Chapter Five

Kit left me there, and I found myself too enamored by the sound of the water and the warm breeze against my cheeks to move. I'd meant what I said about it being peaceful. Even in the times when I was working, hauling ropes and trays of french fries and hot dogs, there were moments I'd stop and gaze out at the water and remind myself how wonderful it all was.

I tried to envision Cal Reaves owning this place. He'd probably bulldoze it and put a high-rise in its place. The mermaids would flip (hah) and the werewolves, who inhabited the pine forest down the road, would be livid, too. Not to mention that every witch and warlock in the Hollow would have it out for me. Wouldn't be surprised if they hexed me.

But what other choice did I have?

I briefly entertained the idea of putting my consultant hat on and trying to revamp the business. Find more cost savings. Streamline the processes. Trim overhead. But even my imagination wasn't that good. Trying to change this place, which had been run the way Big Jo wanted for over sixty years, was like trying to train the kraken who lived about three miles offshore. The only thing left would be debt and debris.

As I sat there, thinking, Maria Greenfin walked out of the sound, leaving a trail of dripping water behind her. She shook out her long hair and brushed the sides of her cut-off shorts, before the rest of the drying potion she'd presumably imbibed worked.

"Evening," I said, giving her a little wave.

The mermaid jumped. "Oh, Little Jo. I'm surprised to see you still here."

"No one's more surprised than me," I said. "Turns out I can't shake this place that easily."

"I know the feeling." She stared at the shore. "Got some things of my own to work out lately. This leadership business is for the mullet fish." She made a motion like a mullet jumping out of the water.

I whistled. "Oh, man. I haven't had fried mullet in an age."

"I hear the Enchanted Cat is the best place to get it," she said with a knowing smile. "Saw you with Kit earlier. How is she?"

"Same as always. Not much has changed around here, it seems. Except, of course." I turned back to the Cove. "Big Jo."

"Going to be strange not seeing her at the bar," Maria said with a nod. "But with any luck, that'll be the last thing that changes around here for a while."

"What does that mean?" I blinked at her.

"Nothing." She kept walking toward the bar. "I'm going to get a drink."

Aimee was tending bar and gave the mermaid a tense smile as she sidled up. I remembered what Maria had said about Aimee's hatred of her kind, but at least for the moment, all seemed somewhat copacetic. Then again, Aimee was too busy bouncing between the twenty patrons at the bar to spend any time with the mermaid.

Grace had gone home, so guilt prodded me to head back to the bar to help Aimee manage things. I doubted she'd let me, as she'd always been very particular, but I'd offer.

As soon as I walked in, I caught eyes with a werewolf my age—the one who'd gotten into an argument with Maria the night before. He didn't seem to notice her tonight as his smirking gaze was squarely on me.

"Well, if it isn't the wandless wonder," he said, glancing at his too-pretty date, who hid a laugh. "Surprised to see you back in town."

His name came back to me in a flash, and my stomach dropped. "Carver Briggs."

Although Eldred's Hollow was full of magical people, there weren't enough kids to fill a whole school, so the young folk attended the local non-magical high school. It made for interesting dynamics, like the werewolf alpha's favorite son swaggering around like he owned every place he walked into. It hadn't helped that he'd been a star on the football and soccer teams, which his father encouraged. And even though he didn't have the sort of magic witches had, he could still sniff out weakness and capitalize on it.

"I'd say it's good to see you, but why lie?" I said, after a moment. "What are you doing here at the Cove? Shouldn't you be across the sound at some too-expensive restaurant?"

"As a matter of fact," he said with a look, "we have dinner reservations. But I have business to take care of first."

"Hopefully not with me," I said, praying he wasn't coming to counter Cal Reaves's offer on behalf of his formidable father. I'd been drinking way too much to be able to negotiate fully—not that Big Dog would ever take no for an answer.

"Why in the world would I want to talk to you?" He sneered. "You're nobody."

"And you're a little pipsqueak!" said a rough and gnarled voice behind me. Stuart Eaves, the ferry owner, placed a possessive hand on my shoulder. "Get on out of here before Little Jo banishes all the werewolves."

The pup bared his teeth but retreated at the behest of his girlfriend, who whined that they were going to be late for their fancy dinner reservation if they didn't hurry.

"Fine, fine." He turned and scanned the bar before his gaze landed on Maria. "There she is. Damn fish."

Maria popped off the seat the moment she caught eyes with Carver. "'Bout time you showed up, you lazy dog."

"I'm not on your time, fish," he shot back.

