Stone Cold Witch (Nightshade Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 3) Read online

  With only about another hour of work to go, I decide to use the time working on the case a bit. I call out to the books in the library, “Okay, I need every last one of you who have any references on petrifaction. Even if it’s just a footnote.”

  I swear, the entire library goes chatty. “Me! Me! Pick me! I do! I do!”

  I grab a book cart and start pushing it up and down aisles; the books who are screaming that they have references on petrifaction go leaping off the shelves and land neatly on the cart. The next thing I know, the cart is loaded down with more than two hundred books, and there are still a few books throughout the library shouting at me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say under my breath.

  Peter scurries around a corner, holding onto shouting books in his arms. “What are you looking for, exactly?” Peter asks me as he lays down some of the screaming books at my desk before we continue walking throughout the library to gather the rest of the lot.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “I’m having a hard time figuring this one out. I have no idea what the motive is, which is what is making this case so difficult. I can’t imagine Officer Dudley is doing any better.”

  Once we believe we have officially gathered all of the books that discuss creatures being turned to stone, I wind up standing before my desk feeling a bit overwhelmed. There are just mountains and mountains of books sitting in front of me. I hear Snowball whistle in her amusement as she enters my office area and hops up on one of the stacks of books we wound up having to put on the floor. “That’s quite a collection there,” Snowball says. “Good thing those books can put themselves back on the shelves. Are you going to have to read all of those?”

  “I’m going to do a good bit of skimming,” I say. “Problem is, I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m looking for.”

  I hear voices coming from the downstairs lobby. Awfully close to closing time for library guests. Peter sits down and opens up a book, seemingly content with waiting for me here. So, I head downstairs where I see Sprout, Doc, and Alfie speaking with none other than my dear friend, Red Sumac. I smile. “Well, well, well, what are you doing all the way out here in Nightshade tonight?” I ask.

  “I came to see you, of course,” she says, her arms crossed. Yeah, she looks annoyed—something tells me this is not an I-missed-you sort of visit.

  “Everything all right, Red?” I ask just as Val is entering through the front door. He looks slightly out of breath, and it only takes me a minute to piece together that he had chased Red Sumac here.

  “No, it’s not,” she hisses.

  “Red Sumac, I told you to stay out of Suzy’s business,” Val says, propping one hand on his hip.

  “What are you so uptight about?” I ask, but I suspect I know the answer.

  “Another witch from here who came to visit my school was telling everyone about the Spell Master adopting a gargoyle hybrid,” she says, staring at me with the most judgmental eyes I have ever seen. “Please, Suzy, tell me you didn’t do something that stupid.”

  Wow. Just wow.

  “You should have listened to Val,” I say. “What is your problem?”

  “Obviously you just don’t get how things are on this side,” she says to me. “I understand that. You weren’t raised in this world. You don’t know. You remember all of those creatures we saw in Safe Haven? Those annoying little harpies? The cyclops? The minotaurs? They’re not like the rest of us, Suzy! They’re not… not really people.”

  “You’re joking,” I say. I can see Val, the only one present who knows mine and Peter’s secret, looking just as offended as I am feeling.

  “Everyone used to say that about vampires, you know?” Val hisses.

  “You know that’s not the same,” Red Sumac insists. “Gargoyles are just humanoid monsters! They’re thieves—lowlife creatures, and you know it, Val!”

  “No, you know what? I don’t!” Val snaps.

  I give him an I-can-handle-this look, and he steps back, but he doesn’t remove the angry, sulking look from his face. “You really think that highly of yourself?” I ask her. “What makes you so much better than a gargoyle? You were there with me at the clock tower. What makes them so different from you and me? They had families and friends. They were well-read. Obviously, they haven’t been given the same opportunities as witches, but they weren’t animals. You’re acting like I adopted a basilisk.”

  “You might as well have!” Red exclaims. “You just adopted one that talks, but with that comes the ability to lie and manipulate.”

