It Takes a Witch: A Wishcraft Mystery (23 page)

There was a hint of amusement in her tone when she answered. “It is an inherited title, an honor passed down through centuries from those who came before me.”

I had so many questions, and I didn’t know if I’d get the chance to ask them again. One, especially, was foremost in my thoughts. “Elder?”

She sighed. “Yes?”

“Are there any Vaporcrafters living in the village?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Who?” I asked.

“It is not for me to say. Good night, Darcy.”

“But wait!” I had so many questions.

“What?”

“How long have you been Elder? What’s your real name? Do I know you? I mean, have we met? Do you live in the village?” I felt a little like Harper, asking all these questions.

“We are finished here, Darcy. You may go now.”

The tree went dark.

S
unlight streamed in my window early the next morning. Or at least I thought it was early, but when I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and squinted at the alarm clock, I saw it was past nine already.

I sat up and stretched. Missy had abandoned me at some point. Listening carefully, I heard voices downstairs.

Looking at the perfectly made left side of my bed, I frowned in dismay. An ache started building in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself I couldn’t keep letting this happen. I was single now. I had to adjust at some point, right?

I was sure I would, but until then, I leaned over and pounded the perfectly plumped pillow a few times, mussed the covers.

Better.

I fumbled for my glasses, brushed my teeth, and pulled my hair into a sloppy bun. I slipped on my robe. I dreaded talking to Aunt Ve about Sylar, the locket, and Alex’s watch. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my aunt, but this was information she should know—­before someone else figured it out.

As I headed downstairs, I noticed my muscles had mutinied overnight and ached something fierce from running yesterday morning. I headed straight for the
ibuprofen bottle in the cupboard next to the sink and nearly dropped it when I heard Harper say, “But what if I want to marry him?”

My muscles protested as I dashed into the family room. Ve and Harper sat on the sofa, their legs tucked beneath them, Missy curled between the two. “Marry who?” I gasped.

“Vince,” Aunt Ve said, then took a sip from her coffee. As if her pronouncement were no big deal.

I stared.

“Hypothetically,”
Harper added, stressing the word.

“I think I just had a heart attack.” I sank into an armchair and popped two ibuprofen in my mouth and swallowed them dry.

An insulated coffee carafe sat on a silver tray on the table along with an empty mug. Ve filled it, added a little cream and sugar, and passed it my way.

“Thank you.” I took it like a lifeline and breathed in the steam. My head felt fuzzy—­probably from sleeping in so late.

Or from all the stress.

Or from the murder. Or thefts. Or outbreak.

I eyed the ibuprofen bottle and wondered how many I could take in a day without overdosing. “Why are you two discussing marrying Vince. Even
hypothetically
?”

Ve said, “Harper was telling me about Vince’s interest in the Craft and asking what would happen if she married him. Would he become a Wishcrafter.”

I recalled Aunt Ve had mentioned something before, about being able to become a Crafter through marriage. “Would he?”

“Of sorts.”

“How?” I asked, “When we’re not allowed to tell mortals we’re Crafters?”

Tilda hopped up on the arm of my chair and swooshed her tail in my face. I plucked a leaf out of her hair and
noticed her paws were a bit muddy—­she must have been romping around outside this morning.

As I went in search of the towel we kept by the back door for wiping off paws, Ve said loudly, “If a Wishcrafter chooses to marry a mortal and
tells
him of her power, the Crafter forfeits the use of her powers. However, the person she marries is then adopted into the Craft family and becomes a Halfcrafter, which basically means he’s half mortal, half Crafter. The new spouse is then told about the Craft legacy and treated as if he was born into the family. But he will not have any powers. Just knowledge.”

The rag by the back door was already damp and muddy—­most likely from Missy’s morning walk—­so I grabbed a wad of paper towels from the kitchen and dampened them. By the time I made it back to the chair, Tilda was gone.

There was no way I was chasing after her, so I sat down to await her return.

“What if the Halfcrafter tells a mortal what he learned?”

Ve’s eyes darkened. “There are dire consequences, of which the Halfcrafter is informed.”

“What kind of consequences?” Harper asked.

