Gone With the Witch (10 page)

Her eyes widened, and she scrounged in her backpack and came up with a mirror. “Take a look.”

I angled my body to get the best light in the mirror and took a peek. “Oh. My. God.”

On the left side of my head, a thin streak of brilliant silver hair framed my face, from scalp to split end.

“Wha— How?” I stammered, still staring. The silver practically glowed like neon against my dark hair.

“I don't know,” Starla said. “It wasn't there when I saw you earlier, so I just assumed you went to the Magic Wand.”

Well, I
hadn't
gone to the salon.

Which left only one explanation, really.

Magic.

“Do you know of any spells that would cause this?” I asked.

Shaking her head, she said, “None off the top of my head.” She cringed. “No pun intended.”

“What happened to the whole ‘do no harm' part of the Craft?” I said, talking fast. My heart was still pounding. I wasn't a vain person by any means, but it was a little disconcerting when your dark hair developed a streak of silver in the span of a few hours.

Starla shrugged. “I mean, it's not really harmful, is it? It looks good.”

“I'm thirty-one and my hair is turning silver! Right now it's a narrow streak, but who knows if my whole head will be silver tomorrow?”

“Okay, okay. We'll figure this out,” she said, talking low and slow as if she were some sort of negotiator in a hostage situation. “Ve might know. And if that fails, we'll send a note to the Elder. One way or the other we'll get this reversed.”

“But who cast the spell? Who did this to me? And why? Do you think it was Glinda? Dorothy?”

She let out a half chuckle, half snort. “You know I think either is capable of a lot worse than turning your hair silver. I'm surprised their antics haven't turned your whole head gray yet.”

Which was truly a very good point.

Then I thought of Harper and how suspiciously she'd been behaving when I called. Could she and Mimi have
been looking through spell books while I was away? Had I somehow become an unintended victim of a Spellcrafting lesson?

I handed the mirror back to Starla—I'd seen enough. In the grand scheme of what else had transpired today, my hair changing color was a drop in the bucket.

First the video of me, then Natasha's death, then Chip's poisoning . . .

Yes, definitely a drop. Maybe even a globule.

Taking a deep breath, I tried not to think about it too hard and willed Nick to hurry up. Right now all I wanted to do was go home. But first, I wanted to know what clues he'd found in Chip's apartment, if any.

Thinking of Glinda reminded me of the mysterious video, and I eyed Starla's camera sitting next to her. “Did you look at the pictures you took today at the Extravaganza?”

“I've been through every last one of them with a fine-tooth comb. I know you were worried about something to do with Ve and Evan on camera, but didn't see anything questionable. What had you worried?”

“They weren't visible in the pictures?”

“Visible? Like mortals, you mean?”

I nodded.

“No. Just their usual starbursts. Why?”

I held up a wait-a-sec finger and pulled my smartphone from my jean's pocket. A few swipes later, I had framed us in a selfie shot.

“What're you doing? You know this isn't going to turn out,” she said, sounding like a mother chiding her child.

“Say cheese!” I said loudly.

“Crazy lady!” she murmured between clenched teeth.

I captured the shot, pulled it up on the screen, and handed my phone to her.

The image of two wild-eyed women grinning like
hyped-up horses stared back at us. On closer reflection, the angle of the selfie hadn't been the best. Who knew we had such long faces?

With a gasp, she dropped the phone, and it clattered down three stone steps before coming to a stop.

“Oh!” Starla jumped up to retrieve it. After pushing a few buttons, she let out a deep breath. “It's okay! Don't worry.” Looking again at the picture, she said, “How? Why? Who . . . ?”

I shrugged.

“But why didn't Evan and Ve . . .”

I shrugged again.

“This is . . .” She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

As she sat back down, she looked at me and gasped again, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Her blue eyes had rounded with wonder.

“What now?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

I heard her swallow hard and then she reached into her backpack and pulled out the mirror once again. Wordlessly, she handed it over.

Bracing myself, I peeked at my reflection with one eye closed. The silver streak had widened. It was still thin, but there was definitely more silver hair than before.

“It . . . looks good,” Starla said in her best cheerleading voice.

I pretended not to hear the waver in her tone. Looking at her, I opened my mouth to tell her it was okay, but the words failed to come out. My eyebrows shot upward.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

I tapped my head where my silver streak started and handed her the mirror. She held it up and let out a guttural cry.

“What is
that
?” she shrieked.

“It's
très
chic,” I said, echoing her earlier comment.

She glared at me. “Don't make me push you off these steps, Darcy Merriweather.”

A thin strip of jet-black hair started at her part and swooped backward, blending with the rest of her blond hair wrapped in the ponytail.

