We head toward the trailhead, walking at a break-neck pace. Or in Ronnie’s case, waddling. When we reach the entrance to the trail, it begins to drizzle. We pull up our hoodies and continue on to Main Street, hoping to get to our cars before the stormy skies dump on us. As we turn the corner at the Raven Pub, we discover Bearsden Police vehicles, their red and blue lights flashing. They’re parked on the road in front of the local shipping and packing store next to Mitchell Hall. Ronnie uses her baby bump to push through the throng of nosy townies, and I follow closely behind.
In the center of the crowd is Detective Jack Schmidt, comforting a woman with shoulder-length, blond hair. Officers, including O’Connor and Wilson, question people off to the side. I lean over to a man next to me.
“What happened? She doesn’t appear injured,” I say, a wrinkle forming in my brow.
“She isn’t hurt,” he replies. “Someone swiped her toddler in broad daylight on the street when she stopped to check out the costumes hanging outside the thrift store. The mom said she let go of her hand for a few seconds. The sidewalks were really packed this morning—Halloween sidewalk sales.”
Ronnie gasps. “Oh, my gods. Someone must have seen who took the child.”
He shakes his head. “Happened too fast. One witness said it was a woman with platinum blond hair. She didn’t catch her face.”
A twinge snaps inside, and I sense a trail of magic. But there’s something different about it. Are the Baby Nabbers using a witch to snatch these poor babies?
Chapter eightA Devoted Student
By noon on Sunday, the weather clears, and the high is expected to hit 77 degrees. If it wasn’t the end of October, I would pull out a pair of shorts and enjoy the late Second Summer. But I can’t find it in me to be excited amidst the tragic kidnappings in our town. As I’m getting ready for work, Archie calls. I swipe the green icon on my phone.
“Good morning, my love. Well, almost afternoon now,” he says. “Were you able to sleep?”
“Yeah, but the kidnapping and what I felt last night left me unsettled. I’m sure I sensed magic in the area—different from witchcraft.”
“The online news article I read stated no witnesses saw the face of the woman, only her blond hair from behind. Did Ronnie notice any residue?”
“No. But she said her pregnancy is affecting her skills. Her hormones are out of whack. Her baby isn’t even born yet, and she’s so stressed over these kidnappings.”
“Hard not to be. Are you sure you weren’t feeling Seamus’s presence?”
“No. It wasn’t the residue of a cat sith witch.” I haven’t told him about the Irish professor’s most recent comments. He’ll advise me to stop meeting with him.
“Your initial assessment is most likely correct, then. A rogue witch.”
“My witch’s intuition isn’t strong enough to identify the source, and I can’t take a chance with the crystal grid in the short term. I want to set up a time with Agnes for some training. For all I know, I’m sensing my own magic trail.”
“I wish you well, Gwyn. But her tutoring is unconventional.”
“I’m not a neophyte now. I can handle what she throws at me.”
He laughs into the phone so loudly I pull my cell away from my ear.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, irritation straining my voice.
“Remember how the pot episode went? Moderation in whatever she asks you to do is advised.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again. Well, I’d better prepare lunch. I’ve gotta get to work. Enjoy your afternoon, honey.”
“Not likely. I’ll be grading. Will you stop by later?”
“I doubt it. I have classwork to finish. But I want to. I love you.”
“Have a fantastic day. I love you, too, Gwyn.”
I dress in my new Mystic Sage logo T-shirt and jeans, gather my belongings, and walk into the kitchen. Leslie is sitting at the tiny table eating a bologna sandwich and vegetable soup. She slurps a spoonful and rests the utensil in the bowl. Mr. Yeats sits on a chair, his tail wagging back and forth.
“Hello, Gwynedd. Care to join me for lunch?” she asks.
“A quick one. I need to get to work. The incident on Main Street last night ate into my studies. I’m hoping to arrive a little early, so I can leave earlier, too. I must schedule time to plod away on my intuition. Try to enhance it enough to check out any future magic residue.”
“The thought of a witch aiding a kidnapping ring is disconcerting. We pledge to do no harm, as you well know. I will warn the coven of the possibility on Samhain before the guests arrive.” She consumes another spoonful of soup. “I hear you may do some training with Agnes to increase the effectiveness of your intuition. You’re welcome to ask me for help next time. But I understand if you prefer Agnes’s tutelage.”
“Don’t take offense. She became my mentor when I completed my training during the break from the coven. She doesn’t follow your academic approach, but I do well when I work with her. Well, most of the time.” I chuckle, recalling my initial sessions—when I nearly snuffed out all the pot plants in her garden.
Leslie chuckles. “Indeed. Agnes created the term think outside the box. I’m certain of that.”
“Her style of teaching is good for me,” I say while making a PB&J sandwich. “My entire childhood and marriage were in a box. Look what that got me.”
“You have a wonderful son. For that alone, your prior life was worth a portion of time in an Unremarkable world.”
I grin as I nudge Mr. Yeats off the chair. “It was. Despite all that’s happened, I want you to know I value your support and knowledge. I wish the road getting here hadn’t been so bumpy, though.”
“Indeed. I appreciate your candor, Gwynedd. Study with Agnes as much as you like. It doesn’t offend me.”
Leslie takes another bite of her sandwich, and I do the same. It’s not the same as having a living mom sitting across the table, but having her here has become a close second.
When I enter Mystic Sage, Officer Quinn O’Connor is speaking with Shane, who’s manning the cash register. He pets his snow-white beard.
“I ran out when I saw the commotion on the street. The crowd gathered outside the shipping store blocked me from viewing what happened. I’m sorry I can’t add anything to your investigation.”
