Birds landing on the feeder outside the kitchen window made a sudden racket, pecking for seeds and dominance.
I shifted my grip on my weapon as my heart beat twice for every second. “Could we exchange IDs or something? This is a crime scene and—”
“The uniform and hat aren’t obvious enough?” One sable eyebrow raised, slow and deliberate.
I held my ground. The man with the shoulder-length hair might be dressed as an employee of a province-wide government agency, but this was my island and my investigation and death was in a bag on the floor behind me.
Plus, he was wearing flip-flops.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” I said, straightening my spine and mimicking his wide, confident stance. “And in my official capacity as steward of the island’s orchards, I’d rather err on the side of offending you than ruffling local feathers.”
Note to self: Make sure someone adds ‘She was brave’ to my tombstone.
He didn’t shift his gaze off my face while he unbuttoned the breast pocket of his shirt and removed an embossed identification badge. I tried to make a mental sketch of his features, in case I had to describe him to the RCMP, but I didn’t get further than topaz eyes and minty aftertaste.
After placing the shears on the countertop and peeling off the gloves, I extended my hand, palm up. Tingles darting across my skin alerted me to the presence of magic.
Ooh. My gaze went back and forth, from the man’s face and the crystalline clarity of his eyes to the shiny badge. I confirmed his name, memorized his employee number, and when I stroked the pad of my middle finger across the back of the metal, one of those tingles pulsed rapidly before piercing my skin.
Ouch. I flipped the badge. A pentacle glowed green then started to fade. Today was my day for meeting other Magicals.
“So. Natural Resources is hiring witches?” I asked.
The agent’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “No, not intentionally. The pentacle tells me you’re a witch.”
Oh. I had no idea government-issued IDs could be customized to detect magic.
“And what are you?” I asked, ready to go tit-for-tat.
“Druid.”
Agent Marechal may have been the first druid I’d ever met, and I didn’t know what to say or if there was a specific protocol I was supposed to follow. I went with my most over-used ice-breaker. “What brings you to Salt Spring Island?”
He tucked the badge in his pocket and buttoned the flap. “Over the past three months we’ve received multiple reports of disturbances in orchards all across the Salish Sea Islands and into the San Juans, as well as coastal areas of British Columbia and Washington State.” He pivoted and pointed at the Pearmains, still slowly rocking. “This is the third incidence I’ve come across of orchardists placed under the catatonia spell.”
“How are the others?” And why hadn’t I gotten even a whiff of information about problems with magic in the agricultural sector?
“All were released successfully and have recovered without side effects. We’re working on tracing the spells’ origins, but not a single one of the victims remembers who put them under.”
“And why did you come here?”
“Because the Pearmains were accused in the same manner as the others of using non-organic farming practices.”
“Were those accusations filed in person or anonymously?”
“Anonymously.”
Bingo. “Same here,” I said. “So why didn’t you contact my office?”
“Because...” Tanner hesitated, brought his hands to his hips, and scuffed the floor with the toe of his flip flop. The birds continued to squawk and toss seed. “Because there’s nothing in my files about the SSIAC having a witch on staff. And something was left at the second site.”
“What kind of something?”
He pointed to the bag at my feet. “A severed head. Like the two here.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t aware a second head waited in the freezer. “I’d like to put this one back and get the RCMP’s forensics team in here.”
The agent tensed, looked out the window, and rubbed his jaw. “I’d like to propose a different tack. I have other druids and witches who work with me. I’d like to bring them on board and keep this—” he circled his shoulders to indicate the kitchen and beyond—“between us.”
“Are you saying you’d like to lend your expertise to my investigation?”
“I’m saying…” he huffed out. “Yes, Ms. Jones, I can put my resources at your disposal. In return, I would ask for quid pro quo. And that you not inform local, human authorities.”
“Agreed.” I extended my arm, starting when he took my right hand in both of his. I half-expected a return of the tingling I’d felt when I swiped the back of his badge. Instead, my feet warmed in my boots, heat rising up my legs like bathwater. I jerked my hand away and rubbed my palm on my pants, my legs rubbery but solidly my own. “What did you just do?”
Tanner had the grace to blush. “I’m overly curious that you’ve managed to fly under my radar, and I apologize.”
“Next time you want to know something about me, ask.” I turned and went to one knee.
The frost coating the head was melting in the warmth of the enclosed space. I pulled on another pair of disposable gloves and folded the halves of the cut plastic over the nose, whispering an abbreviated prayer. Now that I wasn’t hovering around panic mode, I could see the head was more child-sized, though the features were clearly adult.
“This shouldn’t stay out any longer,” I said. “Can you please open the freezer?”
Tanner jumped to help. His phone went off as he lowered the lid. “I’ll take this outside.”
I washed the poultry shears in the sink, left them in the drainer, and took my time checking the kitchen thoroughly, even opening the tiny freezer inside the refrigerator. The compartment was barely big enough for two aluminum ice trays, let alone body parts, but I was aiming for professional thoroughness.
The sitting room, located on the north side of the house, was still dim. Taking out
