A Familiar Sense of Dead Read online

  The reaction was instant. A burning pain shot through her body and raced across the surface of her skin. Her back seared like somebody had slashed her with a knife. But the reaction wasn’t merely felt. Her skin began to glow a pulsing cotton-candy pink, a dim light that grew brighter and brighter.

  The withered roses clinging to the hedges responded to the light. They twitched and came to life, plumping and filling with color, first turning white, then pink, then a deep crimson so dark and vibrant it began to drip from the petals.

  Then, without warning, the light exploded out from her with a thunderclap.

  She woke up in her bed, sweating profusely, the echoes of pain still rippling across her. It was a dream she’d first had when returning home to Bennett Farms, and one that was becoming all too familiar, though no less unsettling despite its frequency. The dream had variations, but the core of it was always the same. She was lost in the hedge maze that had once stood on Bennett Farms and it always ended with her being consumed by a bubble-gum pink light.

  It was hours before she drifted back into a dreamless slumber.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was almost noon before Hazel finally woke.

  She sat up in a panic and her body immediately punished her for the decision. Every muscle was tense and sore. Her palms, which she saw now looked something like roadkill, screamed out in a low-grade but constant agony.

  She was supposed to have met Cordelia hours ago and Clancy even longer ago than that. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, gave up on wrestling her hair into a ponytail when she experienced the suffering of trying to raise her stiff arms above her shoulders. She rushed out of the room only to rush back in and throw on a Red Sox cap. She scurried back in a third time to grab her satchel, then finally hobbled downstairs.

  She needed to find Cordelia. This whole business about lesions could, she thought, be the key to the whole case. She could feel it in her gut, though she had no idea how to explain it yet. Maybe somebody with a little magical-world knowhow could help her connect the dots.

  As she neared the kitchen, she heard voices. Her mother must already be whipping up lunch at this point. “I think I died and was born again,” Hazel said as she stepped into the kitchen.

  “I was just about to come up and check your pulse,” said a familiar but unexpected voice.

  Cordelia sat at the massive granite-topped island that occupied one half of the kitchen. She had traded in her outfit of leather for some torn jeans and a camo jacket, though she still rocked the combat boots. She held a glass of fresh basil lemonade and was working her way through a plate of scones that had, no doubt, come fresh from the Doughn’t Even Bakery.

  “If you’re still hungry,” said Hazel. “I think I’ve got some peppermint cannoli with your name on it.”

  Cordelia mock-gagged.

  “Oh, well look who decided to join us,” said her mother, who stood on the other side of the counter, putting some fixings on sandwiches.

  “Your friend and I have been chatting while you slept the day away.”

  “Yeah,” said Hazel. “A bit of a late night.”

  Her mother just huhed and continued to fix sandwiches. “I was just telling Cordelia the history of Bennett Manor,” started her mother, lavishing so much emphasis on the name that Hazel could see her mother was already in love.

  “Love the digs,” said Cordelia, looking around. “It reminds me of a place I used to go to school.”

  “Where did you say you were from?” asked her mother.

  “I didn’t,” said Cordelia. She winked at Hazel. Thank god for that. She didn’t have the time or energy to tell her mother what she’d been up to for the last twenty-four hours.

  “What are you doing here?” Hazel asked.

  “It’s noon,” said Cordelia. “And we were supposed to meet four hours ago. I came to find you.”

  Her mother leaned over the counter like a conspirator and said in a stage whisper. “Punctuality has never really been her thing.”

  “Thanks, mom,” said Hazel with all the sarcasm she could muster. She loved being home, but the longer she was there, the more she felt like she was slipping into the role of melodramatic teenager. She couldn’t remember now if her reasons for leaving had included an insufferable lack of space between mother and daughter.

  “Have you been waiting that long?” Hazel asked, her voice thick with apology.

