A Witch Axe to Grind Read online

  The dog hung his head in embarrassment. Tink scratched him behind the ears. “Not your fault. My bad. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Promise.”

  “Josie, get the mop,” Christa cried in the other direction.

  The animal looked up at Tink with the kind of gratitude only a dog could muster. Tink’s kissy-face response made Nann want to gag even more than the odoriferous pee. She faced Christa, who took it all in with professional detachment. She pulled some sheets from the printer beside her and snapped them to a clipboard. Nann filled out the forms, trying to breathe through her mouth. A young woman with the look of a harried volunteer pushed a yellow wheeled bucket into the lobby.

  “Not that dog again,” she said under her breath.

  Tink glowered.

  Nann used the bookstore address as she scrawled through the paperwork. Christa tapped the edges of some pages together and put them in a folder. “Toast has been neutered and chipped. We offer a free checkup at the veterinary hospital next door, but it has to be completed within two weeks. That includes a distemper shot and flea treatment.”

  “Okay,” Nann said, finishing the paperwork. Not gonna happen. “Where’s my cat?”

  “Annette!” Christa shouted.

  The woman who chased Tink’s new dog around appeared with a folder. “Okay, it’s not too late to back out. But... the dog is yours now.”

  Tink took the folder. “It says Dog, Male, where the name is supposed to be.”

  “It sounded better than Puppy Number Six. He was rescued from a puppy mill,” the woman said. Her badge read Caroline. No smiley face.

  “That’s so sad,” Tink said. She faced the dog. “What’s your name, boy?”

  The dog made a whiny noise and a quiet bark.

  “Primrose?” Tink said. She squinted at Nann. “Did you hear Primrose?”

  Nann humored her. “That’s exactly what I heard.”

  “That’s a boy dog...” Caroline said. Then shrugged.

  Nann felt a sneeze coming on and fumbled in her conjure bag. Poor Josie worked at the lake of dog pee. Caroline sat down at a computer, changing the dog’s name. Christa cast around for Annette and Toast.

  And then everything stopped. With a groan and a clatter, a door marked “Employees Only” flung open. From behind, an older man staggered, and then fell to the floor. For a split second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. In that instant before all hell broke loose, Nann couldn’t help but notice two wounds on the man’s neck. They looked like puncture wounds.

  They looked like a vampire bite.

  Chapter 3

  Since the sheriff substation was just down the street, it took only minutes for the cops to secure the scene. Shelter workers and volunteers covered the body with a number of dog and cat blankets. Nann had received her box of cat. She sat on a bench in the lobby trying to get a look at Toast through the air holes. Primrose gave the box a few curious sniffs. Nann felt no reaction from within the carrier. “I hope they gave me a live cat.”

  Tink absently stroked her new dog’s head. “What is it with you?”

  “What?”

  “Every time we hang out, somebody drops dead.”

  Nann felt a jolt. “That’s not true.”

  Tink ticked on her fingers. “You arrived here at the same time they pulled that dead boy out of the woods. You drag me to a boring town council meeting, and the president of the papermill drops dead in front of us. You invite me to a big party, and there’s a human skeleton under the barbecue. Now this guy.”

  “We have lunch at Margie’s all the time. No one drops dead. You do an oil change on Cricket, no one drops dead. Nobody died at Zinnia’s gallery show.” She wanted to point out that the skeleton in the outdoor kitchen of her ceremonial space was hardly human, nor could a ten-year-old skeleton be considered dropping dead. The points seemed moot.

  “It’s like you got Nancy Drew Disorder, or Jessica Fletcher Syndrome, Miss Fisher Malady.”

  “I’ll take the Miss Fisher reference. The Roaring Twenties one, not the new one.”

  “But you know what I mean? I spent my entire previous life with no one being murdered in front of me, but since you got here—”

  “You don’t think it’s me, do you? Do you really think Nancy Drew or Jessica Fletcher are somehow responsible for the murders they solve?”

  “Well, no. Firstly, because they’re fictional characters. I don’t remember Nancy Drew solving murders, she just came to mind. If you were a police officer, it would make more sense. But you own a bookstore. It’s just really weird. Am I crazy, or isn’t it just really weird? Did you run across a lot of murder in Brooklyn?”

