Be Careful What You Witch For (A Family Fortune Mystery) (6 page)

10

I walked back toward the festival, studying the map of vendors’ booths. Besides the usual baked goods and crafts, Diana had added some Wiccan vendors this year. When I had begun this project with Diana, I had no idea about all the merchandise involved in the pagan/Wiccan world. I headed toward the Wiccan section and wandered past tables full of colorful candles and incense. Diana stood a few booths away talking to a woman with long dark hair trailing down her back. I assumed it was Bronwyn or Ember. She wore dream catcher earrings that caught the light when she moved. The booth was filled with soaps, lotions, and bath salts. Not wanting to interrupt, I turned in the other direction.

I stopped at a booth selling hand-drawn tarot cards. One of them was a beautiful pen-and-ink Victorian Gothic deck I bought for Mom. Past jewelry, crystal balls, and pendulums I finally found Morgan’s booth at the very end of the row.

As I approached, I could see why Diana had given her this remote location. Morgan Lavelle was known for her handmade athames, which were forbidding daggers used in Wiccan rituals. I had asked Diana about them the first day I walked past a booth with a display of the ritual blades. I felt like I was at a gun and knife show rather than a fall festival. She’d explained that they were used to direct energy and many Wiccans believed they should never be used to cut anything. That was a relief, but didn’t make them any less scary-looking. Morgan’s entire booth was draped in black cloth and a huge number of dangerous-looking daggers were arranged in half circles, or star shapes with the blades pointing outward. Dragons curled up the handles, or pagan symbols were carved into the blade. The dark, ominous feel of the booth gave me pause more than the knives themselves. Morgan wore a black cape and more eyeliner than an Egyptian princess. She was encased in a tight black turtleneck and black jeans tucked into four-inch-heeled boots. She’d pulled her jet-black hair into a tight chignon and she favored the kind of deep red lipstick that I usually saw on the covers of vampire books. Multiple necklaces and amulets glinted around her neck. Small silver skulls hung from her ears, their red jewel eyes flashing. All she needed was a riding crop to look like a dominatrix. Maybe she had one hidden beneath the table.

Diana kept to the light side of her magickal life but I knew that some people were drawn to the darker edges. The main tenet of the Wiccan philosophy was that whatever you put into the world came back to you threefold. I would think that would be enough to keep people away from what I would consider black magick. Things like sending bad luck and illness toward an enemy, or even a love potion if its intention was to enslave the subject.

Morgan clearly had no qualms about this aspect of Wicca. Along with her knives she had a selection of “spell kits” with candles and herbs packaged together with pieces of parchment. She had a kit for protection from enemies, misfortune to foes, and agony to adversaries. Behind these unpleasant titles sat a large black candle packaged with incense and what looked like human hair. It was labeled simply
REVENGE
.

Morgan was busy with a customer but turned to me abruptly and said, “Be careful about touching. The ingredients might rub off on you.”

I snatched my hand away from the revenge candle and moved to the relative safety of the knife display. Morgan packaged up a small knife that looked tame in comparison to the rest of her wares and handed it to a young woman who quickly melted into the crowd.

“Have we met?” Morgan tilted her head in my direction.

I had to look up to meet her gaze. Her heels gave her at least a three-inch advantage on my five-foot-seven frame.

“I don’t think so. I’m Clyde Fortune.” I hesitantly put out my hand, but Morgan just glanced at it and I let it fall. When she crossed her arms, I noticed a charm bracelet on her wrist that seemed out of place with the rest of her scary jewelry.

“Oh yes, Diana’s friend. I’ve heard about you.” She frowned and focused on my eyes. “Your eyes really are striking. You must have some powerful visions.”

Morgan referred to the different colors of my eyes. One is brown, the other pale blue. Wiccans believe that it’s a sign of psychic talent. It’s the only thing my mother can really get behind when it comes to Wiccans.

“I wouldn’t say that. In a town of psychics, what’s one more premonition, right?”

