Witching Your Life Away Read online

  Chloe at least understood the limits of their shared ability, and conceded that it was potentially true. If Sheriff Larson did resist the compulsion, he’d be less vulnerable to it the next time. Better to keep the conditions the same each time they tried it.

  For the second time, Darla Simmons was agog as Sheriff Larson agreed to let them speak with Candi, and this time stared at Bailey until she and Ryan were around the corner and out of her sight. Bailey had to wonder at what point Darla might start raising questions. But that was a problem that hadn’t presented itself yet—whereas there were plenty that already had. Best to deal with the disasters of the moment.

  Candi had bags under her eyes and rather than staring helplessly into some inner abyss like Delbert and Michael had, she was pacing her cell when Ryan and Bailey were taken to her. She looked up at first hopefully, but when she saw her visitors her expression fell again. “Oh,” she said. “I thought… who are you?”

  “Ryan Robinson, Miss Price,” Ryan said. “This is my daughter and… intern, Bailey.”

  “Ryan Robinson,” Candi repeated. “The journalist. I see. You’re here to interview me for the paper.”

  The guard had returned to his post at the far end of the hall. Bailey lowered her voice and turned her back to him. “Actually, Miss Price,” she said carefully, “I have reason to believe that what happened wasn’t actually your fault.”

  Candi blinked. Her eyes teared up. “You do? Oh, God… I thought I was crazy. I thought… wait, why? What happened to me?”

  “It’s complicated,” Bailey said. More than complicated, in fact, but even trying to scratch the surface would only waste time they didn’t have. “I have some questions that might seem a little strange, but they’re important.”

  Candi gave her a doubtful look, but at length she nodded once.

  Bailey opened her mind, focusing on Candi’s presence in front of her, just grazing the surface of the woman’s thoughts where she felt Candi’s confusion, trepidation and… something else. A kind of psychic itch that Bailey didn’t have a comparison for. It was hard not to get distracted by, though, now that she shared it. “Ah…” she had to center herself, withdraw just a bit to get some distance, “…what were you thinking just before you… before what happened with Nancy?”

  Candi looked at her feet and then away, around the cell. “It’s hard to say. I was… reminiscing. Thinking about the old days.”

  “The old days?” Bailey urged. “What specifically?”

  The woman shrugged, “Nancy and I danced together. From when we were little girls. Ballet. We’re both retired now, and we’d been good friends for so long that we moved back here. You know we run the Grove Coast Dance Studio together, right?”

  Bailey didn’t, but nodded anyway. She’d never been keen on dancing, though, come to think of it there was a fourth of July parade that always seemed to have a cadre of girls in tutus pirouetting on the back of a float. “You were thinking about dancing with Nancy, back then?”

  Candi nodded slowly.

  “I know this is probably sensitive,” Bailey said, sensing something just under the surface of Candi’s thoughts; a current of emotion, or the echo of one at least as she remembered it, “but how were you feeling as you remembered that?”

  “Feeling?” Candi asked, her eyebrows knitting.

  Supremely uncomfortable with sounding like she was making some pretty forward presumptions, Bailey clarified gently. “Like… jealousy, or envy. Maybe like… Nancy owed you something, or that she’d taken something away. Feelings like that.”

  Candi snorted. “Well… sure. I mean, I was the better dancer. I always have been. But look at me. I’ve got wide hips, I’ve always been top heavy. My hair is plain instead of golden blond. Technically, I’m a master, but Nancy was the pretty one, the one who looked the palest in the spotlight, so she was the white swan, and Sylphide, and Nikiya, and I was always in the back, dancing perfectly but hidden away from the spotlight so I didn’t show up the beautiful Nancy Partain.” She sighed. “Thirty eight years of ballet, and you know I have never once danced a lead?”

  Bailey blinked at the short tirade. The shadows had left Candi, hadn’t they? Had they come back? How would she know? “Uh… I can see how that would be frustrating,” she said as she combed her weary mind for some way to find out. As she did, the other detail she’d meant to ask about came to mind. “This is also going to sound… maybe out of left field but there was a pair of ballet slippers?”