“I look like a zebra!” she cried.

“A beautiful zebra.”

She pressed her eyes closed, and I swore I heard her counting to ten under her breath.

I motioned for my phone, and she slammed it into my hand. Testing a theory, I held up my phone and snapped another picture of only myself.

“What are you doing?” Starla asked, confusion lacing her tone.

“Did my streak get wider?”

She leaned in close to my head. “I think it did. Yes, it definitely did.”

I tucked my phone back in my pocket. “Well, now we know.”

“Know what?”

“The two are linked. The ability to be seen in pictures, and the changes in our hair.” It must have been why I hadn't noticed the streak before, after the photos at the Wisp. It had probably grown and widened with each captured image. The surveillance camera outside Baz's apartment had probably made the streak so visible.

Slowly Starla nodded.

“But we still don't know
why
,” I added. “Or who's behind the spell.”

She grabbed my hand and tugged me to my feet. “We have to go find Ve. She's bound to be done with the press by now.”

“I can't leave yet—I need to wait for Nick.”

“Darcy Merriweather, he knows where to find you.”

I hesitated.

“A zebra!” she cried. “And you're starting to look like Lily Munster.”

My jaw dropped. “You said it looked good.”

“Come on already!” She grabbed her camera and her backpack and pulled me along the sidewalk.

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see Nick chasing after us.

But all I saw was Vivienne Lucas.

She'd moved closer to the apartment building, and Audrey was happily sniffing bushes along the path.

Again, I wondered how much she knew.

I hoped my initial instinct that she wasn't involved in Natasha's death proved true.

But I knew from experience my instincts had been wrong before.

A
lmost to As You Wish, Starla and I came across Harper, who was standing behind Terry Goodwin's picket fence, in his front yard, poking around the bushes.

“Your hair,” Harper said, eyeing my head critically. “What in the world happened to it?”

“Long story.” I glanced at the shrubs. “What're you doing?”

My sister slowly blinked her owlish eyes. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

“Out here.” I swept my arms out. “In the bushes.”

“In the bushes?” She shrugged.

Again with the talking in circles. I narrowed my eyes. “What's going on?”

“Can you two sort this out later?” Starla cut in. “I have a date tonight with Vince, and I'd rather not show up looking like a My Little Pony gone wrong.”

Starla and mortal Vincent Paxton, owner of Lotions
and Potions, had been dating since last Halloween. I still had my doubts about Vince being a good choice for her, since he was a Seeker (a mortal who sought to become a Crafter), but he was slowly wearing down my defenses. He adored Starla. But if their relationship was to progress, they were going to face some pretty big obstacles.

Harper took a moment to study Starla's hair. “It's not a very good look for either of you.”

Starla said, “Don't make me come over this fence.”

“Don't shoot the messenger.” Harper held up her hands in surrender. “Just being honest.”

“Well, don't be. Starla's a little defensive about the hair thing right now,” I explained.

“Me?” Starla protested. “You were the one going on about doing no harm.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I faced my sister. Her deflective ploy had worked well—for a moment. “I'll tell you about the hair if you tell me what you're doing out here, searching the bushes.”

Harper looked positively pained. She hated when she was left out of the loop. “I, uh . . .”

Before she could say anything more, Mimi came trotting down Terry's driveway. “She's not in the backy—”

Her words abruptly stopped when she spotted Starla and me.

“Who's not back in the backyard?” I asked.

“Cookie!” Harper said quickly. “We're helping to look for Cookie. Harmony and Angela went past a little while ago while out searching, and we thought, hey, we'll help. We're very charitable that way.”

I raised an eyebrow. Charitable wasn't the word I'd been thinking.

Deceptive was more like it.

“Right. Cookie. Silly goat.” Mimi smiled wide and bright as she came to stand next to me. “Dudes, your hair!”

Starla groaned.

I was too exhausted from the day to even mind the “dudes” part of Mimi's sentence. She was, after all, thirteen. Even though she often seemed much older than her age, she occasionally threw around teenage lingo as if to remind us that she was still a little girl.

Especially when she knew she was doing something wrong.

Like lying.

I glanced toward As You Wish. “Where's Missy?”

“Missy's right in the side yard. Exactly where she's been since we got back from the Extravaganza,” Harper said, throwing Mimi a stern look.

A warning.

I sidestepped along the sidewalk to be able to see for myself. Missy sat at the fence, her nose sticking through a picket slat as she kept an eye on us. Higgins stood next to her, so tall that his head rose above the fence. He was drooling on the rosebushes.

Archie wasn't in his cage, or I would have asked him what was going on. He had a loose beak when it came to village gossip.

