on the case, Wyatt said, “It’s not enough. There was no one in either of their lives that would’ve killed them if they found out.”

I agreed which was discouraging. But he was right, even if there’d been a jealous boyfriend, he wouldn’t have gone after me. I was the one piece in the puzzle that didn’t fit— like usual.

Pulling out a single book, I sank to the ground, and flipped through it with an absentminded kind of determination. My grandma knew every book in this extensive collection cover to cover— though she frequently forgot and remembered at random moments what she knew. Without her, the chances of finding what I needed in two days was slim, but…

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, I pointed to the stack on the other side of the room, farthest from me. “Start over there and try to find anything that mentions poison.”

Frowning he said, “If I know anything about your grandmother, I’d assume there are going to be a lot of books that mention poison.”

“Right, you are,” I said, “but we’ve got to start somewhere.”

The next couple of hours involved yelling at each other from across the room when we’d found something. Systematically, either Wyatt or I would realize that the potion didn’t exactly fit what we were looking for, and we’d return to our search with frustration and desperate movements.

For not the first time in my life, I found myself feeling extremely jealous of my grandma. Crazy though she was, she never would have found herself in this position, facing down death with no way to save herself. She was a real witch, while I was too scared of magic to do more than a fancy trick or break a lock.

Not even now, with my life literally on the line, could I lift a finger magically to save myself. I wasn’t willing, but even if I had been, I didn’t have the training— as my grandmother loved to point out.

Standing because my muscles couldn’t stand the tense sitting position for one more moment, I kicked the bookshelf. The books shook from bottom to top like dominos following over, making a loud, shuddering noise that sounded like an animal fighting with its cage. Frowning, I tried to steady the shelf, not thinking I had kicked it that hard.

“Oomph!”

A large book with a detached spine fell from the top shelf, conking me squarely on the head. With my headache, it felt like a piano falling on my skull— only, unfortunately, it didn’t kill me immediately.

Moaning, I held my aching skull while the offending book, resting at my feet, made a strangely sentient rustling. Releasing my head, I crouched down, watching the pages flip on their own right before my very eyes.

“Wyatt…”

He was right next to me a moment later, his brown hair looking almost gray from all the dust coating him. Even his dark eyelashes had specks of gray on them, almost like dirty snow.

His expression went from concern for me to wary confusion. “What’s it doing?”

As soon as Wyatt spoke, the book’s pages stopped suddenly, falling open to a picture of a cauldron that was smoking, a green fog falling from the mouth like bad breath in a cartoon.

I picked it up and read the ingredients for the poison on the page. “Live chicken and cow blood, trace elements of belladonna, and the strengthening spell on page six seventy-two.”

“Belladonna poisons on its own.”

I shook my head. “Not in this quantity. Without the spell, it’d likely only give you a stomachache.”

“Can you remake the poison?” he asked. “So we could get an antidote?”

“Belladonna has a cure, but… I’d need to use a spell.” I flipped to the page the book had indicated, shaking my head ruefully. “This magic is beyond me. Only the killer or Grandma could do it.”

Dismay crossed his features for only a second, and then he was all business, Detective Bennett making an appearance. “Okay, so we know the poison. What does that tell us about the killer?”

“Well,” I said, putting the book down on a shelf right next to me. “It said live cow and chicken blood. That means the animals would have to be alive when you take it. Not really a way to guarantee that at a magic store. Plus, Gran says fresh is better.”

He made a face. “Of course she does. Remind me to not accept any invitations for dinner over here.”

“I doubt she’d serve you blood— unless she was particularly annoyed.”

He walked up and down the aisle, giving up all pretense of not being upset. Watching him in that moment, I was almost willing to try anything to save myself— even magic.

What would my death do to Wyatt— to Cooper? The boy had already lost one mother, and even though I’d tried to avoid filling that spot in his life, I couldn’t deny that I had a little bit.

Good intentions or not, I’d managed to secure myself a spot in Cooper’s life. That weird little dude would expect me to stick around—kids are like that. Lips curling, I realized with a start that I wouldn’t have given up my place in Cooper’s life for anything.

“Crap,” I said, but I waved off Wyatt’s concern when he would’ve said something and broken my concentration.

His icy eyes were clouded over when I looked into them, but they still managed to make my heart lurch. If it’d ever been a secret, the fact that I loved him was put into perspective in that moment. Somehow, I’d earned a spot in his life, too. So, fears of being a freak or not, I needed to figure out a way to beat this poison.

Wyatt continued talking like my revelation hadn’t happened—which, I guess it hadn’t for him.

“Fresh chicken and cows means a farm. We’re looking for a witch in overalls, carrying a pitch fork.”

A farmer witch…

My eyes threatened to pop out of my head. I was glad they didn’t, though, because that would’ve been too cliché.

“Penny Helbrim!” Wyatt winced as I shouted in his ear, but I was too excited to care. “She and her husband just moved to a farm outside of town.”

“George? The quiet one with the unibrow?”

“That’s the one, though he might have had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” Wyatt said dryly, “since he left her—and Waresville— a month ago.”

“Maybe that’s when she snapped!”

He looked doubtful. “I thought you said this spell needed a powerful witch. Is Penny Helbrim a powerful witch?”

“Not according to my grandmother, but then again, we’re all dog food in her eyes.”

He stared at me for a long moment, two emotions vying for control of his mouth. “Where’s the motive? Unless you broke into her house, too?”

“Since when do witches need a good reason to kill people in this town?”

Grabbing the book from the shelf, I hugged it to my chest, chanting the words “thank you” over and over again. That bloated text had just saved my life and avenged the death of two women.

Then, in a clear, but dry and crackly voice, the book said, “You’re welcome.”