  “Where is this even coming from?” Alfie asks, and he does so very loudly. He and Peter have gotten very close. The man looks like he wants to go get his axe and ram into her. “I mean, I know some people have their reservations about gargoyles, but you’re just being outright cruel!”

  She crosses her arms and turns up her nose. “My great-grandfather was on the board that sent those vermin to Safe Haven. He was a proud Anti-Mason!”

  I hear a couple of offended gasps, but I have no idea what the term entails. “You sick little witch!” Doc says. “You’re saying it proudly too, aren’t you?”

  “Pause—new girl in town here,” I say. “An Anti-Mason?”

  Val looks towards me sadly. “There was a time when gargoyles were hunted. Exterminated. Anti-Masons would stalk gargoyles and find their nests. During the day, when the gargoyles were defenseless and turned to stone, Anti-Masons would sledgehammer the stone. It’s a… cowardly way to kill a gargoyle is what it is!”

  “And you’re proud of that, Red Sumac?” I question angrily.

  “My great-grandfather helped to keep them contained,” she says. “They’re heavy breeders. Always have been.”

  “Your great-grandfather was on the wrong side of history,” Doc says. “I’ll admit, when Suzy brought Peter here, I was a little nervous. I grew up in those times, you know; when everyone was so afraid of gargoyles as though they had a reason to be! My own father told me bedtime stories to scare me about gargoyles. But I never believed any of the nonsense that was spread about them! The hunting of the gargoyles started because of sick, twisted people like the Anti-Masons who rose to power through fear mongering. It’s why we call the Anti-Masons terrorists in the schoolbooks now, Red Sumac!”

  “So, all of you; you’re all telling me you were just all open arms, happy as can be, when Suzy showed up in Nightshade with a gargoyle?” Red Sumac asks, and the room grows silent. “I didn’t think so,” she says and then looks directly at me, waiting for a response.

  “You’re basing your hate on an old, outdated stereotype,” I say.

  “Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason, Suzy,” she says.

  I step forward, somewhat quickly and as though I am ten feet taller than her rather than significantly shorter. I feel myself bucking up slightly. “Oh, is that right?” I ask. “You know, where I come from, witches have a pretty nasty reputation. They’re called monsters.”

  “Well, at least I don’t go wandering to the other side then,” she says. “But you just brought a gargoyle out of his territory; brought him to a town where he’s considered a monster instead of leaving him in Safe Haven.”

  “Safe Haven? You mean your great-grandfather’s ghetto!” I shout. “I am so disappointed in you! You absolutely disgust me right now!”

  “I disgust you! You must be joking. I’m not the one who brought home an animal and started telling everyone to call it my son,” she says and almost laughs.

  “You want to know why I brought him home?” I say, hissing through my gritted teeth. “Because Peter is my brother!” She looks at me with this stunned gaze, and I hear a few quiet gasps behind me. I point a finger in Red Sumac’s face. “That’s right. The great and powerful Spell Master—the one-in-a-million witch everyone wants to be—is a gargoyle hybrid! So, Red Sumac, tell me again how disgusting I am to you!”

  She has no idea what to say. She just stares blankly at me.

  “Suzy?” Alfie questions, and I turn around to see m
y trio of friends: Sprout, Alfie, and Doc, all staring at me in amazement.

  “Peter and I are twins,” I begin. “He was born sick—too much like a gargoyle, yet he was birthed by my mother, who obviously did not lay an egg, so my granny cast a spell that placed him inside a gargoyle egg.” I go on to explain everything to them. When I finish, they’re silent. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

  “Your father wasn’t a gargoyle?” Sprout speaks first.

  “He was a hybrid,” I say. “He looked more wizard than gargoyle. No wings or tail like Peter. He blended in just fine as a wizard.” I turn and look back at Red Sumac.

  “Suzy, I…I, didn’t know,” she says.

  “No, you didn’t, but that doesn’t change things,” I say. “If you hate gargoyles so much—”

  “I don’t hate you, Suzy,” she insists. “You are my friend. I mean, maybe you and your brother are just some of the good ones?”