Looking for another source, I glanced at Terry's house.

A front curtain swished closed. He'd been watching, as he usually did, but apparently he was keeping out of this.

My gaze skipped to my sister. She rocked on her heels and said, “How's Chip Goldman doing? What did Nick say? Was Chip poisoned like you thought?”

Ignoring her questions, I focused on Mimi. The wind had picked up, and it blew her dark spiral curls upward, swirling them like a mini tornado.

She gave me a tight toothy smile.

“What are you and Harper doing out here?” I asked her again.

Blinking her big brown eyes, she looked everywhere but at me. “Cookie,” she mumbled.

“Cyanide poisoning can be reversed if caught in time,” Harper went on, talking faster and faster. “It really depends on how big a dose Chip swallowed. The good thing is the doctors know they're dealing with cyanide. He's not some random patient who just collapsed. . . . That'll save time. And possibly his life, which is really your doing, Darcy. You saved his life! You're a hero!”

Harper was shoveling for all she was worth.

Starla crossed her arms. “We don't know that. Chip could be dead as a doornail right now.”

Harper blew out a breath of defeat, then perked up again. “And isn't that a strange saying? Dead as a doornail? Where'd that even come from?”

Starla threw me a your-sister-has-gone-crazy look.

It was possibly true, but I didn't think so in this instance. She was trying to fast-talk her way out of an explanation.

Looking for Cookie, my foot.

I stepped toward Mimi, close to her face, forcing her to look at me. She was the weak link between her and my sister. “Mimi . . . ,” I began, drawing out her name.

Abruptly, she grabbed my hands. “We're sorry! We didn't mean for it to happen! One minute we went to check on Missy outside because you know how she likes to run away, and—”

“Mimi!” Harper interrupted.
“Pzzzt!”

That method apparently worked better on Saint Bernards than teenagers, because Mimi rambled on undeterred.

“—and the minute the door opened, Titania slipped right past us and was over the fence before we even got off the por—”

My jaw dropped. “You lost Titania? That's what this is all about?”

Harper coughed. “Technically, we didn't lose her. Technically, she ran away.”

“
Technically
,” I said, trying to keep calm, “it's the same thing. She's gone.”

Harper shifted on her feet. “Then, yes, I suppose we lost her.”

Poor Titania. First the trauma of her owner dying, now this. She wasn't even wearing a collar, because I'd taken off the jeweled one she'd worn at the Extravaganza. If someone found her, they wouldn't know who to call. What if that person took her to the pound? Or . . . kept her.

I had to make posters as soon as possible.

Mimi nodded. Fat teardrops filled her eyes. “We're sorry. We've been looking everywhere. Aunt Ve and Archie are helping. We wanted to find her before you got back, but . . . we couldn't.”

I inhaled, exhaled. Getting angry wasn't going to help this situation at all, and it wasn't as though she'd been lost on purpose. How many times had I lost track of Missy? Accidents happened.

Putting my arm around Mimi, I said, “It's okay. Where have you looked?”

“We've been around the main village loop three times.” Mimi pivoted and pointed in different directions. “Archie's been looking in the outer neighborhoods. Aunt Ve is checking closer to the playhouse. We thought if you saw her you wouldn't get suspicious.”

“Hold up, now,” Starla said, tapping her foot. “Does this mean Ve's not home?”

Harper abandoned the search of the hedges and walked over to us. “Nope. She should be back soon. We've been rendezvousing every half hour.”

“How soon until the next check-in?” Starla asked.

Harper checked the time on her cell phone. “Ten minutes. Why?”

“The hair.” I pointed to my silver stripe. “We're hoping Ve has answers.”

“Hey, now that you know why Mimi and I are out here,” Harper said, glancing between Starla and me, “you can tell us about your hairstyles. What's with the freaky streaks? It's not a good look. On either of you.”

“I like it,” Mimi murmured.

Harper said to her, “I guess it's nice. If you're a skunk.”

“Darcy,” Starla said sweetly, bumping me with her shoulder. “Why don't you
show
Harper what the streaks are all about?”

I glanced at my friend, knowing immediately what she was asking. I thought, given the circumstances, that it was a splendid idea and tossed out some bait. “Oh, I don't know. I don't think Harper would want to know about the spell. . . . You know how she feels about the Craft in general.”

“Spell?” Mimi perked up. “What spell?”

Mimi loved spells. The girl would have made an excellent Spellcrafter, truthfully. Fortunately, she could still practice spells. Her mother, Melina, had left behind a diary of spells and other Craft secrets that kept Mimi endlessly occupied.

