Home > Beguiled (Betwixt & Between #3)(9)

Beguiled (Betwixt & Between #3)(9)
Author: Darynda Jones

I sat beside her in shock. It was so much worse than I’d imagined. “I’m sorry, Gigi. We can fix it. It’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not worried about what happened. I’m worried about why it happened.” She still had splotches of soot on her face, and a light coat covering her silvery-blonde shoulder-length hair. It almost looked black now, and it suited her in a strange way.

Then again, maybe I thought that because mine was so dark, an inky black so unlike Ruthie’s or my mother’s, according to pictures I’d seen of her. But we did have the same blue eyes. Apart from the fact that she was elegance and grace incarnate and I often resembled a headless chicken seeking out sustenance, we could’ve been twins.

The chief folded his large frame into the chair beside her and took her hand. His dark skin smooth against the graying stubble he now wore. “Don’t worry, hon,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze, “we’ll find out who did this.”

Roane had cleaned off the counter and sink, which was on the opposite side of the kitchen from the oven, and started a pot of coffee before beginning his quest. I watched as he opened cabinet doors and tested spices, tasted the sugar, and examined the canned foods.

Just now remembering no other emergency vehicles had showed up, I wondered how the chief had arrived so quickly. “How did you know there was an explosion?”

“I got a call on my cell.”

“Parris?” I asked, surprised she would call him directly.

“Not exactly.” Before he could finish his thought, someone knocked on the door. “And that would be him,” he said, his face grave.

He started to stand, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll get it. You guys rest.” It seemed this day would never end.

I hurried to the door, not realizing Annette had come downstairs until I got to it. I glanced over my shoulder and grinned at her. She’d showered. And cleaned her glasses. And twisted her hair into matching mini-buns on the top of her head like bear ears. She looked even more adorable than usual. My heart could only take so much.

Realizing too late we needed a peephole, I opened the door to one Mr. Donald Shoemaker, a fifty-something who lived down the street and had been trying to get me out of the house since I got here. He’d even filed petitions with the city, claiming Percival was an eyesore.

Percival was magnificent. A moss-green brick, six-gabled three-story with more personality than a house had a right to. He only looked crumbling. He was strong and fierce, and I loved him.

Mr. Shoemaker, not so much. He stood on the other side of the threshold, a determined set to his jaw. Standing right behind him was one of the chief’s patrolmen. Officer Pecs, to be exact. At least, that was the name Annette and I had come up with for him, mostly because he had pecs to die for. I turned on the porch light, hoping to catch a nametag, but he wore none.

“Oh, hi,” Annette said, squeezing past me to hold out her hand to the towering officer. She smelled like citrus shampoo. “I’m Annette.”

He took her hand reluctantly. “Ma’am. We’ve had a noise complaint.”

“Of course you have,” I said, eyeing Mr. Shoemaker.

“It was an explosion,” he said to the officer, though he didn’t take his eyes off me. “My windows shook.”

I cringed at the thought.

“That was me,” Annette said, a soft blush pinkening her cheeks. She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “The oven and I went head-to-head. I lost.”

“Your boss is just inside if you want to talk to him,” I offered, my expression the picture of innocence.

“Yes, ma’am. I saw his car.”

“He’s looking at the damage now, but no one was hurt. Would you like to come in?”

“That’s okay. As long as no one was hurt. I think the chief can handle it from here.” He didn’t seem as convinced as his words would suggest, and I wondered if he knew about all the strange happenings in this house on seemingly a daily basis. I wondered if all of Salem knew, actually.

Mr. Shoemaker bristled, his boyish face turning petulant. “You’re not going to do anything?”

“What would you have me do?” he asked, honing his voice to a razor’s edge. He probably had to be able to do things like that in his line of work.

Mr. Shoemaker had no answer. He turned back to me as the officer gave Percy’s innards one last inspection, then walked away. “Ms. Dayne,” the man said, his caramel hair showing more gray than I remembered, “I strongly suggest you go back to Arizona.”

Annette folded her arms over her chest, probably reining in a sassy comeback.

“Right. You’ve suggested that several times, and I’ve ignored it. I feel we’re at an impasse.”

“Apparently.” He tried to look past me into the house, but he was almost as vertically challenged as Annette.

“Maybe if you got another petition going,” I offered. “Those are great.”

Giving up, he bit down and pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose, a nose reddened by the biting chill. His breath fogged on the air as he stood there, and I tried my best to get past his defenses. To see what he was searching for.

I was still learning why I could read some people from a block away and others evaded my probing, but I was beginning to believe it had more to do with intent than anything else. If someone was walking up my drive with the sole purpose of asking for my help to find something they’d lost, they were already open to my magics. They already knew what I could do whether they truly believed it yet or not. Mr. Shoemaker either didn’t know or didn’t want me probing him. Go figure.

But my own curiosity sometimes got the better of me, like with Gigi earlier. She’d acted as though I could get past her defenses whether she’d wanted me to or not. Maybe I could. Maybe all it would take for me to know what Mr. Shoemaker wanted was to insist.

I lowered my head, reached out with my mind, and asked him, “What are you searching for?”

He let out a long breath that misted in front of his face before leaning closer and saying, “A way to get you out of this house and out of this town.”

“Then you’ll have to get used to disappointment.”

Something on the ground caught my, eye and I dropped my gaze to see Percy—well, Percy’s vines—glide across the porch toward Mr. Shoemaker’s sneakers. One of them curled around his shoelace and tugged it loose as another wound around and untied his other shoe.

Before Percy could do anything more, Mr. Shoemaker turned on his heel and walked away, pausing slightly when he noticed his untied shoes.

Annette hmphed as she watched him stalk off. “He’s like ninety-five percent dark chocolate. From the looks of it, you think it’s going to be smooth and sweet. Instead, it’s gritty. And bitter. And when you bite into it, it bites you back.”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorjamb opposite her, eyeing the man suspiciously. “I don’t know, Nette. I think there may be more going on here than simply a disgruntled neighbor.”

“Like a disgruntled neighbor who has a thorn in his side and is determined to see you kicked out of Salem?”

I shrugged. She did have a point.

We walked back into the kitchen, and Roane carefully lifted a canister to Annette. “I don’t know what you think you put in your cake, but it was not flour.”

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