Midsummer Night's Mayhem (18 page)

“She has to have known,” Honora said. “Whether she’ll admit it or not is another matter.”

“Lance told me the sheriff’s department will be out in full force tomorrow and if they get any whiff of black magic, they plan on shutting it down.”

“That’s smart,” Honora said. She glanced at Clover. “You’ve got a weird look on your face again.”

“I’m just done with being a target, being pushed around and threatened. I want to do more. I feel like if I’m going to be attacked, then I’m going to be prepared.”

“Like how?” Honora asked.

“First off, I’m going to pay a visit to Sugar Snap Farms and check out their operation.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Vivi said. “Gwen has it out for you, remember.”

“That’s why I’m not going to talk to her. The farm still sells produce out of the little shop they have. I’ve never seen her or her husband work the stand, selling to the locals. So I figure I’d pop in like a supportive and friendly neighbor and buy some more peach berries. While I’m there, hopefully, I can chat up their assistant Pete and get him to spill some details on the hybrid farming. He’s more likely to speak to me anyway, and if he won’t, then at least I’ll get some more produce.”

“I still don’t like your going out there,” Honora said. “Do you want some company?”

“Nope. I think I can do a little shopping on my own,” Clover said. “I don’t plan on confronting anyone, just some innocent browsing.”

“Just be careful at the farm. And make sure you take backup,” Honora warned.

19

M
orning dew drenched the hem of Clover’s jeans as she pedaled hard across a field a few miles from her house on her trusty bike, Marigold. When she crested the nearest hill, her breathing labored, her lungs burning, Sugar Snap Farms came into view. The memory of the last time she was there came flooding back—peering through the slat in the barn, watching the Winters arguing, and worst of all, seeing the carnage that magical backfire had done to Grady’s arm and face. The Winters were desperate, angry, and fighting for the survival of their farm.

She pulled her bike up on the other side of the farmland a good two hundred yards from the barn, intent on doing a little shopping. Clover had frequented the roadside stand the Winters had built to sell vegetables and fruit to the locals on many occasions. A long table was covered in baskets filled with peach berries, but not much else. Surrounded by heaps of the fragrant berries, a young witch, with thick black eyeliner and a wild mane of black hair with blue streaks, sat on a stool, reading a book. To Clover’s relief, there was no one else around. After parking her bike near the stand, she said, “Looks like a slow morning.”

“I knew it would be,” the witch said, marking her page in the book and closing it. “Everyone’s at the labyrinth. And I would be, too, if I wasn’t stuck here working.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Did your bosses head over to the Yearling estate already?” Clover asked casually, scanning the tables of produce and smiling brightly at the witch, hoping she’d say yes and Clover would have the place to herself.

“Gwen left early to set up a table of fruit and pies to sell at the event. She even got Austin’s permission, which I thought was a little morbid, but she’s the boss and never misses an opportunity to sell more product. Even if it is on the grave of a dead wizard.”

“Sounds like a savvy business witch,” Clover said, though inwardly she agreed with the young witch. “Did Grady go with her?”

“Not sure. I think so. I know someone went with her. Maybe it was the new guy, Pete.” She shrugged.

“I hope not. I was hoping to get a chance to talk to Pete today.” Clover carried a small crate of peach berries up to the counter. “I just love this new crop and was hoping to pick his brain about the magic behind it. I’m an amateur gardener myself and would love to get some tips.”

The witch gave Clover a dumbfounded look about the idea that anyone could ever be that interested in peach berries. “You can look around for him, if you want. I can’t leave my station.” She scratched her head. “I’ve been here for about an hour and haven’t seen anyone since I first showed up.”

“How long has Pete worked here?”

“Couple months.”

Clover held up a berry. “He’s done wonders in a short time. The Winters must really like him to give him such an important role on the farm.”

The young witch’s expression was blank. “I guess.”

“Where do they grow the peach berries? Maybe under the white tents over in the fields.” Clover motioned to the tents. “Sorry to be so nosy. The magic behind these little gems is fascinating.”

“I’m just part-time.” She sighed, clearly not enthralled with the magic berries. “They grow the berries on the east fields. The tents are west and no one’s allowed to go over there, so I’ve got no clue as to what’s growing there. Pete said it was a special project, but Grady said it was a major gamble and a fiasco. He didn’t seem too happy. I don’t know. I just do as I’m told, and I was told never ever go into the white tents, so I steer clear.” She fingered the edge of her book.

“Sounds mysterious,” Clover said.

The witch crinkled her brow. “Not really. It’s farming. Not much mystery there.”

Clover pulled a small pouch of gold from her pocket and paid for the peach berries. “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

The witch nodded and buried her face back into her book, more interested in the story than with what Clover was up to.