"Car-verrr," the girlfriend whined.

"Go wait in the car, Natasha," he said, waving her off. "I'll be right back."

Surprisingly, his girlfriend didn't argue with him, even though she seemed the type to be jealous of Maria's beautiful face and hair. But perhaps she sensed she had nothing to worry about, as the werewolf and mermaid disappeared into the night glaring daggers at one another. What they had to discuss, I hadn't a clue, but I was very grateful I wasn't involved in that particular squabble.

"We're all in trouble if Big Dog decides he's the next alpha," Stuart said with a sigh. "Sorry to step in like that, dear. Thought you might need it."

I smiled at Stuart. Like Kit, he was one of the few people I missed here, as he'd been something like a surrogate grandfather growing up. His white hair stuck out from beneath a blue hat sporting the Witch's Cove logo, and his leathery skin was dark from days spent in the Alabama sun. Other than a few new wrinkles, he really hadn't changed much since I'd last seen him, and for that, I was grateful.

"How the heck are you, Stuart?" I said, leaning in to give him a warm hug. "You're looking well."

"Well as can be expected, considering." His dark eyes grew misty, and he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe them. "It's a damn shame about your grandmother. She was quite a woman.

"You know Big Jo," I said, gently. "She wouldn't have wanted anyone to make a fuss. Probably how she liked it, going in the night the way she did."

He blew his nose before putting the handkerchief away. "Well, at least it got you back home for a spell, eh?"

"Maybe longer than a spell," I said, an idea coming to mind. "Listen, Stuart, you were one of her closest friends, right?"

He nodded.

"Do you know anything about this half-a-million dollar loan she took out?"

He gave me a sideways glance. "What?" I told him about Aimee finding the bank statements, and he let out a low whistle. "You know, your grandmother had all manner of kooky ideas, but I'm sure whatever the money was going to be used for, she had a good reason for it."

"And that's fine, except that we've got a huge payment on the place now, and the receipts aren't keeping up with the costs," I said. "I just… I can't imagine why she'd put her business in jeopardy like that. It's so unlike her. And then to up and die—"

"You aren't getting into any conspiracy theories, are you?" he asked. "Do you think someone killed your grandmother to get to that money?"

"I don't know, to be honest. Danny Page says he's doing his best to get the information, but who knows how long that'll take? Meanwhile, the place is hemorrhaging cash."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "It's about to be summer, which means all the tourists will be renting boats from across the way and coming here to spend their cash. Whatever money you don't have now, you'll have by September, I'm sure."

The end of summer seemed so far away, and I wasn't sure I could float the bar until then.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," I said with a sigh. "I don't know if it's gotten through the grapevine yet, but Cal Reaves has offered me a lot of money to sell him the Cove and the property down the road."

Disgust flashed in his eyes. "I see."

"I don't know if I should do it," I said, throwing my hand in the air. "It would make things easier, for sure. But…can you imagine Cal Reaves owning this place? What he'd do?" I licked my lips. "You were one of her best friends. What do you think I should do?"

"You're a smart gal. I'm sure you'll make the right call," Stuart said, rising and adjusting his cap. "It was good to see you, Little Jo. Now why don't you run over and help out ol' Aimee before she keels over, too?"

~~

Unsurprisingly, Aimee didn't want my help, but I wasn't quite ready to return to The Shack and call it a night. For one, the beer was still buzzing around my mind, and I wasn't in any shape to drive. I also wanted another look at the paperwork I'd hastily gone through the night before. Perhaps a more thorough look would answer some of the questions swirling in my mind.

With a heavy sigh, I lowered myself into my grandmother's chair and immediately felt like it was protesting the shape of my butt. I adjusted myself, wincing at the loud squeaking noises from the wheels, before finally settling in and turning to the piles of papers on the desk.

I worked for a few hours, only stopping when my eyes crossed. Then I sat back and noticed a small photo above the old 1980s telephone—a faded picture of my parents and me on the Cove beach. Based on our patriotic attire, it must've been the Fourth of July. I was perhaps eight, missing a few teeth as I grinned proudly beside my parents. They held their wands aloft, sparkles streaming out of them.

Something hurt in my chest, a pain I'd done a good job of locking away and ignoring. I pulled the photo down and hid it in the junk drawer to my left.

Ha!

Jimbo swooped in from above, landing on the papers and once again scaring me half to death. The seagull snapped his small, black-tipped beak at nothing and stared at me as if I were a yummy sardine.

"Aren't familiars supposed to communicate with their witches?" I asked, tilting my head.

