Counterfeits and Cauldrons: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 6) Read online

  “I’ve already checked Don off my list, you know,” I said, pulling away from the curb and toward the subdivision where Justina lived.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Mother-in-law problems.”

  He digested that for a moment. “Just because Don didn’t do it, doesn’t mean Justina’s in the clear. She spends most of her time in the radius, too.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I silently asked where he got all this information. He looked a little forlorn for a moment, and then said, “I’ve been listening in on a lot of your conversations. Happy? See what you’ve reduced me to?”

  “A backstabbing, disloyal−”

  “Okay, okay. Truce.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Justina lived in a frilly, two-floor house that could've only belonged to a woman—or a very confident man. The siding was painted bright pink, and the windows had been stuffed with cutouts to make them appear heart-shaped. Frankly, it was a little surprising. Apart from her mile long, fake nails, Justina wasn't all that feminine.

  Oliver noticed my confusion. "She has a thing about Valentine's Day."

  After jimmying open the front door with a little magic, I appraised the comfortable, poufy furniture and ornate walls, deciding it wasn't my style. It would've been funny, though, to see what Wyatt would do if I suggested painting the whole house pink.

  As soon as we were over the threshold, things got weird. Every available surface was covered by picture frames, and in those frames, one person was prominent. Oliver shifted next to me. Obviously, this house-wide shrine to him hadn't been here the last time he'd visited.

  "It's like an ode to your capes," I whispered, picking out at least five of his different favorites right off the bat.

  "And my shoes," he hissed, picking up a picture that showed him in a pair of high-tops—and nothing else.

  Coughing, I said, "Maybe that's an ode to your−"

  We both cut off when something creaked upstairs. After a moment of nothing coming to get us, we breathed a sigh of relief at our folly. It was an old house. Old houses, like old people, made funny noises sometimes.

  Back to business, we searched the house top to bottom. There were no signs of ink or that material that she'd found at Melanie's shop, and there was definitely no Melanie. It'd be hard to hide that nose for long, even in a big house like this.

  "If she's smart enough to counterfeit," Oliver said. "She's smart enough to cover her tracks."

  "The question is do you think she's that smart?"

  Oliver pursed his lips, obviously not wanting to talk badly about a former—crazy—lover. "As far as motive goes," he said, changing the subject, "I know she's not having money troubles, but maybe she's saving up for the ring herself. Maybe she got tired of waiting for Don to scrape together the cash."

  I snorted. "Oli, she's obviously still in love with you." I motioned to a huge portrait of the two of them together hanging above her bed. "Frankly, I don't know how Don even stands to live here."

  Shrugging, Oliver turned uncomfortably away from the picture. "She... does this thing."

  "Magically?" I leaned forward, almost foaming at the mouth.

  "Sexually."

  I backed up big time. "Ew. Spare me. I think there's a little more to Don's feelings than good sex."

  "What else is there?"

  I rolled my eyes, turning away from him. Because we were quiet for a moment, we heard the lock turn in the door downstairs. Freezing, we looked at each other with comically wide eyes. There were no exits up here that I could see, so we stood, transfixed for a painful moment.

  Then, I heard the telltale noises of Justina coming up the stairs, whistling to herself and probably picking at her killer fingernails. I ran over to the window and opened it with a loud creek that sounded like thunder in the quiet house.

  "Oliver? Is that you?"

  My best friend turned pale and practically ran over me in an effort to get out the window and onto the sloping roof between the two levels of the house. We scuttled over to the edge, peering down at the distance to the ground. It was far, and the grass did not look soft.

  Oliver shook his head wildly. "No way. I want to die having sex in the shower not from a broken neck after a terrifying fall."

  "Would you like that shower sex scene to happen in prison?" I hissed at him. "I'm sure they'd love you there, pretty boy."

  "Fair." He gulped, looking down again. "I don't think I can do it."

  We'd dallied too long, though, and Justina was at the window. She stared at us on her roof for a minute, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Then, she got mad, but not for the reason I would've predicted.

