Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2) (8 page)

Wyatt and I froze, staring at the large spell book with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. It remained silent under our scrutiny, lying as lifeless as— well, a book— in my arms.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wyatt said, “I honestly can’t deal with that right now.”

Taking the talking book and Wyatt in tow, I walked out of my grandma’s house with more confidence and energy than I actually had. He got in the car without argument, but when I told him to get it in gear and take us to the Helbrim farm, we ran into problems.

He shot me a murderous look. “I’m going to call the force, and you’re going to lie in bed and wait for the antidote.”

“This is why I left you behind last time,” I told him. “We don’t have time for the police— I don’t, anyway. Besides, with Gran missing, I’m the only one with a hope of taking down another witch.”

Cursing, he pressed down on the gas. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He wouldn’t budge, however, on running to his house to pick up his firearm. I hadn’t planned on arguing, but he gave me an earful anyway.

“If you think I’m going in without my gun, you’re crazier than I thought,” he’d growled at me.

Cooper met us in the foyer, and though I couldn’t see his grandmother, I could hear her snoring in the living room. “Grandma’s asleep.” He said it as if this should have been a capital crime.

Wyatt brushed past him, ruffling his hair, and headed toward the garage to get whatever weapons he had. This left me alone with the inquisitive ten-year-old.

“Grandma said Dad was at the hospital with you again, but she wouldn’t say why.”

There were probably good reasons for that, because no matter how mature Cooper seemed, he was still just a kid. I didn’t want to traumatize him or give him nightmares by telling him that someone was trying to kill me— like they’d done to two others. He was already weird enough without a bed-wetting problem.

But I also didn’t want to lie to him.

“I was in trouble,” I said slowly.

“Dad says you get into trouble a lot.”

And just that quickly, I wasn’t so worried about him getting nightmares. “Well, if your dad would have done his job, I wouldn’t have to track down the killers for him.”

I expected Cooper to launch into a speech about how his dad would never need my help because he knew everything and was altogether a god amongst men. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d heard that speech. It was even kind of cute, coming from Cooper—sometimes, anyway.

Instead, he launched himself at me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face into my stomach. I had the sinking feeling that tears were leaking onto my t-shirt, and I’d have much preferred a put down, telling me how I could never stack up to the amazement that was his father.

I stroked his hair like I would a cat. “I’m sorry, Cooper. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He shook his head against me, and his words were muffled— not enough so I couldn’t understand them, though. “I like that you tell me stuff. I like you.”

“I like you too, buddy.”

Wyatt stormed into the room, taking in the scene with clueless eyes. “What’s going on?”

I rolled my eyes, thinking that the man was so not worthy of Cooper’s praise. But even then, I knew I didn’t believe that for a second. The fact of it was, Wyatt was pretty much a superhero. My hero, anyway.

Prying Cooper off of me, Wyatt grumbled that he thought we were in a hurry. Despite his words, he gave his son a big hug before we were out the door, whispering something to him that I couldn’t hear.

The car purred beneath us as we drove out of Waresville. Despite it being Witch Week, the streets were deserted in our little town, making it seem like a ghost town. Shuddering, I hoped all the publicity wasn’t the bad kind, because as it stood, the town was hanging on by a thread.

The only marker of the beginning of the Helbrim farm was a rusty sign that said “Green Meadows” hanging over a cloudy dirt road that ran through several acres of fields. The crop had been harvested, leaving the land bereft of life. The ground was hard and slightly overturned from the machine they’d used.

The lack of plants made it easy to see straight across the large fields. Two gray barns stood out against the rolling hillsides, leaning slightly with age and water damage. A well was out behind one of those barns, but it didn’t look functional, making me wonder where they got their water.

Thin-looking chickens peppered the road as we drove up, squawking as if they weren’t used to visitors. The cows were also sickly looking, watching us with lidded eyes while they chewed on what little grass stuck into their enclosure.

“No wonder George left,” I whispered to Wyatt, though there was no need to be quiet in the car, especially when no one was in sight.

He shook his head. “I heard there was another woman in the picture.”

If it was coming out of Wyatt’s mouth, and it was gossip, you could take it to the bank.

Parking behind a large tree, we hoped the dark car wouldn’t be immediately noticeable to anyone who would come around. Wyatt pulled his gun out as we walked up to the first barn, and it was almost too big to fit in his hand, in my opinion.

I raised my eyebrows at him, and he grinned in an “aw shucks, ma’am” kind of way.

The first barn was empty except for a bunch of old farm equipment that looked like it’d been sitting there since Prohibition. A healthy layer of dust and grime covered everything— even more so than in my grandma’s attic, and that was saying something. I ran my finger over a small green tractor and made a face when it came away black.

