Ghost Walk

Chapter Thirteen

June 26 , 1789- I swear, Anabel Maxwell’s wig gets uglier by the day! Did squirrels sew it together? I’ve no idea how she manages to show her face in public with that flea-bitten mop on her head. I’d sooner go around town bald!

From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

The marvelous thing about being a Rivera was you could introduce yourself to your ancestors as a time traveling relation and they’d welcome you with open arms.

Lucinda’s funeral had been a sad affair. For most people, anyway. Her Puritanical parents had sat stoically in the front pew, not shedding a tear. If anything, they looked as if they disapproved of the spectacle she’d caused with her grisly murder. It seemed like Lucinda hadn’t been exaggerating when she complained about their contempt for her in that diary, because Grace had been more broken up over canceled TV shows than they were over the death of their oldest child.

On the other hand, her sister Eugenia sobbed as if her heart was breaking. The girl was clearly in mourning. In fact, most of the town was distraught at Lucinda’s passing. It made Grace more determined than ever to find the killer.

She’d watched everyone who came and went from the church, but no one seemed intent on harming Anabel Maxwell. Truthfully, nobody had gone near her at all. The girl had a long horsey face and a tendency to itch at her head every twenty seconds or so. Maybe Jamie was right and not everyone in this era wore wigs, but most people did. …And clearly they weren’t very comfortable on an un-air-conditioned July afternoon .

Grace was clueless about who might want the poor wilted Anabel dead. No one in town looked particularly suspicious or evil. She did learn that the governor’s ball was still scheduled for that night, so odds seemed good that Anabel remained on course to die in the hedge maze. How was Grace supposed to stop that from happening, when she wasn’t even sure who to warn Anabel to avoid? And why would Anabel listen to her anyway?

All in all, it was much easier to solve crimes after they happened.

Not exactly sure of her next step, Grace had decided to turn to magic. For someone who spent so long trying to avoid her family’s gifts, it was a little disconcerting to now be relying on the supernatural. Sadly, she was running low on “normal” options.

Grace sat in the very same parlor she’d been in with Serenity earlier that day (give or take two hundred years) and smiled at her seventh-ish great-grandfather, Loyal. “So, you see my problem.” She summed up. “I need a bit of help catching this killer.”

“Seems that way.” Loyal took her century-spanning tale in stride. “We get a lot of time travelers around here. The wife and kid love ‘em. They’re out of town for the solstice or they’d be in here asking you about what’s new in Narbotics-Evolution.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Maybe it hasn’t happened in your time, yet. We get visitors from so many centuries, I lose track. Riveras always seem to want to come back and see the shop during its ‘golden age.’” He added air quotes to the word. Was the Revolutionary era supposed to have air quotes? “Most of them just want to find the recipe for troll powder… but none of ‘em ever give me any useful investment tips in return. Afraid to mess up the future or some shit.” He gave her a pointed look. “So, I always tell ‘em to forget it.”

“Well, I want to change the future and I have no interest in troll powder. ”

Loyal gave a skeptical “humph.” “Had a Recompense Rivera visit us from 1979, a few months back. You heard of him?”

“Just today, as a matter of fact.” Grace was still pissed that Serenity hadn’t mentioned that guy before. “Apparently, he settled in the Crusades and saved some serfs from a fire. It was a whole big thing.”

“That a fact?” Loyal chewed on his corncob pipe and made a considering face. “Man could dance one hell of a Virginia reel.” He wore a banyan robe, pattered with spooky black cats, and a lopsided negligé cap. It was the eighteen century version of leisure wear. In the modern world, he probably would’ve been decked out in a t-shirt from some failed truck stop and boxer shorts.

Grace made a vague sound of agreement. “So what kind of potion will stop someone from killing Anabel Maxwell tonight?” She prompted, trying to get the conversation back on track. “There has to be a potion, right?”

When magic was needed, potions were always Grace’s first choice.

It was why she was willing to use one to transfer Jamie’s memories. In high school, she’d only passed Geometry by drinking Serenity’s noxious mixture of rosewater, cabbage leaves, and catfish scales. Hell if she knew how it worked, but she’d somehow gotten a B in that class and she could barely tell a triangle from an oval. Potions were the most kinda-normal type of magic and not even she could argue with their success rate.