  Apparently, Keith Schwenk had the same idea in mind as Tink. When the deputy strode into the lobby, he did a double take, giving Nann sharp eyes and a frown. Nann held up her box of cat and shrugged. It was her only defense. He turned away with a head-shake. Nann absolutely did not stare at his butt.

  “You’re kinda freaking me out, here. I mean, the whole Druid code is to improve my life, and my community. I do that, right? When you think about it, even if an old skeleton was found in my backyard, you met Manuel then. And after Roger Payne died, the mill started up, leaner and greener. There is a balance, right, but kinda leaning toward the positive?”

  Tink rubbed Primrose’s head. “Okay, I can see it that way.” She turned to baby talk. “Especially when I met my wittle puppy-wuppy, right boy? Who’s a good boy? You must be a special dog if you like Pretes.”

  “Speaking of Pretes, you did catch the bite on the dead guy’s neck, right?”

  Nann nodded. “Looks pretty vampire-y. But it’s afternoon.”

  “And the Cemetery Center vampire is stuck, surrounded by hallowed ground,” Tink said. “So maybe something else bit the guy.”

  The guy, moaned the occasional shelter employee, was Poor Mr. Perkins. Nann tried to overhear whispered conversations. “The dead guy must have been a regular here, if all the shelter employees know him.”

  Tink frowned thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Maybe he adopted a lot of animals. Or made a lot of donations.”

  Nann nodded. “Even the oblivious teenage volunteers seem to know him. That might mean that one of them knows what happened to him.”

  “Not a word.” Keith suddenly appeared on the bench between them. He reached out, rubbing Primrose’s head.

  “About the bite mark?”

  “Alleged bite mark. I don’t want any talk of vampires around town. The VHS is goofy enough as it is. I don’t want them all stirred up.”

  VHS, the Van Helsing Society, or perhaps just plain old Vampire Hunter Society, met irregularly on the third floor of Amity Center. Their meeting table was Charlotte the vampire’s marble coffin. The society was indeed goofy, and tended to think “vampire” whenever a supernatural event occurred in Amity Corners. Which was frequently.

  “We won’t say a word,” Tink said.

  Nann crossed her heart.

  “I’ll need statements from both of you, but I’ve got enough to do right now. I’ll be in touch.” He rose as Leona Cleve, the county coroner, arrived with two men and a gurney in tow.

  “He is so into you it almost hurts,” Tink said.

  Nann made a face. “How do you get that from ‘I’ll need statements from both of you, but I’ve got enough to do right now’?”

  “The romance is hanging in the air, thicker than the scent of dog urine and disinfectant. Trust me, I’m a Fae. I know things.”

  Ten minutes later, Tink, Nann, Primrose and Toast crushed into the cab of Tink’s truck. It maybe took the same amount of time to drive from the shelter to the bookstore. Halfway there, Primrose began to whine urgently.

  “Uh, Tink, you better pull over.”

  “What, again?” She jerked to the curb and jumped out. Primrose leapt after her. With a squat and a shake, the giant dog did his business on the sidewalk.

  Nann leaned out the passenger window. It was a lot of business. She should have so much business at the
store. “You got a bag?”

  Tink’s brows lowered. “A bag? For what?”

  “You gotta curb your dog, Tink. It’s the law.”

  “Curb? By that do you mean I have to pick up his poop?” Tink looked down. “I’m gonna need a lawn-n-leaf bag.”

  “Welcome to dog ownership.”

  Tink folded her arms. “I really have to pick up his poop. Huh.”

  She found a bunched up plastic grocery bag in the bed’s tool caddy.

  “You put your hand in the bag and grab the poo,” Nann instructed. “Then turn the bag inside out and tie it up.”

  Tink went to work. “You sound like an expert. You do this for your pig?”

  Nann went silent. Tink raised her brows. “Where does Pokey poop, Nann?”

  Nann didn’t know, and suddenly, she realized she was just fine with not knowing. As Tink did the poop scoop, Nann also felt a little bit happy that her allergy pills were wearing off.