We moved on to the second barn while I was trying to get the gunk off my finger. It seemed to be permanently stained, like a tattoo. That was what I got for being curious.

There was no farming equipment in the next barn, and Wyatt and I stopped dead upon entering. Like my grandma and Melanie, Penny had turned the whole space into her own little magic room. Unlike those other women’s spaces, this was just about the creepiest thing I’d ever seen.

Pictures from newspapers and magazines had been ripped out and plastered to the bare wood walls. The images depicted all kinds of mutilated corpses and hideous experiments enacted on human beings. There were also pictures of infamous witches. The way they were framed, made this whole room feel like a shrine.

A cauldron that was smoking green sat off to one corner, shoved off to the side to make room for the hundreds of books in sinister black binding that littered the floor. On the ground, there were little spots where you could see beneath the books to where someone had spray-painted satanic symbols.

“Okay,” Wyatt said, “maybe she did it.”

A rustling outside the barn sent us running for cover, hiding back in a corner that was almost completely obscured by shadows. Wyatt took the least shaded spot, herding me behind him despite my protests.

Penny came in, her brown bob messy with grass sticking out in various places. She was reading a book intently, and it made me tense, readying myself for a nasty spell to be hurled my way. When I realized it was a sleazy romance novel, I felt just a little stupid.

Before I could calm down or feel like too much of an idiot, Penny spotted us. Her face twisted from an unassuming woman in her late forties to someone dangerous, someone who knew hate and was going to show us the art of it.

"You!"

My eyes flickered to Wyatt. "Me?"

Penny fished around in her pocket, quick movements that indicated practice. A tube emerged, and she brought it to her lips. It looked like a long, wooden straw, and I wondered idly if she was going to launch a spitball at us.

Wyatt's gun went up in the next moment. "Put it down, Penny." It was amazing how serious he could sound about a spitball straw, but he was a cop— he was likely used to keeping a straight face in these situations.

She blew into it and a tiny dart shot from the tube, heading straight for me. I didn't have time to be afraid or regret laughing about spit. Just when I thought it was going to get me right in the jugular, Wyatt slammed into me, knocking me into the wall. My vision swam a little, and I went down like a sack of potatoes.

I struggled to my feet, and I had to push Wyatt off of me. He limply rolled, his head bouncing off the ground. Worry flashed through me, and I shook him a little. He didn't respond at all, his eyes going wild beneath his eyelids.

Penny Helbrim watched us with satisfaction. "I bet you wish you'd dropped out of the competition now."

"What?" But I wasn't really listening to her— not that it mattered to psychos, since they'd give you their opinion whether you wanted it or not.

The dart that had been meant for me was lodged in his chest, a light smear of blood soaked through his dress shirt where the needle was sticking in it. I ripped open his shirt and buttons and the dart went flying. It almost hit me and, deciding to be more careful, I kicked the dart away.

Nausea struck me like a semi, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. Around the dart, a green that was quickly darkening spread through his skin in a small radius. Right before my eyes, the infection spread, coloring his veins as it reached farther and farther into Wyatt's body.

His breathing was irregular and a little strained. When I called his name, he didn't even twitch.

"He's as good as dead," Penny said, sounding annoyed. "You can stop mooning over him now."

I stood then, a calm kind of fury settling over me. "Shut up."

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. "You don't want to talk to me that way— I won't be spoken to like that! Not anymore."

She shot another dart my way, but I was ready for it this time, easily diving out of the way. "What did you do to him?"

"Gave him a concentrated dose of the poison," she said simply. "The poison that should've killed you days ago."

The poison that was killing me as we spoke, I thought silently. Even then, I could feel my body tiring, my head throbbing like I'd taken a beating. I didn't feel up to fighting a homicidal witch, but I didn't have a choice.

"How much time does he have?"

She had the gall to look bored. "A few minutes, maybe longer."

Deliberately misunderstanding her intentions, I said, "Why do you want Wyatt dead?"

The book she'd been carrying crashed into the spot a foot above my head with a huge bang. I winced, flinching away from the heavy text before it could fall on my head. The book that was in my hands, conversely, trembled a little bit. It didn't seem to be afraid, though I had no experience with emotional books. The thing seemed more... excited.

"I don't want him dead! I want you dead!"

You and everyone else
, I thought, trying to focus. I needed reasons, and I needed her to slip up. She was obviously a powerful witch. Without an advantage, I couldn't take her down and save Wyatt. The trouble was my thoughts kept splintering and going off on tangents.

"Why is that?" I asked dully, moving away from the corner and towards the steaming cauldron.

Penny was too caught up in her anger and didn't notice my movement. "You were standing in my way. I'm going to be the Witch of the Year—that'll make him see."

And everything came back to that stupid competition. Grandma was right. It was a joke— a joke that was about to get me killed.