I imagined she was thinking about Vince and his propensity to share his witchcraft knowledge with anyone interested, including reporters.

Harper laughed. “Do you turn them into toads or something?”

Ve lifted an eyebrow, her expression dead serious. “Frogs usually.”

She
was
serious.

A tension-­filled minute passed.

“So,” Harper said after clearing her throat, “if I marry Vince, I’d lose my powers but remain a Wishcrafter?”

“Yes,” Ve said, petting Missy’s head. “So you can pass
the legacy on to your children, but you will no longer be able to grant wishes yourself.”

“But Vince would then become a Halfcrafter?” Harper asked, her tone dubious. “Why bother when I no longer have powers?”

“It is necessary for the legacy to continue. For if you and Vince were to have kids, those children will be full-­fledged Wishcrafters, powers intact.”

“Can we stop talking about Harper getting married and having kids? It’s freaking me out.” I refilled my coffee mug.

Harper said, “He is cute.”

“So is Missy,” I pointed out.

She lifted her head at the sound of her name, then put it back down.

“He does manage the bookstore, which is currently my favorite place on earth.” Her eyes glazed over. “All those books. If I married him, I could probably work there the rest of my life. Nothing would make me happier.”

“What about love?” Ve asked.

“Oh,” Harper said solemnly, “I love books.”

Aunt Ve laughed. It was good seeing her happy, even if only for a few moments.

I’d been thinking about what Aunt Ve said. “So, technically, our father was a Wishcrafter, too?”

Ve said, “A Halfcrafter—­half mortal, half Wishcrafter. He chose not to share your history with you two, however. Which was fully within his rights. It is up to the parents to decide whether they want to raise their children as Crafters or mortals. You both were raised as mortals. I do fully believe, had your mother not died so young, that she would have shared your gift with you when you were older and could understand it better.”

“Why do you think Dad didn’t tell us?” Harper asked.

I thought of our father, of how he threw himself into his work after Mom died. “My guess is he couldn’t cope
with anything that reminded him of Mom.” Not Crafting. Not us. Not really. He provided for us, fed us, clothed us. But he was never really there for us. A part of him died the day my mother did. Harper and I had really lost both parents that day.

“But Dad had no actual powers, right?” Harper said.

“Right,” Ve affirmed.

“So if you’re a Seeker looking to become a Crafter,” Harper said, “you’re in for a huge disappointment if you marry a witch?”

“If you’re only marrying because of the Craft. Not if you’re marrying out of love. This way, Seekers are discouraged from seeking only their own agendas,” Ve said, her hand going to her neck, searching for her locket. She dropped it with a laugh, then said, “Darcy, you never did tell me your important news last night before you were called to see the Elder.”

I hadn’t. I’d been too swept up on what happened with my trip into the woods.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Ve asked.

I glanced between her and Harper, not sure how to break the news.

“Darcy?” Ve asked. “What is it?”

“Spit it out,” Harper urged, leaning forward. “Is this about Alex’s murder? Do you know who killed her?”

Shaking my head, I took a deep breath and decided there was no easy way to say what I needed to. “No, but I do think I know who the secret boyfriend was who gave her the fancy watch.”

Harper’s eyes went wide. “Who?”

“Sylar.” I gulped and looked at Aunt Ve, awaiting her reaction. She’d been through so much lately—­how much more could she take without breaking down completely?

Ve set her cup on the table, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m surprised it took this long to come out. Now tell me, Darcy, how many people know?”

*   *   *

“She already knew!” I said to Starla as we jogged, very slowly, around the green. Mrs. P, with her speed-­walking, could have easily lapped us.

“No way,” Starla huffed, her eyes wide and unbelieving.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around why Aunt Ve hadn’t told Harper and me. “Apparently, he wanted Alex to give the watch back, so Alex struck a bargain with him.”

“What kind of bargain?”

“Alex was looking for some specific genealogical information, and Sylar, as the village grand hoo-­ha, had easy access to the records database.”

“Hoo-­ha?” Starla asked.

I smiled. “It’s Harper’s nickname for anyone in charge.”

She laughed, then said, “What kind of records?”

