Page 63 of Witch and Tell

Anger surged through me. Rodney yowled.

I clenched my fists and released them. I didn’t have the luxury of flipping out. Not now. Again, I took hold of my breath. After a moment, I formed the words.

Rodney.I was firm and calm.You must take the key and hide it.I scanned the van.Under the passenger seat.

He refused to move. I understood. The key burned and would taste of sulfur in his mouth.

Come on, guy,I urged.We need to do this.

So suddenly that I startled, Rodney leapt forward and grasped the key. I felt nausea rise as the key scorched his tongue with the taste of rotten eggs. He bolted to the passenger seat and dropped it, then backed away, his head thrusting forward with the effort of not vomiting.

Keep going, I told him.We can do this.

He extended a paw and ripped a hole in the bottom of the upholstery. He growled as he shoved the key into the hole.

My head fell back against the gravel.Good boy, I told him.You can come out now.We’re safe.

Footsteps, a few sets, sounded across the lot. I’d spoken too soon.

“See you tonight at the tavern?” a voice called, getting closer.

Above me, the van door creaked open. It was Byron.

I was firmly back in my body, but I sensed Rodney all the same. He’d scurried to the back of the van and tried to blend in with the wadded sleeping bag.

Then the van’s engine started up. I swore under my breath. It wouldn’t matter if I avoided prison if I ended up dead from being run over. My magic was useless here, with no books to feed it. I screwed my eyes shut and waited for the worst.

The engine cut. “Get out! You hear me?”

The driver’s side door opened, and Rodney, growling, hit the gravel and took off.

I rolled out on the opposite side and ran as if my life depended on it. In fact, it did.

Chapter Thirty-four

Fear fueled my escape from the Empress’s parking lot, across the old highway, and up through the trailer park, where Rodney darted from the rosebushes surrounding Lalena’s palm reading sign to join me. I’m sure I drew attention, but I’d leave Lalena and Ian to explain why Ian’s mother had shot off on a spontaneous trail run.

Midway across the meadow, I collapsed on my back to catch my breath and let my adrenaline settle. The knee-high grass hid me. I stared into the blue sky, the sun beating down, and filled my lungs with fresh air to cleanse them of the stale odor of Byron’s van and the trash-strewn gravel under it. It was peaceful here, and I was safe—for the moment. Right now, Sam and the homicide detectives would be combing Wilfred, looking for me.

I was almost certain I knew Aunt Beata’s next steps. Getting the guest house key would be no problem for her, thanks to the glamour I’d stupidly, perhaps fatally, unleashed. She could appear as the exact seductress Byron/Cliff sought. He’d open his van to her and, with a smile, watch her search it. She was going to plant the key at the library for Sam to find when he showed up tomorrow, search warrant in hand. It would be the final step in her plan to lock me up where I couldn’t rein in her magic.

Rodney trotted through the grass and curled up, purring, in my armpit. His black fur was warm with sun.

What now?

Beata was a powerful witch. So was I, but did I have the experience to subdue her? If only I could get to my grandmother’s grimoire. Perhaps there was something in it—anything—that could help me rebind Beata’s magic.

I sat up. The meadow’s dry grass rustled in the slight breeze, and grasshoppers hummed. A cooler waft of air smelling of damp stone drifted from the millpond. Alone, Beata’s power might be too much to handle. But I wasn’t alone.

“Come on, Rodney.” Checking to make sure no one was within sight, I made my way toward the woods. The forest was quiet, and I saw no one on the trail, but Sam knew I used it to travel between the library and retreat center. He could be here anytime to look for me. I ducked off the trail to take the overgrown spur to the witch’s circle.

The witch’s circle was cool, even in the heat of the summer afternoon. Tall firs ranged thickly above. I leaned against the rugged bark of a strong old tree and closed my eyes.

How could I draw Lise to me? I didn’t have her phone number, and I didn’t have a book to draw magic from to fuel a spell. However, we were both witches, bound by centuries of shared experience, even if she was just beginning to be aware of it.

Her power came from scent. That’s where I’d start.

I closed my eyes and inhaled. Rodney’s purrs kicked up a notch. The fir trees breathed a damp, piney aroma, almost like incense. Below me, the balsamic fragrance of dried needles was tinged with hay. Charcoal and the lingering rose and sandalwood of magic drifted from where I’d burned Beata’s linens—and where Tyrone’s body had been found.Lise, come, I willed.