The frosty night air cooled my cheeks as I sped over the darkened streets, my scarf trailing behind me. I tried to stave off the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I didn’t have much success.
Gideon had tried to warn me. For months I had pushed away my powers. What did I expect to happen? My behavior went against everything I had been raised to believe. Magic was a gift, not an entitlement.
In my defense, though, everything had happened so fast. The town hall. Nora’s confession about Liz’s father. The police coming to the door. I had turned to magic because that’s what I had always done. But how had Gideon put it? That what I had done was like asking a friend for money after years of not speaking? I hadn’t seen it that way. In all honesty, ever since Adam’s death, I felt like my magic owed me.
I squeezed the grips of my handlebars. Was that true? Did I really feel like my magic owed me? I was still angry the powers that be hadn’t helped me save my husband’s life, but that had never been promised. That wasn’t part of the deal.
I pushed the thoughts away. I couldn’t think about this now. I had to stay focused. I had set something in motion tonight, and now I had to see it through.
I glided over the pavement, lit up in the glow of the nearly full moon. My heart pounded at the base of my throat, quickening with every turn of my bicycle’s wheels. I didn’t slow my pace until I reached Liz’s street. I had looked up her address online. Fingers crossed this is where my spell had ended up. And, hopefully, it was in a more cooperative mood.
Under other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the sleepy feel of the neighborhood. It wasn’t hard to picture the people who owned these homes, inside, tucked snug in their beds. But these were not normal circumstances, and I could only imagine what the dreams of all those sleeping people would be like if they knew there was a witch riding through their neighborhood chasing a rogue spell designed to stir up a killer.
I stayed on the opposite side of the street, tracking the house numbers until I reached 36 Maplewood Lane.
Liz’s house.
I got off my bike and guided it over to a small cluster of trees. I wasn’t sure what the spell would drive Liz to do, if anything at all, but I knew I’d have a hard time staying hidden with my bike. Once I had it tucked away, I crept back up to the road, being careful to stick to the shadows. I chose a lookout spot beside a tall lilac bush. The shrub had dropped its leaves, leaving nothing but a tangled mess of gnarled branches to cozy up against.
All the lights were out in the small bungalow across the street.
Nothing to do now but wait.
Fifteen agonizing minutes passed.
With every second that ticked by, my fears grew. Maybe I had chosen the wrong Graves family member to watch. Maybe I should have gone to the orchard. Maybe my spell hadn’t worked at all. Or maybe it was wreaking havoc in another part of town while I waited here wringing my hands.
Suddenly a light clicked on in Liz’s house.
My breath caught in my throat.
The spell was taking effect! It had to be. My magic had taken pity on me after all.
And yes, it had taken some time, but, really, that’s how the spell was supposed to work. Slowly. Insidiously. It’s like those times when you’re lying snug in bed, and suddenly you think, Did I turn off the stove? or Did I lock the front door? The thought is easily dismissed at first, but then it niggles at you until you can’t fight it any longer. It’s easier just to get up and check. I could only imagine how much worse the compulsion would be for someone who had done something truly awful and believed they were on the brink of being caught.
I stared at the house like a cat watching a mouse hole. Seconds later another light came on. This one lighting up the big bay window at the front of the bungalow.
The view was obscured by gauzy curtains, but I could see the silhouette of a person behind it, pacing from one side of the room to the other.
After four or five passes, the figure stopped, then walked up to the window, pulled back the curtain ever so slightly, and peered outside.
Liz.
I couldn’t see her face clearly, but the rigidity of her posture and the quickness of her movements had me convinced she was feeling the effects of the spell. But feeling the effects was one thing, acting on them was another entirely. I needed her to show me evidence of her wrongdoing, to lead me to a clue that would unravel this mess. I needed something concrete.
Suddenly, Liz let the curtain drop back in place. A moment later the lights clicked off.
No! She couldn’t be going back to bed. The spell should be too powerful for her to resist it that easily. All my earlier doubts came roaring back, but then the lights mounted on either side of the front door flickered to life.
I let go of a shaky breath and steeled my nerves.
Now wasn’t the time for doubts. I had to be ready. This next part could be tricky. Liz might take her car, and if she did, I’d have to grab my bike. As long as she stayed in town, I should be able to keep sight of her. But I didn’t think that would happen. If Liz was smart, she would choose to walk to wherever it was she was going. It was easier to stay hidden that way.
Minutes later, Liz came out, dressed all in black. She hurried down her driveway to the sidewalk. I didn’t move. I wanted to give her a head start. Not so far that I would lose her if she ducked off the road, but just far enough that she wouldn’t be able to sense me following behind her. She crossed the street, getting a little closer to my hiding spot than I would have liked, then turned toward town.
I waited, every muscle tense. Once she was far enough ahead, I hurried out to the sidewalk and—
—someone grabbed my arm.
It took everything in me not to scream, but when I turned and saw who was there, the shock was so great, I don’t think I could have mustered the breath to yell even if I wanted to. “Gideon?”
“Fire,” he gasped.
He was clearly winded. He must have run all the way here.
“What?”
“Fire,” he said, shaking my arm as though that would clear up the confusion.
I looked around. “Fire? What fire?”
“You. Spell.”
“Where? At the B&B?!”
“No,” he gasped, putting all of his weight on the staff he had gripped in his hand. He then pointed a finger in the direction of Liz’s house. “There!”
A tiny fire sprung up on the front lawn of the small bungalow. It was only the size of a pear, but it glowed an unnaturally bright shade of orange.
“What? I don’t understand. What’s happened?”
“You. Spell. Fires.”
“Fires?”
“Yes. They’re—”
The small fire on the lawn suddenly jumped in size.
“—everywhere.”