I slouched to my pickup in the Wits’ End driveway and climbed inside, slamming the door. Though I’d left the window open, the cab was broiling. Still, I sat, keys loose in one hand, drumming my fingers on the wheel with the other.
I thought about the weight of what Riga’d done. It was obvious she hadn’t come to terms with taking that life. Maybe that was right. Maybe if it’s something you come to terms with, you become a monster. All I knew was I could never do what she’d done. I could never deliberately take a life. I would feel it too much.
Sunlight winked off the UFO in the Victorian’s mansard roof.
But I could work with her. If Riga could somehow “fix” Doyle—and that was a long shot—it wouldn’t be a solution just for my sisters and me. It would be for everyone.
Everyone who’d lost a loved one. Everyone who might get lost in the future.
Like Hermia, who’d lost her sister to Doyle last year. In the course of my investigation, I’d sacrificed our friendship. But my friend Hermia had lost much, much more.
It had to end.
Shifting the F-150 into reverse, I backed into the court.
Too many thoughts jittered through my mind. What I needed was to get grounded. Not witchy grounded. Just... grounded. I needed to work, and I drove to Ground.
Darla looked up in surprise when I walked in the front door, its bell jingling above my head. “It’s Saturday.”
“No reason I can’t help out.” Striding into the kitchen, I grabbed an apron off a wall hook.
As if in answer to my silent wish, tourists and locals streamed through the red-paned front door. Chattering customers filled the tables and lined the long, wooden counter.
Darla, Kaylee and I bustled back and forth selling coffee. The espresso machine roared.
Darla edged around me with two full paper cups. “Did you know this was going to happen?” she asked.
“No.” But I suspected I’d somehow caused it, that my need had filtered into the town’s awareness. And the town had answered my call.
The town and I were connected. And Doyle’s magic—my magic—wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either—it depended on how it was being used.
But if a black lodge ever did succeed in tapping into it, it would be very bad. Riga was right. Beating myself up over what I might have done differently didn’t help anyone, not when so much was at stake.
“What’s a guy got to do to get some love around here?” Brayden stepped up to the register and winked.
I grabbed the front of his blue uniform shirt and tugged him toward me. We kissed, and there were hoots from the crowd.
“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Brayden mock growled at them and turned to me. “I thought I might find you here. Things look busy.”
“In a good way.” I poured him a cup of coffee, black, and handed it to him. “We haven’t seen each other much lately, have we?”
“We’ve both been busy. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
I leaned forward and brushed my cheek against his. “I’d rather stay in,” I whispered in his ear.
“I think I can work with that.” He raised his coffee in a salute. I stared shamelessly at his butt as he ambled away. But hey, if a wife can’t ogle her husband, then what’s the point?
I rang up two caramel macchiatos, and smiled at an elderly woman at the register. “Good afternoon. What can I get for you?”
Her hands fluttered helplessly. “Oh. I need one of those big coffee carriers for twelve.”
“Coming right up. Caffeinated or decaf?”
“Our crew doesn’t do decaf.”
I whirled and unpacked a cardboard carrier, filled it with java. I packed it carefully, adding sweeteners and straws and napkins, then slid it across the counter. “Here you go.”
The woman made no move to take it. “And...”
I waited expectantly. Pastries? Mini sandwiches? Someone to help her carry it? Because I was totally up for that.
“I think you have the wrong idea about Stetson.”
I blinked. Stetson? Realization clicked in my mind. She worked at the magazine. “What do you mean?”
“You think he’s a suspect, that he wants to keep the magazine.”
“Doesn’t he?”
She shook her silvery head. “Quite the opposite. He’s a good man. That’s why he’s stayed. He doesn’t want the magazine.”
“What about Hayleigh?”
“She loves that magazine, though she can be a little high-handed at times.” She looked around. The line had grown, extending to the front door. “You know how it is. For some people, work is more than work. It’s an identity.”
Said to the girl who’d just come in to work on her day off. “Believe me, I get it.”
“I don’t know what she’d do without it. So you see, you’re all wrong about Stetson. He’d never hurt anybody for that magazine. All he’s been doing is sacrificing. For his mother, for us. He’s a good man, and he’d never hurt anyone.”
She nodded, grabbed the carrier, and wobbled through the crowd and out the door.
I stared after her and thought about that hunting photo. Uneasiness tremored through my veins. Stetson knew how to shoot. How far would he go for family? And had he considered his half-brother a part of that family?
A man cleared his throat, and I started.
I grimaced at the tourist, shifting impatiently on the other side of the counter. “Oh. Sorry. What was your order again?”
I took his order and many others. Eventually, the crowd died down. Hurrying into the kitchen, I pulled my cell phone from my apron pocket and called Riga.
“Yes?” she asked in a distracted tone.
“Riga, I’ve learned something—”
“So have I. Mac’s thesis is fascinating.”
“You got it?”
“Only just. I’m reading it now. Or trying to.”
“Trying?”
“Never mind. It’s not important. Listen, I was going to call you. Lenore’s on her way over now, and Karin will be here later. I need the three of you here at twilight.”
I scowled, watching date night evaporate. But Riga couldn’t have known about that. “What’s at twilight?”
“Hopefully, answers.”