  “Nope,” said Cordelia. “I was two hours late. Then it took me an hour to find civilization. And I’ve been sitting here for the last hour sipping this mana from heaven and listening to Amy tell amazing stories. Did you know she was in the thick of something called the Summer of Love?! How amazing does that sound?”

  “Camping out in the Tanglewood with a bunch of unwashed layabouts doesn’t put one in the thick of anything other than an infestation of head lice,” said Hazel.

  “You weren’t there, my dear,” corrected her mother. She chuckled and added, “Though with all the acid we dropped, I’m not sure we were really there either.”

  “Mom!”

  Harper walked into the room, singing some tune that Hazel didn’t recognize. Her niece had a decent voice, but as soon as she saw a stranger was in the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks and fell into silent horror. The girl had talent and brains up to her eyeballs, but zero confidence and not a lick of her aunt’s show-off ways. And good for her. The way Hazel saw it, the world had too many show-offs and a distinct shortage of thoughtful bookworms

  Harper had once said to her, “I’m perfect in an empty room,” and she had never understood what she meant until one afternoon she had passed by her bedroom in the hall, which was open a crack, and spied the girl dancing around her room, singing along to a Twenty One Pilots song,

  “Who is this?” she said, unmistakable awe and eagerness in her tone. Not that she didn’t get it. There was something very alluring about Cordelia. Hazel couldn’t deny that Cordelia was strangely irresistible, even though she was a bit entitled and snobbish at times. But, hey, none of us are perfect, Hazel thought.

  “This has been super, mom,” she said. “But Cordelia and I need to run.”

  Harper looked disappointed beyond measure. Hazel took her gently by the shoulders. “And you,” she said. “You and I are going to spend time together as soon as possible. I swear to the heavens.

  “Can’t I come with you?” asked her niece.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Hazel.

  “Please?”

  “Sorry,” said Hazel. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Besides,” said Hazel’s mother. “You have chores for days. There are some chicken coops parked over in Monarch Field that need mucking.” Harper’s shoulders slumped.

  Hazel spared one last glance for her mother, who was scrutinizing her with her unflinching motherly gaze. There was no way she didn’t suspect something. But she would deal with that later.

  She and Cordelia headed outside and crossed the manor lawn, headed for the South Way. “Sorry about all that,” said Hazel.

  “For what?”

  “For sleeping in—not my style, by the way. And for my mom. She can get a bit . . . smothery at times.”

  Cordelia smiled sadly. “I would love a mother that smothers like that. It beats the alternative.” She held up her wristed and jingled her dampening bracelet.

  Hazel smiled sadly.

  “It’s almost like being at school without all the drama,” said Cordelia. “I never fit in there, at Silverwell. I was never ambitious enough for my mother. I tried for a while to be what she wanted me to be, but it felt like being two people. I was pretending just to make the partnership work. So I tried being myself.” She swept her arms to the side and held them out wide, putting herself on display. “Which did not go over well. I wasn’t interested in being a grand witch. I got into Silverwell, tried to find myself a familiar, but none of that worked out.”

  Hazel perked up when she heard the part about the familiar. May
be she could learn something from Cordelia about what to do—or what not to do.

  “My mom got me this job as a Wand, even though, if we’re being honest, I’m not very good at the whole magic thing,” she said. “And apparently I have authority issues. There was an incident and I was reprimanded. They took away my wand and gave me this. But if you ask me, it’s just baloney. They were looking to throw the book at somebody and I happened to be standing in the way. But I didn’t come here to gripe about my maternal relations.”

  “It’s not a problem,” said Hazel. “I don’t mind listening.”

  “If you could slow down, that would be great,” Cordelia begged. “It turns out walking all over Quark and then some in brand-new combat boots makes for some pretty gnarly blisters.”

  “And yet you’re still wearing them,” remarked Hazel.

  “What can I say? I’m a slave to fashion” she said, grimacing as they started down a flight of stone steps in the hillside that connected the west lawn to the lakeside road.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Hazel asked.

  “What’s a few blisters in the name of justice?” she asked. “Besides, I can’t afford to take the day off. Everything I have is riding on this one.”

