Page 58 of The Most Wanted Witch

Mertie turned to leave.

“Wait. What happened to her? Did she get fired from the factory or something?”

“No one gets fired from the factory.” She let out a laugh, as if that were the most ridiculous thing someone could utter. “Our records indicated probable death, but it had a bunch of question marks beside it, which means she somehow disappeared on her own. Marvin doesn’t like there to be written records when someone manages to save themselves.”

“How long ago?” Had she conceived me here or in Rest? Was my father a warlock or some human she’d hooked up with afterward?

“Around nineteen years ago, but I don’t have anything more specific. It might’ve taken a while to notice her gone as well. Like I said, Marvin doesn’t like to keep those kinds of records. I wasn’t employed there yet, and any Whimsy that knew her is long gone by now.” She lit up another cigarette. “You’re not going to back out on our deal, right? If you’re even thinking about it, I—”

“I gave you my word I wouldn’t.” It was beginning to be obvious that it wasn’tifMertie was going to come, but when. But why? If I’d had a true idea of the odds of having to pay up, I would’ve negotiated a little harder. “Tell me one thing: if things get bad, why would you need a place to go? Why can’t you stay where you’re at?”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes, as if annoyed I’d asked. When I continued to wait for an answer, she finally huffed. “I told you the witches and warlocks at the factory are getting weird. What else do you need to know?”

I leaned back on the side of the building. She didn’t like Dread either? I’d thought she was impartial, but this was just…

“Dread unsettles you too?”

She shrugged.

Mertie got the same bad vibe we did. That was interesting, and maybe a little nauseating. I’d thought it was a given that this thing was evil, but wouldn’t an ex-demon like it, then? What did that say? Or maybe that was why she was an ex-demon. Maybe she hadn’t been cut out for the job? Was Mertie as lost a soul as I’d been living in Rest?

“Look, one way or another, we’ll make room for you. You’ll have a place to stay.”

She gave me a half a nod. It was the nicest gesture she’d ever given me. Maybe the nicest gesture she’d ever made?

“I gotta go,” she said, and then took off, as if that in itself had been a little too much niceness for her to stomach.

25

There was a towel over my eyes; I was trying to ease the ache of eye strain from poring over every book I could find in my search for a solution to what was coming. It felt as if most of my day was spent hunting an enemy I couldn’t find or mentally roaming around in pea soup without a clue, and begging people to dig for details of my origins, in some hope it might lead me to what Dread was.

“You’re not going to find answers in that book,” Oscar said.

I lifted the rag off my eyes and surveyed the room. Oscar was hogging the other couch. Bibbi had a pile of slips at the table she was sorting and Zab was sitting on the other side, eating again, feeding his anxiety, as Bertha tried to cook hers away.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” I said, eyeing Oscar up.

Point was, none of us knew what to do at this point. We’d once again hit a brick wall, and the clock was ticking louder every day.

“It might appear as if I’m doing nothing, but I’m quite busy thinking.” He tapped his head. “Tell me what Mertie said again?”

I relayed all the information that was pertinent, which excluded her moving in. This was not the day for that conversation. That day would happen when she showed up.

“I have to say, it’s very strange you were born to a human and a Whimsy witch,” Oscar said. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Why do you think that? Maybe my father was a warlock?”

“Odds of a warlock of any kind of serious power being born as a pop-up in Rest is very unlikely.Andyou weren’t conceived here, or immigration wouldn’t have been able to boot you.” He was scratching his jaw as he went back to his heavy thinking.

“That goes back to conception?” I asked.

“Yes. Why? Did you think maybe Zark was your long-lost daddy or something?” He laughed even as I threw my wet rag at him.

“You’re not funny most of the time. I hope you know that,” I said, leaning my head back again.

“That one was actually pretty funny,” Zab said. No one else disagreed.

“Can I have my rag back?” I held up a hand, and the wetness smacked me in the palm a second later, all nice and toasty again. “Thanks.”

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