  "You're here with her?" she shrieked, climbing out the window and pulling a small, competent gun from her ankle holster. "I'll kill you, Oliver Belafonte, you two-timing son of a−"

  "I changed my mind." Oliver grabbed my hand and jumped over the side, pulling me with him.

  We hit the ground and rolled, all my scrapes and burns from yesterday's explosion feeling fresh and painful as hell as the ground met us with very little hospitality. Above us, I could hear Justina scramble over the roof.

  I looked up briefly enough to see her jump, and then, I was on my feet. Still on the ground, Oliver moaned in the grass, looking pitiful. Grabbing him by the electric blue cape, I wrenched him from his prone position.

  "Move, Belafonte!"

  We hightailed it down the street, regretting fiercely that I hadn't parked closer. Behind us, seemingly right on our heels, Justina was wailing Oliver's name, begging him to come back. Unfortunately, her screams that she loved him and wanted him back came accompanied with a gunshot that whizzed right past us.

  "She's shooting!" Oliver said, panting like a dog.

  "She was aiming for the family jewels, too!" My breathing wasn’t any better.

  "I have that effect on women."

  "And men."

  "I'm an equal opportunity lover."

  We threw ourselves into the bug, and I slammed my foot down on the gas. For one terrifying second, the bug only lurched forward. Then, we shot out of that neighborhood like a bat out of hell, Justina firing bullets at our bumper the whole time.

  I didn't slow down until we were back in front of Hane's. Turning off the car, the two of us sat there in silence, breathing heavily and staring straight in front of us, eyes glazed over.

  "It's kind of sweet, though," Oliver said finally, "that she's still holding a torch for me. Don't you think?"

  I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. "You two deserve each other."

  Chapter Ten

  When I got home, Wyatt was waiting for me. He raised an eyebrow at my messy clothes, slick with sweat, and the wild look in my eye. He followed me into the kitchen, pouring me a cup of tea. Cooper was already sitting at the dining table, still in his pajamas, and glaring at me.

  “I heard about gunshots downtown on my police scanner,” Wyatt said. “Care to explain?”

  “I wasn’t the shooter.”

  “Ah, just the target.”

  I frowned at Cooper’s continued angered state. “What’s got you all worked up?”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I’ve been waiting all morning!”

  “Waiting for what?”

  Wyatt set the tea down in front of me, smiling wryly. “It’s Christmas morning, Harper.”

  My eyes flew open wide. In all the commotion, I’d completely forgotten that it was Christmas. The past couple of years, it hadn’t been more than a blip on my radar. When you have no one to exchange presents with, Christmas loses a lot of its immediacy.

  Cooper ran into the living room to sit under the tree. Following at a much slower pace, Wyatt wrapped an arm around my waist, his ice-colored eyes blazing. I leaned into him, loving the look in his eyes when I did.

  “Guys,” Cooper whined, already holding a beautifully-wrapped present and waiting to rip into it.

  “We’ve been summoned,” Wyatt whispered agai
nst my neck.

  Deciding Cooper had been patient enough, we plopped down next to the large, green tree. A couple weeks ago, I’d helped the two of them decorate it by putting my own personal ornaments on it. Now, instead of just baby Jesus and cute, little Santas, there were ceramic roller skates and a topless disco chick.

  The first gift Cooper opened was solely from me. He grinned as he tried on a pair of hot pink skates that matched mine perfectly. Shaking his head, Wyatt nonetheless grinned as his son rolled around the living room in skates that said “dancing queen” in sparkly letters.

  Next, Wyatt opened his public present—the private one being a Christmas-themed lingerie set for me that I’d show him later tonight. The tie was bright green like my Afro wig and said my stage name in the same color as Cooper’s skates (Foxxy).

  Cooper made a face. “My dad won’t wear that.”

  Ruffling his son’s hair, Wyatt said, “I’ll wear whatever the lady tells me to, Coop.”

  “Too right you will,” I said with a cheeky grin.