After securing the berries in the basket on her bike, Clover strode west, headed for the white tents. With the Winters away, Clover was dead set on getting a peek under those behemoths, risk or not; she’d be in and out before anyone was the wiser. Her first step of linking them to Oliver’s murder was to prove motive, and to do that she needed more than their desire to own more land. She needed to prove that they not only needed more land, but were desperate for it.

The white tents enclosed a huge parcel of crop space. She suspected they covered a mystery crop that had been destroyed by poorly performed spellcraft, but she was not prepared for what she saw when she slipped between a gap in the tent. Clover stumbled, mouth agape. Whatever spell Grady had used in his magical farming experiment, it appeared to have worked wonders, just not in a good way. The original crop had been completely decimated and in its place grew a forest of thorns.

Rows and rows of arching thorn-covered vines grew right out of the ground and were tethered to trellises, creating a cave of snaking withered plants. At first sight, the prickly monstrosities reminded Clover of Grady’s disfigured arm. The stalks were brown and shriveled, twisted and gnarled. Dangerously sharp thorns covered the vines. She had no idea if they’d been trying to grow a hybrid grape or berry because the field was stark and barren of fruit.

“Backfire,” the word slipped from between her lips. A nervous tremor cascaded up her spine. The bad spellcraft was really a magical catastrophe. She’d never heard of backfire that could create this kind of damage to plants.

The air was steamy under the tent, causing Clover to roll up her shirtsleeves as she wandered down one of the rows. Acres and acres of ruined farmland stretched out under the tents. It was a spellcrafting miracle just to keep the thorn bushes hidden. The sight of the destroyed farmland was truly devastating, but it was more than bad luck or magic—it was motive.

She tried to take a deep breath but the warm air was oppressive. Clover wrinkled her nose. A rancid odor filled her nostrils. She put her hand up to her face and noticed that the runes on the back of her hand were glowing white. Her eyes darted around the vines, seeking out the source. Something had to be causing her runes to react and there was only one thing that would do that—poison.

Clover’s pulse raced. A glow bloomed under her shirt. The amulet, the trouble teller was glowing. She’d taken a big risk coming here. Whatever the Winters were up to, it was dangerous, a lot more dangerous then magical experimental farming. Had they ventured into poison? But why? Were they trying to kill their own crops or use poison in the pesticide? Sweat beaded on her forehead. Needing some fresh air so she could think clearly, Clover darted back down the row of vines, trying to find the opening she’d come through when she heard an all-too-familiar voice.

“Well aren’t you a little pest?”

Clover jerked back as Grady Winter pushed his way inside the tent.

“Good morning, Grady. Sorry. You caught me snooping.” A warm blush rose in her cheeks.

The wizard narrowed his gaze at her, his dark eyes filled with suspicion. His hand rested on a thick cherry wood wand attached to his belt.

An excuse bubbled out of her throat. “I was curious about your new farming techniques. I love gardening and have been experimenting with new hybrid plants.” The words felt rehearsed and shallow coming out of her mouth, but she had to say something. “I thought I could learn a few things from you after sampling your delicious peach berries at the farmers market the other day.”

Grady’s expression didn’t soften. “Save it, Clover. I know why you’re here. You’ve been snooping all over town, asking questions, sticking your little nose in where it doesn’t belong, trying to pin Oliver’s murder on anyone you can find, so you can be the hero.” He shifted his stance, lording over her.

“What? No. Well, yes, I’ve been snooping a little, but it’s not because I want to be a hero. A wizard died in my yard at my party. I feel obligated.” With Grady moving uncomfortably close, Clover backed up slowly, away from the entrance to the tent. “I want to get to the truth of who killed Oliver Yearling.”

“The truth. How sanctimonious of you. Seeker of the truth.” He fingered the magical charm around his neck that disguised his disfigurement, and she couldn’t help but stare at it. He caught her gaze and smiled wickedly. “Do you really want the truth? Because I don’t think you do. I don’t think sweet little bike-riding, garden-puttering Clover Mayhem could handle it.” A chuckle slipped from his lips. His smile twisted into a snarl.

Her body tensed. Grady was right. Clover was all the things he said she was, but she wasn’t stupid, nor was she alone. An angry growl filled the tent. Rusty had slipped inside and bared his teeth at Grady. A natural hunter and wild at heart, her familiar lowered his snout to the ground, crouched in attack position and barked a warning. Backup had arrived.

Clover straightened her spine. “Step aside so I can get out of this tent. I’m sorry your crops failed. I really am. It must be devastating for you and Gwen. I’ve been really insensitive to how hard this must have been on you and your business.”

He threw his head back and cackled. “Well, thank you so much for your concern. I’ll be sure to tell Gwen you stopped by to offer your sympathy. But I can’t let you leave right now.” He blocked her path with his large frame. There was no way she could push past him.