  Candi’s eyes lit up. “Did you bring them?”

  “Did I bring you the ballet slippers?” Bailey asked, caught off guard.

  “The slippers,” Candi said, “their antiques. They belonged to Tanaquil le Clercq. She wore them when she danced Choleric in The Four Temperaments. The original.”

  “Choleric?” Bailey frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Choleric,” Candi sighed. “That was her character. There was a dancer for each of the temperaments. But Tanaquil was… ethereal. The most brilliant dancer of the twentieth century. And I have her slippers. Did you get them from my house? I think they’re upstairs, maybe in my room, I can’t… really remember, but if you find them you could bring them to me, couldn’t you?”

  Bailey’s eyebrows had slowly risen as Candi crept close enough to the bars of the cell that she was nearly pressed against them. Her eyes were shiny and wet, and a pleading note had slipped into her voice.

  Ryan was watching carefully, pad in hand, taking notes. He glanced up at Bailey and they shared a short look of mutual concern.

  Bailey nodded slowly. “I’ll look for them,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do. Um… where did you get them?”

  “Oh, from mister Dove,” Candi said. She smiled. “They were a gift. I… danced for him. I can still manage, a little. He liked it so much he said I could have them.”

  “That was kind of him,” Bailey said, with more enthusiasm than she realized she actually felt. Of course, it was very generous, if the slippers really were somehow connected to someone so apparently famous—at least in certain circles. They must have been quite valuable, assuming they were genuine.

  There was a tickle in the back of her head, somewhere deep down. Some elusive piece of this puzzle that she was almost certain she would recognize if she could just put her finger on it. But when she tried to concentrate on seeing the big picture, it slipped away. Luckily, Ryan had made notes. They could put their heads together, all of them, and figure it out.

  “Thank you for speaking with us, Candi,” Bailey said. “I ah… I’ll look for the slippers.”

  “Bring them to me when you find them,” Candi said. “Don’t try to keep them for yourself.”

  Bailey blinked, taken aback until she reminded herself that Candi was under the influence of… something. “I won’t,” Bailey assured her. “I promise.”

  That seemed to sooth Candi a little bit, at least. The guard left his post, and walked toward them, tapping his watch.

  “We have to go, Candi,” Bailey told the woman. “Um, should I say something to Nancy for you?”

  Candi bit her lip, considering. “Yes,” she said after a moment, just as the guard reached them. “Tell her I should have been Sylphine.”

  She continued to mutter it over and over again as Bailey and Ryan left her, and Bailey could hear it until the door to the jail closed behind them.

  Chapter 12

  Chloe, Ryan, and Bailey left the Sheriff’s department and met with the other witches and, to Bailey’s surprise, Aiden and Avery at the Bakery. Both wizards looked every bit as exhausted as the rest of them.

  Aiden gave her a long, meaningful look when they saw one another, but made no move to touch her even though the near magnetic need for comfort was tangible to Bailey. Chloe didn’t seem to notice; or if she did, she didn’t say anything. They could normally read one another’s surface emotions without trouble, unless they were intentionally closed off; which took consistent effort when it came to t
heir particular connection.

  Coffee was already made, as well as fresh bread and pastries. The Bakery wouldn’t officially open for another couple of hours, thankfully, so they had time to convene without interruption. Knowing that made Bailey somehow more tired; the town wasn’t even awake yet.

  But trying to rest now would possibly cost them time they didn’t have.

  “Updates from everyone,” Bailey said. “If you have them.”

  Ryan took out his pad, and licked the tip of his pen, intent on continuing to keep notes.

  “What did you learn from Candi?” Aria asked.

  “That she’s unstable,” Bailey said.

  “Like the other two?” Aiden asked.

