Witch Is The New Black (22 page)

Her mind continued to race with questions despite her precarious position. “That day at the bank…”

Eddie nodded, his smile widening. “Was all a fluke. I didn’t think so at the time, but I got lucky when you caught me with Doris and demanded half the rent on the very day I planned to steal the book. So, I figured why not speed up the process? The original plan was to get the book and you, all in one fell swoop. But I had no idea you could shift, too, Bernie! You shifted into
me
! It was incredible! But then the police arrived and I had no choice but to shove you into the vault and run, leaving you holding the bag. Thus delaying my diabolical plan until your parole.”

Which begged the final question: “Exactly what the hell is in this book, Eddie?”

His sigh was wistful and full of wonder. “The answer to everything, Bernie.
Everything
. If you own the book, you can do anything, and then you’re not such a weak warlock after all.”

So this was a play not just for power, but respect.

Her frustration was reaching a new level, one that kept pushing her toward the edge of an invisible cliff. “Stop damn well talking in circles and explain what this book has to do with me! Why do you need
me
and the book?”

Eddie steepled his hands under his chin. “Let’s not rush things, huh? I’m the kind of bad guy who likes to relish his coup. I’ve waited a very long time for this day. All through your adolescence and well into your blundering adulthood.”

She shivered at the very thought of him watching her. Railed against the idea that he’d let her suffer, let her isolate and hide herself from the world when he had this kind of knowledge.

Bernie clenched her fists, digging her heels into the dirt as the chains protested with a rattle. “And I’m the kind of hostage who likes a good payoff. I’m not making the connection between the book and me. I’m the alleged keeper of the book, but I don’t
have
the book.
You
have the book. How do I relate to this book of everything, Eddie? What made you wait all this time to faux-date me? I’ve been legal for years.”

He held up a finger, his eyes twinkling. “This next bit of information is a very important piece of the puzzle. As a blood witch, you don’t come into the kind of power that
I
want until your third decade of life. Which, as you’ve seen, is pretty impressive power.”

Well, if you counted setting barns on fire, trashing trucks, and Violet’s loss of hair as impressive, then sure, she got it.

His words were so soft, so hushed; so incredibly calm, she shivered. This man wanted whatever she had, and he was about as cold-blooded as one could get in his efforts.

“Get to the point with the whole mess about books and murder and blood witches! What do I have that you want?”

“Marie’s blood, running through your veins, of course. The most powerful blood in the history of witches.”

“And that means?”

His next words chilled her with their measured calm. “That means, as it stands,
you’re
now the most powerful blood witch. Marie’s successor. And now I need your blood, Bernie—to become a blood witch, to be able to use the book of spells. Well, to be specific, I need your heart. I have to cut it from your chest and cease its beating as I recite the magic spell.”

Ahhh. Light bulb moment.

Chapter 15

R
idge launched his phone at the ground in frustration just after they all landed in his pasture, a mere few feet from the storm cellar.

Winnie’s eyes flew to his, lined with worry. “No Baba Yaga?”

Ridge clenched his fist, fighting not to drive it into the nearest inanimate object available. “When can anyone ever reach that woman? She needs a damned assistant!”

Flora patted his back with reassurance. “We got this, Ridge. We have a plan. Follow us.” She stalked off toward the pecan tree located not twenty feet from the storm cellar.

Ridge ran after her and the pack of seniors. “No, Flora! I can’t let you do this. I won’t risk y’all ending up hurt. Whoever this Eddie guy is, he’s got a plan, and I’d bet this damn farm he’s got all avenues covered. We don’t know what’s behind the cellar doors.”

Winnie gripped Ridge’s arm, stopping him under the tree. “Listen to me, Ridge, if he has that book, and we don’t get both it and Bernie the hell out of there, he’s going to kill her. I’m no weakling when it comes to magic, you know that. With all of us combined, we’re a damn powerhouse.”

Ridge shook his head, for the first time since his father’s death, damning him for his strict rules. It was going to end up costing him Bernie.

Not gonna happen.

“No, you don’t understand. Remember, my father has this whole place under a spell. You can’t use anything more powerful than a culinary spell or at best a vanishing hex.”