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “The fact that Suzy is your friend does not somehow make her and Peter better than other gargoyles, Red Sumac,” Val says, stepping out of his corner and shooting her a glare.

  I nod in agreement. “You need to admit to me right now that you are wrong, or you can leave and not come back. You can’t hate a part of me and expect me to be okay with that.”

  She looks very broken and sincere when she speaks. “I am so sorry, Suzy. I just…when I was a little girl… my great-grandfather and I were close, you know? He told me stories about it like he was some war hero, and I believed him.”

  “Anti-Masons were not war heroes,” Doc says. “I’m sure your great-grandfather loved you very much, but the Anti-Masons were murderers who convinced the world for a brief period of time that they were doing good.

  “And, if I may, Ms. Sumac,” Alfie says, pointing his finger upward. “There is a little boy upstairs who has the biggest heart of any kid I know. I’m pretty sure if you asked him what stories the adults in the orphanage told him to scare him at night the way Doc’s father would read him stories of gargoyles… the bad guys were probably men like your grandfather. The monsters who would come and smash a gargoyle to pieces when he was at his weakest. That’s not a hero; that’s a monster.”

  Red Sumac looks mortified. I watch this interesting moment unfold as Red Sumac comes to terms with the fact that she is a prejudiced prick. Just as she is about to speak, we hear the sounds of loud shouts and horrified screams coming from just outside.

  CHAPTER SİXTEEN

  I HURRY OUTSIDE, followed closely behind by Val and my group of friends who had been standing with me in the lobby. A large gathering of werewolves from Joe’s pack are running around town as the sun is setting in a frantic panic. They’re all paired up, sniffing around, and shouting. “Joe!” I call out into the dark, and he’s next to me in an instant with a tear-soaked face. “What’s going on?” I demand.

  “It’s Ray,” he says. “My son—my boy is missing!”

  “Oh no,” I hear Red Sumac say.

  Alfie darts inside, returning in seconds with his axe over his shoulder as I interrogate Joe. “Where did you last see him?” I ask.

  “He was helping me at the garage,” Joe sobs. “I turned around for one second, and then he was just gone!”

  “We’re going to help,” I say. I glance over to see Val praying. Not a kid. I’m not going to let whoever is doing this hurt a kid. Looking up, I see a small cluster of bats flying around frantically. Not far off, there are witches on broomsticks zipping back and forth across the skies. More and more creatures are all coming out of the woodworks to help find the missing child. Good. The werewolves can’t do this on their own. Not quickly enough, at least.

  “Spread out,” I tell my friends. “We have to search every inch of this town. We need to find him now.”

  I hear a shrieking, and I look up to see Peter zipping out of a top window of the library with Snowball on his back. He lands abruptly between Joe and I, causing Joe to jump back in surprise. “You really did adopt a gargoyle,” he says with a hint of remorse. What is up with everyone in this town?

  Peter puts Snowball down, and she scurries behind Alfie. “That was nothing like flying on the back of a broomstick,” she grumbles.

  “Shut up, you’re fine,” Alfie insists.

  “You try it,” she snarls.

  “I’m good.”

  “Peter, go back inside,” I tell him.

  “No,” he tells me, and I raise a brow at him. “I mean, no ma’am?” he says, as though this correction made the abrupt refusal to listen to me better. “I’m a gargoyle,” he tells me. “If you think a werewolf’s ability to track is good, then you’re about to be very impressed. I can help find him.”

  Joe looks hesitant. He looks about as sketched out about Peter as Doc had. I want to go punch everyone’s father who ever told them a scary bedtime story about gargoyles! Dang, parenting is making me so violent!

  “Can gargoyles track with scent?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Red Sumac says. “They’re probably more skilled with tracking than any creature on this side.”

  “Do you have something of his?” Peter asks.

  Joe just continues to stare, like there is a natural distrust there. I can see the hair on his arm standing up on end.

