“Bianca!” Dot called after her friend as Bianca crossed the room with her phone pressed to her ear, raising her voice to be heard over the sirens in the street.
Reality hit me like a punch in the face as I stared at the flashing blue lights shining through the coffee shop curtains. I’d found the answers, but it didn’t matter. How could I prove any of it? How could I defend myself when the truth was so much less believable than the fiction? Dot stared from me to the window, horror in her eyes as the reality dawned on her too. She jumped from her seat and caught my shoulders. “We’ll figure something out. We’ll work a vanishing spell.” She stared at the kitchen where we could hear Bianca mumbling into her phone. “Or if we don’t have enough power, I’ll tell them it was me.” Dot straightened her shoulders as somebody pounded on the door of the coffee shop. “Yes, that’s the right thing. I’ll tell them it was me.”
Bianca appeared from behind the counter and started to walk toward the door. Her voice was sharp enough to cut ice. “Don’t be such a fool all your life, Dorothy. If you tell them the truth, they’ll lock you in a psychiatric facility and the witching council will eradicate you for treason.” She shot a glare at her friend's small soft hands as she reached for the door handle. “And nobody is going to believe you snapped her neck with those trotters.”
“And you don’t have to be such a damn bitch all the time.” The words were out of my mouth before my brain registered them.
Bianca’s lips curled to one side and she pulled the door open, standing back as Officer Fitzgerald burst into the room. He stared from Bianca, past Dot, and into my eyes with raised eyebrows. His voice was gentle as he crossed the room, holding out an arm to stop the two younger cops from approaching me. I tried not to stare at the scratches on their faces or the bright pink paint splattered all over their clothes. Great work, guys.
Officer Bert Fitzgerald cleared his throat. “Miss Jones, you know why I’m here.” He took a step closer. “You’re going to have to come with me, ma’am.” He took another step forward and lowered his voice so that only I could hear him. “Unless you have something to tell me that might move the case in another direction.” He tilted his head a fraction of an inch toward the old ladies.
Seconds ticked by like hours as I stared back at him. Of all the people I’d ever met, Officer Fitzgerald was the only one I knew who’d believe that Agatha had died at a witch's hand. My gaze slid over his shoulder onto Dot’s hunched form and Bianca’s frozen face. How could you unravel who was really to blame when every individual thread of the story was so tangled and worn? Virgil was right about hell; the descent was easier than swallowing a spoon of vegan ice-cream. I pushed myself to my feet and held my hands out for Officer Fitzgerald to cuff me, but Bianca’s voice slid across the room just as the metal grazed my wrists. “Officer, I think your phone is ringing.”
Bert stepped away from me, reaching for his phone. He stared at. “No, it’s not—” The phone began to ring in his hands and he pressed it to his ear, the lines on his forehead deepening with every passing second. “Sir, I don’t understand, how can there have been an error?” He turned his back to the room. “I saw the autopsy report myself. I saw the photographic evidence, this is total fu—” He held his breath and screwed his face. When he spoke again his voice was as tight as a wire. “Understood.” He shoved the phone into his pockets and gestured to the other two cops to leave. One of them started to argue, but Bert cut him down with a bark. “Get into the car, O’ Malley. The case is closed. Orders from the top.” He glanced at me as he crossed the floor, a silent exchange passing between us as we saw each other for what we were; two ordinary humans, caught in a supernatural web.
When he reached the door, he paused in front of Bianca and gave her a long, hard stare before dipping his head. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss D’Arcy.”
“Not if I see you first, Officer Fitzgerald.” Bianca’s lips were arranged in a pretty smile, but it was anything but innocent. The smile a lion might give its prey. She slammed the door in his face and said to nobody in particular. “Oh dear, my fingers must have slipped.”
I folded my arms over my chest as I crossed the floor to stand in front of the old women. I wasn’t sure exactly what I should say. Was it necessary to thank somebody for saving you from a conviction they tried to land on you? I exhaled and met Bianca’s eye. “Thank you, for whatever you did there. I appreciate it.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Bianca snapped. “I did it to protect the coven, and the leyline, and the witching world, and every other thing I spent a hundred years fighting for.”
“Okey-dokey…” I turned my back on Bianca and faced Dot. “What you were trying to do was kind, Dot. It was an accident. I think Agatha will understand that.”
“You’ve seen her?” Bianca was suddenly in front of me, both of the old women’s faces sharp as they studied me.
I imagined Tom’s voice in my mind, warning me to be cautious. Look out for thin ice, Priscilla Jones. I scrunched my face up and gave a laugh. “Please! I’ve seen the spell books, I’ve seen Agatha’s albums and her paper cuttings, so witches, I believe in. Ghosts?”
Bianca’s laugh was the tinkle of ice in a crystal glass. “Well, you’d never know with dear Agatha, would you?” Her voice was razor-sharp. “She must have had such a lot of unfinished business…” The bell above the coffee-shop door rang out cheerily as she pulled the door open for me.
I stepped over the threshold, nodding at Dot, when a thought struck me. I glanced at the two women. “That report on Officer Bert’s desk?” I asked. A look of genuine confusion crossed over both faces and I shook my head. “Nothing, doesn’t matter.”
As I stepped onto the pavement, Bianca’s voice followed me into the night. “We’ll be seeing you, dear. Take care of your secrets. And ours.” I had already reached the curb when her final words hit me. “Everything comes at a price.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I left the car at the bakery, preferring to walk all the way home, and the fresh air helped soothe my stretched nerves. When I reached home, all sign of the earlier media storm had vanished. Sadly, I couldn’t say the same for the damage the cops had caused. As I stepped over the remains of my front door, I couldn’t help but wonder who Bianca had spoken to on the phone. Somebody with the power to make a murder case vanish without a trace. An order from the top, Bert had said. City Hall? The President? A criminal? My mind whirled with thoughts of who my mysterious savior could be. And whether or not I wanted to be in their debt.
“She’s back, she’s back, she’s back!” Muffin was the first to come thundering down the stairs, his ginger tail swinging, followed by Tom and Pussy, who arrived at my feet in a jumble of claws and hair.
I reached down to pet them, but I was distracted by the shimmer of Agatha passing over and back through the walls of the hallway above. I looked down at the cats. “Give me five minutes, okay? I promise I’ll tell you everything, but I need to talk to Agatha first.”
Yowls of protest followed me up the stairs, but they let me go. I found Agatha in her study, staring at the paper cutting from 1895. I slid silently into one of the two leather armchairs. “How much do you know, Agatha?”
The ghost gave me a crooked smile. “About as much as you do. I was hiding in your hair until you left the coffee shop.”
“What the hell?” I ran my hands through my hair, staring at her. “You’re joking, right?”