Read Online Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) by Emily Rylands - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily Rylands
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clumsier. She was choking, being strangled by something, yet no matter how much she grabbed and clawed at the pressure crushing her throat, her fingers felt only the rough, stubbly skin of her neck. She swung out long, gangly arms at the darkness and found only air and emptiness. She fell to her knees as tiny dots of light exploded behind her eyes. There was a moment of excruciating pain as her brain screamed for more oxygen, and then there was only blackness.
Wendy sat up gasping for air and holding her own throat. She ran anxious hands over the area but felt none of the same crushing pressure that had haunted her in the vision. Although the fear began to subside, her heart was racing and her breathing heavy long after the vision had faded.
Benny had died in utter fear and complete darkness. He had never even seen his killer.
A sharp rap at the door made Wendy jerk. Charlie still sat on her lap, his yellow eyes fixated on her tear-stained face with something that looked suspiciously like concern. The cauldron, surrounded by little bags of unidentified powder and herbs, and the book with its strange writing and unusual decorations were not the sort of items that she would easily be able to explain.
“It's me,” Magda shouted through the door. “Open up.”
“Just a moment,” Wendy called. She gave her cat a quick pat on the head. “I'm okay.” Charlie gave her one more long look and then jumped nimbly to the ground.
Moving in a flurry of anxious activity, Wendy gathered everything up in the cauldron and shoved it into the closet, turning the key with more force than was necessary. As she reached for the handle to open the front door, she paused to wipe away the evidence of her tears.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She winced as she realized how brusque and rude she had sounded.
Magda swept past her into the room and whirled around, concern etched in every line of her face. Never, in the years they had been friends, had Wendy ever seen Magda look so upset.
“I just heard. It's true then,” she said, and Wendy knew that she hadn't erased all traces of her weeping after all. Luckily, Magda seemed inclined to attribute her emotional outburst to a very natural reaction to discovering a dead body.
“It's true.” Wendy sank onto the couch with a sigh. Performing magic, particularly of the sort that depended so much on emotion, could be very draining, and it had been quite a long time since Wendy had cast any spells at all.
“I'm getting you a cup of tea.” It was one of those impulsive, unhelpful gestures that people tend to make in the face of a crisis. Wendy didn't really want any tea, but she appreciated that it was as good as a hug coming from Magda.
“Thank you,” she smiled at her friend.
While Magda busied herself in the kitchen, Wendy slowly stood up from the couch and crept over to the closet. She opened the door slowly and put most of the items back in their correct places. The book was still open to the page that had contained the spell.
“The Last Breath,” it read in that spiky, illegible handwriting. The spell had been designed to allow a witch to see a person's last moments, and that is what she had witnessed in her vision of darkness and fear. It was Benny's voice that had called out to the dark, and his arms that had reached out to fight an unseen foe. The spell had worked at least, even if it hadn't shown her anything helpful. At least, she knew that she hadn't lost her touch. She immediately shook her head at that thought. Wendy reminded herself that she didn't want anything to do with magic. She almost wished the spell hadn't succeeded, that she had somehow forgotten how to do magic in the last few years.
Then, maybe, she could finally be normal.
She could almost hear her uncle's voice as she relocked the cabinet.
If you don't want to be a witch anymore, his gruff tones inquired, why did it even occur to you to take that hair? Not a very normal thing to do.
It was a
Wendy sat up gasping for air and holding her own throat. She ran anxious hands over the area but felt none of the same crushing pressure that had haunted her in the vision. Although the fear began to subside, her heart was racing and her breathing heavy long after the vision had faded.
Benny had died in utter fear and complete darkness. He had never even seen his killer.
A sharp rap at the door made Wendy jerk. Charlie still sat on her lap, his yellow eyes fixated on her tear-stained face with something that looked suspiciously like concern. The cauldron, surrounded by little bags of unidentified powder and herbs, and the book with its strange writing and unusual decorations were not the sort of items that she would easily be able to explain.
“It's me,” Magda shouted through the door. “Open up.”
“Just a moment,” Wendy called. She gave her cat a quick pat on the head. “I'm okay.” Charlie gave her one more long look and then jumped nimbly to the ground.
Moving in a flurry of anxious activity, Wendy gathered everything up in the cauldron and shoved it into the closet, turning the key with more force than was necessary. As she reached for the handle to open the front door, she paused to wipe away the evidence of her tears.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She winced as she realized how brusque and rude she had sounded.
Magda swept past her into the room and whirled around, concern etched in every line of her face. Never, in the years they had been friends, had Wendy ever seen Magda look so upset.
“I just heard. It's true then,” she said, and Wendy knew that she hadn't erased all traces of her weeping after all. Luckily, Magda seemed inclined to attribute her emotional outburst to a very natural reaction to discovering a dead body.
“It's true.” Wendy sank onto the couch with a sigh. Performing magic, particularly of the sort that depended so much on emotion, could be very draining, and it had been quite a long time since Wendy had cast any spells at all.
“I'm getting you a cup of tea.” It was one of those impulsive, unhelpful gestures that people tend to make in the face of a crisis. Wendy didn't really want any tea, but she appreciated that it was as good as a hug coming from Magda.
“Thank you,” she smiled at her friend.
While Magda busied herself in the kitchen, Wendy slowly stood up from the couch and crept over to the closet. She opened the door slowly and put most of the items back in their correct places. The book was still open to the page that had contained the spell.
“The Last Breath,” it read in that spiky, illegible handwriting. The spell had been designed to allow a witch to see a person's last moments, and that is what she had witnessed in her vision of darkness and fear. It was Benny's voice that had called out to the dark, and his arms that had reached out to fight an unseen foe. The spell had worked at least, even if it hadn't shown her anything helpful. At least, she knew that she hadn't lost her touch. She immediately shook her head at that thought. Wendy reminded herself that she didn't want anything to do with magic. She almost wished the spell hadn't succeeded, that she had somehow forgotten how to do magic in the last few years.
Then, maybe, she could finally be normal.
She could almost hear her uncle's voice as she relocked the cabinet.
If you don't want to be a witch anymore, his gruff tones inquired, why did it even occur to you to take that hair? Not a very normal thing to do.
It was a
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