3

I sat on a flat rock on the beach, surrounded by golden sand, watching the waves hit the shore while letting the serene scene take some of the edge off. The cold winds brushed against my face, my ears whistling with their music. The sun was right above me, a lonely, brilliant disk in a vast blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Without the afternoon sun, I would probably have been a witch-sicle.

Sandy Beach was completely deserted except for a man walking his golden retriever. It was too cold to go swimming, and the sand was too icy to go barefoot, which I’d learned after dipping my toes in it. I just liked to watch the waves crashing against the shore and then receding. Something was strangely calming about that. A spray of the waves speckled my face. I didn’t care. I didn’t even wipe it off.

My butt was numb from sitting on the cold rock. I wasn’t sure how long I sat here, though it felt like hours. I found I couldn’t move. Once my butt settled on that rock, it was glued to it.

I’d decided to skip the ley line stop to Davenport house and jumped out somewhere right after it, which turned out to be smack on the boardwalk next to Sandy Beach. I realized, afterward, this was probably the same spot Adan had used for his escape.

The truth was, I couldn’t face my aunts right now. My head still thrummed with anger at Greta, at the vile accusations that spewed from that witch’s mouth. I’d been shocked at first, but my familiar friend—Mr. Anger—had soon taken over.

I needed a little quiet time to calm my nerves and wrap my head around what had just happened. The last thing I wanted was to alarm my aunts. I didn’t want them to know just how disastrous my first day had been.

It had been a complete disaster of epic proportions and then some.

I’d been really looking forward to celebrating Samhain tonight with my aunts and Iris, but these trials were already taking their toll on me. I wasn’t in the proper mindset for a celebration of any kind.

Thinking back, I’d been excited and nervous at the prospect of joining such an elite group of witches. The idea of the witch trials had had my heart doing jumping jacks, yes. But now… now I was left with a dull throb of anger that grew like an infected sore. Worse, I knew from Greta’s expression and those of the other arbitrators that they were going to make my trials hell—literally.

It was very clear she wanted me to fail. They all did. She would go above and beyond to make these witch trials the hardest, most complicated, and most dangerous ever.

She wanted to break me. To scare me. To make me give up.

I wouldn’t.

She could try to intimidate me, but she’d be wasting her time. I wasn’t a child anymore. In fact, I’d practically raised myself, with my mother being away all the time. With my birthday coming up in December, I’d be thirty. Thirty was shedding the skin of your twenties, the years of apologizing constantly because you were afraid to hurt other people’s feelings.

Screw that.

I had thick, thirty-year-old skin now. No one was going to mess with me. I was tough, and I had a pair of thirty-year-old lady balls. The more Greta wanted me to fail, the more it drove me to do better.

That old bitch didn’t know who she was messing with.

“You’re on, Greta,” I growled.

My gaze traveled over the beach and fell on a couple walking hand in hand. Gray eyes framed by thick lashes, a square jaw, and full lips that should be illegal on any man flashed in my mind’s eye.

I let out a sigh. Thinking of Marcus wasn’t going to help. Though, it would have been nice to talk to him about these trials. I didn’t know why he was ghosting me, but it sucked. I’d admit it. I just wished I knew why.

A bell sounded from my phone. I yanked it out of my bag and glanced at the screen. It was a text message from Iris.

Iris: You home yet? Hope you kicked ass today. When you get this, please come to 1313 Shifter Lane. They found a body.

“Excellent,” I said, which was totally inappropriate. A job would be a welcomed distraction. Even though I wasn’t technically a Merlin anymore, my aunts were, and there were no laws against trying to help.

I texted her back.

On my way.

Shifter Lane was just a few blocks away from Sandy Beach. I slipped my phone back in my bag and took off at a jog, which was very slow and awkward in the sand. Still, I made it in less than seven minutes.