“You don’t want to start this fight. I’m not staying. And I don’t think you’re the kind of wizard who’d kidnap me and force me to stay here against my will. Think about it,” she reasoned. Her gaze darted around the tent, looking for another way out.

“I’m detaining a trespasser on my property. You can leave after I call the police and report you and your mangy familiar.” His jaw tensed.

“Good. Call the sheriff and have him come right over. I don’t have a problem with that.” Her head began to ache. She could feel sweat beading up on the small of her back. Her amulet glowed, as did the runes on her hands. There was trouble, but not just from Grady. The atmosphere under the tent was caustic, the closed-in air humid and cloying.

“What is that?” he asked, noticing her hands. “What kind of magic are you trying to perform?” Grady grabbed one of her hands and twisted it around to get a good look at the runes. Rusty barked wildly and lunged at his pant leg.

With a quick jerk of her wrist, Clover pulled out of Grady’s grasp. Her head spun. A wave of dizziness washed over her. “Something’s wrong. We need to get out from under this tent.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He shoved her back with his chest, but Rusty had latched onto his ankle, causing the wizard to curse and grab for his wand.

Clover took a breath and steadied herself. “Grady, we’ve known each other a long time. Please. Let me help you. I know about the backfire. I know something went wrong with the spellcraft and you’re paying for it now.”

“Help me? You can’t help me.” His face twisted in anger. He kicked his leg violently and Rusty went flying backward into the white surface of the tent.

Clover stared at the vines that grew and wound tightly around the wooden posts. “What kind of spell did you use on the plants? Was it a new pesticide? What was it?” She swallowed. Her throat felt raw as if every breath was burning.

“What does it matter? It didn’t work. It backfired. But you already know that. You already know a lot of things you shouldn’t. No use hiding anymore.” He pulled the charm from around his neck and revealed his tortured face. Rusty growled and circled the wizard in a low crouch.

Clover gasped before she could stop herself. Up-close his wounds were even more devastating. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, but this area isn’t safe. The spell’s left a residue or something. It’s still active. I can feel it. We need to get out of this tent.” Then it occurred to her. “Have you been experimenting with poison? It that what was in the pesticide?” she asked. That would explain why the runes were glowing.

“I’ve heard enough out of you. I told you the spell backfired and ruined the crop. Are you so stupid you can’t see what’s right in front of you? I did this. I ruined the whole crop. It will take years to clear this out and for the land to recover.” With a manic look in his eyes, he grabbed one of the vines and squeezed it with his bare hand. Blood dripped onto the ground and was absorbed. “Nothing hurts me anymore.”

The backfire had effected more than his skin, for the wizard wasn’t thinking clearly. Fear pulsed through her. Clover had to get out of there and quickly. “You can contact the sheriff if you want, but I’m getting out of this tent before I get sick. This place is making you worse.”

“You aren’t going to ruin our plans, not now when we’ve come so close. Not now or ever.” He waved his bloody hand and mumbled a spell. A vine snaked out of the trellis and wrapped around Rusty, yanking him against one of the wooden posts. Clover dove to help him, but was thrown to the ground and pulled away from her familiar as more vines slithered across the ground, tangling around her legs.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours and if you’re still awake, we’ll talk some more. But I doubt that. Gets hot under the tent, especially when the sun comes out. Like baking alive. You’re right, though, there is something wrong with the magic on the plants, and it’s still here.” He turned his back and slipped out of the tent.

“Wait! No!” Clover yelled, but the wizard was gone.

She thrashed and fought, but the vines only tightened around her legs with every movement. Her runes glowed hot and vibrated, giving her an idea. If poison was involved then maybe the runes could help, since according to Tabitha, they were supposed to protect her from poison. She formed her hand into a fist and pressed the side of it against the vine, which immediately shriveled and shrunk away from her hand.

Clover shook her head. “There’s definitely poison in the plants.” She used the runes to ward off the rest of the vines wrapped around her legs and then went to work freeing Rusty.

Once outside of the tent, she breathed a sigh of relief. The fresh air washed over her hot face, but she didn’t wait around for Grady to discover she’d escaped and raced toward the far side of the Sugar Snap Farms property line. She’d have to pick up her bike another time because there was no way she was going back for it now.

Clover’s heart leapt with relief when she crested a hill and the Linder brothers’ painted wagon came into view. The Linder’s assistant, Rain, stood in the middle of the adjacent field, practicing elemental magic by guiding a cloud of mist through the tall grass. Their eyes met and the elemental witch’s expression turned immediately to concern when she saw Clover and Rusty barreling toward her.

Clover raced up along side the wagon and collapsed. Her gaze shot to the tree line, but Grady was nowhere to be seen. She was in the clear. Sweat poured down her face, her breath coming in short gasps.