We both walked in, and then I said, loud enough that she could hear me but hopefully not loud enough that I scared the woman to death, “Tilda?”
She started and turned to look at me. Her face was slightly flushed from the steam, and tendrils of her gray hair were curling around her face. Once again, I thought how very different this naturally aging older woman looked from her glamorous employer. She blinked at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It’s Lucy. And this is my fiancé Rafe. We’re looking for Karmen.”
She blinked at me as though not sure what to say. “Karmen doesn’t see customers unless you have an appointment.”
“I’m not here to buy anything,” I said, cool and steely. Or as close to cool and steely as I could get. “Do you know where she is?”
“No. She was at home earlier, but she may have gone out again. I don’t keep track.”
“Thanks.”
We closed the door and went back outside. The Bentley pulled up behind the Tesla, and Sylvia got out. Alfred was once again her driver, and I had a feeling that he’d also come along to make sure she didn’t tear anybody’s throat out.
“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding those men?” I asked him.
“Christopher Weaver took my place. Thought you might need me.”
“Where is she?” Sylvia asked in a voice that made my blood run cold.
“She’s not in there,” I said.
“She must be in the house then.”
“But there are no lights on in the cottage. Her assistant, Tilda, said she might be out somewhere.”
Then Sylvia threw back her head and sniffed like a bloodhound. It was easy to forget that behind the elegant façade was a creature extremely good at scenting blood. Rafe and Alfred hadn’t been around Karmen, but Sylvia had.
Alfred set his long nose to quivering and then said, “There’s an O blood type in the pub over there.” He wrinkled his nose. “So common.”
He was a connoisseur of blood types.
Sylvia shook her head. “That’s not her. That’s the assistant.”
She stepped closer to the house and drew in a deep breath. “She’s inside.”
I wondered why Karmen had the lights off. The day was cloudy, and her cottage hadn’t been big on windows anyway. Maybe she’d seen us coming and plunged the house into darkness, hoping we’d go away. That’s what I’d do if Sylvia was after me on the warpath.
I made to do my unlocking trick again, but Sylvia pushed the front door and it opened wide. It wasn’t locked.
Sylvia might be good at smelling out blood, but I sensed energy. I’d felt that hint of cold darkness in the air when we’d come before. This time I felt something darker and muddier.
“Karmen?” I called.
We all walked in. “Split up,” Rafe said. I nodded. He said, “Lucy with me. Alfred and Sylvia together.”
I’d thought he’d meant to split up into singles, but then I realized he didn’t want Sylvia coming across that witch by herself. He wanted Alfred with her, and even more, he wanted us to find the witch first.
Okay, I couldn’t lock onto someone based on the blood pumping through their veins, but I had my witch intuition. In the same way I’d been able to sense Margaret Twigg on a highway, I should be able to find Karmen in her own house. I closed my eyes for a second and then headed towards the living room.
And found her there.
She lay on the rug, one arm stretched out. The evening was growing dim, so I switched on a light and then cried out in horror.
“That’s not Karmen,” I said. There was an old woman lying there. Wrinkled and hag-like. Her legs and arms were spindly, the gray flesh sagging from them, her hair gray and thin and matted. And then I noticed the pointed finger. It was twisted and knobby with arthritis, but the fingernail was oval and painted pale pink. I ran forward. Dropped to my knees beside her. “Karmen?”
She wasn’t dead, but it was close. I could feel her life force seeping away and the darkness of death pressing down on her.
I touched her shoulder. Her eyes flickered open, and she gave a great gasping breath. She looked past me to Rafe. “The book,” she said.
“Book? What book? Karmen, what happened?” I asked her.
But there was no answer. Karmen’s life force was faint, and I saw the moment it ended.
“She’s dead,” I said, as though that weren’t obvious.
Rafe nodded.
“Gran was right. This must be the same Karmen she’d known. She was young and beautiful a few days ago, but when she was dying, the elixir must have stopped working.” She definitely looked her age.
Her last words had been, “the book.” I looked around. There was a small bookcase in a corner. “What book do you think she was talking about?”
He shook his head. “No idea.”
Sylvia and Alfred walked in then. Sylvia looked down at the dead witch and said, “Is that old crone Karmen?”
I nodded. Sylvia sniffed the air. “Her blood wasn’t spilled.”
Rafe answered her. “No. I’m not sure how she died. Blunt force trauma or poison, I’d guess.”
I didn’t want to hazard a guess, but Karmen could have died of old age.
“You believe she was murdered?” Sylvia asked.
“Seems most likely,” Rafe said.
“I suggest we get out of here before the authorities arrive,” Sylvia said.
Before we left, I perused the bookshelf, but the titles were so safe they could have been props. There were coffee-table books on gardening and history. The kind of novels that book clubs tended to read or judging panels gave awards to. I was not seeing anything here that would cause a witch to be killed. There were no books on witchcraft, nothing but bland