A large orange sign proclaimed BERNARD’S BAKERY. The red and yellow brick building was sandwiched between Witchy Beans Café and Practical Magick bookstore and directly across from Gilbert’s Grocer & Gifts. A large bay window had newly baked pastries and breads. The smell of baked bread sifted in the air and my stomach growled. I hadn’t had lunch yet. I never touched the snacks I’d packed or Ruth’s bag. I didn’t have the stomach to eat anything right now. If I tried, I had a feeling it would just come right back up.

Panting, with what I suspected was a cramp on my side, I walked up the driveway just as my aunts’ Volvo station wagon pulled up at the curb. The brakes squealed loudly as my Aunt Dolores put the car in park and killed the engine.

Dolores waved at me as she slammed her car door with her hip. “And? How was it? Did they make you do any magic? Did you try the wind cyclone spell I taught you? Was Greta surprised at your brilliance?”

My stomach twisted. Somehow I felt like a failure, though I hadn’t even started the trials yet. I hated that Greta had instilled this new fear in me.

I pulled my face into the best fake smile I could muster. “It was fine. All good.” My throat contracted. “What happened here?”

Dolores eyed me for a moment, her features twisting in skepticism. “Someone is dead. It’s why we’re here.”

“We don’t know who it is yet,” said Beverly as she made her way around the car to stand next to her tall sister with Ruth and Iris following behind her.

Ruth’s face exploded into delight at the sight of me. “Tessa! Oh, thank the cauldron. I was worried about you all day. Boy, I was a nervous wreck. I made a fruitcake without the fruit! So? How did it go?”

“I bet it was awesome,” said Iris, giving me a thumbs up. “You kicked ass. Didn’t you?”

My aunts and Iris all watched me expectantly like I was supposed to tell them this amazing news of how I performed miraculous spells as all the other witches oohed and ahhed at my brilliance. They’d elevated me to Merlin. They’d expected great things from me. They had no idea Greta was going to do everything in her power to watch me fail.

“Today was more of an orientation. A meet-and-greet,” I replied as heat rushed to my face, hoping my sudden blush wouldn’t give me away. “Everything’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

Eyebrows high, Dolores said flatly, “I take it you’re trying to tell us it went fine?”

“Yup.”

Beverly stared at me suspiciously. She leaned in and whispered, “You look like you were caught sleeping with someone’s husband.” She smiled and added. “I invented that look. But you, my dear, need to work on your act a little if you expect us to believe you.”

I opened my mouth in defense but then closed it. What good would it do to try and convince them? Absolutely nothing.

My aunts rocked into motion and made for the entrance of the bakery.

Angry and unsure, I headed toward the front door as Iris fell into step next to me. I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn’t say anything. And I was grateful for it.

Bells chimed as Dolores pushed the front door open and we all followed her inside. The scent of baked breads and pastries was a lot stronger inside the shop, and it was warm, like the ovens were on, baking new and delicious pastries filled with fruit and chocolate and calories—yum.

I swept my gaze around the store. The shop was small with a table in the middle packed with wicker baskets stuffed with breadsticks and an assortment of cheeses. The walls were lined with wooden shelves packed with homemade jams. A large glass counter was at the opposite wall, where a display of cakes, cupcakes, donuts, cookies, more and more pastries sat, waiting to be eaten—waiting for me to eat them.

Behind the counter was a tight opening through which I could spy several stainless-steel ovens.

And in the middle of the room lay a man.

He looked to be in his late sixties, with a belly as large as if he were pregnant and a head full of gray and white hair. He lay on his side, and his eyes were open, bulging, and red with busted veins like he’d suffocated.

His green apron gave him away. He either worked here, or the dead guy was the owner, Bernard.

“Oh, thank the cauldron!” A plump woman in her early sixties came bursting out of the back door, smelling of cigarette smoke and rose perfume. Her flowing, horizontally striped yellow and black dress made her look like a giant bumblebee.

“I’m beside myself!” she shrieked, shaking her head and nearly sending her bejeweled glasses flying off her nose. “I came in for my usual order of strawberry turnovers and found Bernard lying there. He’s dead! Dead! Look at him!” she howled, making my ears ring. The witch had some serious lungs.