“Ve didn’t know. But Sylar supposedly delivered his goods the day before Alex died. And she was supposed to turn over the watch as soon as she verified the information. Evidently, everything was verified, because she asked to see him after the village meeting to turn the watch over. According to Aunt Ve, Sylar insists the watch was already gone when he found Alex’s body.”

“How long ago did they date?”

“Over a year ago.”

“And he just now asked for the watch back?” Starla asked.

“He’s in debt up to his eyeballs—­apparently the downturn in the economy has hit him hard. He overextended himself financially trying to help various eyesight charities, funding trips to foreign countries and buying glasses for those in need. Also, Ve admitted he enjoys the dog track a little too much. The value of that watch and the fact that he’s Alex’s ex makes his motive for murder that much stronger, doesn’t it?”

Starla snorted. “I have a few exes I’d like to kill.”

I thought of Troy. As much as he’d hurt me, I couldn’t imagine killing him. Maiming, maybe.

“No wonder Ve wanted to protect him,” she said. “That’s pretty damaging.”

It was. “I wonder why Sylar and Alex kept their relationship a secret in the first place.”

“Ve didn’t say?”

“No.”

“I can only speculate that it’s because Sylar is a community leader, and Alex wasn’t exactly well liked. Or maybe it was their age difference. He was much older than her. Maybe she didn’t want to be labeled a gold digger. Maybe he didn’t want to be labeled a cradle robber.”

I tried picturing the two together. Short, roly-­poly Sylar with tall, striking Alex. I couldn’t see them as a couple.

We rounded the bend, and I spotted Nick trotting ahead. Relief filled me as he turned right and headed down another path. “How much do you know about Nick?” I asked.

“Other than he’s gorgeous?”

“Other than.”

“Well, let’s see. Used to be a state trooper; now does freelance security work around the city. He likes woodworking and sells his goods at the village shops. Loves Mimi to death. Thirty-­five. Divorced about a year before his ex died.”

“How did she die?”

“Cancer. One day she had a stomachache. Went to get it checked out. Two months later, she was gone. Pancreatic cancer that was too widespread to treat—­no warning, really.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Mimi. She’s a talker.”

My heart broke for her. I knew what it was like to lose a mom at such a young age.

“And then Mimi and Nick moved here?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“Why?” I asked.

Starla shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Is there any chance Nick’s a Crafter?”

“Not that I know of, but Crafters are very secretive unless they know for certain, one hundred percent, that you’re a Crafter, too. Even then, some don’t discuss it at all.”

I was coming to learn that.

“For example, even though Evan and I knew Ve was a Wishcrafter, we weren’t sure you and Harper were, because we didn’t know who your mother was. You could have been nieces from one of her husbands’ sides of the family. It wasn’t until that picture.…”

“You took it on purpose, didn’t you?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Guilty.”

“Sneaky.”

“I wanted to be sure. It was the easiest way. Why all the questions about Nick?”

I explained about his wish and how it hadn’t come true.

“That’s very strange,” she said, slowing to a walk. “I can only figure that he wasn’t pure of heart in his wish.”

“But that makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

I shook my head. “Maybe I need to stop thinking about it so much.” Or
him
so much, too.

“No, we need to figure this out.”

I laughed. “No, what we need to figure out is who killed Alex. Because Aunt Ve is positive it wasn’t Sylar, and now, more than ever, she needs the proof. Because once the public finds out the watch came from him, they’re going to convict him without a jury.”

“There certainly isn’t a shortage of suspects.”

“True. Did you know that Marcus Debrowski was representing Alex against her lawsuits?”

“Isn’t he Sylar’s lawyer?”

I nodded.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”

“I’d think so. What do you know about Marcus?”

“Not much, Darcy. He’s a Lawcrafter, one of the best, especially for being so young. He’s only twenty-­seven. A complete workaholic—­works seven days a week, all hours.”

Billable hours, I was sure. “Married?” I hoped not, with the way he looked at Harper and how he’d asked her to coffee.

“No. And no girlfriend that I know of. People in the village think highly of him. Have you talked to Ve about all this?”