Gone With the Witch (19 page)

N
atasha Norcliffe had lived in a studio apartment not far from Chip Goldman's building. I was due to meet with her sister, Alina, there in twenty minutes, so I figured I had time enough to make a quick stop at the Bewitching Boutique on my way over.

I needed to ask Pepe and Mrs. P about the possibility of a Craft I didn't know about, but I also wanted to ask a favor of Godfrey.

A crystal bell on the door chimed as I went inside, and Godfrey looked over at me. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and he quickly said something to the woman he'd been assisting, then rushed over to me.

“My darling, Miss Darcy, come with me. Come, come.” He took my hand and pulled me to the back room of the shop, one of my favorite places in the village. I glanced around at the hundreds of bolts of colorful fabrics, the shiny notions, and the tiny door carved into
the baseboard with a miniature bell hanging next to it. There was no doubt about it. The sewing room in the Bewitching Boutique was pure magic.

One chubby hand stroked his white beard, the other was set firmly on his hip as Godfrey looked me over. “I heard about your involvement with Baz Lucas' accident, but I thought certainly you would have hurried home to change by now.”

“No time,” I said. “Well, there
was
time, but I wasn't entirely mobile, what with the nausea and the dizziness.”

Godfrey rarely looked as if he hadn't just stepped out of a fancy men's magazine, and today was no different. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, designer shirt, silk tie. A pocket square poked out from the pocket of his suit coat, and his shoes shone so brightly that I almost needed to put on my sunglasses to look at them.

His white hair was thin in spots, but he worked with what he had, combing it into a modern-day pompadour. Rosy full cheeks, a big smile, and a trimmed beard almost fully distracted from his bulbous nose. His sympathetic gaze swept over me, still assessing.

“Nausea and dizziness from seeing blood?” he guessed.

“How'd you know?”

“For one, I know it's a weakness of yours. Secondly, the blood all over your clothes. It's enough to make
me
nauseated and dizzy.”

I glanced down and wished I hadn't. Rusty-looking bloodstains splattered my tank top, my shorts, my bare legs. I swayed. No wonder people had given me a wide berth at the Wisp.

Godfrey grabbed me by my shoulders and sat me on a rolling stool. “You're a mess. A disaster. I'll be right back. I need to close the shop for this.”

“For what? I don't have time—”

“Make time. This is an emergency.”

He zipped out of the room, and I wanted to put my head between my knees to quell the wooziness, but I didn't know if there was dried blood lurking there, too, so I closed my eyes instead.

“Doll! Holy walking crime scene. You look like you've been to war.”

I popped open an eye to find Mrs. P standing on the sewing table next to me. Pepe was just coming out of the door in the baseboard when he caught sight of me as well.

“
Ma chère
! Are you injured? Shall I call for Cherise?” With lightning speed, he climbed the leg of the table to stand next to Mrs. P.

“No, I'm fine,” I said, swiveling to face them head-on. “Nick's a little banged up, but he'll be okay. Baz is in surgery, but the doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery.”

“I still hold a grudge about the shoe incident,” Mrs. P said, “but I did not wish the man dead. I am glad he is going to be okay.”

“What of Vivienne?” Pepe asked. “Any word?”

“None.”

I heard the jingle of the crystal bell, and a second later, Godfrey burst through the velvet curtains that divided this area from the retail shop. “Now, now. I've turned the sign on the door to closed, so we have all the time we need. Where was I?” He clapped his hands twice and a glittery leather journal appeared in his palms. He flipped through the pages. “No, no, no. Ah yes. Here we go.”

“No, here
I
go. I'm meeting Natasha Norcliffe's sister about Annie in”—I glanced at the clock—“fifteen minutes. I can't stay. I just wanted to ask—”

“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time,” Godfrey cut in.

“Annie?” Pepe asked.

“Titania's new nickname,” I said to him, and couldn't help smiling.

“You're keeping her, doll?” Mrs. P asked.

“I hope to. I have to get Alina to sign off on it.”

“Do you have your checkbook on you?” Godfrey asked.

“What? No. It's at home,” I said. “Why?”