“You can’t deny it forever. But, that’s your journey, not mine.” Her voice was flat, bored. “What can I do for you? Looking for a more powerful spell than Diana is willing to share?” She gestured to her table of horrors.

“No!” I brought my voice back under control and continued, “No, I just wanted to talk to you.” I had to carefully weigh how much to tell this woman.

“Okay, talk.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“Diana is really upset about Rafe’s death. I’ve been asking people who knew him if they had any theories on how he could have ingested peanuts.” I didn’t mention Lucan’s referral, sensing it wouldn’t help me.

“So, it
was
an allergic reaction? I wondered.” She put one long black fingernail to her lip.

“Yes, that seems to be the theory.”

She nodded. “Rafe was very allergic. He claimed he’d have a reaction just from smelling peanut butter.” She smiled. “He did tend to exaggerate.”

I waited for her to continue.

“I don’t think I can be of much help to you. I’m sure you’ve heard that Rafe and I had a bit of a . . . falling-out a few months ago. I left his coven and I haven’t seen much of him recently. We generally didn’t like to be around each other. In fact, I avoided last night’s ceremony knowing he would be there.” She shrugged, and focused on polishing her knives.

“Do you mind my asking what the falling-out was about?”

She looked up and held my gaze for a long moment, stiff, unyielding, as if debating whether to answer at all. “Actually, I do mind. It was personal, but I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to describe the last fight we had.” A bitter smile crossed her features, and then disappeared. “Rafe liked to be in control—most of the time.”

Her smirk was so suggestive I took a step back. I wondered again where she kept her whip.

I cleared my throat. “Were you involved, romantically?”

She let out a gust of air. “Romantically? There was nothing romantic about it.” She looked me up and down. “We both had needs. Don’t attach some fairy-tale fantasy to it.”

“What about—”

“That’s all I have to say about Rafe,” she said, her voice icy, clear. She pivoted toward a new customer examining the knives made of bone.

Dismissed, I turned and walked away. But I felt her cold, hard stare follow me down the path.

*   *   *

By the time
I made it back to Diana’s booth I had discovered that everyone had a theory about Rafe’s death. I’d skulked around the various stalls listening in on the gossip, a skill passed on to me by Aunt Vi. There were outraged discussions about quality control and the faulty EpiPen, there were theories about rival covens and more than a few people mentioned the Wiccan rede of a threefold return. The general sense was that Rafe deserved what he got, which was a whole different take on Rafe than the one I had always heard from Diana.

Her booth was crazy-busy again as the shoppers settled in to the last-day-of-the-festival frenzy. Baxter and Tuffy may have had something to do with the bottleneck since they sat right in front of Diana’s sign wagging at anyone who walked by. They were such an odd couple that no one could pass by without stopping to pet one of them. Diana set Seth loose to explore the fair while the rest of us served the continuous stream of customers. Seth returned with a small metal dragon statue—an unusual choice, but apparently his Harry Potter roots ran deep. He shoved it in his pocket when Diana and Skye approached. Diana sent us home for dinner as long as we promised to return for the closing ceremony. She knew we had yet to tell my family that Seth was in town.

Seth, the dogs, and I headed back to Crystal Haven in silence. I was running all the rumors through my head. He was plugged in to his iPod. I thought maybe he would volunteer his reasons for being back in Crystal Haven—I had read somewhere that teenagers liked to talk in cars. Apparently, not all of them.

We pulled into my parents’ driveway and I shut off the Jeep. “Are you ready?”

Seth nodded. “It’s not going to get any better. Maybe Tuffy will distract them.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” I got out and opened the back door for the dogs.

Baxter planted himself at the front door and gave two deep woofs. Like Mac, he had a signature knock. Aunt Vi swung the door open in greeting and stopped midsmile. “Tuffy? Where did you . . .” She looked up and saw Seth standing on the bottom step. She stepped back in the house and said, “Rose, I knew it! Seth is here!”

