Page 81 of Bewicched

“Was this intentional?” she asked. “Right here?”

I stood beside her to look where she was pointing.

“Do you see it? It looks wet and muddy, under the leaves and this bush, but there’s yellow. You used yellow paint. You can barely see it, but there’s one thin, yellow brushstroke right here.”

Peering closely, I saw what she did. The edge of a yellow dress. “I don’t remember painting that.” I tried to shake off the unease but couldn’t. Glancing up at the skylight, I found it demon-free and told myself to relax. “I was in the zone, just trying to get everything out of my head and onto the canvas.”

“I took pictures of them both,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind. I want to study them in detail. There may be more in there you didn’t realize.”

Nodding, my eyes wandered the whole large canvas. What else had I missed?

Detective Osso and Declan hopped in the door and shut it, both moving to the painting. They’d clearly heard our conversation. Declan pointed at the wisp of yellow, Osso nodding.

I was about to remind Detective Osso not to forget his cookies when I saw he already had the carrier in his hand and was chewing.

Declan swung by the stove top, picked up two cookies, and bit in. He sighed and shook his head. “Damn,” he breathed. “Oh, and can I have one of the key lime tarts? I love key lime.”

Detective Hernández looked around. “Where?”

“She hasn’t made them yet,” Declan responded.

Hernández raised her hand. “May I, too, request one? Please.”

After pulling butter out of the fridge to soften for the shortbread crust, assuring all assembled they would get one and making up a plate of cookies for Phil, Juan, and Mike, I finally climbed into Declan’s truck. Phil had assured me he’d keep an eye out for the arson inspector.

“Osso gave me the address,” Declan said, putting it into his phone. He glanced over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just can’t get my hands warm.” I rubbed my gloved hands together, confused. It wasn’t a cold day.

He took my left hand, wrapping his right around it. He radiated heat and I began to thaw. “Do you want to take the gloves off? It’ll probably warm you up faster.”

I was just about to do it and then stopped myself. I didn’t know why but my heart sped at the idea, not in excitement but in fear. Something was telling me not to do it. But what and why? I pulled my hand out of his as a horrible thought occurred to me.

“It’s just around this bend. We’re maybe a mile from the last house. Christopher’s,” Declan clarified.

“Okay.” I needed to get my head in the game. A child had been taken. People were relying on me. The Council and therefore my family relied on me. If what I was thinking was true—and I desperately hoped it wasn’t—it meant I had to choose between my own happiness and everyone else’s safety. Why did the universe hate me so much?

34

Too Bad You Can’t Eat in a Vision

“You okay?” Declan asked, glancing over. “You seemed to get sad all of a sudden.”

“What?” How could he know that?

He tapped his nose. “Wolves can pick up emotions, smell lies. Not always, but often.”

“Oh. Cool.” I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I needed to find my resolve before I discussed it.

Declan pulled up behind a patrol car and shut off the engine. For the first time in my life, I worried my gift wouldn’t be there. I’d wished it away a million times and now here I was, desperate for it to work. This was who I was. I didn’t know how tonotbe the sea wicche. Finding this little girl, keeping Gran from being murdered and Serena out of prison relied on my being the sea wicche, on my having the powers I was born with.

My mind kept going back to this morning. I’d been cooking without gloves. I’d rummaged in the pantry, picked up packages, cookie sheets, measuring cups, all of it and hadn’t felt anything. If Declan was a magical null, it meant I could have a partner, a lover. I could hold his hand or kiss his lips, but doing so would strip my magic away.

He opened his door and then paused. “Are we still doing this?”

Osso and Hernández were waiting outside the truck for me. I couldn’t think about this now. I opened the door and jumped out. What if it didn’t work anymore? Was I still a Cassandra?

“It’s this way,” Detective Osso said, leading us up the short walkway to the front steps of the small house in the woods. It was similar to Christopher’s, small, neat, and butted up against the woods. This one, however, had a stream running along the back of the house. There was no fence around the house, so I could see a bit of it from the porch.

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