“It’s okay.” She put a trembling hand on my arm. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. I was about to force her to let me into her most private thoughts. Or try to, at least. To let me see through her and into the veil so that I, the finder of lost things, could see who killed her. But for some unfathomable reason, she didn’t want me ransacking her memories. Tearing through her past. Upending her life. Go figure.
I’d always considered myself level-headed. I was beginning to question that consideration.
I backed away from her. “I’m so sorry.” I looked at Annette, who was clearly none too pleased with me either.
“Daffodil,” the chief said softly to let me know he wasn’t mad, “we need to get your grandmother inside.”
He was right. Ignoring Parris, who still stood at the fence trying desperately to see the tiny woman in the chief’s arms, I turned back toward Percival. Of course, to do so, I had to look past an equally concerned Roane.
I gave him my best sheepish expression of apology and thought about what I wanted to accomplish so that I could get it done and hide in my room afterward. I found it quickly. The spell. It appeared in my mind with little effort. It wasn’t so much a smoke-clearing spell as a house-cleansing spell, but it should work.
I lifted my hand and drew it on the air with two fingers.
In all reality, the spells pretty much drew themselves. The lines of this one burst to life in front of me. They cracked opened, and a bright hot yellow seeped out, its glow almost blinding. The smoke in the house obeyed its command. It swirled, converging into one billowing mass like a tornado. Then it darted out the front door and into the night air, dispersing above us.
“Okay,” I said softly to the chief. “It should be safe to go in. Let me distract Parris.”
He nodded. I looked at Annette for backup, but she was standing there with her mouth parted, staring at… nothing. I followed her gaze to… Percy? The front door? The lantern-shaped bug zapper? Poor little things. I made a mental note not to let my vintage mint-green Volkswagen Beetle anywhere near it.
I waved a hand in front of her face. “Blink if you’re still in there.”
“I saw it,” she said, raising her hand to point at… nothing. Again.
After a thorough examination of the area, I turned back to her, trying desperately not to giggle. She looked like a cartoon character who’d been struck by lightning. Her glasses were still lopsided on her button nose, the turquoise frames barely visible in the starless night. Her bow-shaped lips formed a pretty O as she stood motionless. Her recalcitrant curls a wiry mop on top of her head. She was, in a word, adorable.
“You saw what, honey?” I asked softly as I patted her back. Rubbed her shoulder. Smoothed her hair as though petting a cat. She hated that.
It worked. She snapped out of it and slapped my hands away. Then she gazed up at me, her expression full of awe. Or horror. Probably horror. “The light.”
“The bug zapper? I know. Poor little guys.”
“No. The spell. I saw it on the air.”
“Shut the front door.” I gaped at her, but she only nodded.
She’d never been able to see the light from my spells. Only other blood witches and a handful of people with various mental illnesses could see the spells. Annette had never been able to.
“Why now?” I asked. “What’s changed?”
Coming out of her stupor, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Gee, I can’t imagine.”
“The bird thing?” I squeaked. “Surely not.” I’d only turned her into a bird to save her life. I never imagined there would be other repercussions.
“I can see them,” Roane said.
I scowled at him. He was not helping. “You don’t count. You’re a—”
“A shifter?” Annette asked, pursing her lips, her soot-covered glare accusing.
Minerva stood staring, too. Or, well, gaping. As a witch with some degree of magics, I wasn’t surprised she’d seen. I was surprised she seemed just as shocked as Annette. I knew, as a charmling, my powers were different from most witches, but I didn’t figure they’d be that different.
“Daffodil,” the chief reminded us.
“Right,” Annette said, coming to attention. “Sorry.”
“Sorry,” I said, reiterating. My eighty-something-year-old grandmother—though she didn’t look a day over fifty-nine—was only freezing to death. “Sorry, Gigi.”
Annette and I walked over to the fence.
Parris’s lids had rounded to saucers.
“Sorry we woke you,” I said to her.
“Oh, no. I was awake. I’m one of those people who only needs about four hours of sleep a night.” Her hazelnut hair hung in tangles over her shoulders, and she wore a thick white robe and fluffy slippers that I would’ve given my left kidney for, as it was the more obstinate of the two.
“Wow,” I said, blocking her line of sight when she tried to look over my shoulder. “I wish I only needed four hours of sleep.” As opposed to six months.
“Me, too,” Annette said. “If I don’t get at least eight, I’m a monster.”
I laughed softly, and my teeth chattered. Nette was about as monstrous as my left pinky toe which, although a little deformed, was hardly vicious.
“No, but really, what was that?” Parris asked, her eyes glued to the house.
Annette cringed inwardly. “The oven. There must’ve been a gas leak.”
“No, not that.” She pointed much like Annette had. “That bright light. Just now.”
Three
Question everything.
Except coffee.
—Meme
I stilled for a solid minute before Annette and I exchanged furtive glances. After looking over my shoulder to make sure the chief got Gigi and Minerva inside, I took Annette’s hand in preparation to follow suit. “That was weird, right? That light? I have no idea what that was.”
“My new 10,000-lumen flashlight,” Roane said, walking up behind us. He draped a blanket over my shoulders and kept his hands there.
I sank into the warmth of him.
He pulled me back against him, and added, “Sorry about that, Parris. I accidentally turned it to strobe. I must’ve blinded you with it.”
“Oh.” Parris hardly seemed convinced, but the bones in my feet were screaming, the cold slicing into them mercilessly as cold was wont to do. “Who was that woman?” she asked, and my lids slammed shut.
How was I going to explain the presence of my departed grandmother? Since lifting her out of the veil, she had yet to leave Percival for this very reason.
“My aunt,” I said without thinking it through. I had no idea how much Parris knew about my family. She’d been neighbors with Gigi for years, and I didn’t know how close they’d become. But the woman defined busybody. She probably knew more than Gigi knew. Add to that the fact that her husband, Harris, lived on Percy’s other side. Between the two of them, I could only imagine how much they’d gleaned from Gigi’s comings and goings.
“Night, Parris,” Roane said, leading us away.