Curiosity blazed in Harper's eyes. “Yeah, what spell?”

I knew my sister well. Although Harper wanted little to do with the Craft, she couldn't stand being denied knowledge. I reeled her in.

“That's the thing,” I said, trying to sound innocent. “We know nothing of the spell, so we're hoping Ve will. All we know is that we're now visible in pictures. Let me show you how it works.” I pulled out my phone, pointed it at my sister, and snapped a few photos.

Harper grabbed the phone to look at the images. Amazement accented her words. “How is this even
possible? This is incredible. Think of the possibilities. Drivers' licenses. Baby albums. Weddings. This opens a whole new world for us. Pictures on the mantel,” she said on a sigh. “Christmas cards!”

I didn't point out that she didn't have a mantel in her apartment and that she didn't send Christmas cards. She was too happy with the images she was creating in her mind. The way she talked about baby albums and wedding photos made me wonder if she had those things weighing on her mind these days. Her boyfriend, Marcus, would be mighty happy to hear the sappy tone of her voice right now.

Suddenly, her eyebrows dipped low, she pressed her lips together, and her jaw slid to the right.

It was an expression I knew well—as I'd witnessed it many times during her upbringing. Harper hated to cry, so she screwed up her face every which way to prevent tears from falling.

“Harper?” I asked. “You okay?”

She waved off my concern. “It's just . . . Mom.”

Ah. I understood. Harper had never seen our mother and had no memories to fall back on, as she had been born the day our mother died. As Wishcrafters, we had no photographs of those we loved. If this spell had been around long before now, all that would be different. It was one thing for Aunt Ve or me to describe what our mother looked like and another for Harper to see her image with her own eyes.

I was currently drawing a family portrait that I hoped would change all that. It wasn't a photo, of course, but it was as close to one as possible. I planned to give the drawing to Harper at Christmas, my gift to her of finally being able to see our mother. It wouldn't be the same as having a photo album that highlighted our mother's life, but I hoped she loved the portrait as much as I did. Or at the very least felt the love I'd put into creating it.

“Yeah,” Mimi agreed. “Pictures of my mom would be nice.”

Harper nodded, still staring at the phone.

We all stood in silence for a moment, silently mourning our lack of photographic family history. It was a small price to pay for the abilities we possessed, but it was still a price.

“Uh, Harper . . . ,” Mimi said, ending our reverie as she gawked at Harper's head. “Your . . .”

Harper glanced up. “What?”

Reaching in her backpack for the mirror, Starla held it out. “Welcome to the freaky streak club.”

Harper snatched the mirror out of Starla's hand and let out a noise that was halfway between a scream and a cry. A silver strand of hair skimmed her face, from scalp to razor-cut end. Her streak wasn't as dramatic as mine and Starla's simply because Harper's hair was shorter, but it was still very noticeable.

“Take a picture of me,” Mimi exclaimed. “I want a streak!”

Smiling, I put my arm around her again. “Let's wait until we talk to Ve. Hopefully, she knows what's going on. I just want to make sure there aren't any other consequences to our pictures being taken.”

Harper was still staring at herself in the mirror. She peeked over the top of it at me. “You knew this would happen when you took the picture, didn't you?” she accused.

“Yep,” I said.

“How's that for honesty?” Starla added.

Harper glowered. “It stinks.”

“Exactly,” Starla said succinctly. “Exactly.”

“Girls!” a voice shouted from down the block. “Yoo-hoo!”

We all turned in that direction.

“I found her!” Aunt Ve said triumphantly. A wiggling
Titania was sandwiched between Ve's arms and her mighty bosom.

I nearly sagged with relief. I hated thinking of the cat out there on her own.

I'd become attached.

Which wasn't a good thing. She wasn't mine to keep.

“She was lurking around Natasha's apartment building, poor thing,” Ve said as she approached. Copper tendrils of hair were stuck to Ve's red cheeks, which were flushed from exertion. Her eye makeup was smudged, and she still wore the wrap dress she'd had on at the Extravaganza.

It had been a long day for everyone.

“Oh, and I need to call Harmony and Angela. I spotted Cookie trotting down Incantation Circle, all la-di-da and having the time of her life, but I couldn't grab her because my hands were full with this one.” At that, she transferred Titania over to me. The cat looked into my eyes, rolled belly-up in my arms, and started purring.

Maybe I didn't even have to mention her to Natasha's sister. . . .

Ve dusted off her hands and took a good look at us all. “Before I forget, Darcy, I ran into Glinda Hansel, who asked me to tell you that she'll stop by tomorrow for the pen. She said you'd know what she meant.” Ve paused a beat. “What's she mean, dear?”