“Calm down, Martha,” ordered Dolores as she stepped toward the body. “We can see the witch isn’t breathing.”

“He’s a witch?” I asked, looking down at the body but not getting any witch vibes. I sent out my senses, looking for any familiar magical energies, but felt nothing.

“He was,” replied Ruth, sadness drawing her face into lines. “His gift wasn’t like yours. No. His gift was with this shop, you know? Making pastries. It’s where his magic shined. He loved it. Always gave me some extra Nutella twists with my orders.” Her eyes widened. “Did you ever try his magic brownies?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No. But they do sound delicious.” And maybe even illegal.

The sound of bells rang again, and I turned to see a short, pudgy man with gray hair and a bow tie standing in the doorway, his brown eyes bulging as he stared at the dead witch.

“Is that Bernard?” he questioned. “What happened to him? He looks dead… is he dead? Oh, my god! He’s dead! Bernard’s dead!” shrilled the little man as he stepped into the shop.

And so the circus begins.

“Get out, Gilbert,” commanded Dolores, and then she turned her eyes on us. “We need to keep that door closed and locked.”

Beverly unbuttoned the first three buttons from her blue silk blouse. “I’ve got this.” She sashayed her way back to the front of the store, pushing out her chest with her black bra visible as she showed off the girls. “Out, Gilbert,” she said pushing the shifter out the door. He looked utterly uncomfortable at the display of cleavage Beverly was showing. “This is Merlin business. Not nosey, tiny little men’s business.”

Gilbert backed away from Beverly. “But—but—what happened? Did you call…”

The rest of what Gilbert was saying was lost as Beverly slammed the door in his face and locked it.

She whirled around smiling. “Don’t think I’ve ever done this before,” she said, sounding surprised.

“What?” I asked.

“Thrown a man out.” Her perfect face screwed up in a frown as she thought about it. “Gilbert doesn’t count. My record is still untarnished,” she added happily and made her way back to the dead witch.

“You think this was a heart attack?” questioned Ruth, sounding solemn and drawing my attention back to her. “He’d been complaining about his weight. He was a little out of breath the last time I saw him.”

“Could be. He was overweight,” concluded Dolores. “Heart attacks are common for men his age who don’t exercise and eat all the wrong things.”

Iris moved next to the body and knelt as she started sniffing his head and chest like a sniffer dog at the airport. Guess we didn’t get all the animal out of her.

Dolores pressed her hands to her hips. “His wife doesn’t know.” She exhaled. “I hate this part. I’ve never been a good comforter. They always seem to cry more when I’m finished.”

“That’s because you scare them,” said Beverly. “Bad news comes better from a petite, and delicate woman rather than a six-foot sasquatch with a broomstick.” She won a dangerous glare from Dolores.

“I’ll do it.” Ruth moved behind the glass counter. “I’ll call Patricia and tell her what happened.” She picked up a phone next to a stack of papers and started dialing.

“So, how did it go with the witch trials, hon?” Martha appeared next to me, making me jump. I’d forgotten she was here.

I frowned at the large witch. “How did you know about the trials?”

Martha cocked a hip, her smile devious. “Darling, nothing happens in this town without my knowing about it,” she said, as though that was supposed to mean something to me. “So? How was it?”

I thought about making the point that the witch trials were nowhere near Hollow Cove but decided against it. “Well. It went fine,” I said again, sounding like a broken record.

Martha raised a manicured brow. “That bad, huh?”

Dolores’s eyes snapped to me, and I moved away from Martha. This was not the time to bring up how horrible my first day had been.