“I’m sure I can whip something up.” Loyal assured her nonchalantly. He was a pudgy, bespectacled man who bore an uncanny resemblance to a younger Benjamin Franklin. …Except for the fact that his cap was embroidered with the words “Suck it, bitches.” “Is Agatha alive or dead? If she’s dead, we’ll need different ingredients and whatever.”

“ Anabel is alive and I’m trying to keep her that way.” Grace had explained that about ten times now. Loyal had a focusing issue. He couldn’t even keep Anabel’s name straight.

Although if Anabel Maxwell didn’t die, Grace would be a crime scene investigator with no crime scene to investigate. Also, she was pretty sure she’d be stuck in 1789 unless she found a drop of Anabel’s blood to touch. That could be awkward, since she had no money and already missed indoor plumbing.

“Alrighty then, let me check the ol’ books.” Loyal hauled himself to his feet and headed over to the bookcase. “Maybe we can do a protection spell for ya.”

It occurred to Grace that his speech patterns had definitely been effected by his time traveling visitors. No one of this era should be using modern slang. With good reason. History would have been so different if Patrick Henry’s speech had been something like, “Alrighty then, give me liberty, death or whatever, bitches.”

She sighed and hoped for the best. Luckily, half of the ancient tomes on the shelf were the same ones in the shop back home and she knew those worked. In fact, everything in the Crystal Ball looked exactly the same. The wood was less worn and the creepy knickknacks were different creepy knickknacks, but the essence of the place remained unchanged. There was something kind of awesome about that. As much as her relatives aggravated her sometimes and as God-awful as they were at running their business, Grace was proud of the fact that they had owned their shop longer than America had even been a nation. It said so much about their skills and intelligence.

All evidence to the contrary.

“A spell?” She repeated, thinking over his suggestion. “Isn’t there a potion? Spells always seem to go wrong.”

Loyal ignored that. “Here we go.” He dropped a thick volume onto the table, sending up a wave of dust. “Not a protection spell, but it’ll do for ya. This one reveals bad intentions.”

“That does sound promising.” Grace admitted and hurried over to join him at the table. “It’ll show us who the murderer is?”

“No, but it’ll ferret out anybody with a grudge against Agatha.”

“Anabel.”

“Anabel. Right. Right.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You can get a bead on who hates the girl.”

“Good.” Grace would take what she could get. “Cast it. I’m going to spy on her and…” Her words stopped short, as the door to the shop slammed open and a pissed off pirate stalked in.

Jamie.

“ There you are.” He snapped, his eyes settling on her.

Grace’s heart leapt happily at the sight of him. “Do you remember me yet?” She asked excitedly.

“I remember that this is your family’s shop, so I assumed this is where you would turn up. And I sure as hell remember that you left me standing bloody naked on the deck of my bloody ship!”

“Oh.” Grace struggled to hide her disappointment. The memory potion hadn’t kicked in yet. Or maybe Serenity’s magic didn’t work in this century. Who knew how time travel crap worked?

Loyal squinted at Jamie over the top of his half-lens. “Friend of yours, Gracie?”

“I’m going to be her husband.” Jamie answered, as if that was even remotely true. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding about pirates refusing to ask for a girl’s hand, because his idea of a proposal was more like a command. He ignored the glare Grace sent his way and arched a brow at Loyal. “Are you her kin?”

“Somehow or other.” Loyal seesawed his hand back and forth, a serious expression on his face. “It’s a bit of a fluid situation, but I’m sure we share some DNA.”

“Right.” Jamie clearly didn’t care to hear any details about their family tree or ask what in the world DNA was. The pirate had bigger fish to fry. “Who do I see about permission to marry her, then?”

“We can’t get married, Jamie.” If she was actually from this century, though, she’d be a lot less certain of that denial. Obviously he’d have to cough up one heck of a diamond, but what other guy could ever live up to this one?

He shot her a fuming look. It seemed that leaving him naked on the ship really had hurt his feelings. “Are you promised to another?”

“No, of course not. That’s not the point.”

“Good. One less man I have to kill.” He nodded like it was exactly the point and now it was all settled. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and do this properly for you. So stop making it difficult and fetch your father out here.”

“Her father’s not exactly born yet.” Loyal put in with a sigh. “Which isn’t to say that he isn’t also long dead. Cousin Recompense is presently in the Crusades and I know for a fact he won’t be born until 1941.” He made a tsk sound. “The Good Lord only knows when her parents might be.”

