Page 36 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
After Brexley's profuse apologies and promises of free coffee, we spent the next hour settling into a productive rhythm, going over our investigative leads while nursing properly prepared beverages. The conversation naturally turned to recent developments, and I brought up the growing number of complaints about Councilwoman Devon.
"What's particularly concerning is her dramatic rise to power," I explained. "Six months ago, she was processing magical permits in bureaucratic obscurity. Now she's pushing through controversial surveillance legislation with Reid Bishop's complete support."
"How delightfully suspicious," Sage mused, examining the documents with interest. "Nothing says 'trustworthy public servant' like sudden, inexplicable political advancement."
"You know, it's interesting," I continued, pieces beginning to connect in my mind. "When the Council first recruited me, they mentioned that their methods had become 'much more persuasive' after certain Academy students had rejected their offers. They seemed particularly bitter about someone who'd told them to 'go straightto hell' during their second year." I met her eyes meaningfully. "Sound familiar?"
Sage's expression darkened with understanding. "They told you about that?"
"Not directly, but they made it clear that your rejection had made things personal for them. That's when they started using threats instead of just incentives."
Both suspects had secured top spots on our list, but our session came to a natural end when Sage mentioned work obligations. However, just before we parted ways, Cosmo looked directly at me and spoke for the first time in four years.
"I'll expect those sticky buns the next time we see each other, peasant," he declared with feline dignity.
I laughed, nodding enthusiastically. Being called ‘peasant’ by Cosmo felt like a diplomatic breakthrough.
As I watched Sage and Cosmo depart, I felt genuine hope for the first time in years. Working with her again felt right in a way that few things had since I'd made the devastating choice to leave her.
I was just about to head back to the boarding house when a recognizable voice called out behind me.
"Agent Renshaw! What an interesting coincidence running into you here."
Tommy Bishop approached with his characteristic smile, though something in his eyes seemed sharper, more calculating. His timing felt far too convenient to be accidental.
"Tommy," I acknowledged carefully, noting how his gaze cataloged everything about the coffee shop's interior.
"Actually, I heard there was quite the dramaticcommotion in here earlier," he said casually. "Something involving illegal spell use? With all these terrible disappearances happening lately, we simply can't be too careful about magical irregularities."
I studied his face, noting how his seemingly innocent questions felt loaded with hidden meaning. "Just a misunderstanding with an overzealous barista. Nothing that concerned the official investigation."
"Of course," Tommy said, his smile widening without reaching his eyes. "Though I've been quite impressed by how thoroughly you and Miss Blackstone have been investigating. Almost like you knew exactly what type of magic to look for."
The hair on my neck prickled. How would Tommy know about our investigative methods? "Just standard procedure."
"Naturally." His expression grew artificially somber. "Well, I won't keep you. Though if you ever need local insight, I'd be happy to help. I actually knew poor Beverly quite well. Sweet girl, always worked the late Thursday shifts at the diner. Very predictable in her routines."
My blood chilled. How did he know Beverly's schedule so specifically? And why mention her predictable routine when discussing targeted disappearances?
"Such a terrible shame about mixed-blood witches being targeted," he continued, watching my reaction. "Really makes you wonder who could have such detailed knowledge about their personal patterns."
Before I could respond, he was already walking away, leaving me with far more questions than answers and the disturbing feeling I'd just been warned, or threatened.
Sixteen
Sage
After leaving Callum at the coffee shop, I found myself taking the scenic route home when my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the text from Callum:
"Tommy just made some weird comments about Beverly's work schedule - knew way too many specific details."
My mind immediately began churning over the implications. The timing and specificity felt less like casual knowledge and more like evidence of careful surveillance.The questions followed me home like persistent ravens, nagging at me as I descended into my underground sanctuary. Cosmo claimed his favorite cushion, but I found myself unable to settle into any productive work rhythm. Something was bothering me on a level that wentbeyond the obvious danger currently stalking our community.
After an hour of restless pacing, I finally gave in to the impulse that had been building. I pulled out my laptop and typed in search terms I'd been avoiding: Blackstone car accident eighteen years ago Old Hollows.
The results were frustratingly sparse, a brief obituary that read like a form letter, a single mention in council minutes about replacing my father's advisory position. For two prominent researchers who had served on multiple committees, their deaths had generated remarkably little documentation. The absence felt deliberate, like someone had worked very hard to ensure their story remained untold.
Twenty minutes later, I stood on Gran's front porch, watching her tend to herbs that glowed with subtle inner light. She moved among her plants with practiced grace, but there was tension in her shoulders that suggested she was expecting difficult questions.