  It was Cooper’s turn again to open something that was from the both of us. He frowned at the small box, obviously unsure as to what it was. I hid my smile with some difficultly.

  He tore open the wrapping paper and emerged with a tiny dog collar. The tags didn’t have a name on them, only saying “Merry Christmas.” He stared at it in amazement for a moment, his whole face lighting up in a way that did curious things to my heart.

  “I get a dog?”

  Wyatt nodded. “We’ll go with you to pick one out from the local pound as soon as the holidays are over.”

  He lunged for us, almost toppling over because he was still on skates. His small arms wrapped around Wyatt and me as he chanted “thank you, thank you” over and over again. His father didn’t look nearly as excited, though he agreed to it when I brought it up a month ago. Likely, he was picturing even more pet hair on his pristine furniture.

  When it came time for me to receive my presents, Wyatt gave me a brand new wig that came in a color that ironically reminded me of Justina’s house. Smiling, I put it on my head, striking a pose that made Cooper laugh. I told the pair of them that it’d go great with this new topless routine I’d thought up. Cooper frowned in confusion, and Wyatt rolled his eyes.

  Just when I thought we were done, Cooper handed me a flat, rectangle-shaped present. It wasn’t as nicely wrapped and bulged in places, leading me to think Cooper wrapped it himself.

  I opened it up and found a small picture frame with a drawing inside. It was of Cooper, Wyatt, and I at the Funky Wheel, skating around. Wyatt and I were on either side of Cooper, holding his hands and spinning him around. We were all grinning ear to ear.

  “You drew this?” I asked, my throat thick. He nodded. “It’s fantastic.”

  Reaching over, he uncovered the last bit of wrapping from the frame, revealing the engraved words “my family.” Suddenly, no words could make it past my throat, so I just smiled and nodded my thanks. Leaning over, I gave Cooper a sloppy kiss on the forehead. He made a face and wiped it away, but he looked secretly pleased.

  We sat there for hours more, eating cold pizza from the fridge and watching Cooper play with his new gifts. Every so often, he’d glance over at Wyatt and I sitting together, and a big grin would cross his face. It was the closest thing to a perfect day that I’d ever had—even with the shooting.

  Later that night, after Cooper had gone to bed, I put on some dark clothing, kissed Wyatt firmly on the lips, and headed out into the night. Usually, when I go breaking into someone's house, I like to take someone with me for banter and entertainment purposes. But with it being Christmas, I figured I'd give all my sidekicks a night off and do the sneaking myself.

  Katy—freshly not living with her parents anymore—and Greg lived not too far from Justina. There weren't that many subdivisions in Waresville to choose from, after all. I arrived on the scene and sent up a silent thank you that none of the lights were on and that the cars were gone. It'd been a long shot that they'd be at the Christmas ball, part of the dancing event, with all this stuff going on.

  Without bothering to be stealthy, I burst through the lock with a loud bang. Most of the cars on the street were gone too, so I figured not a creature would stir, not even a mouse. I slipped inside, my clothes blending with the darkness.

  The inside of the house was a little barebones, but not for lack of furniture. Everything here just seemed nondescript and plain. It gave no impression of personality, the exact opposite of Justina's. Like hers, though, strange creaking sounds set me on edge and had me tip-toeing around an obviously empty house.

  Like with any house I broke into, I started with the bedroom. My eyes widened upon entering, because on the walls had to be at least forty portraits of past presidents, all done by hand. It was a little creepy, having all those dead guys staring at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw Lincoln glaring at me.

  It wasn't enough, though. True, they were the only suspects I had left, but that wasn't a crime. It just reflected badly on me as a detective. Besides, painting wasn't illegal, and neither was making the paintings creepy. I needed more.

  Unfortunately, I searched the whole boring house and came up with not one shred of real evidence. On top of that, the only evidence of magic that I could find was Sarah Goodfellow's book lying on the kitchen table, and that hardly counted. As Gran said, there was very little magic in there, and certainly not enough to make bills disappear in a cloud of green smoke.