Grace and Jamie ignored him.

“I’ve seen you being a gentleman, Jamie Riordan.” She informed him with a sniff. “This is not it.”

“This is me trying to be a gentleman. It goes against my nature, but I’m not picking you up and carrying you out of here on my shoulder, so I deserve some credit for my restraint.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Since I’m a wee bit perturbed that you left me again , though, I donea suggest you push me, lass.”

Yep. She’d definitely hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I didn’t really leave you. You need to trust me on this, because I’m doing it for you .” She gave an earnest nod. “I’m right in the middle of something very important for your future.”

“So were we!”

The man was impossible sometimes. “I told you, I’m not sleeping with you today!” Grace threw up her hands. “This mission is life and death, okay? You’re just going to have to believe that and let me work.”

“Wish the damn future-folks would start staying at an inn.” Loyal said to no one in particular. “Every damn time one of them comes to visit, it just gets weirder. And louder.”

Grace resisted the urge to punch her sort-of- grandfather. It was a miracle she was holding it together half as well as she was and he was seriously not helping. “You shut up. …Actually no. You need to keep talking.” Every crazy thing that could happen to a person had happened to her recently and Jamie was not going to distract her now with his stunning aliveness. She turned back at Loyal, determined to stay focused. “Ignore Jamie and let’s get back to business. Do you know anyone with the initials H.C.?”

“No.” Loyal paused. “Well, there’s Hunnicutt, I suppose.”

Her eyes widened. “ Edward Hunnicutt?”

“Sure.” Loyal nodded. “Some of the boys at The Raven call him H.C. Hunni-Cutt.”

Grace stared at him for a beat. “Are you kidding me?” Her head whipped around, her gaze narrowing in Jamie’s direction. “H.C. is Edward frigging Hunnicutt and you never bothered to mention it?!”

“Why the hell would I mention that? I donea even think I knew it. Who cares about Ned Hunnicutt enough to recall his blasted nickname?” Jamie shook his head in annoyance. “Jackass makes bloody terrible maps and waters down his ale.”

“Well, he was apparently also having an affair with Lucinda!”

Jamie’s eyebrows soared. “Ned killed Lucinda?” He actually looked perversely pleased by that news. “You know, I’ve never liked that wanker. It will give me great fucking pleasure to run him through with a sword.”

“Hold on.” Grace held up her palms before he went off to challenge Ned to a duel or something. Pirates weren’t known for their thoughtful and measured responses. “We don’t know he actually did it. I told you, I’m still investigating. He’s just our new person of interest.”

“So I’ll stab him, just to be sure, and then you can investigate. It’ll be far safer for you.”

“Stop helping.” Grace ordered and turned back to Loyal. “Cast the bad intentions spell for Anabel.” She reiterated and headed for the door .

“Are you going to pay for this magic?” He called. “Because it seems like time travelers never pay.” There was a pause. “Actually, it seems like no one ever pays.”

Grace scoffed at that very typical Rivera complaint. Money baffled all of them, which is why they never had any. “I’ll give you an investment tip, the next time I visit. Cross my heart.”

“The next time you visit? What century will that be?”

Grace pretended not to hear that. “Jamie, if you’re coming with me, you’d better behave. I mean it.”

He made an aggravated sound and fell into step beside her. “No version of me has ever mistaken you for timid, love.”

She shot him a sideways look as they stepped out onto the (smelly) street. “Remind yourself you said that in about two hundred and thirtyish years. It’ll be good for a laugh.”

“Two hundred and thirty years? How the hell am I still alive two hundred and thirty years from now?”

“You’re not.”

“Then how am I ‘sort of’ your lover?” His volume had several people looking their way.

“I told you, it’s complicated!” She shouted back. “Just wait until the memory potion kicks in, okay? You’re not going to believe me otherwise.”

He ran a hand over his face. “You’re probably right. In fact, it would be best not to discuss your ideas about time travel, a t’all. They cause my head to pound.”

“You’d prefer I lie to you?”

“I’d prefer you say things that make a damn bit of sense.”

In Grace’s opinion, she was dealing with time travel just about as well as anyone could expect. Being in Harrisonburg, when it was all sparkly and new, still kinda freaked her out. It was the year the frigging Constitution took effect, for God’s sake! Everywhere she looked there were horses and buckle shoes. It was darn unsettling. Jamie really could be a little more supportive.

