A Witch's Trial (Witch's Path Series: Book 3) (6 page)

Queen stopped a few feet into the building and out of what had been the main path. I picked my way around the bottles to stand next to her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After widening my stance and closing my eyes, I sent out tendrils of power. They raced through the building, touching and tasting as they searched for magic. Finding nothing, the power flowed back into me. Opening my eyes, I swayed. Next to me, Queen opened her eyes and rolled her shoulders.
 

"I didn't find anything," I said.
 

"Me either."
 

"Do we need to do anything else in here?"

"Nope."

Instead of replying, I marched out of the liquor store and took deep, gulping breaths of fresh air. Behind me, Queen giggled. I twisted around to glare at her.
 

"I'm sorry. It's just, well, do you think I should recommend gas masks or hazmat gear?" She laughed.
 

"Gas masks would be a prudent suggestion." I pointed at her. "Your eyes are as red as mine. That place is toxic."

"It is; it really is. I hadn't noticed how bad it was until I left."
 

I rolled my eyes. "That's for the best. Truly. I've made three trips in there, and it smells worse every time."

She wrinkled her nose. "Nasty. You look beat. Go home and rest."

"Yes, ma'am."
 

I was in my car and on my way home before she could change her mind. A couple of miles down the road, I called Amber.
 

"Hey, it's Michelle."

"Am I late? I didn't think we were meeting for another hour."

"No," I reassured her. "You're not late. Could we move lunch to my place? I had a case come up, and I'm not restaurant ready."

"You're place is fine as long as we're eating Landa's cooking." Amber laughed.

"We won't be eating my cooking, that's for sure. Also, would you mind helping me bandage a few cuts? I can't reach all of them." A few might be an understatement, but this didn't seem like the time to detail my wounds.
 

"What happened?" Amber demanded.

I sighed. "There was some broken glass, and I got banged up a little. I'm fine. I'll tell you all about it over lunch and bandages."

"I want the entire story."

"And you shall have it," I promised.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she said before hanging up.

The rest of the drive was spent thanking my past self for putting seat covers in my car and spelling them to repel dirt. Even with blood seeping from my cuts, the covers wouldn't need more than a quick spin through the washing machine. The rest of me wasn't going to recover as easily. Even with a healing salve, the cuts would take days to heal, and I'd get the joy of feeling itchy scabs all over my body. Energy wise, I should be back to normal in the morning, but I was going to be rather useless the rest of the day.

At the lodge, I hauled the bare essentials back to my apartment before running down to the kitchen and taking a few plates of leftovers from the snacking shelf in Landa's fridge. Back in my apartment, I carefully stripped off my bloodstained clothes and tossed them in the trash. With the number of holes they'd acquired, it wasn't worth trying to salvage them. My shower was long and painful, but I managed to scrub the cuts clean.
 

I'd just dried off and slipped into shorts and a T-shirt when I heard a knock at the door.
 

"Be right there," I yelled on my way over. Opening the door, I found Amber on the other side, a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of zebra-striped bandages in the other. Laughing, I held the door open, "Do come in."

"Geez, Michelle. What happened to you?" Amber set the bottle of wine on the table.
 

I closed the door and turned to look at her. She looked good, at least on the outside, but I didn't trust her appearance. Amber had been held captive by a crazy werewolf, leaving wounds that were invisible to the eye. "Well, I had a run-in with a clurichaun." A cut above my elbow oozed blood. "Can I tell you the story while we bandage me?"
 

Amber looked me up and down. "That might be best."

I fetched the healing cream and some larger bandages from the bathroom, then sank into a chair. Amber knelt in front of me, settled my foot in her lap, and started smearing the green goop on the cuts.
 

"You said something about a clurichaun?"

Scooping up a glob of the healing cream, I started on my left arm. "The Pickens police called me because the clurichaun at the liquor store was making trouble. I captured him, but while he was throwing a tantrum, he managed to break most the bottles in the place. A few falls, and I look like this."
 