Ha!

He clipped at the air, and I scanned the room for what he was demanding. Next to my hand, there was an empty basket where a sandwich might've been. Nothing left but a tomato.

"Here, you gremlin."

I tossed the tomato piece to him, and he gobbled it up. It was barely in his belly before he took flight.

"Glad I could be of service," I muttered, returning to my original task.

The receipts on the desk seemed to be in no particular order, but perhaps that was because we'd already been rifling through them. On top, a receipt for a cooling potion to add to the air conditioner. Beneath that, paycheck data for Aimee and the kids who worked the kitchen in a handwritten ledger. An invoice for the magical liquor and beer. Everything looked as it was supposed to, and there didn't seem to be a need for her to take out such a big loan.

"You look busy," Aimee said, coming to stand in the doorway. "Find anything interesting?"

"How did she keep all this straight?" I asked.

Aimee pulled out her wand and tapped it in the air. Before my eyes, all the data that had been on the receipts was magically transcribed onto the ledger.

"That's how," she said. "Quite easy when the magic does the work for you."

My face warmed. "Well, I suppose it would be, wouldn't it?"

"Before you skip town again, I wanted you to have this." She pulled out another wand and placed it on the stack of papers next to me. "Well, Big Jo would've wanted you to have it. I hear you might've lost your other one."

I stared at the worn, wooden stick that had been the instrument Big Jo used to create this whole place. It was so…dull now.

"I don't need it," I said, after a moment, turning away before I was tempted to pick it up.

"I know you don't need it. But maybe you can put it on your shelf or something." She waved her hand. "A witch's wand is her best friend, you know. And I don't think… Big Jo would've wanted you to keep it close."

"Thanks," I said quietly, still not touching it.

She leaned against the doorframe. "Ted Ginny said he saw you speaking with Cal Reaves at the cafe today."

I nodded. "Offered me two million dollars. Cash."

She whistled. "For the Cove?"

"The Cove and the acreage," I said. "Don't know how The Shack would take to having a vampire for an owner."

"Are you…gonna take it?"

I was tired of being asked that question—and even more tired of not having an answer. "No clue. Want to sleep on it a few days before I decide."

She nodded, and it was clear that, in her mind, I'd already sold the place. "Well, I know you'll do what's best."

And with that, she walked out the door.

~~

My grandmother's wand was distracting. I kept my distance as if it were a bomb, making sure I didn't trip something. My track record with my own wand was abysmal—I didn't want to think what I might do with one this powerful. Or maybe it was a conduit, and my grandmother's skill was what had made it such a formidable weapon. In my hands, it might be a good paperweight.

As if proving a point, I picked up the wooden handle and held it aloft. There wasn't so much as a glimmer of magic. No tingles up my arm, no brisk wind that told me this is it! Just a boring stick in my hands.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but the nothing that happened disappointed me. Perhaps some part of me had hoped my grandmother's death would be the thing that propelled me into my full abilities, and taking up her wand… It was stupid. Even thinking about it made me cringe.

I wafted it around, as I'd seen her do a million times, feeling nothing magical coming from my body. I may as well have been an orchestral conductor.

"Horns," I muttered, gesturing to a fake orchestra pit. "And in with the violins now. Come on. Louder!"

I chuckled as I inspected the wand, no longer afraid I was going to set the place on fire. Witches' wands were made by taking a piece of wood, usually ash, but Big Jo had chosen a pine tree from her property. The wood was then left to soak in a potion unique to each wand, which allowed it to conduct magic from the witch's body. Witches often compared wand potion ingredients when introducing themselves, but I couldn't remember what Big Jo's potion had entailed. Perhaps I should've asked her.

I put it out in front of me, holding it between my forefinger and thumb as I'd seen her do a million times.

"Find Big Jo's will," I said, lifting the wand.

And to my surprise (and horror), something tingled down my arm, like a long-lost memory of a skill, twirling from my fingertips and surrounding the wand,

The world went dark.

I wasn't unconscious because there was a cool breeze on my skin. The smell of the sound. The waves. I was on the beach somewhere.

But based on how dark it was, I wasn't anywhere near the Cove itself.

"Great. Just great." I stuffed the wand into my back pocket. "This is why I don't do—"

I tripped over something and fell face-first onto the beach. I spat out a mouthful of sand and rubbed in vain at my hands and cheeks as I looked around for what I'd stumbled on.

My heart sank into my stomach when I found myself looking into the dead eyes of Maria Greenfin.