  Bailey shook her head. “No. They seemed to be past it, to be… regretful about what had happened. Candi was still angry. Just like Delbert and Michael, her whole problem was something that happened years ago. Old issues that must have burrowed deep and stayed there until these shadow beings drew them out. Candi’s beef was nearly thirty years old.”

  “Did she show any desire to go to the caves?” Avery asked. “She attacked Nancy there, in the house, right? So, that doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  Aiden rubbed his chin thoughtfully, listening.

  “It doesn’t,” Bailey said. “She did talk about something else, though, about some ballerina. Tanickle, or—”

  “Tanaquil le Clerqu,” Ryan provided, tapping a page of his notes. “A famous ballerina. Specifically her slippers.”

  “Right,” Bailey said, snapping her fingers. How could she have forgotten that? “The slippers. She went almost full Gollum about them. She wanted me to bring them to her. Never even asked how Nancy was doing. But she was concerned about them.”

  “They were a gift from Mister Dove,” Ryan added.

  “Right,” Bailey said. “So there’s a good chance they’re genuine.”

  “Possibly cursed?” Aria offered.

  Bailey nodded. “Extremely, it looks like. Maybe they drew the shadows?”

  Ryan interjected softly. “Delbert Finn also was in proximity to an antique. A civil war era firearm. Which he also came into possession of by way of Mister Dove’s shop.”

  “That’s right,” Bailey said slowly. “I… it’s funny, I… somehow forgot about that as well.”

  “You’re exhausted,” Aiden said softly. “It’s alright. It’s good Ryan was there to take notes. We might benefit from taking up that habit ourselves.”

  It was more than that, Bailey knew, but the words she needed to express it were slippery and wouldn’t form. She gave up as another thought occurred to her. “Michael didn’t have an antique of some kind on him, did he?”

  Avery shrugged, and shared a look with Aiden before he produced what looked like small leather bag. “We found it on the scene,” he said.

  Bailey took it from him. It was weighted, and when she looked inside, she saw why—it was a bag of marbles. The leather was old, and soft, and the marbles inside it with their swirls of color had a classic kind of look to them.

  Everyone around her either took a small step back or leaned away. It was subtle, but noticeable.

  “They are inert,” Aiden said. “We tested them extensively. If there was some curse or enchantment, or if indeed these were in Michael’s possession at the time he committed the murder, then it must have served it’s purpose.”

  Ryan held his hand out, and Bailey passed the pouch to him. He frowned as he looked it over, and made a note on his pad. Then he set them down and stared at them with a look of confusion on his face. He clicked his pen several times, and then blinked as his expression cleared. “Does it work that way? Can a… curse, or whatever it is, get spent like that?”

  “It depends on the nature of the thing,” Aiden said. “But in theory, yes. There are other one-off spells. Curses and such tend to be meant for the long term, not to let up over time, naturally, as the point of them is to cause mischief, or mete out punishment to some sleight, be that real or imagined. So it is uncommon. But the principles necessary are extant.”

  “That’s a yes,” Avery clarified.

  “That’s what I said,” Aiden said, frowning.

  Bailey smiled at him, albeit weakly, and then bit her lip. What was it she was missing? Something.

  Chloe caught her eye. She was watching Bailey. “Are you alright?”

  Bailey nodded. “I’m just tired, I guess. It’s hard to think clearly. I keep feeling like I’m this close to realizing something but every time I try to put it into words it just—”

  “Eludes you,” Aiden said.

  Avery’s eyebrows came together. “I was going to say it gets stuck.”

  “Just now,” Ryan said, “I was trying to figure out how to put into words what I was thinking about these marbles and… I couldn’t.”

  Aria, Francis, and Chloe all stared at the four of them, and then admitted, one by one, to having a similar problem.

  Bailey felt a shiver course through her, and whether it was paranoia or an actual encounter, she almost swore she saw shadows flickering just out of sight, in the corner of her eye. “Right,” she said. “We know these shadows can affect people’s minds. Is it possible they’re… I don’t know, confusing us?”

  “I know five spells that can do something just like that,” Frances said. “I’ve had to use them a few times, to keep the coven a secret.”