“Maybe you should have thought about all this before you showed up, wanting to ask my father for my loony hand.” She told him archly.

“Why?” He didn’t seem very concerned over the possibility of wedded bliss with a basket case. “I’ve seen enough to accept there are many things I’ve never seen. Much as it annoys me, time travel could well be one of them.”

“You’ve really seen magic before?” He’d talked of seeing the “fay” back in Scotland, but, at the time, she’d been half-convinced he was just being his whimsical self.

Or drunk.

“I’ve seen fairies dance and mermaids swim. I’ve got a twinkle of knowing in me, lass.”

Grace wasn’t surprised that he’d believed in the supernatural even before he became a ghost. All iterations of Jamie seemed to accept that abnormal happenings were just a normal part of the world. “You’ve seen actual mermaids?”

She had always been inexplicably fascinated with mermaids. They were the one type of magical being she wished were real, but not even a Rivera had ever seen one. If they had, her crypto-taxidermist Uncle Devotion would’ve had it stuffed above the mantle by now.

“Aye. Off the coast of Jamaica, playing in the waves.” Jamie shrugged, like it was no big deal. “So I know what it feels like when you’re staring at something beyond our mortal understanding. I have that feeling when I look at you. But I donea like entertaining the idea of you slipping back to some time period that I cannot reach.”

“Technically, I’m slipping forward .”

Jamie shot her a sideways glance. “When I look at you, I know you’re made of pure magic and I know you’re mine. That’s my point. So, maybe you’re a mad woman and maybe you’re not… But either way, I donea feel the need to explain it. I’m certain we belong together. Now and forever. That’s all that matters to me.”

Crap.

The man always disarmed her when he said things like that. His words weren’t exactly the stuff of Hallmark cards, but it was impossible not to be touched by his faith in their bond. Grace gave up being irritated and sighed. “We belong together.” She agreed quietly. “I know that, too.”

No matter what century they were standing in, Jamie Riordan was her Partner.

He flashed her a slant-y smile, his sour mood evaporating. “So, why are we bickering about what we both already ken?” He slipped an arm around her waist, which was no doubt a graphic PDA by post-Colonial standards.

Grace let him, because he was Jamie and she’d let him get away with just about anything. “Because there are problems with our relationship that you don’t fully understand.” She informed him, ignoring the scandalized looks coming their way. “I’d explain them to you, but I already know you won’t listen.”

He sure as heck wasn’t following her instructions to get out of town. Jamie was going along with most of this, because he could feel their connection. Sure, he’d stab Ned just on general principles, but that was a long way from fully buying her crazy tale of serial killings and time travel. Until the memory potion kicked in, he was just an innocent bystander in this mission.

It was up to her to keep him safe.

“Let us go back to my ship and you can tell me allllll the problems in graphic detail.” He suggested with a guileless expression. “I’ve also quite an interest in learning what a ‘pizza-tramp’ is. We’ll have a good long talk about all of it.”

“If we go back to your ship, I’m sure ‘talking’ will be the last thing on your mind.”

“Ah, you really do know me, lass.” His eyes traced over the Velcro closure to her tour guide costume, as if he was visualizing her naked breasts. He smirked a bit as her nipples beaded in response. “But I’ve quite a good brain in my handsome head. We’ll compromise. You come with me now and I’ll solve everything for you, before our wedding night. You have my word as a gentleman.”

No one had ever accused the man of lacking confidence. “You and Rhett Butler, right? ”

His brows compressed. “Who?”

“Never mind.” Since his life depended on her investigative skills, she needed to focus on finding the killer and not Jamie’s good-natured come-ons. Just walking down the street, Grace could see people slanting him suspicious frowns. Half of Harrisonburg was already convinced of his guilt and only Lucinda had died so far. If she didn’t save Anabel and Clara, he’d be lynched all over again.

Jamie was still holding her and her free hand came over to grip his fingers protectively.

His mouth curved. “Grace,” his tone went soft, “are you trying to guard me from the good citizens of this town? There’s no need, love. I did nothing to Lucinda.”

“I know, but it’s not going to matter. You just need to lay low until I solve everything, alright? I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“To start with, we’re going to find out if Edward Hunnicutt has any bad intentions towards Anabel Maxwell.” She headed for The Raven, trying to recall the eighteenth century’s social mores. “Am I allowed in the tavern or is there some chauvinistic ‘boys’ club’ rule in place?”