“Who’s here?” Mom appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She saw Seth and came forward with her arms out for a hug. “What are you doing here? We missed you so much!” She turned to me, hands on hips. “Clyde, how long have you been planning this?”

Seth allowed the fawning to continue. I think he secretly liked it. His blond bangs fell into his eyes as he bent to hug the ladies in turn. The truth was, things hadn’t been the same since he left to go back home at the end of the summer. I’d gotten used to having him around. I guess the rest of the family felt the same.

“And Tuffy’s here, too!” Vi crouched down and gave the dog the same hero’s welcome as Seth. I was starting to get jealous.

Dad came to the door. Just slightly taller than me and with a shock of white hair that stood straight off his forehead, he looked perpetually surprised. “What’s going on out here? Oh, hi, Clyde. Wait till you see my new police scanner. I can even pick up the Grand Rapids channels.” Dad was slowly easing out of his dental practice and pursuing other interests, like spying on the police.

“Frank, Seth is here with Tuffy,” Mom said.

“Oh, Seth. You should come see it, too.” Dad stopped and looked at the melee of dogs and people on his porch. “Did I know you were coming to visit?” He looked at Seth.

“No, it’s a surprise.” Seth grinned.

“Thank goodness. I thought I was slipping.” Dad scratched his head, and swung his other arm toward the door. “Well, are you coming in or what? Dinner’s on the table.”

We trooped inside and settled around the table in our usual spots. Mom bustled, making a production of setting an extra place for Seth. Vi sat with Tuffy on her lap, a distant look on her face.

“Tuffy doesn’t like planes, and he also doesn’t like your duffel bag,” Vi said to Seth.

Seth just nodded.

“He wants to know how long he gets to stay before you have to travel again.”

I cocked an eyebrow at Vi. “Tuffy wants to know, or you do?”

“It
is
a good question,” Vi said.

“Seth just got here, Vi. Let’s not rush him out the door.” Mom came in from the kitchen with lasagna in her hands. Mom always had enough food to feed any swarm of locusts that showed up—even Seth. “I hope you’re all hungry.”

The dining room fell silent after the food was dished up. Mom had made her own sauce and the cheesy meaty combination was one of my favorites. Seth was on his second helping before the inquiry began.

We had decided to give the same explanation to the family as we had been giving everyone else. Seth wanted to catch the end of the festival since he’d been working on it for most of the summer. I still didn’t know why he’d arrived on my doorstep, and something told me I didn’t want to know. But I would need to confront him soon.

The story seemed to satisfy everyone and we moved on to other topics, namely Rafe’s death. Seth had been filled in on the particulars and listened avidly to the conversation.

“I just knew something would happen that night. I felt it. The woods were so dark and there was this . . .
foreboding,
” Vi said.

I looked at the ceiling.
I
remembered her asking five hundred questions and chattering through the whole thing. She didn’t seem to be worried at the time.

“I, for one, am glad I wasn’t there. I’ve never been happy about the whole dark-woods-and-cauldrons combination.” Mom began collecting the dishes.

“I heard the 10-52 go out on the scanner. I have to say I was relieved when I heard the victim was male.” Dad glanced at me. His police scanner habit meant he talked in code much of the time and I was the designated translator.

Seth, Mom, and Vi looked at me and waited.

“10-52 is ‘ambulance needed,’” I said. They all nodded understanding and went back to their food, except Vi.

“What does Diana say about the whole thing? What did the police want? Are there any suspects?” Vi’s rapid-fire questions had my head spinning.

“They don’t know anything,” I said. “Someone claimed they tasted peanuts in the food that Diana served and since word has gotten out that Rafe died from an allergic reaction, Mac is looking into it.”

“I knew it,” Vi muttered. “There was something off about that weird bread.” She grabbed another roll from the basket and ripped it in two before slathering on the butter.

“Tuffy didn’t like him.” Seth pulled the dog onto his lap.