  Ryan’s face paled slightly at that. “You mean… making people forget things?”

  Frances shook her head. “Not exactly, no. At least, it’s not something I can do. That’s more Chloe’s specialty, and some other witches. But for instance, you can enchant a place or a thing such that people can’t really notice it. Or if they do, they can’t remember it afterward.”

  “It has to do with the way the mind takes in information,” Aiden said. “Every object exists on this plane as well as several others, including the psychic plane; when you form memories, or remember a place or a thing, or even a name, it’s because metaphysically—”

  “Aiden,” Bailey said, shaking her head, “I think he gets it.”

  “I do, thank you,” Ryan affirmed. “And… we believe something like this may be at work?”

  “It’s the only reasonable explanation,” Chloe said. “For all seven of us to be unable to focus on a particular thing? There’s magic at work.”

  Ryan swallowed loudly. “Well. That’s… disturbing.”

  “To affect all of us,” Aiden said, “including two native psychics… yes. Disturbing is something of an understatement I’m afraid. This reeks of Faery glamour.”

  “From across the barrier?” Bailey asked.

  Aiden’s face grew grim. “No. That wouldn’t be possible. Not at this scale, and so general. Unless we’re on the brink of discovering something very, very specific, like a particular place or object… it would have to be cast from our side.”

  “So,” Bailey said, her stomach chilling, “that would mean… that… there’s a faerie here, in Coven Grove? On our side of the barrier?”

  “I cannot say that for certain,” Aiden said. “There may be some loophole in the barrier that they’re taking advantage of. But the simplest answer is often the closest to being correct.”

  “Occam’s razor?” Ryan wondered. “I’m surprised that applies with magic. Seems like the whole business is… outside the purview.”

  “Not so,” Aiden said. “It’s more difficult to perforate, for instance, a work like the barrier the Caves provide, than it would be to find a means of circumventing it entirely. Finding an opening.” He met Bailey’s eyes, and they were full of irritated regret.

  “You think,” she said quietly, “you think we may have caused this?”

  “It is possible,” Aiden said, “that when we opened the door briefly, to get into Faerie, and then came back across, we inadvertently provided the opportunity for an incursion.”

  “But they were able take Isabella,” Bailey countered. “They had to have a way of openin
g a door themselves already, it must have been weak in the first place.”

  “If that were the case, they would not have bothered to take the girl,” Aiden said.

  “The whole ordeal was a ruse,” Chloe breathed, horrified. “They knew we would send someone to find her.”

  “Pulling something through the planes isn’t the same as opening a door and going there,” Aiden said. “Warlocks prove this principle as a matter of course when they summon various entities from other planes into this one.”

  “And the barrier is our magic,” Francis said. “Our kind made it, so we can open and close the door. Faerie magic can’t touch it directly. They have to manipulate us into doing it for them.”

  “Or eliminate the anchor for the spells,” Aiden said.

  A tense, terrible silence fell over them all. So quiet that Bailey could hear them breathing, even over the sound of her own heartbeat.

  “Can we… is there a way to…” Bailey struggled with the idea forming in her head. It didn’t slip away, at least—it was just difficult to articulate because she really was close to losing consciousness again. “The shadows, at least, only exist on the astral. Is it possible we could ward them off somehow? Create some kind of charm?”

  “And pass them out to everyone in Coven Grove?” Aria asked. “It may be possible, but it isn’t exactly practical. There’s no physical boundary around the town, either. Maybe, if we anchored it to the roads… but the asphalt isn’t pure stone…” She began to chew the inside of her cheek as she worked through the problem in her head.

  “We could,” Aiden said slowly, “accomplish something like an area ward of that size if we… utilized the existing infrastructure of the Caves. It’s magic is zonal—it exerts a regional influence.”

  “No,” Chloe snapped. “We aren’t messing around with the magic of the Caves; not while there’s potentially a Faerie operative on our side of them. That may be exactly what they want us to do.”