"You're lucky you weren't hurt more. Why did the clurichaun trash the store?"

That was a good question, one I'd been too tired to ask when I had the chance. "No idea. By the time he was in cuffs, I was ready to go home. Next time I talk to Queen, I'll ask."

"Why am I bandaging you when you could use a healing charm?" Amber stuck a bandage over a cut and started rubbing the cream into the next wound.

I tired not scoot around in the chair. She didn't need to rub the healing cream
into
the cut, just smear some over it. "Because I'm not a prepared witch. I'm out of minor healing charms, and this doesn't rate a powerful one. In the morning, when I feel better, I'll make a charm for myself. Until then"—I pointed at the healing cream—"I'll make do with this stuff. It's spelled to promote healing."

Typically, I was prepared and over prepared, but the past few weeks had been a whirlwind of emergencies, and I'd gone through some supplies faster than I could replenish my stock. The minor charms were one of those items. If I'd been useful rather than wallowing at Mom's house, it would be a different story.

By the time we were done, I was a patchwork of skin and zebra bandages. Looking at my arms and legs, I vowed to avoid mirrors for a while. "It's a good thing it's fall. With pants and long sleeves, no one will ask what I did to myself."

"True, but when you're scratching because you have itchy scabs everywhere, they'll ask questions."

"Hey, don't blow holes in my plan." I grinned. "A girl has to do something to preserve her dignity. The guys would laugh at me if they knew a clurichaun did this to me."

"And the glass, don't forget the glass." Amber giggled.
 

"I won't be forgetting that." I grumbled. "Shall we eat?"

"Sure, what do you have?" Amber dumped the bandage wrappings in the trash.
 

"Landa's leftovers." I pulled the plates out of the refrigerator, and we heated and divided the food.
 

Before we started on lunch, Amber uncorked the wine and poured each of us a glass. "I figured you'd need this," she said, handing me a glass.
 

"Thank you." I took the glass from her.
 

We sat down to eat, and for a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of our chewing.
 

"With all the excitement, I forgot to ask: how are you?" I set down my fork while Amber looked at me with big, round eyes but didn't say anything. "Please talk to me. I want to help."

Amber sighed. "I don't know if you can help."

"I'll try; just tell me what you need." I knew she was still having a rough time after her ordeal, and I was desperate to help.
 

"That's the thing. I don't know that I need anything. At least not anything you can give me."

I patted her shoulder. It was the best I could do since I didn't have any comforting words.

"I don't like being alone, but being in a group is worse because they know what happened to me and they watch me. I can see the pity or anger in their eyes, and when they don't think I'm looking, I see fear. After all, before I was abducted, they could go about their lives, secure in the knowledge that nothing bad would happen to them. Now they see it differently." She ran out of steam and sat there looking at her plate.

"It's hard for people to see bad things happen to their friends. It tears away the illusion that they're safe and immune to the bad in the world." There wasn't anything helpful I could say about the looks of pity.
 

"But why are they mad at me?" Amber asked.

"Because it's easier to be mad at you than to confront their own fears. Adder is out of their reach. They can't blame him, so they focus on you."

"Hardly seems fair." Amber took a sip of wine.

Leaning back in my chair, I studied her, from the faint tremor in her hand to the wide eyes. "Have you talked to anyone? A professional?" When Amber shook her head, I asked, "Why not?"
 

She pushed the pasta around on her plate. "I don't know. It seems wrong. Nothing bad happened to me. I've read stories about other victims, and as kidnappings go, this was nothing. What right do I have to be upset when there are people out there who have suffered so much more?"

I looked her in the eye. "Oh, sweetie, you've got it all wrong. Those other victims, their struggles, they don't invalidate your feelings. You can be afraid, hurt, have nightmares, and feel bad. That they suffered more does not change your experience."

"But—"

"There are no buts," I said firmly. "You can feel what you feel. There is nothing wrong with that. If the police didn't recommend a counselor, I can."