“But then doesn’t that mean this loon Eddie can’t use magic either?” Clive asked, his wrinkled brow furrowed.

Glenda-Jo shook her silver-white head, tucking her customary shawl around her shoulders and swatting the back of his head. “He has the book, Clive!
The. Book!
Weren’t you listening, old man? That daggone book trumps everything! And you don’t need magic to cut someone’s heart out!” she yelped, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh hell’s bells. I’m sorry, Ridge.”

Ridge lifted his hat and ran his hand through his hair. After hearing all about this Marie Haversham from the seniors, and her spell book and how it tied into Bernie, he’d almost lost his morning coffee.

Winnie and the seniors’ faces fell. “Shit! I forgot about that damn spell.” She turned to look at the group, her voice hinting at her desperation. “Does anyone have any clue what kind of spell prevents us from using our magic? We have to get in there!”

Gus was the first to speak up, his weathered face wrought with concern. “Then we’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. No way am I lettin’ my girl get whacked today!”

Ridge was desperate. He knew Bernie was in the cellar. His stomach revolted at the idea that he’d done his morning chores while she was likely locked up in there. And now, he was just twenty damn feet from getting his hands on her.

“What’s the old-fashioned way, Gus? I’m all out of ideas, my friend. If we can’t use magic to get in there—then what?”

Flora pushed her way through the group, a devilish smile on her face. “I think Gussie’s on to something. Calla’s not magical, is she? Isn’t that cellar floor made of dirt?”

Ridge nodded, Flora’s train of thought giving him hope. “It is. Damn, Flora, you’re a genius!” He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her hard.

Calla immediately rolled up her sleeves with a wicked grin. “I like the way you think, Miss Flora! Okay, so cough up all the extra clothes you bunch of troublemakers have on your persons. As much as I love you guys, the hell I’m gonna let you see me naked after a shift.”

* * * *

Okay, spells. Think spells, Bernie. Picture that book in your head, the one Ridge had you read twice, and remember. Remember the words. There’s a way to get out of this. You can find it
.

But all she could picture was Ridge in her head. Laughing when she recited a word in Latin incorrectly. Running his finger down the tip of her nose when she got something right.

And the seniors and Calla, and Winnie, Daphne, BIC, little Lola, Benny Junior, Fee and Orchid. Their faces flashed behind her closed eyes as Eddie, clearly done stringing her along, had gone silent and was busy preparing whatever spell he needed to complete his wish to become a blood witch.

Don’t hide, Bernie. You’re giving up. Don’t give up. No more hiding—you’re a witch, loud and proud. Sing it, sister!

Like a clap of thunder, she remembered most of the words to a discharge spell.

If she could just somehow make the chains set her free, she could definitely take Eddie.

But if you use the wrong words, that guillotine’s headed right for the top of your head. And don’t forget the bomb…

Maybe she should just start spewing the words she knew and the rest would come to her?

No, Bernie! There has to be another way. You have so much to look forward to. Don’t give up!

She warred with the voices in her head as Eddie raised the book and lifted a long match.

Her mind raced. Freeze time. Could she freeze time? That would solve everything.

Bernie! Bernie, are you there?

Her eyes flew open as she scanned the now fully lit storm cellar.
Fee?

It’s me! Listen to me, Bernie, listen close. Clear your mind, Peaches. Clear it of everything but my voice. Help is on the way—we’re almost there!

No, Fee! Stay out. He has this whole place rigged. Do not open the cellar door! It has a bomb attached. If Eddie hears you guys fiddling with that door, everyone’s doomed. Get as far away as possible, Fee! If anyone else is with you, tell them to get the hell out of here!

The hell! I’ve already lost one witch in my lifetimes; I ain’t losin’ another, Pook. Now stop flapping your gums and listen to me and don’t forget your powers are mostly useless here. Just sit tight and keep Eddie busy. Make some noise. Talk to him. We need a distraction!

Shit!
Her powers, aside from simple spells, were useless on the farm. How could she have forgotten?

