Wicked Business

This was unusual, because most of the crackpots in Salem were dressed like witches and werewolves.

“Goodness,” Mrs. Weintraub said.

“Pardon my flatulence and bloat, good woman,” Hatchet said. “A curse has been set upon me.”

Glo handed Mrs. Weintraub her box of cupcakes. “No charge,” Glo said. “You should leave before they suck up the farts.”

“Farewell,” Hatchet said to Mrs. Weintraub.

“You gotta learn to control yourself,” Glo said to Hatchet.

“I need not control. I need relief from this vile bag of gas and stench.”

“I hear you,” Glo said. “I think I found something. It’s a broad-spectrum antidote to whatever ails you. Stand in front of the counter and do what I tell you.”

Hatchet stood at attention.

“Begone, begone all manner of enchanted suggestion,” Glo read. “Evil eye and witches brew, charmed touch, tainted blood, foul drugged sleep forever leave this vessel, this Hatchet.” She snapped her fingers twice. “Turn around three times and clap your hands once,” she said to Hatchet.

Hatchet turned around three times and clapped his hands once. We watched and waited. Two minutes passed. No fart. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

“It worked,” Hatchet said.

“I was supposed to seal the deal with powdered frickberry, but it’s on back order, so this might not last forever,” Glo said to Hatchet. “Just come back if you need a refresher spell.”

“Very well, but before I take my leave, I must purchase a red velvet cupcake.”

Glo put one in a bakery bag and passed it over to him. “Sorry about tackling you last night, but you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. That’s really rude.”

“My master is on a holy quest, and I am honor bound to help him in any manner.”

“Has he figured out the riddle yet?” I asked.

“None of thou’s beeswax,” Hatchet said. “But I will say this… we will succeed where you will fail. And now I must be off to do my master’s bidding.”

We watched him swish out the door with his bakery bag, and Clara lit a scented candle and sprayed the shop with air freshener.

“That was impressive,” I said to Glo. “The reverse spell worked.”

“It would have been even better if I’d had the frickberry. And I was supposed to throw a pinch of ground salamander tail over my shoulder when I read about the tainted blood, but obviously it wasn’t important.”

“Oh boy,” Clara said.

“It wasn’t as if he had tainted blood,” Glo said. “At least, none that I know about.”

I returned to the kitchen and finished piping frosting onto my cupcakes. I helped Clara with the bread, and I cleaned my workstation. I looked up and saw that Glo was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were huge and her face was white.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she said to me. “She said her name was Deirdre Early, and I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m having a panic attack. I’ve never had a panic attack before.”

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and handed Glo a lemon meringue cupcake. “Take a deep breath and eat a cupcake,” I told her. “I’ll talk to Deirdre.”

The shop was empty except for Early, and I understood Glo’s problem when I stood behind the counter. Deirdre Early had a way of sucking the air out of a room, or at least of making a room feel airless. Her short black hair was flat and glossy, tucked behind one ear, sweeping across the other half of her face. Her skin was Kabuki white. Her eyes were lined with black kohl. Her lips were fire-engine red. She was dressed in high- heeled boots, skin-tight black leather pants, and a blousy red silk shirt.

“I know who you are,” she said to me, her voice soft, barely above a whisper, her eyes fully dilated black. “And I know what you do. And I’m telling you now, if you continue to serve Diesel, I will destroy you. Literally. When I’m done with you, there will only be ashes scattered by the wind.”

I went scramble-brain for a beat. I’m not sure what I expected to hear from her, but it wasn’t this.

“I can’t eliminate him,” she said, “but I can eliminate you. And he will be worthless without you. So I’m giving you warning. Abandon the search.”

And she turned and left the shop.

Glo and Clara were standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Whoa,” Glo said. “That was harsh.”

“Does Diesel know about her?” Clara asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Do you think she would really kill me?”

“She seemed capable,” Clara said, “but she chose to warn you.”

“I got the same warning from Wulf,” I told her.

“They both probably fear retaliation from Diesel,” Clara said.

I took my chef jacket off and tossed it into the laundry hamper. “This is crazy. We’re all looking for the Luxuria Stone, and at least two people are willing to kill for it. And no one can even be sure it exists or that it holds any power. It’s like hunting down the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy.”

“What about the hidden messages?” Glo said. “You have to admit they’re magical.”

I shrugged into my sweatshirt. “The clues were left by John Lovey and his followers. Probably, one or two had special abilities and managed to program the painting and the bell to respond to a certain energy. I suppose it’s a kind of magic, but so are ultrasound and yeast.”

“You’re so logical,” Glo said. “I would be exhausted if I had to think up all these explanations. It’s so much easier to believe in magic.”

Diesel strolled in from the parking lot. “Magic is convenient.”

“You just missed Deirdre,” I told him.

“Was she buying cupcakes?”

“No. She came to warn me. She said if I kept helping you, she’d turn me into dust.”

“Dust is bad,” Diesel said. “It would be hard to put you back together from dust.”

“This is serious!” I said.

He hooked an arm around my neck and kissed me just below my ear. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let anyone turn you into dust. And just to make sure you’re safe, I’m going to follow you home.”

“At the risk of being branded a cynic, I think it’s more likely you’re following me home because you want me to make lunch.”

“Not true, but now that you mention it, lunch would be good.”

Diesel ate his sandwich and looked at the map he had spread open on the table. “I’ve marked off three monuments to Tichy in the Cambridge area. The first is a statue of the guy and it’s in a small park. Originally, the park was privately owned by a horticultural group, but three years ago, it was sold and turned into a dog park. The second is Tichy House. He lived there for most of his time in Cambridge, and he died there. It’s a sort of museum now. The third is Tichy Street. It’s exactly one block long, and it ends with a bronze Tichasaurus Armatus statue, in slightly reduced size, planted on the corner, in front of the building housing the Harvard history department. I thought we’d start with these three places. Just walk around and see if you catch any vibes.”

I left Cat 7143 to guard the house. I had the Van Gogh under my bed, and the bell in my clothes dryer. Diesel didn’t want to return them until the stone was found. Having stolen priceless artifacts in my house seemed like a ticking time bomb to me, but I saw his point. We didn’t want them available to any new treasure hunters.

I was riding shotgun, next to Diesel, and I was enjoying the trip. There was a chill in the air, but the sun was bright, and people were running and biking on the Esplanade path next to the Charles River. We crossed the bridge and cruised up Massachusetts Avenue. Diesel turned a couple blocks before Harvard Yard and followed his GPS through a residential neighborhood. Tichy Dog Park was attached to a larger municipal park with a lighted baseball field. We parked and walked to the statue positioned at the entrance to the fenced-in dog area.

The bronze statue of Peder Tichy represented him as a portly, mostly bald little man with a bulbous nose and double chin. There was a simple plaque at the base of the statue with his name and dates of birth and death. A pack of dogs chased one another in the enclosed space, and dog owners were lined up on a bench, talking, watching the dogs play.