What is that saying again? Time flies when you’re having fun?
Nope.
Time also flies when you’re under extreme duress and trying to find a ghost.
That’s right. Estelle Watch was a ghost. Not in the literal sense, but more in the figurative can’t-find-evidence-that-she-exists kind of way.
After spending hours on the phone, calling every paranormal town in a day’s driving distance, and stalking social media until my fingers had cramped up, I hadn’t found a single thing on Estelle Watch. Nothing. No employment records, no Facebook account, or any other social media presence.
It was as though she never existed, hence my term ghost.
The clock on my phone said 11:49 p.m. and we weren’t any closer to finding out who Estelle Watch was.
Thinking that perhaps Gilbert had misheard her surname—he was coming along in years—I’d spent hours looking under different last names that started with the letter W like; Estelle Watson, Estelle Ward, Estell Wallace, Estelle Wagner, and Estelle Walker. But that was a bust too.
Maybe I’d been looking at this wrong the entire time. Maybe I’d run out of options. Maybe I’d already failed, but I was too stubborn to admit it.
Davenport House’s kitchen had become Research Central for my case. Books and boxes of books lined the walls and covered most of the kitchen floor. Binders, files, and folders covered every inch of counter space. A half-empty pizza box lay on the kitchen island above file folders and documents along with boxes of Chinese takeout.
The kitchen table, my workspace, looked as though someone had a food fight but with papers instead of actual food. Topped with so many books, files, notebooks, and slices of half-eaten pizza, it had gained an extra five inches in height.
Ronin and I sat across from each other at the kitchen table, fingers typing away on our laptops while Iris mumbled some dark magic incantations as she stood over her small boiling cauldron on the stove.
The smell coming from her cauldron made me gag. It was the musty, moldy smell of old dirty socks mixed with pond scum as well as a few traces of something spicier, maybe some kind of incense. My stomach rolled uncomfortably, and the rising sense of dark energy didn’t help me keep it calm.
I didn’t care what dark magic Iris was brewing. If it could bring us Estelle Watch, she could do conjure up an army of the dead if she wanted, even throw a few demons in the mix if she thought that would help. Right now, I was desperate.
As I typed, I could hear the constant sobbing from upstairs. Dolores and Beverly had been crying for hours, a heart wrenching, desperate melody that caused me physical pain.
Dolores, up until two hours ago, had been helping us search for Estelle since this afternoon.
“What a waste of my time,” she’d shouted as she burst through the kitchen’s back door about an hour after I had returned from my encounter with Marcus.
I’d looked up from my laptop. “Gilbert wouldn’t talk?”
Dolores had flung off her coat, purse, and scarf as she came in. They floated to the wooden peg rack and all hung themselves neatly as though an invisible butler had caught them and hung them for her. “He talked,” she’d said. “The little owl had lots to say, all right. But nothing on Estelle.”
“Couldn’t you spell him with a truth charm or something?”
Dolores had raised a brow. “Who do you think I am? Of course, I spelled him. But he simply didn’t remember who those people were. Nothing. He drew a blank. So, I had him go to his computer and go over the list of all registered residents of Hollow Cove. I thought that might jog his memory. Unfortunately, Michael Blackwood—”
“Is dead,” I had said and quickly told her about my run-in with the chief.
“I’m glad that horrid redhead vampire is gone,” Dolores had said and seated herself at the table. “But it doesn’t help Ruth. Well, if there’s a record of Estelle Watch in the witch community—because I have a feeling she’s a witch—they’ll know of her.” She stood up and said, “I have some phone calls to make.”
She’d been at it for seven hours straight. And then two hours ago… she just… stopped.
Another sob came from upstairs, a heart-wrenching one that had my eyes burn. If a heart could literally break into pieces, mine just did. I could almost feel the pieces fall to the bottom of my stomach. A tear escaped from my eye, and I could feel it trace down the length of my cheek all the way to my chin.
“Tess,” said Ronin suddenly, drawing my attention to him, his voice loud in the silent kitchen. “Maybe we should—”
“I’m not giving up,” I growled, my voice high and filled with emotions. I brushed my tear from my chin. This wasn’t the time to cry. I wasn’t giving up.
Ronin let out a breath. “I was going to say… let’s try something else. We’ve been through every possible lead to find this Estelle Watch. She doesn’t exist. Not where we’re looking. And not with the resources we have.”
“She exists enough to sign her damn name in Gilbert’s book,” I shot back. “She’s real.” I felt Iris’s eyes on me, but I kept my attention on Ronin even with the stab of guilt I felt at the look on his face. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m just frustrated is all.”
“No worries,” said the half-vampire. “You can abuse me all you want. That’s what friends are for. But, Tess? You have to accept that maybe this Estelle is a dead end.”
I met his gaze. “Can’t. It’s the only name I’ve got.” I leaned back in my chair, my lower back throbbing as I suffered from numbbutt from sitting most of the day and night. “I’ve got nothing else to go on… I’m running out of ideas… and I’m running out of time.”
The truth was, I didn’t want to admit that Ronin might be right. Because if he was, it meant all of this, all this hard work, had been for nothing. If Estelle Watch was a dead end, who had poisoned Bernard?