  Chapter 4

  Nann had put off this favor to Marquise Charlotte for some time. But with the adoption event falling on the new moon, her usual visiting day with the vampire, she had run out of excuses. An obstacle had been placed in the path of Nann getting rid of the box of cat. Word about the puncture wounds had gotten out, apparently. The VHS were holding a meeting in their usual place—with beers atop the lid of a coffin, beneath which slumbered a vampire. Of course, it now being after dark, Charlotte did not slumber. The thought of being stuck in the coffin with a bunch of guys leaning on the lid gave Nann a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.

  By the time the meeting broke up and the cars drove away, it was after ten o’clock. Nann hurried up to the third floor, box of cat in hand. When she entered the foyer of Charlotte’s apartment, she saw the lid askew.

  “Aidez-moi, Nann. Assistance!”

  She set the box of cat down and hurried to the coffin. “Are you hurt? Did they stake you?”

  “No, but they left their beer bottles on my lid! Baise ces salauds!”

  Nann gathered up the empties. “There you go.”

  Charlotte leapt out. “C’est profanation! Quelle bande de crétins.”

  While Nann didn’t speak any French, she knew that Charlotte used a lot of it when she was annoyed. It probably wasn’t complimentary.

  Marquise Charlotte was all glowing red eyes and pointy fangs. Nann nearly took a step back from her full court press vampire. But when Charlotte spied the carrier near the door, she humaned right up. “Est-ce que c’est mon chaton? Allo, kitty, kitty.”

  In a blur, Charlotte moved to the carrier and opened it. Nann was curious, since she hadn’t actually seen the cat yet. When Charlotte dragged him out by the scruff, Nann almost took a step back again.

  Toast had bug-eyes, bright blue and crossed, ears that looked half-flat, and a terrible coat of brown and black. Charlotte turned the cat around, examining him.

  “What name did they give him at the shelter?”

  Nann couldn’t take her eyes off the ugly cat. “Uh... Toast.”

  “Ah. Toast. Like the pain grille, not the boire à la santé, eh?” Charlotte raised her other hand as if it had a champagne flute in it. “Come. I have a trade for you.”

  The vampire led the way to the boarded-up living room door and easily opened it with a squeal of nails. Beyond was a comfortable room dominated by a big screen TV on the mantle. Charlotte flipped the cat on her shoulder and did a little hand clap. The lamps came on. “Ah, let’s take a look at you, Toast. I see a bit of Scottish Fold in your ears, Siamese in your eyes and coat.”

  To Nann’s shock, the vampire seemed to like the cat. But she worried for Charlotte. “I don’t think cats like it when you look them in the eyes like that. He’s new. He might scratch you.”

  “Ah, but we are both creatures of the night, predators.” Charlotte waved her fingers in front of the cat. “Tuer les souris, Toast.”

  When she put Toast down, the cat immediately began stalking under the furniture. It seemed quite at home in the vampire’s lair. After a few moments, it padded into the kitchen. Nann heard the crunch of cat food.

  “And for you, Nann.” Charlotte reached for something behind the sofa. She put a coffin-shaped box in Nann’s arms. It was about the right size and shape for a cat coffin.

  “Chocolates?” Nann hoped.

  “If you would be a dear and bury Sparky in the corner of the lot,” Charlotte said. “She was forever looking at that tree, the ones where the bats live.”

  Nann cringed inwardly and set the cat coffin on the floor. “Sure.”

  “Merci,” Charlotte bowed. “Tea?”

  “Oh, no thanks. I’m sure Pokey is starving to death. But I need to ask you—is there a vampire in town?”

  Charlotte tilted her face. “Other than moi? Non, of course not. I would sense it.”

  “Sense it how?”

  Ugly-ass Toast wandered back into the living room, rubbing against Charlotte’s ankles. She smiled down at the cat. “I would simply know. It’s, how do you say? A thing.”

  Nann wasn’t fully satisfied with her answer. “This town has quite a history of vampires.”

  “Oui, and that history?” Charlotte flung out her hands, palms up, and did a little curtsey. “C’est moi. But as you know, I am stuck in this building. The only vampire in Amity Corners.”

  Reluctantly, Nann grabbed the surprisingly heavy mortal remains of Sparky. She didn’t know whether to believe Charlotte about other vampires—but who else would know?