“In that case . . .” He clapped his hands twice and a checkbook appeared. He set it on the table, grabbed a pen from a cup holder, and signed his name with a flourish on a check. He tore it off and handed it to me. “You'll need this.”

I really needed to use that hand-clapping technique more. “A blank check?”

“I know you're good for it. Pay me back when you can. Alina is not the warm and fuzzy type in the least, so I doubt she wants the cat—the cat hair alone would probably make her homicidal—but she'll undoubtedly charge you up the wazoo for the honor of taking
Annie
off her hands. Perhaps one thousand? Two?” He glanced at Pepe for confirmation.

Pepe said, “Perhaps higher if you reveal your desperation
, ma chère
. Do not under any circumstances mention the nickname.”

“Heavens no!” Godfrey agreed. “She'll know she has you on the ropes if you do.”

I looked between them. “I don't understand. . . .”

Mrs. P sat on the edge of the table, her tail curved behind her, her tiny white feet dangling. “Alina is . . . How do I put this?”

“She's a con artist,” Godfrey supplied. “I recall once Alina tried to swindle me out of a designer dress by staining it in the dressing room herself and claiming it had already been damaged. She wanted a steep discount. I banned her from the store.”

“Alina used to live in the village?” I asked.

“Oui,”
Pepe said. “She and Natasha moved here some years ago, and Alina made no secret of her aspirations to snag herself a rich tourist.”

“She succeeded, too.” Godfrey pushed another stool next to mine and sat down. “He's ancient, but he's rich. Filthy rich. He moved her down to the Cape, and they live in a big mansion on Buzzard's Bay. She's just waiting for him to kick the bucket to collect her payment for marrying a geezer.”

“If she's so rich, why would she charge me an arm and a leg to adopt Annie?”

Mrs. P said, “Because, doll, she can. She'd rob her own sister and probably has. I don't believe anyone was more relieved than Natasha when Alina moved away.”

“Alas, not for the reason you might think,” Godfrey said. “Keep in mind they were both rotten apples from the same tree. Natasha was relieved only because she no longer had competition to snag herself a rich tourist as well.”

“Instead she seemed to have landed herself a rich villager in Baz,” I said. “Do you think she loved him at all?”

Godfrey once again stroked his beard. “The romantic in me wants to believe so, but I doubt it. Natasha loved one person, and one person only. Natasha.”

Pepe and Mrs. P nodded.

If that was true, and Natasha had been killed because of her relationship with Baz, she'd certainly paid a high price in her quest for wealth. The highest.

I looked at the clock. “I have to get going, but I had a couple of questions for all of you.”

“No, no,” Godfrey protested. “You cannot leave looking like you do. You are much too lovely to be roaming the village looking like an extra from the
Walking Dead
.”

Mrs. P stood up and rubbed her hands together. “Something ultrafeminine. She's always wearing jeans and T-shirts.”

Pepe snapped his fingers. “The vintage yellow Chanel.” He motioned to his neck. “The one with the bow.”

I jumped off the stool. “No, no. No Chanel, and definitely no bows. No nothing, actually. I'm fine. Perfect, in fact. I'll just run home and—”

“Calm, Darcy, calm,” Godfrey said, smiling. “I know just the thing. Trust me.”

He recited a spell under his breath and twirled his index finger in a tornado motion. I slammed my eyes closed, not entirely sure what was about to happen to me, but I did know one thing: I trusted him.

Brightness, like a flash of lightning, filtered through my closed eyelids, and I popped open an eye and squinted at Godfrey.

He was patting himself on the back. “Who's the best fairy godfather in all the land? I am, that's who.”

“I may be ill,” Pepe intoned.

Mrs. P smiled wide. “You look gorgeous, doll. Just gorgeous.”

I looked down at myself, then hurried to a mirror. Gone were my blood-splattered clothes, replaced with skinny white jeans and a short-sleeve teal-green top that had fancy embroidery at the neckline. Gone were my sneakers, replaced with airy brown leather sandals that had straps crisscrossing the top of my feet. My hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and my makeup looked fresh and natural.