Amber sighed. "They gave me a few names."

"And?"

"And I'll make an appointment." She glared at me. "Why are good friends always bullies?"

"Because we care." I smiled softly. "I care, and I'm here to help."

"I know, and you do help. This helped." Amber rubbed her eyes. "Can you help one more time and turn this back into a fun afternoon?"

"Sure. I think there's a few pieces of key lime pie in the fridge. Do you want one?" It wasn't chocolate or cookie dough, but this wasn't a drown-your-sorrows moment. We needed to celebrate making it through a rough patch.

I woke from my nap feeling somewhat better and reasonably sure that Amber was doing as well as could be expected. Considering what she'd been through, that was progress. It took a few minutes to work up the courage, but I finally picked up the phone and called my father. He would be more reasonable about the entire clurichaun thing. Mom wouldn't take it well.
 

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad. It's Michelle." I winced at how formal I sounded.
 

"Are you okay? I didn't expect to hear from you so soon." He didn't have to say it—I knew he meant that he hadn't expected me to call him.
 

"I'm fine." Which was mostly true. Neither the scrapes nor the lack of energy were cause for concern. "So, I was kinda hoping you would make me a wand."

He took so long to reply that I began to think the line had gone dead.

"Why do you need a wand?" he asked softly.

"The last wand you gave me is broken and considered evidence." I kept talking, afraid he'd jump to the wrong conclusion if I stopped. "After I left Mom's house this morning, the police from Pickens called because they had a situation with a clurichaun. While I was there, my wand was broken, and it's evidence now."

He sighed. "Do I want to know how your wand came to be broken or how you dealt with the clurichaun?"

"Probably not."

"I'll make you a new wand." Dad chucked. "I don't remember your being this much of a risk taker when you were younger."
 

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Clurichaun are tough and very magical," Dad continued.
 

"And rude," I added.

"They aren't known for their pleasant disposition."

"I really am okay. I've got a few scrapes, and I need to rebuild my energy. The clurichaun is behind bars, and the only cop that was injured will be fully recovered in a week or two."

"I'll warn Nancy before she hears about it on the news, and I'll make a wand for you."

"Thank you, Dad."
 

"That's what dads are for. Be careful, daughter."
 

There was a smile on my face when I hung up the phone. It turns out I had a pretty awesome dad. Thank goodness he had the foresight to realize the excitement at the liquor store would make the news. It hadn't occurred to me, and now I could only hope my name wasn't mentioned. Mom was going to be worried enough when she heard about Briggs getting tossed into a wall. If the news talked about me, she would have fit.
 

My tummy grumbled, reminding me that I didn't have enough food to make a respectable dinner. After changing into pants and a long-sleeve shirt, I headed downstairs.

I walked into the dining room and found Landa setting a dish of guacamole on the sidebar.
 

"Child." She smiled up at me. "How have you been?"

"I'm all right. Life's been hard lately."
 

Landa pulled me into a hug. "Life is like that. I'm here if you want to talk."

"I know. Thank you." Leaning over, I gave her another hug. "Have you talked to Elron lately?"

"He's having a rough time." She turned away and shifted the dishes around. "I need to get the chips. The rest of the guest will be down soon."

The kitchen door swung shut behind her before I could ask any more questions. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. It would all work out. Elron would get through this. He had to. Even if I wasn't a part of his future, I would never forgive myself if that book destroyed him.
 

Taking another breath, I forced my shoulders to relax. Landa was a firm believer in privacy, and she would protect Elron. That didn't necessarily mean he was escaping from the world as he'd done when he believed Sylvia to dead.
 

Landa returned with a heaping basket of corn chips.
 

"How many people are you expecting for tonight's dinner?"

"Six or so." She set the basket on the table. "But the chips are always popular."

If I'd been guessing food proportions, I would've guessed there were enough chips for ten or twelve people. Then again, her chips tended to disappear quickly.