“Ladies donea go into drinking establishments.”

“Is that like a law or just some policy I can choose to ignore?”

“If you ignore it, I’ll be put in the stocks for savagely beating the men who haul you out the door.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. You’re going to have to get Edward Hunnicutt out here, then. I need to question him.”

Jamie wasn’t thrilled with that idea. “I donea understand your sudden fascination with that man.” He muttered. “He treats his serving girls terribly, you know.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Jamie. I’m not planning to seduce the guy or…” She paused, a new thought occurring to her. “Hang on. When you say he mistreats his wait staff, what exactly are you referring to?”

Jamie hesitated, as if trying to find phrasing that wouldn’t offend her. “He makes them do things for their wages that no honorable employer would be making them do.”

“Hunnicutt has sex with the girls before he’ll pay them?” Grace translated. “Jesus, I’m rethinking the part where you stab him to death. What a total and complete scumbag.”

“Indeed. It’s why I would prefer you stay far away from him.”

Grace shook his head. “No, this is actually a useful clue. Disgusting, but useful. Serial killers are often motivated by power and sexual control. He’s definitely our top suspect.” She gave Jamie a nudge towards The Raven. “Get him out here and let’s see if he has any deviant thoughts about Anabel.”

Jamie didn’t rush off to do her bidding. “I’m not exactly on friendly terms with the man. How do you suggest I lure him from behind the bar?”

“I don’t care. Use your imagination.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go on.”

“Grace…”

“Please?”

Jamie swore under his breath. “Are you going to be here when I get back?” He challenged, still not happy. “I donea like letting you out of my sight. You’ve a tendency to vanish on me.”

“I’ll be standing right here.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Grace went up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. “Don’t worry. Even when I vanish, I’m only going back to you.”

The edges of his lips quirked and his hand touched her cheek. “Maybe so, but I am in no mood to wait two hundred and thirty more years to see you out of that strange dress, lass.” He loped off towards The Raven, before she could swat him.

Grace shook her head in exasperation. The man was incorrigible. She leaned against a tree, her eyes on The Raven’s door. If Jamie took this a bit more seriously, they’d…

Oh God!

Grace gave a sudden gasp and jerked away from the oak, realizing where she was. Her eyes went up to the gnarled branches swaying over her head. This is where Jamie died. The spot where they planned to hang him in four short days. The tree was still alive in this time period, ominously looming over the street. She scrambled away from the trunk, her heart pounding. Maybe she should set the blasted thing on fire. Or chop it down. Or do something -- anything -- to ensure that no one could kill him under its menacing limbs.

His death had never seemed so real to her.

So inescapably, terrifyingly real.

What if she couldn’t do this? What if she wasn’t smart enough to solve the case? Wasn’t fast enough to stop the killer? What if she let Jamie down and never saw him again? She could burn out again at any moment and leave him completely unprotected. She could actually feel it happening.

Peaceful green cornfields. Peaceful green cornfields. Peaceful…

No .

Grace gave her head a clearing shake. No. She wasn’t going to give into panic and doubt. No matter what, she had to make sure that Jamie survived this. Someone so alive couldn’t spend the rest of eternity trapped in limbo. It wasn’t fair! She needed to find a way to save him.

She needed him . Grace had been crazy in love with that pirate since she was fifteen years old. She wasn’t about to lose him now.

The door to The Raven suddenly burst open and a good-looking man with blond hair sailed out like he’d been thrown headfirst. Grace’s eyebrows soared as the guy careened into the street, rolling to a stop by her anachronistic, but very comfy, Keds. It appeared that someone had punched him a few times and then tossed him right out of the tavern.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out which Scottish sea captain that “someone” must be.

“Grace, my love, meet Ned.” Jamie stepped out of The Raven, dusting his palms together. “He’s simply dying to speak with you.”

“When I told you to use your imagination to get him out here, I expected a little more imagination than this , Jamie.”

“Yes, well, have I mentioned I’ve no liking for the man?”

Edward Hunnicutt struggled to his feet, an outraged look on his face. “You can’t just barge into my goddamn establishment and manhandle me like this, Riordan!”

“Seems that I can.” Jamie retorted. “And I’ll ask you kindly to be watching your fucking language around my fiancée.”