“Estelle Watch,” recited Iris, as though reading my mind, and I looked over to see her drop a small piece of paper with blue-pen lettering into her cauldron for the fifth time. She’d been at her Dark locator spell for hours. With only a name and nothing tangible—like the person’s toothbrush, an article of clothing, even just something that was owned by a person, provided it had their DNA on it—the odds of it working were slim. They were practically nonexistent.
And there was still the artifact you needed to use like a compass of sorts to show the way. Or a map, like the way I’d found Marcus. Still, all that was useless if you didn’t have a part of the person in question’s aura. But I was betting on a miracle and Iris’s skills as a Dark witch.
Iris leaned over her pot and chanted, “Potestatem daemonium super ortum,” channeling her energy from the tiny demon gremlin she’d summoned. Did I forget to mention that?
Gigi, the demon’s name, was the size of a cat with bright orange fur and large batlike ears, purple tiny horns, a short tail, a mouth filled with fish-like teeth, and abnormally large black eyes. Her four limbs ended with five taloned fingers. She was trapped in a summoning circle, her jailor, in the middle of the kitchen island. She wore a frown on her face. At the moment, Gigi was giving us the finger with both hands.
Once Iris’s spell was completed, Gigi would then find Estelle Watch, kind of like a search and rescue dog, our demon GPS.
Iris continued to chant, and Gigi’s fur turned yellow and then white. The demon’s face was wrinkled in hatred, and I had a feeling Iris had called upon Gigi’s powers more than once.
Gigi caught me staring and flipped me off again. I was starting to like this tiny demon.
The kitchen lights flickered off and on again as power soared through the room. Gigi’s eyes were now closed, and her fur kept switching from orange to white, and then it turned blue.
“Veni ad nos et apud quem vocant! Veni ad nos, et habitatores hic!” cried Iris.
I felt the energy from Gigi’s power flow around us like a breeze, settling around the kitchen, over the pots, the books, the piles of paper, and into every tile and cabinet until the entire area was immersed in the spell along with me and Ronin.
And then the power settled. I looked over at Gigi. Her fur was back to its orange color. “Ha’ak du rig’titu,” she hissed in some guttural language I’d never heard before. And then, of course, she flipped off Iris.
But Iris never looked at the tiny demon. Her eyes were on her cauldron.
“And?” I asked, not too hopeful by the look of defeat on Iris’s face.
Iris looked over at me, her bloodshot eyes a mess. “Don’t worry. I’m going to do it again.”
Gigi let out a cry. “Witch! Hate! Witch! Hate!” she screamed, thrashing around her circle.
I cocked a brow. “She speaks English.” Gigi whipped her head around at me and flipped me off. “I think you should let her go, Iris. It’s not working. And you’re only making her angrier.” I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling whatever power Iris was borrowing was actually hurting the little demon. I didn’t like that.
“No,” said Iris, sniffing and briskly swiping at her eyes. “I’m not giving up. You said it yourself. We can’t give up. Giving up is giving up on Ruth.”
“I’m not giving up,” I told her. “But I think Ronin’s right.” I moved my gaze to the half-vampire who was looking at Iris with a pained expression, the affection in his eyes for her undeniable. I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth. “Maybe Estelle Watch is a dead end. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong direction.” Maybe it had never been Estelle…
“Then which direction should we be looking?” asked Iris, frustrated. I didn’t blame her. I was frustrated too. Tired and angry, I felt like Gigi, locked in some supernatural barrier and unable to break free and save Ruth.
Defeat was not an option. Defeat was a death sentence for Ruth. She would not survive the witch prison—not at her age.
A hiss pulled my attention back to Gigi. The demon was bent over, showing her backside to Iris and moving up and down in a very rude manner.
“Is Gigi gyrating?” laughed Ronin.
“Yup. But I don’t think that’s what she’s intending.”
In a brisk motion, Iris moved to the kitchen island, muttered a few Latin words, and with a pop of displaced air, Gigi vanished.
Not before I heard her laugh and got a glimpse of her flipping us off.
If I wasn’t so down in the crapper, I would have clapped. I was going to miss that feisty demon. Maybe I’d call on her sometime.
Silence fell in the kitchen. I didn’t have to look at my friends to feel their despair. I took a sip of water from my glass, forcing it down, as it nearly turned to acid in my stomach. I hadn’t had anything to eat since a bagel this morning. I couldn’t keep anything down. Water was the only thing that didn’t threaten to come back up.
My stomach cramped and I scrubbed a hand across my face. We had less than eleven minutes left to help Ruth, and we had absolutely nothing.
It was over. I’d failed.
Failing as a Merlin didn’t bother me. I could survive, go on living without being a Merlin. But I’d failed Ruth…
Ronin closed his laptop. “What now? We’ve got about ten minutes. What do you want us to do?”
The ribbon of tension around my chest squeezed, and it was hard just to breathe. Without anything else to go on, it was over.
Guilt mixed with fear, and I sighed, shaking inside, as a feeling of melancholy slipped over me. “We pray to the goddess for a miracle—”
The kitchen’s back door flew open.
