It wasn’t enough to pin her with the crime, but that was okay because I had more.

  Ophelia’s eyes were like small, shiny black buttons in her face. They seemed to swallow the light in the room, so they appeared sunken, the bags under her eyes more pronounced. The smell of rotting fruit grew thicker in the room, and my last meal shimmied up my throat.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, voice flat and unfriendly.

  “I want your confession.”

  “My confession to what?”

  “I know you killed Waylan Rutledge, and I think I know why. The question is, what do I do with that knowledge?”

  Somehow the darkness of her eyes seemed to grow deeper, like I was staring into the depths of a glassy lake at midnight. Something sinister swam in their depths, and I had a feeling I didn’t want to know what.

  She chuckled. Actually, it was more of a cackle.

  “And how exactly did you arrive at such a ridiculous conclusion?”

  “I was having a drink at the Half Moon Bar and Grill, and I overheard Louisa talking to Fifi. She said she insulted you, without even realizing it, at a Christmas party two years ago.” Her expression tightened even further. “Louisa’s just a housewife, so of course she wasn’t familiar with the customs of every species—she didn’t understand that putting salt in your coffee could affect you adversely.”

  “Affect me adversely?” she nearly yelled at me. “She almost killed me!”

  “Louisa didn’t know that salt could harm you.”

  “Salt can kill me and it very nearly did!”

  “Louisa didn’t know that. All she did know was that you like your coffee bitter and she was trying to please you.”

  “I became deathly ill!”

  “It was an accident, Ophelia.”

  “It was no accident,” she insisted, her voice and hands shaking with the effort it took to restrain herself. “That woman knew what she was doing because she never liked me.”

  “And why did she never like you?” I asked, even though I was fairly sure no one liked Ophelia, so it wasn’t a stretch to imagine Louisa didn’t.

  “Because I was hard on her husband.”

  “Hard how?”

  “He was quite useless and constantly botching this and that and losing deals. No doubt he was stressed and took that stress home to his wife. And that’s why she poisoned my coffee that night. She was trying to kill me.” Her glare grew more profound. “If anything, you should be demanding answers from her, not me!”

  “How do you expect Louisa to have known about what salt would do to you, Ophelia?” I asked, shaking my head. “The werewolves are a backward, patriarchal society, as I’m sure you’re well aware. The only roles women play are of housewives and mothers. I imagine Waylan probably didn’t think it was worth schooling Louisa on how to avoid upsetting a night hag.”

  “Clearly, he didn’t.”

  I considered her for a silent moment before continuing. “But you’re not like that, are you, Ophelia? You probably do extensive research on every monster that applies to enter the Hollow so you know exactly what their strengths and weaknesses are.”

  “I look into each and every person, yes, but as council leader, that’s my job.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “And you knew that Wolfsbane, when given to a werewolf, kills them. And that’s the exact reason you purchased Delilah’s Bane potion from Poppy. Because there’s wolfsbane in the recipe. Then you poisoned Waylan, killed him and buried him in the backyard of the Winsley Lane property, which was empty and just happened to be on your books. After you buried him, you sold the property to Lorcan.”

  A muscle ticked just beneath her eye. “That’s all conjecture.”

  It wasn’t as though I expected her to admit to any of it, so now I was going to play my trump card. “I know you did it. You know you did it. I don’t expect you to admit to it, but the proof against you is pretty damning—proof that only I know, mind you.” She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “So, I’m willing to make you a deal.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, jaw tight.

  “I want to claim sanctum in Haven Hollow,” I started, my voice strong, unwavering. “But, as you well know, I need to be able to purchase a property in order to do it. You have plenty of properties on your books and… well, you need to cover up a murder. Therefore, I’m thinking we can help each other.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds as I wondered if she’d go for the bait.

  “I’m still listening.”