Ned’s head swung around to look at Grace. “You agreed to marry this maniac?”

“I didn’t exactly agree , but I don’t think that’s going to stop him from planning a wedding.” She glanced at Jamie and arched a brow. “A pirate I know recently told me that marriage proposals and kidnappings are kinda the same thing to James MacCleef Riordan.”

Jamie’s eyes gleamed. “Smart pirate.”

“Who is this woman? No lady would ever consent to link her name to yours.” Edward spat out, glowering at Jamie. “Why even Lucinda knew better than to…”

Grace cut him off. “Oh shut up.” She snapped, scowling at the man who she had absolutely no liking for either. Confrontations usually left her sweaty and panicked, but this was one time she felt just fine shouting at somebody.

“As I explained, the lady is my bride.” Jamie told Edward darkly. “Be nice or I’ll forget I promised her that I wouldn’t run you through until after she’s conducted her investigation.”

“Until after we find out if he’s guilty .” Grace corrected.

“I never promised that.”

“What investigation?” Edward demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re…?”

“We know you were sleeping with Lucinda Wentworth and now she’s dead.” Grace interrupted. “I think there are a lot of people in this town who’d be interested to know about your affair with her. ”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Who told you that? Riordan? It’s all a lie! All of it!”

“ Lucinda wrote all the juicy details of your encounters in her diary, which I now have. So I suggest you start cooperating.”

His face flushed an angry red. “Fine. Say I was meeting her on the side.” He whispered fiercely. “What would killing her accomplish? You think I wanted to lose a woman who looked like that? One who was willing to do the things she was willing to do? Why in the blue hell would I want to get rid of her?”

That was actually a fair point. Grace looked over at Jamie.

He shrugged. “Who’s to say why madmen do anything, love?”

“You can’t prove I did anything .” Ned thundered. “Riordan is the one you should be questioning. He was the one who was seen around town with her, not me.”

“I don’t have to prove you did anything.” Grace retorted. “I’m betting all I have to do is make copies of a few of the more salacious entries and it’ll ruin your life.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I especially enjoyed reading about the time you took Lucinda to the stables and used the riding crop and bridle to…”

“What do you want?” Ned interrupted, his eyes frantically casting around.

“I want to know what kind of bad intentions you have towards Anabel Maxwell.”

The sidewalks were filling with people, all of them trying to figure out what was going on. Across the street, Clara Vance, Eugenia Wentworth, and Anabel Maxwell were standing in a group, all of them looking appalled.

Anabel gasped, one hand dramatically covering her heart. “Why would you have bad intentions towards me, Mr. Hunnicutt? Why my family’s lineage and reputation are above reproach.”

“Your idiot brother was the Hero of Yorktown and cost Great Britain the War! ”

Jamie’s eyes lit up in triumph. “I told you Ned was a Tory, Grace!” He couldn’t have been more thrilled with the results of their questioning. “I knew it!” He paused. “Although, that lack-wit Gregory Maxwell was no more a hero than he is a duck.”

“The War is over!” Edward bellowed. “It doesn’t matter which nation I fucking supported.”

Lucinda’s sister fanned herself, looking faint. “Language, gentlemen. There are ladies present.”

Jamie instantly tipped his hat at her. “Apologies, Miss Eugenia.”

She gave a prudish sniff, but inclined her head in ladylike forgiveness. “I should say so, Captain Riordan.” Apparently the rumors of her “fainting when she saw Jamie in the streets” were exaggerated. If Eugenia thought he murdered her sister, she was a master at hiding it under polite censure.

In any case, Grace hoped she didn’t sound that prissy when she was scolding Jamie about his nonstop cursing. “You never apologize to me for swearing.” She hissed at him.

“You’re not a pinched-lipped Sunday school teacher, as that girl is.” He edged away from Eugenia as she crossed the street to get a better (disapproving) look at the chaos. “Never did meet a pinch-lipped Sunday school teacher who wasn’t terrifying.”

“ I’ve taught Sunday school, Jamie.”

He grinned at her. “But your soft lips are anything but pinched, lass. I can testify to that, firsthand.”

“This is all ridiculous.” Ned sputtered. “Aside from disliking her jackass brother, I have no bad intentions towards Miss Maxwell or any other lady of this town.” His face darkened with sudden and ill-advised hatred. “Except for my bitch of a sister-in-law.”