  Intending to switch it up and sneak out the back, I was confronted with a shed in the backyard. Cocking my head, I snuck up to it, pushing the door open carefully. There was no way to be quiet with rusty hinges like those, though, and it made a horrible shrieking noise loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood.

  Wincing, I walked inside the shed. Unlike any shed I'd been in, this one was spotless if you didn't count the mounds of fabric and sewing supplies everywhere. I brushed by some half-made dressings, walking straight up to the main attraction: a blue, sparkly dress. It was Cinderella style, beautiful, and damning.

  Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the scrap of fabric I'd found at the factory next to all the green ink. Laying it on the dress, the fabric blended so well, it seemed to disappear for a moment. A perfect match.

  "You see," a voice said from the open door, "I've learned to listen for situations like this on the police scanner. ‘Strange noises coming from empty house’ or ‘green-haired woman sneaking around in the dark.’"

  "How perceptive of you," I said, glaring at Officer Kosher in the low light. "It's almost like you're a detective, but that's not right, is it?"

  Wordlessly, he pulled out the cuffs. I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him what I'd found to keep him from locking me up. The universe decided for me, though, when his radio went off.

  "All police personnel to Town Hall. We have a hostage situation on our hands. Magic may be involved."

  We stared at each other for a long moment. Kosher broke the standoff. "I'll drive."

  Sprinting through the front yard, I almost tripped over a garden gnome twice, swearing a blue streak each time. Kosher's engine roared to life as soon as we were inside the cab, and we charged down Main Street with the sirens blaring.

  "Stealth is not your forte," I yelled at him over the racket. "Maybe that's why you're still an Officer."

  "If you don't shut up," he growled, "I'm going to shove my silver badge down your throat."

  "Kinky."

  We sprinted up to the uniforms who were making a perimeter. Everyone who should have been inside for the dance—the whole town, practically—was outside. Everyone looked on with annoyed and terrified faces. It only took one glance to see why; Town Hall was glowing green.

  "We've tried to enter," an officer said to us. "But it's like some kind of force field."

  Kosher nodded and then turned to me. "Can you get me in?"

  Raising an eyebrow, I said, "A better question would be why w
ould I want to?"

  "I... apologize," he gritted up, "for arresting you."

  I waited.

  "And for using you and locking you in a dressing room."

  And?"

  He threw up his hands. "And for being an unreasonable, cantankerous, bas−"

  "Very good, Officer," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the building. Both of us made faces at the touching, but it was a necessary evil.

  I walked up to the green magic, breathing deeply and letting it flow over me and past me. By extension, I took Kosher with me. It tried to touch us, to stop us in our tracks and do something particularly nasty, but I forced it over us, not letting it touch our skin.

  By the time we were inside the building, I was panting and sweating with the effort of moving past that spell. My skin felt clammy, and I shook slightly. Eyeing me, Kosher seemed to be weighing whether or not to leave me behind.

  "I will hurt you," I told him honestly. "Just try it."

  Shrugging, he grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me along. His other hand pulled out his gun, pointing it at any ominous shadow that looked like it was thinking of giving us trouble.

  When we walked into the courtyard, some seriously weird stuff awaited us. A large cauldron, smoke dripping from the lid, sat in the middle of the space. All around, the walls were painted with blood red symbols. Some of them, I recognized from Gran's books. The other were completely foreign to me, but nonetheless made me shift with worry.

  We weren't alone in the room, either. The square was littered with witnesses, all tied up and gagged. Moving forward, I almost tripped over Melanie, who was glaring at me as if all of this was my fault. Next, I stumbled upon Justina, followed by Julio and Jamie. Julio was staring at Jamie, who looked about ready to cry at all of this. I touched his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring comfort.

  Near the cauldron, Katy was struggling madly next to Greg, a much more subdued captive. Her eyes were wild, and they were looking right at me. Reluctantly, I gently untied her muzzle, freeing her mouth up to talk.

  "You have to get us out of here," she hissed. "They're crazy! I never meant for any of this−"