“It’s Patricia Townsend!” Marcus rushed into the kitchen, his face flushed. Snow speckled his dark hair, and his boots left a trail of wet, dirty snow on the hardwood floors.
I jumped to my feet. “When you ask the goddess for a miracle…”
“Huh?” Marcus looked confused for a moment. “The goddess?” His wet snowy boot prints disappeared from the floor in sweeps, like an invisible mop had just wiped them up.
“Listen,” said the Chief, a smile crinkling on his handsome face as he came around to face me. “It’s Patricia Townsend.”
“Is this Patricia Townsend the new girl you’re banging?” asked Ronin. “Who the hell is Patricia Townsend?”
I shrugged. “No idea.” I glanced at Marcus, tempted to pick the snow from his fantastic hair. “Is that name supposed to mean something?”
Marcus panted as he stood, an excited grin blossoming on his face. “Patricia Townsend is Estelle Watch.”
My jaw fell to the floor around my feet. “Holy crap. She changed her name?” My world shifted with a nauseating spin as things added up.
“She did,” said Marcus. “It’s why I could never find her. But I knew I had heard that name before… and then it hit me. I remembered a couple of years ago there was a mix-up with the deed of sale with the building that is Bernard’s Bakery now. Gilbert was acting all, well, you know how he can get.”
“Crazy? Delusional? Like a five-year-old?” I said, my heart pounding with excitement. “And?”
“He came to me for my opinion,” continued the chief. “Worried that it might be a problem. Because she’d signed a different name than on her ID on file. She’d signed her real name—Estelle Watch—by mistake. She’d crossed it out and put Patricia Townsend.”
“Who’s Patricia Townsend?” I asked.
Marcus let out a sigh. “Patricia Townsend is Bernard Townsend’s wife. The baker’s wife.”
“Holy boiling cauldron!” I shouted, holding on to my head as though my brain was about to explode. “She poisoned her husband? Can she be that sick?”
“Apparently,” replied Marcus. “She’s also a witch.”
My heart was about to explode like a grenade. This was it. We’d figured it out. And not a moment too soon.
I glanced at my phone. 11:51 p.m.
Damn. “Where is she now? Do you know where she is?” It didn’t matter if she was in Australia right now. With the ley lines… she was toast.
Marcus nodded. “Probably sleeping in her bed. In Hollow Cove,” he added with a knowing grin. “96 Mystic Road, on the corner of Charms Avenue. The house is sage green with—”
“A red door,” I answered. “I know the house.” I nodded.
“You’re going to bend a ley line. Aren’t you?” asked Iris, her excitement showing on her face as she shifted from foot to foot.
My newfound talent was proving very useful at the moment. I didn’t care that it might be an anomaly—that I might be the anomaly. I needed it.
Though I did wonder about that man I’d seen in the ley line back in the castle’s labyrinth. Would he show up again? I couldn’t worry about him right now.
I had an ass to kick.
I flashed her a smile, my heart hammering away. “I am. I’ll be there in a few seconds. Imagine her surprise when I magically appear in her bedroom with my boot pressed on her throat.” Now that I knew I could bend ley lines at will, moving one over to her house would be easy. I rocked into motion and grabbed my jacket from the rack on the wall.
Marcus was next to me in a flash. “You’re not going alone. She’s a killer. And a witch. She killed her husband. She’s capable of anything.”
I smiled wickedly. “So am I. She messed with my family. It’s my time to return the favor.”
Iris let out a happy shriek of glee and clapped her hands. “We could drain her blood and boil her bones and feed the rest to the Baluba demon. I owe him.”
Yeah… Not going to happen. “I have a better idea,” I told them. Like haul her ass to Greta’s castle.
But I needed a confession. And I had just the thing to make her confess.
“What about your aunts?” asked Ronin.
I shook my head. “They’re in no shape to come with me.” My gaze flicked to Iris. “Will you stay with them? Watch over them for me until I get back?” I was worried Ruth might do something drastic.
“Of course, I will.” Iris squeezed my arm. “They’re my family now too.”
My chest swelled with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“I’ll stay here too,” informed Ronin as he came around the table. “You do what you gotta do. Don’t worry about your aunts. We’ll take care of them.”
“Thanks, Ronin.”
“Kick her ass, Tessa,” said Iris.
I pulled my arms through my jacket and wrapped my bag over my head and shoulder. “You betcha.” And a few other things.
“I’m coming with you,” announced Marcus, which was more like an order than a request, his eyes holding mine. He looked so sexy and incredibly hot just now, standing tall, his hard chest muscles barely hidden under his shirt. He stood in the kitchen, his fists on his hips like a power ranger. If I wasn’t so turned on at the moment, I might have laughed.
I’d taken Willis with me in a ley line, but he was a witch, with some of the same demon DNA in his veins like mine. But Marcus was a wereape, a shifter, and I didn’t want to risk hurting him or worse, killing him if he ever stepped into a line.
But he was a wereape, and a magnificent one at that. “How fast can you run?”
Marcus flashed me a smile that nearly had me rip off his clothes. “Really fast.”