The residents of Harrisonburg began murmuring amongst themselves.

Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Aggie?”

“Me?” A redheaded woman blurted out. “How am I involved in this foolishness? ”

“You bought my shop for half of what it was worth!” He roared.

“I paid the price you asked, Ned! It’s not my fault that you’re a poor excuse for a businessman.”

“My damnably stupid wife might buy your shit, Agatha, but I know better! I still remember how you wouldn’t dance with me at my wedding.”

“Agatha?” Grace glanced back towards the Crystal Ball a horrible suspicion filling her. Loyal was really, really bad with names… “Oh no .”

“Because you’d just taken my sister as your wife, but you were trying to feel under my skirts, you pig!” The woman, who had to be his sister-in-law Agatha Northhandler, waved a disgusted hand at him. “I told Sarah not to marry you.”

“Aggie raises the prices at her shop, every time I need muslin.” Someone in the crowd called out. “All she cares about is money!”

“She took my seat in church last Sunday.” Another woman cried. “I had to stand and she knows that my shoes are too small! She’s the one who sold them to me.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it was just as she feared. Loyal had cast the spell using the wrong name. Bad intentions towards Anabel weren’t being revealed. Instead they were about to hear from everyone with a grudge against Miss Agatha Northhander. It was like watching the Boston Massacre begin all around her.

“Aggie Northhander was mean to my dog.” A man cried, looking close to tears. “Threw a rock at Old Revere back in ’84. She’s a violent witch.”

“Witch!” Clara Vance screeched, pointing a finger at Agatha like she was auditioning for a community theater production of The Crucible . “She’s a witch!”

Eugenia staggered against Jamie in a swoon, so maybe there was a kernel of truth about her tendency towards genteel vapors. Sadly Grace had no choice but to stay conscious and deal with this mess.

Jamie steadied Eugenia’s flailing form and sent Grace a mystified look. “Is this your doing, lass? ”

“No!” She paused and made a face. “Well, sort of . Mostly, it’s Loyal’s fault, though. I told him spells never work.”

Agatha did not appreciate the whole town turning against her. “I’m not a witch, Clara Vance!” She yelled, seizing on the last complaint. Aggie was a sturdy woman, with a pugnacious face and large hands. She stalked towards the Reverend’s daughter with an angry frown, clearly deciding to settle the argument with bloodshed rather than thoughtful discussion. “You take it back!”

Yeah… This wasn’t going to end well. Grace moved to intercede, hoping to stop the fight she saw brewing. “Why don’t we all calm down?”

Everyone ignored her.

Clara Vance was half Agatha’s size, but buoyed by her own sense of moral superiority. She didn’t retreat as the larger woman bore down on her. “I won’t take it back!” She exclaimed righteously.

Crap. Grace tried to get between them. “This isn’t going to resolve anything.”

“Grace donea interfere with them.” Jamie worked to extricate himself from Eugenia’s flopping appendages. “It will do no good.”

“Only the Lord can cleanse our town.” Clara proclaimed, dramatically spreading her arms. She had dark hair, round spectacles, and the kind of voice that was always shouting out answers in class. “Because you are a witch, Aggie Northhandler! There are evil forces at work in this town. I’ve told my father and he’s going to pray for…”

Agatha swung at fist at her preachy face. Clara’s shrieked and ducked to the side. Instead of pounding Little Miss Inquisition, Aggie struck poor Anabel Maxwell, who was still standing beside Clara, knocking the hideous wig right off her crew-cut head. Anabel’s horse-y snout exploded in a red fountain as cartilage cracked.

Blood splattered all over Clara and Grace.

Anabel wailed in pain and panic, clutching her broken nose. Yeah, that was going to leave a mark. Too bad plastic surgery was still a long way off, because her schnoz was seriously not going to heal straight without some help.

Clara frantically wiped at the blood on her dress. “Eww!”

Aggie gave a smug nod, not even caring she’d just beat up the wrong girl. “Serves you all right!” She shouted at the bystanders.

Jamie shoved Eugenia aside and ran for Grace.

It was too late. Grace stared down at the gory spatter covering her hands and winced. Anabel’s blood had touched her. She had just enough time to look back up at Jamie and see horror cross his face.

He seemed to realize what was about to happen. “Grace, no!” He bellowed. “Donea…”

She vanished before she could hear him beg her not to leave.