  “Very good,” I answered with a broad smile. “But, before we get into a conversation about this… business arrangement, I want to know why you killed Waylan.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds as my heart raced and I wondered if she’d give me the information I’d come for. She knew how badly I wanted to claim sanctum here—I’d come to her to discuss it numerous times. And she also knew that witches were, on average, selfish creatures who cared little for others. Thus, I imagined she believed my offer was genuine.

  “I never intended to kill anyone,” she answered finally. Inwardly, I smiled because I now had the admission I’d intended to get. My cell phone sat in my purse, where it was recording every minute of this conversation.

  “Yet, you did.”

  “It was never my intention. I took the potion from Poppy and baked it into cookies, which I gave to Waylan, telling him the cookies were for Louisa—as an apology for the way I abused her at the Christmas party, once I realized she’d salted me. I only intended to make her ill, such that she’d made me ill. But, Waylan was nothing if not a glutton and he ate the entire plate of cookies like a pig!”

  “Then it was too much wolfsbane in his system and it killed him?”

  “It did,” she answered with a quick nod. “He managed to make it out to his vehicle and then he suffered a heart attack then and there.”

  “How did he end up at the Winsley Lane property?”

  “I drove him there,” she answered, chin still in the air.

  “And you buried him there?”

  “I did.”

  “You killed a man for spite, Ophelia.”

  Her jaw clenched so tight, I could almost hear it crack. “The Hollow is better off.”

  I just stared at her. “You’re insane.”

  Her mouth quirked into a genial smile, and all hostility melted off her face as she stared back. She set her pen aside and steepled her fingers in front of her. She was back to being all business.

  “Now then, Ms. Depraysie. Going back to the arrangement you so… graciously offered me… I have a French Provincial on Maple Street. It has nearly an acre of land and several amenities.”

  “I have to pay for the land myself in order to claim sanctum and I have hardly anything to my name,” I said. “But you already knew that.”

  “Correct. Yet, there’s nothing saying what specific amount you have to pay.”

  “I don’t have anything close to enough to purchase a home.”

  “And this is where our… arrangement comes in quite handy… you can purchase this property with whatever funds you currently have in your bank account.”

  I studied her narrowly. Yes, the gig was up and I had enough on her now to convict her, so I wasn’t sure why we were even still talking. “I’m sure your client wouldn’t appreciate that.”

  Ophelia’s stare didn’t blanch. “I’m offering you my house, Ms. Depraysie.”

  I could feel my eyes widening of their own accord. Clearly, she needed to keep this murder subject under wraps and badly. “And where would you live?”

  “I have the means to easily purchase another property. You could hand over a check right now and walk away with the deed to my property tonight. We’ll see to the formalities later, when you’ve settled in.” Then she smiled broadly, and it was the ugliest expression I’d ever seen. “Wouldn’t it put your mind at ease to know another witch couldn’t wander in and claim sanctum here? Your pariah of a cousin, Charmin, attempted it not so long ago, thus the risk is there. I’m glad to help you eliminate that risk. Not to mention, you could do away with the gypsy which would only improve the profits of your own business.”

  “I have no interest in doing away with Poppy,” I spat back at her.

  She leaned into her chair, and her eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “Ah, quite an interesting twist.”

  My mouth went dry, and my palms went sweaty. This had been my idea—but only as a way to coax her into admitting what she’d done. And yet now that she’d taken the bait and she was actually offering me the chance to claim sanctum…

  Why wasn’t I standing up and walking away?

  The offer was... tempting. Really tempting.

  If I claimed sanctum in Haven Hollow, it was another way of defending myself against Rupert’s lackeys until I could find a way to reverse what Lorcan had done to me. All Lorcan’s properties were fair game for vampire attacks, because they were owned by a dead man. No threshold to establish wards on, and no magic to keep any of the occupants safe.

  The only thing I had to do was throw Louisa and her family under the bus.

  I shoved the chair back and stood, brushing the wrinkles out of the charcoal sweater dress that hugged my chest and hips. I kept my gaze averted from Ophelia’s as the shadows shifted uneasily, and the smell of rotting fruit grew unbearably thick.