  “Joe!” Val shouts, snapping the man out of his trance. “Your son is missing, man! Your son is missing, and this boy can help! Listen to what he is saying; do you have something of Ray’s? Need I remind you what happened to the last two werewolves who have gone missing?”

  “Right!” Joe says, shaking it off. “Yes, come with me. Hurry.”

  I forgot how fast Joe is. I’m surprised to see how quickly Peter moves when he gets down on all fours; he keeps up with Joe a lot better than I do. Peter and I wind up separated from everyone else; they head off on their own search parties. We follow Joe to the gas station and the man goes digging around in a car. As he is doing this, a small bat comes fluttering up beside us. Seconds later, the bat becomes Val. I nod approvingly at him. Joe returns to us in the parking lot of the station, gripping a small shirt. He again looks hesitant to come close enough to Peter to hand it over. Peter, annoyed, jumps forward and just snatches the shirt away. He sniffs it and then tucks the shirt into the rim of his pants.

  I can hear distant shouting as mobs of people shout and call out for Ray. So far, no one has seen any sign of him. Peter walks around the gas station several times, sniffing the air. “This is a waste of time!” Joe snaps. “That gargoyle is not helping!”

  I glare at Joe. “That gargoyle is my son, and if you think he’s not helping then why don’t you—”

  Val smacks me on my arm. “There he goes!”

  Joe and I spin around in time to see Peter darting off down the road on all fours. We chase after him, Joe obviously far ahead of Val and I. Val is out of breath quickly, but he keeps pace with me. Poor Val already chased Red Sumac around town tonight to try to keep her from pestering me; I’m under the impression that vampires are not exactly big on exercise. This is probably more running than he’s done in a millennium. I’m tempted to call for Broom Hilda, but I don’t want to lose any time.

  “Ray! Ray!” Joe shouts as we run.

  Peter leads us to an abandoned mill just outside of town. By the time we get here, we’ve been joined by half of the werewolves from Joe’s pack who spotted Peter doing his valiant sprint through town, obviously having found a track of some sort. Peter stops outside of the mill and stands up just as Joe and I catch up to him, poor Val and the pack of werewolves a good distance behind us now.

  Peter growls. “Ray!” he shouts, and we hear a faint cry.

  Joe kicks the door open, and the old rickety door falls completely down, landing and causing bits of dirt to fly back. “Get him down!” I scream instinctually when I spot Ray dangling from the rafters upside down, hanging from his feet by rope. His arms are tied behind his back, and there is a slight cut on his neck. A bucket is below him, col
lecting blood as it drips. Joe runs under him. “Ray!” he shouts up at his boy.

  Peter snarls and runs towards the wall, leaping up and latching onto the side of the wall with his fingers and shoes. He scales the side of the wall, hurries over to the rafters, and bites clear through the rope before jumping down as Joe catches his boy.

  Ray is blindfolded and has a gag that Joe quickly removes. Ray gasps slightly; his face is bloodshot from being held upside down. Peter kneels down beside Ray, and Ray jolts back into his father’s arms in surprise. “He found you, son,” Joe says and kisses Ray’s forehead. Ray looks painfully dizzy, and he rests his head against his father. “We found him!” Joe calls out of the barn. “Peter found him! He’s here! He’s alive!”

  Joe is overwhelmed and repeatedly kisses his son’s forehead and face. I reach out and place my hand over the large cut across the side of his neck. The bucket of blood is incredibly full; I imagine the runes of my mind, quickly healing the deep cut. If we had found Ray even a few minutes later, he’d be dead. Ray starts crying, overwhelmed as the barn floods full of concerned werewolves.

  “What happened, Ray?” one young man asks, and I recognize him as Laura’s husband.

  This was not the act of a basilisk. It’s clear; a snake creature like a basilisk would not drain the blood of its victim. It would just feast. Ray holds onto his father, full of fright, but he manages to answer. “These two women in hoods jumped me at the gas station. They tied me up and blindfolded me. Then they took me here,” he says.