Read Online The Witch and the Dead by Heather Blake - Free Book Online

a weasel.
    I hurried along, hoping the rain would hold off while I ran my errands. I could see my first destination ahead, a small brick-faced shop with a vibrant red awning shading its window front and door. Third Eye Optometry.
    I paused to admire the display window, which was decorated with three stuffed witch dolls, primitive in design, that sat at a small wooden table adorned with a tea set. All three witches had their own broomsticks and wore long black capes, plain dresses, pointed black hats, and brightly colored glasses. Even the black cat under the table wore glasses. It was adorable, and I recognized the dolls as ones made by the owner of the Spinning Wheel, a witch herself.
    Through the glass, I saw Sylar Dewitt tapping away at a computer behind a glass counter display and the hind side of Dorothy as she hurried into a back room. Her blindingly blond hair and exaggerated butt swish were unmistakable.
    She’d worked here at Third Eye for years and years, long before I’d moved to the village, long before she married Sylar last year, long before she’d wooed him while he’d been engaged to Aunt Ve. As far as I knew, Dorothy truly loved Sylar, a mortal, but she hadn’t told him that she was a Broomcrafter, and I doubted she ever would. She wasn’t one to give up any kind of power, magical or not.
    Drawing in a deep breath, I pulled open the door and went inside and was immediately grateful for the warmth of the shop. Sylar looked up, and his blue eyes narrowed.
    Above his glasses, his bushy white eyebrows dipped low. “Darcy, did you have an appointment?”
    â€œNo, no. I actually stopped by to see Dorothy.”
    Nodding, he said, “She suspected as much when she saw you standing outside.” He rested his hands on the upper curve of his round belly. Although he’d always been on the heavy side, he’d gained more weight after marrying Dorothy. An argyle vest was stretched to its limits over his girth.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œShe figured it had something to do with the hullaballoo at Ve’s home earlier today.”
    I wasn’t the least bit surprised that they’d heard the news. By now the whole village knew. Some would repeat the truth while others would repeat the Salem witch graveyard story Starla had heard. By tomorrow I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that it was Jimmy Hoffa’s skeleton in Ve’s garage.
    After clearing his throat, he mimicked Dorothy’s voice: “I bet that nosy b—”—he coughed sharply—“
witch
Darcy Merriweather is here to see me.”
    He suddenly clamped his lips together as though he’d said something he shouldn’t have and darted a fearful look over his shoulder.
    Clearly he was terrified of Dorothy.
    Rightfully so.
    She was scary.
    I almost gave him one of my acorns but decided I needed to keep them all for myself. Dorothy at least
liked
Sylar.
    She hated me.
    My left eyebrow rose as I said, “She didn’t really say ‘witch,’ did she, Sylar?”
    His chubby cheeks reddened. “I was trying to spare your feelings.”
    I doubted it. If so, he would have said nothing at all. Dorothy’s meanness was rubbing off on him.
    Plus, he was probably still angry about losing the village council election to Ve. When she had declared her intent to run for his long-term position of chairman, in one fell swoop she became his adversary and, in turn, so did I. The family ties that bind . . .
    â€œI’ve known Ve to have a temper,” he said, stroking his chin, “but to kill a man?”
    I put my hands on my hips. “When has she had a temper?”
    He sputtered. “Do you recall the showdown she had on the green with my beloved Dorothy last spring?”
    Oh. Yes. There had been that.
    It was a miracle there hadn’t been bloodshed.
    â€œVe didn’t
kill
anyone,” I stated firmly, then glanced toward the back room. “May I talk to