  Maybe Hazel needed to reconsider Cordelia. Perhaps she wasn’t quite the pampered brat Hazel had thought her to be if she was willing to put in another full day of walking on battered feet. Cordelia couldn’t help the circumstances she was born into, any more than Hazel could help being graced with the Bennett-family mark. But anyone, anywhere, could turn their life around at any point and make what they would of it. She had always believed that. If she hadn’t, she would have never run away from home at the age of eighteen with only a few dollars in her pocket and a dream of becoming an actress . . . or becoming something entirely other than what she was.

  “It’s beautiful here,” said Cordelia. “It reminds me of Strange Estates—the lakeside bluff, the distant view of mountains—but more pleasant. Everything is smoother, softer. There’s love here.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” said Hazel. “Sometimes love will smother you.”

  “And sometimes a lack of it will tear you in two,” said Cordelia.

  They passed the bay and Hazel peered out and noticed the mermaid sunning herself along the edge of Turtle Rock. She wondered if that mermaid knew Councilor Triton—and how she had gotten through the Postern in the first place.

  “So where are we headed?”

  “Just down the road,” said Hazel. She related the experience with the lesions. Cordelia’s eyes darkened as she listened to the tale.

  “So what does this mean?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  As they walked along the bay, Hazel saw two familiar figures up ahead. She picked up her pace, ignoring the groans of her sore body as she waved both her arm wildly. “Charlie!” she shouted. “Charlie girl!”

  Charlie waved back, busted out a few dance moves as Hazel approached, and then skipped the remaining distance between them. Nancy looked on, with disdain at the juvenile show of affection. But Hazel ignored it. Nobody could shame her platonic love with Charlie.

  “Hazel!” said Charlie. “We were just coming to see if you wanted to do lunch.”

  “If only,” said Hazel. “I’ve got a bit of a full plate already.”

  “Who’s this?” asked Charlie.

  “Cordelia,” said Cordelia, waving. “Nice to meet you.”

  Nancy just grimaced.

  “She’s a friend,” said Hazel, “visiting from out of town.”

  “Oh!” said Charlie, then she suddenly caught the drift of what Hazel was implying. “Ohhh. Fantastic. Well, let’s do lunch tomorrow then, mon amie. Nancy and I are going to take Nancy up Split Tree Hill so she can get some great panoramic shots. Meet us there if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Hazel. She honestly wanted to be there, but she felt like she was once again making a date she wouldn’t be able to keep.

  “We’re going to sit by the water for a bit and dig into some sandwiches,” Charlie said.

  They parted ways, and Hazel and Cordelia continued along the South Way.

  “I like Charlie,” said Cordelia. “Not so keen on the other one, though. That girl is cold.”

  Hazel just smiled humorlessly. “She makes Charlie happy.”

  As they walked by the caretaker cottage, the front door opened and Tyler stepped out, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth with one hand and pulling a Red Sox cap on with the other.

  “Hey there, sailor!” she shouted, then cringed a little. Sailor? Had she ever said that in her life, and why was she starting now?

  “Hey, Hazel,” he called as he bounced down the front steps, slowing only once he realized she was not alone.

  “How you feeling this morning?”

  “Sore as hell,” she said. “With a headache to match. But better.”

  Tyler looked from her to Cordelia. And then Tyler did the unthinkable: he checked Cordelia out. It was just a flit of the eyes but a check-out nonetheless. Part of Hazel couldn’t blame him—Cordelia had the kind of body that Hazel would kill for, and certainly wouldn’t hide under leather and army coats. But the other part of Hazel could and probably would blame him, and condemn him for crimes to womankind.

  “Tyler,” Hazel said through gritted teeth, “this is Cordelia. She’s my partner in crime. Or against crime.”

  Tyler put his hand out for Cordelia to shake, and Cordelia smiled at him a little too broadly as she flicked her hair back, extended her hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Tyler.”