  “No deal, Ophelia.”

  “Think, girl,” she pressed.

  I shook my head. “I’m going to see to it that the council is informed of this. The murder of Elizabeth Blackburn should have gotten you expelled from the Hollow decades ago, and I don’t know what strings you pulled to get away with it, but Waylan Rutledge? That won’t slide. He was one of us, and that means you broke your oath to protect the residents of Haven Hollow, and I’m going to see to it that you’re brought to justice.”

  A soft sound began in Ophelia’s throat, spilling into the air a moment later. The chuckle began soft, like the rustling of paper, and then grew to something loud and bombastic. The noise hit me like a slap, driving me back a step.

  “You witches are always so arrogant.”

  Her voice oozed like thick sludge into my ears, and the smell of decayed fruit clogged my nose, my throat. It was getting harder to breathe.

  “You think you can just come here and make demands of me? Well, guess what, you vapid little twit? You’ve underestimated me. I’m more powerful than you could ever imagine.”

  Ophelia stood, placing her palms flat against the desk, her joints cracking ominously. Her oily grin grew sharper, her yellowing teeth elongating as she spoke. My heart thudded wildly. Goddess, this was not good.

  Ophelia vaulted her desk, joints protruding grotesquely against the thin material of her blouse as she scuttled toward me, huge and spider-like.

  And so I did the only thing I could think to do.

  I ran.

  I hit the narrow hallway at a dead sprint, huffing for breath. It felt like Ophelia’s power wrung the air from my lungs, like a kid squeezing toothpaste from the tube. I was being crushed flat under the thick miasma that boiled through the air.

  I staggered, hitting a steel partition with a yelp. Rebounding quickly, I took off at an angle, throwing myself into an office. I ended up sprawling in a heap on the office floor, rolling into the corner of another large executive desk. Lightning shot down my spine and what little air remained in my lungs whooshed out in a pained groan.

  Fifi poked her head out from beneath the desk, clutching a syringe tightly in one hand. Her eyes were wide, showing too much white around the edges.

  Ophelia crashed into a glass panel just down the hall that shattered with a loud snap and rained down a million shards.

  “Syringe,” I wheezed and held out my hand.

  A quick run to the Haven Hollow drug store earlier had yielded exactly what we’d needed. Extra concentrated saline solution. I’d been tempted to come in alone and empty the entire bottle into Ophelia’s face, but Fifi had insisted on acting as backup, and a witness to the crime if Ophelia managed to murder me. If I couldn’t turn my phone over to the police, Fifi would be able to report what Ophelia had done.

  Fifi lunged for me and slapped the syringe into my outstretched palm. Just in time too because Ophelia scuttled to a stop in front of the office and threw herself onto me. Her weight was tremendous, and what looked like black fur sprouted on her arms and abdomen, wriggling like worms against my skin. My heart lurched into overtime. The rotten smell pushed into my nose, and lodged in my throat. It took days for a night hag to kill someone in dreams, but with direct skin contact, cardiac arrest could take mere minutes. Sometimes less. Libby said it had been the most agony she’d ever felt.

  No, no, no! I refuse to die like this!

  With a snarl, I raised my hand and drove the syringe into the side of Ophelia’s neck, pressing down on the plunger, emptying the saline into her.

  For a second nothing happened, and I was sure I’d just signed my own death warrant. Then Ophelia went deathly still, the hairs on her arms going stiff as porcupine quills. Their edges pressed into me, but they were no longer moving. The rest of her followed suit, and I watched her face form an inhuman rictus of terror, fixing in place only seconds later as her skin grew dry and brittle.

  “No,” she croaked.

  It was the only word she could force out before the transformation rolled over her face, freezing her to the spot where she’d landed. She appeared frozen as the saline worked its bitter magic through her. I stayed frozen, as well, half-convinced she was going to lunge for my throat any second. Fifi remained similarly still behind me.

  But, Ophelia didn’t twitch, didn’t suck in a breath, didn’t even blink.

