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 Gulf 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 GIAC 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 my phone, I compared the image of the severed head with the faces carved into the picture frames. I swept my flashlight over the rest of the photographs, getting close enough to sneeze from the dust and ascertain there was more than a passing resemblance to at least two of the younger men. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it was close enough to call: the heads in the bags weren’t one-hundred percent human. And neither were some of the Pearmains.
When I peeked out the kitchen window, the Provincial agent was standing in a patch of sun, slapping his hat against the side of his thigh, the other hand holding his phone to his ear. I lingered on the details of his physique, highlighted by the cut of his pants. There was no way those were off-the-rack Carhartts.
He noticed me when he finished the call and beckoned me to join him. I noticed his shoulder-to-hip ratio and declared it perfect.
“You ready to walk the orchard?” he asked.
“I don’t remember much about the specific layout of this property.”
“The photographs you received. Can you pinpoint where they might have been taken?”
I should have been making that suggestion, instead of gawking at the man’s backside. Pulling out my phone to compare the images, I shook my head. “Let’s start with the oldest section of the orchard.” I showed the pictures to Tanner. “The trunk of this tree is too gnarled to be less than fifty, sixty years old.”
“Lead on.” He dipped forward in a mock bow and swept a half-circle with his hat.
“Let me check on Cliff and Abi first.” I followed the wrap-around porch to the front of the house, my boots’ wide heels echoing dully on the weathered boards, and squeezed Abi’s hands and then Cliff’s. I quietly promised I would figure out whatever was happening on their land then completed a circuit of the porch, satisfied nothing