Was there no end to crazy witches in town? One wanted to kill for eternal youth, and the other to win a contest so her loser husband would come back to her. From what I remembered of George, he wasn't much of a catch. Then again, can a crazy witch whose looks are going really afford to be that choosy?

But Penny wasn't done talking. "They'll all see then. They'll see that I'm powerful— that I'm the most powerful witch that's ever walked the streets of Waresville!"

I didn't snort because it wouldn't have been polite. But inside, I was screaming that my grandma was the head witch in town, and she would continue to be until the end of time. Or however long she lived for. I wasn't really sure which would come first at that point.

Scooping up a ladle from the cauldron, I flung a handful of the green poison at the other witch's unprotected face. The hot liquid splashed against her flesh, and I winced as she screamed bloody murder. Clutching her face, she stumbled around, flinging curses—both magical and not— my way.

One spell hit me right in the chest, and I flew backward, my back colliding with the wooden wall. The material creaked under the pressure, and I slid to the ground. Under other circumstances, I would've surged to my feet and tackled her, but I couldn't find my bearings. Up didn't seem to have any meaning anymore, and my head fell back against the wood.

Somewhere, Penny was whimpering. Not far from there, a man moaned. That sound of pain got me moving like nothing else could, and I lurched up, almost as if I was under someone else's power.

There was still plenty of poison in the cauldron, and when I bent over it, the smell burnt the inside of my nose like antifreeze. The talking book had landed at the foot of the pot, so I swiped it up and opened to the right page. Before I could, however, the book turned for me, making me pause and shift uncomfortably.

Another moan from Wyatt got me moving again. The words of the spell didn't seem complicated, but I knew that looks could be deceiving. If this was too much for me, the drain combined with the poison would kill me. Even now, I could see the green seeping back into my skin, my fingers the color of moss already.

My gaze flickered over to Wyatt, who was lying on the floor, limp and lifeless. His breath was so shallow that, for a terrifying second, I thought he was already gone, and that I was too late. The despair that surged through my body almost sent me to my knees.

I turned back to the book and started reciting the words that would turn the contents into an antidote. The words had power. I felt it resonating deeply within me, like a vibration in my stomach that built and built until I was shaking. The shaking got so bad, I almost couldn't read anymore.

Halfway through, a body even heavier than Wyatt's crashed into me. Penny's weight knocked the air out of me, and when my hand fell between me and the floor, I felt my wrist snap with an audible crunch. At first, I didn't feel anything, and that was almost worse than the pain that followed.

Almost.

I screamed, my throat raw like I'd been swallowing salt. I tried to throw Penny off, but she was too heavy. Penny got off of me on her own, rolling away once she was satisfied I couldn't just bounce back up again.

Seeing her face, I almost screamed again. The heated poison had burned away at her skin, the outer layer completely gone. Painful looking boils accompanied the severe, red burns. The face didn't even look human anymore, and it hurt to look at it.

When she growled at me, I was convinced she wasn't human, and that she was going to attack me. There was nothing sentient in her eyes, and all I could see in those fathomless depths was the desire to hurt me.

Penny lunged at me, her horrible face twisting into what I was sure was going to be the last thing I ever saw. Her hand was clenched around the last dart, raising it above her head as she descended on me, getting ready to stab it into me. It'd finish me; I knew that.

A gunshot went off, and Penny slumped to the ground— like a puppet whose strings had been cut..

The sight was too much for me, and I felt sick, the last of my energy leaving me, along with my lunch. A few feet away, Wyatt's hand fell to the ground, the gun with it. The air rushed from his lungs, and I wanted to cry.

Somehow, I managed to pick up the book. It was as heavy as a baby, and I felt every ounce. The words seemed to fall from my mouth of their own accord. The book wanted me to finish, so I had to finish. I didn't matter. Wyatt didn't matter. Only the book mattered.

The spell was cast and the green smoke quickly evaporated, leaving a purple one in its wake. The cauldron was still far above my head, though, and I didn't know how I was going to reach it.

To give myself strength, I looked over at Wyatt and almost stuffed my fist into my mouth in distress. His color was even greener than Belinda's or Cherry's had been, and I couldn't even tell if he was alive.

Not caring if the potion burned me, I scooped up a handful of the purple antidote and shoved it in his mouth. He wouldn't swallow, I realized with a panic. I had to massage his throat, forcing myself to be gentle when I was frantic enough to throttle him if I wasn't careful.

When it finally went down, I stumbled over and got some for myself and then fell on top of Wyatt again. His chest was firm under me, and I could make out the faint movement of him breathing. That felt beautiful to me, and I sighed.

A moment later, he coughed, his hands clenching at his sides. "We win?"

A fresh wave of pain went through me, and I said, "Doesn't feel like it."