  Fifi reached out a trembling hand to touch the space between Ophelia’s knit brows. The skin had gone ashy, as colorless and smooth as marble. She was a grotesque statue, frozen in mid-shift. Perched on any gothic cathedral, she’d have fit right in with the gargoyles.

  “She’s... she’s dead,” Fifi said, voice sounding haunted.

  I squirmed out from beneath Ophelia and considered her for a moment as I took a deep breath and then facing Fifi, I smiled.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One Week Later

  “Wow, she really seems to like that thing,” Poppy said, frowning, as the two of us watched Libby polishing the statue of Ophelia that now stood outside the duplex, on the front yard.

  The awful thing revealed Ophelia in all her beastliness, at the moment of her death, right after I’d plunged the syringe of saline into her neck. Her mouth was open and it looked like she was in the middle of a scream and her usually beady, little eyes were bigger than I’d ever seen them. Ophelia would forever be remembered for her terrible fashion sense, with the high, ruffled collar of her cheetah print blouse and the pleated swing skirt with the cabbage roses. And, of course, her Victorian Chenille Hat with the crow who continued to stare down its beak at everyone around it.

  The saline had frozen Ophelia in place, thus killing her, and when faced with the question of what to do with the awful statue, I’d thought we should just leave it in the graveyard. But, Fifi had other ideas and decided to give the statue to Libby as a present. With the way Libby was gallivanting around it, I had to imagine it was the greatest present she’d ever received.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of unsettling,” I answered as I shook my head and the two of us watched Libby as she sang and danced around the ghastly thing, smiling at it and talking to it as though half expecting it to respond. I wasn’t sure what to think about the whole spectacle because it was off-putting, to say the least, but Ophelia had killed Libby back in the 50s, so maybe this was understandable? Certainly, Libby loved the fact that Ophelia had finally gotten her just desserts, but this was a little… disturbing, all the same.

  I sighed, turning to face the duplex which, in the last week, had been completely torn down. Now just the skeletal outline of wooden beams remained. I’d come to check on the progress and to pick up my mail. Poppy had just happened to be working in her yard and when she saw us pull up in my old Chevy Vega, she walked over.

  “When do you think it will be finished?” Poppy asked as she glanced at the skeletal building.

  I shrugged. “Lorcan said the contractor mentioned it would take a couple of months.”

  Poppy nodded and gave me a big smile. “I’m sure you’re excited about that.”

  “Definitely. I mean, the house on Elk Street is fine for now, but Libby and Darla are driving me nuts.” Libby, Darla, Hellcat and I were still staying at Lorcan’s property on Elk Street, and I hadn’t had a moment’s peace. I was beyond eager to return to the duplex and couldn’t wait for it to be finished.

  Apparently, Fifi had decided she’d had enough of living next to me and my circus, so she’d given Lorcan her notice and the plan was for Libby and Darla to move into her side of the duplex so I’d have some semblance of privacy. And that couldn’t come soon enough.

  Lorcan had been kind enough not to ask Darla and Libby to pay rent (because neither had jobs). Sometimes the vampire could be pretty generous. Not that his generosity mattered, because I was still pissed off with him.

  “Are you still not speaking to Lorcan?” Poppy asked, as if she could read my mind.

  I looked at her and frowned. “I’m still pretty angry that he lied to me about Rupert.”

  Poppy nodded and glanced down at her feet. “I think he did what he thought was right at the time.” Then she looked back up at me and gave me that smile that said she hoped we would work it out. “I know how much he cares about you, Wanda.”

  I huffed an indignant breath, but then thought about the fact that she was right—for whatever mistakes he’d made, Lorcan definitely did care about my wellbeing. “I’m sure I’ll get over this… eventually. For now, though, it’s just nice not to have him randomly stopping by or calling me constantly.”

  Poppy laughed at that and then faced the sky, which was already darkening with ominous clouds. Rain had been forecasted but that wasn’t anything new.