And then she heard it—scratching. No, digging. Were they digging their way in here from the ground up?

Eddie’s head popped up as if he’d heard it, too, but then he shook it off and went back to his book of everything, busying himself with mixing a potion that smelled like Gus’ feet when he took his sweaty shoes off to wade in the creek.

Wait. If magic didn’t work on the farm, how was Eddie going to make this spell complete?

She repeated her deduction to Fee.
If magic doesn’t work here, Eddie’s screwed. All we have to worry about are the guillotine and the bomb
.

No! He has
the
book, B-Bop. It trumps all else. And despite your powers, your heart isn’t magical. He needs your heart to make his transformation complete.

Right. The cease her beating heart thing. Her stomach jolted and her mouth went dry.

Bernie, forget everything else. It’s time to taunt your captor. We’re gonna make a little noise here, so distract, distract, distract! Oh, and Hot Pants says heyyyy, gurl!

Bernie fought a girlish gasp.

Ridge had come for her. That was all she needed to know as images of their night together zipped through her mind. She wanted a shot at a possible future with him, and by hell, she wasn’t going to let Eddie steal all the things she’d gained since coming to Paris—especially Ridge.

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Yes, Bernie?”

“Do you have your phone with you?”

“Thinking of calling 911?”

“As if. Why would I want any interference with my death? I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind putting on some music? Sort of like a last-request thing? You know what I like, right?”

He looked up then and smiled, his eyes gleaming. “
My Fair Lady
?”

She smiled back. “Oh my God, yes! Say you have it?”

“Duh. Only every single song.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled over the screen. After pressing a button with flourish, the beginnings strains of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” echoed in the cellar.

“Turn it way up, would you, Eddie? I want to really feel it.”

He did as she requested, smiling fondly at her, likely remember they shared a love of Broadway show tunes.

“All I want is a room somewhere!” she belted out.

Sweet mother of pearl, B-bop. Make it stop! You’re eviscerating Rex’s legacy. He’s weeping, just openly sobbing in his Earl Gray. Do you hear him? He’s inconsolable. Wait there while I get him a tissue.

She fought a hysterical giggle, but she sang louder as the digging became more urgent. “Oh, so loverly sittin’ abso-bloomin’-lutely still!”

Almost there, Bernie! Just—a—little—more!

She heard the strain in Fee’s voice—and then he really was there, sneaking up behind Eddie, rearing back, preparing to jump just as Ridge, and a dog wearing a sweater that looked identical to one of Flora’s, poked their heads through a hole in the corner near the wine rack.

Dirt fell in clumps from Ridge’s head and shoulders as he quietly pushed his way through with the dog hot on his heels.

Wait. A dog?

As she sang louder, Bernie shook her head at Ridge and used a finger to point upward at the guillotine she was attached to. “Far away from the cold night air!
”

Ridge winced before he grinned at her and blew a kiss—and just seconds before he gave Fee the signal.

He shot his hand upward and Fee launched himself at Eddie, sinking his claws into his back, sending the book flying before Ridge bulldozed into Eddie’s chest, knocking him into the wall.

The dog with the sweater shook in violent shudders, its fur falling away as Bernie watched in horror. Bone crunched, even above the music, its paws flexing and stretching until a shape began to take form.

Bernie’s eyes widened. “Calla?”

Calla rolled her head on her neck, pushed her collarbone back into place and lunged for Bernie. “Listen to me, Bernie! Don’t move. I’ll have you out in no time flat!”

As she worked to free Bernie, wrenching away the guillotine blade then popping the chains as though they were made of nothing more than string, Ridge and Eddie fought.

Fee howled and clawed his way to the top of Eddie’s head, making him scream his discontent.

Ridge knocked Eddie to the ground with a punch so loud, so sharp, it echoed above the music. Eddie crashed to the floor, landing facedown, his head cracking against the ground and bouncing back up.

Ridge moved away from him and toward Bernie, his chest heaving.

But Eddie wasn’t out cold—not by a longshot.

With her arms finally free, Bernie caught sight of the detonator for the bomb just as Eddie was stretching his long fingers to reach for it.