My skin glowed, and for the first time since the accident, I felt clean. Truly clean. No heebie-jeebie feeling to be found.

I gave Godfrey a hug. “Thank you.”

He cupped my chin. “Anytime. Now, what was it you wanted to ask of us?”

“I was wondering if you still have a surveillance system that monitors the back alley?” With Fairytails a few doors down, his footage would show whether Ivy had been telling the truth about where she found Lady Catherine.

“Of course,” Godfrey said. “Why?”

I explained my suspicions.

Mrs. P said, “That's low. Lower than low. To steal a pet and sell it off.”

“I cannot comprehend such an action,” Godfrey said. Then he chuckled. “Yes, I may have looked into selling a pudgy brown mouse a time or two, but I never followed through. Yet.”

“Do not make me bite you,” Pepe warned.

“Don't make me step on you,” Godfrey returned.

Mrs. P and I ignored them. Sometimes it was the best tactic to take with the two of them.

“I thought Ivy's shop was doing well?” Mrs. P said. “She always has a steady stream of business, and I've never heard anyone speak badly of her.”

“I don't know.” I sat back on the stool. “All I know is that she seems desperate for money.”

“Sadly, I've seen this time and again.” Pepe stood and paced the table. “The village has had its fair share of business turnover through the years. Rent is astronomical on leased shops—there are employees to pay, inventory to update. Ivy probably earns enough to stay afloat, but little more. It takes time to become financially sound, and that is only if one has a good financial adviser and much luck.”

“My guess would be that Ivy used some of the Extravaganza funds to offset the costs of the shop,” Godfrey added. “Without them . . .”

No wonder Ivy had been so freaked-out about the success of the Extravaganza. Her whole livelihood depended on it.

“Even still.” Mrs. P sniffed. “Stealing a pet, then selling it? Abhorrent. She must be stopped.”

“Let's look at the footage first,” I said, “before we go running her out of the village.”

“I'll check as soon as possible and will let you know,” Godfrey promised. “Now, you should go, before you're late.” He handed me the blank check. “Do not forget this. You will need it.”

I
was
running late, but I couldn't leave without asking one last question. I bit my lip, unsure what I should reveal about my Elder theory. “Just one more thing . . .”

“What is it, doll?” Mrs. P asked.

“There's been this bird, a mourning dove . . . ,” I began.

I saw Mrs. P slide Pepe a look, and I knew I was onto something.

“A lovely breed of bird,” Godfrey said, his voice high. “Lovely.”

I glanced at him.

He wiped his brow with his pocket square.

I was
definitely
onto something.

“It's a long story, but I'm starting to think the bird is a Crafter, and I'm curious about one thing.”

All stared at me blankly, and I could only imagine what was running through their minds if the bird was truly the Elder in disguise. Because none of them would be able to tell me the truth if I asked point-blank.

“Oh?” Mrs. P finally said as she wrung her hands. “What's that?”

“Is there a form of the Craft where the witch takes on an animal form?” I asked. “Animal morphing? Or some kind of shape-shifting?”

Godfrey continued to mop his forehead. “Animal morphing?”

I nodded. “Like, say, a woman becomes a mourning
dove and then turns back to a woman. Or, I should say, the Elder becomes a mourning dove, then turns back into the Elder, who is some woman in this village, identity unknown.”

Pepe used his tail to mop
his
brow.
“Non.”

I'd clearly made them nervous. I scooted the rolling stool right up to the table and stuck my face close to his and gave him a raised eyebrow. “You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?”

“Ma chère.”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “On my honor, there is no such Craft that transforms a witch from human form to animal and back again. It does not exist. I do not know why it does not exist, because it would be a marvelous addition to the Craft, but
non
. I am sorry.”

I glanced at Mrs. P.

The hair between her ears had drooped. “He's right. There is no such Craft.”

Godfrey was my last chance. “Do you concur with Pepe as well?”

“Absolutely,” he said quickly. “The old mouse knows of what he speaks. He is, after all, the expert in all things Craft, which is one of the benefits of his great age.”

“That is it!” Pepe exclaimed, raising his fists. “Prepare to defend yourself, pork chop.”