  “There is a shovel in the corner of the loading dock,” Charlotte called after her. “Merci, Nann, merci.”

  After climbing two flights of stairs and walking around the wide exterior of Amity Center, Nann felt sweat trickle down her back. Awesome. The loading dock was no longer in use. Utility lines dropped too low over the one-way alley to allow trucks. There was a neon TATTOO sign over the back door to Tom’s shop. The blue light allowed her to pick out the shovel leaning against the wall.

  With both hands full, she was unable to swat at the mosquitoes whining past her ears. She smelled rain on the breeze. Could this get more awesome? Just in case it could, she carefully checked the tall pine trees in the corner for any sign of bats. When she moved a low bough aside, she found the edge of a teeming pet cemetery.

  On closer inspection, a collection of rocks dotted the space both beneath and between the three standing pine trees. Above, a fine line of orange red crescent moon didn’t give her enough light to really see what she was doing. Names were painted on those rocks, but none that she could make out. Hoping like crazy that she wasn’t about to drive the spade head through a feline skeleton, she dug a hole.

  “Shuck. My. Corn!” Nann took a break, panting. “Why is this so hard?”

  “Deeper.”

  Up in a third-floor window, Nann caught the red glow of Charlotte’s eyes, the blueish reflection of Toast’s eyes shine. Nann knew she had to dig deeper. Instead of shooting Charlotte the bird, she returned to her labor. When the hole was two feet around and three feet deep, she swiped the sweat off her face and put the coffin inside. After taking a moment to catch her breath, a ceremony came to her:

  Mistress Moon, guide your new servant Sparky with play

  So that she may cross over and not lose her way

  Bast and Ceridwin take her, so she’s never stray

  Hard bone turn to ashes, and soft fur turn to clay

  She stuck her shovel in the moved soil and gazed over her shoulder. Charlotte and Toast no longer viewed her from the window. As the night winds picked up, she quickly buried Charlotte’s late cat. “I’ll paint your name on a rock later,” she said, winded again. “Promise.”

  Chapter 5

  She got to the store early the next day. The deadline to get her ad in the paper was coming up. Hand on her aching lower back, she sent over her copy to the ad department. Nann hoped they made it look good. It would run Tuesday through Friday. With a little luck, the local angle and Nick’s good looks would draw a
crowd.

  While she waited for the proofs, she set about packing the overnight orders. By chance, she had come across a garage sale earlier in the summer that had a couple cartons of rare books. Nann had bought them for five bucks a box. One she was sending out, Dissertations on the Fundamental and Occult Rites of the Algonquin, published in 1899, sold for three hundred dollars. She really needed to get out more. Her occult section was looking a little bare, and for whatever reason, the local area was populated with people interested in magic.

  Humming a tuneless song of triumph, she wrapped the book and boxed it for the mailman. As she turned to set it on the little table by the front door, she nearly dropped her parcels with a gasp. A man stood just inside the door. Nann hadn’t heard the bell jangle.

  He smiled at her. Nann smiled back. In his hands were two large cartons. Probably someone looking to sell a collection. Something about him seemed familiar, despite the sunglasses.

  “Nann Szymanski?”

  “Yes..?”

  “Nick O’Broin.”

  The publicity shot showed O’Broin with a trimmed beard. This man was clean shaven. She looked closely for pores. Then caught herself. “Sorry, where is my brain this morning? Here, set those on the counter.”

  “My publisher thought I would look wiser with a beard. Thus the photo. I found it didn’t suit me.”

  “Are these your books? I ordered a case. It should be here today.”

  “The university press only offers a twenty percent discount. These are some author copies. I really don’t need that many.”

  Nann was thrilled. “Can I offer you the standard discount?”

  “You can have them. This is my first signing. I’m trying to get in good with independent bookstores.”

  “Free books is a really good way.” She shook his hand. Nick had a firm grip. Nann found him more striking without the beard. He really was a good-looking guy. Maybe not as swoon-worthy as Zinnia made him out to be.

  Nick put his shades on top of his head revealing eyes the color of a summer storm. He wore a military-style jacket with no insignias, acid washed jeans and Beatle boots. Nann noted an earpiece in one ear, and wondered if he had a hearing problem.