“Well,” sighed Dolores. “There’s no evidence of any foul play here. Looks like Bernard died of natural causes, but we won’t know for sure until the medical examiner performs an autopsy. And with Marcus still away, it is left to us to do the cleanup. It’s our responsibility.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Beverly, tossing her hair and looking like she just stepped out of a beauty salon. Wiggling her fingers, she said, “I don’t touch dead flesh with these manicured hands.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “We all know what flesh you touch with those hands,” she said, making Beverly giggle like she’d complimented her. Dolores turned and looked at me. “Tessa. You’ll have to take Bernard’s body to the morgue, and make sure to tell Grace who he is.”

My mouth fell open. “Me? You want me to clean this up?”

“Yes.”

“To bag Bernard and take him away?” God, that sounded awful.

“Yes.”

“But I’ve never done this before.”

“Today’s your lucky day.” Dolores cocked a brow. “I won’t lie… this is one of the most unpleasant parts of being a Merlin. But you need to suck it up. With Marcus still away, it becomes our job. We can’t just leave him here to stink up the entire town.”

“Stage three rigor mortis is when the body’s soft tissue decomposes and fluids are released through orifices as organs become liquefied,” interjected Iris. “No matter how many times you bathe, that smell never leaves you.”

“We still don’t know when Marcus will be back,” Dolores was saying, eyeing Iris strangely. “You need the experience. And with everything being fine with the trials, this shouldn’t be a problem. Right? Right, Tessa?”

“Right,” I ground out, knowing she was trying to get back at me for not telling them what really happened on my first day at the witch trials.

“Marcus has been gone an awfully long time,” said Beverly, her brows low. “Strange that we haven’t had a word from him. He usually always checks in with us. Tessa? Have you heard from him at all?”

I avoided my aunt’s gaze. “No. Not since he left.” It was no secret he’d ghosted me. But I didn’t want to bring it up again. It stung enough as it was.

Beverly made a sound in her throat. “It’s so unlike him to disappear like that without keeping in touch. I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

My gaze snapped back to her. “You think something’s happened?” He’d better be dead lying in a ditch somewhere. Otherwise, he was going to get an earful when he got back. Still, the thought of Marcus being hurt didn’t sit well with me. Not well at all. What if after all this time Marcus hadn’t ghosted me but just couldn’t call me back because he was injured?

Beverly shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine. Don’t you worry. You’ll see him soon enough.”

I had no answer to that. My lips were glued together, and I had a strange, heavy dread growing in the pit of my stomach.

“Then it’s settled.” Dolores straightened. “There’s nothing else we can do here. An autopsy will tell us the cause of death. You can get a gurney from the Hollow Cove Security Agency. Grace will help you.”

“I’ll help you too, Tessa.” Iris stood. She winked and said, “You know me. I love dabbling in death.”

I gave her a tight smile. “Thanks.” My gaze went to the body again. “Wait. Where’s the morgue?”

“Basement level of the Hollow Cove Security Agency’s building,” replied Dolores.

“Right.” I had no idea Marcus’s building doubled as a morgue. My day was just getting worse and worse. And now I was charged with moving corpses around town. Excellent.

I pulled my eyes from the body and they settled on Ruth. She was standing next to the counter, looking down at something, her eyes wide with horror. Then her gaze snapped to the dead witch. She was looking at Bernard with such dread and overwhelming fear that every other thought in my head vanished.

“What’s the matter, Ruth?” I questioned, seeing my aunt’s face pale, and my chest tightened.

She glanced at me. Her lips moved but no words came out.

“Ruth? What is it?” demanded Dolores, stepping over the body.

I moved to the counter. “Did you find something?”

Ruth looked down at the counter and picked up an empty vial next to a half-drunk mug that could have been coffee. She lifted it to the light, and a small amount of cream-colored liquid remained at the bottom. “This is gingerweed. I made it for him for his indigestion.”

I felt the blood leave my body and heard the intake of breaths from behind me. A wisp of panic unfolded like a leaf inside my chest. “What exactly are you saying, Ruth?” I asked, though I had already made the connection.

Ruth gave me a feeble smile. Her expression grew haunted as big fat tears spilled down her face. “I did this. I killed him.”