  Hazel tried to keep her jaw hinged shut. Why should she care? Except that she did. She felt that undeniable pang of jealousy for the attention that Cordelia was bestowing upon Tyler at that moment.

  “What are you two ladies up to today?”

  “We ladies have a murder—or murders—to investigate,” said Hazel.

  “Don’t suppose you want to tag along?” asked Cordelia.

  Hazel cleared her throat and chuckled nervously. “Tyler probably has some creatures to go wrangle, amirite?” she said. “There is an ornery unicorn loose on the farm.”

  “Unicorn?” asked Cordelia, clearly floored by the mention.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, grinning broadly. “I’m going to do an evening stakeout at that spot you mentioned. My day is wide open.”

  “Ma’am? Quick reminder that I’m seven months and ten days older than you, Tyler,” she said, pulling that fact from some dark recess of her brain, “So if anyone should be ma’aming anyone else, it’s me to you.”

  Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Seven months and ten days, huh? That’s . . . precise.”

  “He knows that,” Hazel said defensively, and then turning to Tyler added, “You know that.”

  “I did?”

  It was the sort of thing they had hashed out repeatedly as kids, when seniority was a bragging right, and every day counted.

  “Yes!” she said. “I’m a Pisces and you’re a Libra. Please. I got my license way before you. You should remember this.”

  “And yet you still crashed my truck.”

  “She crashed your car?” said Cordelia, leaning into the conversation now, like she might miss something from a few inches back.

  “His truck!” Hazel said, as if that made all the difference. “It was hardly my fault!”

  “Never is,” Tyler said, needling her, but suddenly she was not in the mood for it.

  She wanted to tell him about her conversations with Tommy Wilkins, and her plans to have Yota fixed up, but she would not be shamed into revealing her secret. Never mind if nobody had asked.

  “Hey, we gifted you a Duesenberg!” protested Hazel.

  “That is true,” he said, winking. “But I’ve hardly had the time to work on the new gal. Besides, that’s not really the kind of car you take out on the daily.

  There an awkward silence before Tyler piped in, “How can I help?”

 
“Sure,” Hazel said. “We could use an extra hand.”

  The three of them set off down the South Way and when they got to the site of the accident, Hazel stepped off the road.

  “What happened here?” Cordelia asked.

  “This is where she murdered my truck.”

  “Brutal,” said Cordelia.

  Hazel ignored the banter and carefully edged around the crash site. “This is also where I saw the unicorn prodding around last night. And Clancy said there was a lesion.”

  “Like a sore?” asked Tyler, his lip curled in disgust.

  “Like a sore on reality,” said Hazel.

  “No comprendo,” said Tyler.

  Cordelia explained as Hazel busied herself edging closer into the crash site. The unicorn had left sizable hoofprints in the earth, and she used them to guide herself safely, stopping well before the tracks clustered together, marking the spot where the unicorn had stopped and nuzzled the ground.

  “Careful over there,” said Tyler. “I don’t like the sounds of this . . .”

  She ignored him and tried instead to focus on the spot in front of her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell of old paper and ink came to her again.

  “Do you smell that?” she asked, but neither of her companions heard her over their discussion, which had shifted from the nature of lesions to idle, and flirty, small talk. She’d have to hurry this up, otherwise Tyler and Cordelia might be engaged by the time she turned around.

  Perhaps one of her spells might come in handy. She had used her detect magic spell to great effect to clear Juniper’s name by identifying that magic was, in fact, behind the murder for which her sister had been blamed.

  She might not have had any powder at the ready, but there were sufficient substitutes on hand. She knelt and scooped up a handful of earth. She murmured the trusty Latin phrase appare and focused on the dirt in her outstretched hand. When the granules started to glow, she cast it forward, like she was scattering a handful of seeds for the birds.

  The results were instantaneous. A huge disc of pink light, its edges flickering and twisting like tongues of flame, appeared just inches from her nose. She yelped and stumbled back.