Derrick
A true Witch does not worship evil, or any entity known as “Satan” or “The Devil.”
Rule Number Four of the Nine Rules
*World Council of Witches*
Derrick sat in the chair to which he’d been relegated in the front corner of Jessica’s shop—the “Friends and Family Chair,” her giggly coworker Becca called it, since apparently it was where the friends and family of the shop’s clientele sat and waited while the shoppers were trying on clothes.
There was a matching armchair across from Derrick’s, and in it sat a small older woman tending to a toddler in a baby carriage while a younger woman—presumably her daughter, the toddler’s mother—shopped. The older woman had made several attempts at small talk with Derrick, beginning with a sympathetic, “Waiting on your wife?”
Derrick had only grunted “No, ma’am” in reply. He’d learned it was better to shut down conversations with members of the public as quickly as possible, before they got too personal. Like Jessica asking about his childhood. He didn’t need her knowing about that.
Not that she was a mere member of the public. As a fellow witch and the Chosen One, she was obviously significantly more than that.
But the less she knew about who he really was, the better for both of them.
“Girlfriend?” Grandma asked next, cheerfully undeterred by his curtness.
Derrick couldn’t believe this. He’d staked out a fine position for himself here in this really rather comfortably soft leather armchair, with Jessica’s friendly cat, Pye, sleeping in his lap, and the book he was currently reading—or could pretend to read, since he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for unusual phenomena and the demonically possessed. Here he could keep Jessica—busily slashing the prices of merchandise that hadn’t been purchased during the weekend sale—in his sights.
But this grandmotherly woman kept trying to distract him. Even the kid in the stroller kept gurgling at him, happily waving a toy rabbit with a bell in its ear. The bell jingled every time the kid bounced it in his direction.
Derrick didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but he didn’t dislike them. He simply wasn’t there to play with a kid, chitchat with grandmothers, or entertain the stares of the women of West Harbor. He was there to keep the Chosen One safe.
Why was everyone in this town so intent on keeping him from doing so?
“Yes, ma’am,” Derrick said, to satisfy Grandma and hopefully keep her quiet. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend.”
“Oh, how nice.” Grandma took the toy rabbit from her grandchild’s fingers and bounced it in the air, causing the bell to ring even more loudly and the toddler to shriek with delight. “Isn’t this a lovely shop? My daughters buy all their clothes here. So does my daughter-in-law. Well, she’s not my daughter-in-law yet, because she and my son still aren’t married. Living together for years and still no plans for a wedding. I don’t understand what’s taking them so long. Maybe you can explain it, you look about my son’s age. What’s so wrong with marriage, I ask you?”
Derrick glanced at Jessica, but she was now helping the woman’s daughter with a gown she wanted to try on. There’d be no rescue from that direction.
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Derrick said, lowering his book. “Maybe your son is simply waiting until he’s found the right person.”
“But he has! Dina and Mark have been together since high school. They’re in their thirties. They own a home and three beagles together. Surely they have to know by now that they’re right for each other.”
“Well, then what does it matter if they get married?” Derrick asked. “Maybe they don’t feel they have to legitimize their relationship in the eyes of others with a big expensive party and a slip of paper.”
The older woman looked horrified. “It’s tradition.”
“Aren’t traditions made to be broken?”
“You sound exactly like my son. Which of the young ladies here is your girlfriend?”
Derrick was confident he was never going to see this woman again, so he pointed. “Her.”
The old woman’s gaze followed his finger. Then her eyes widened. “Her?”
“Yes,” Derrick said.
“You’re dating Jessica Gold?”
Derrick hesitated. Wait. Why did this woman look so delighted? Did she know Jessica? It was a small town. The likelihood was that she did. Had he screwed up? Oh, well, what did it matter? Like it or not, he’d be gone in a few days, either because he’d failed in his mission or because he’d succeeded, and was on to his next one.
“Yes,” he said. “Jessica Gold is my girlfriend.”
It felt good to say it. Strangely, invigoratingly good.
“Well,” the grandmother said, beaming. “I’m so happy to hear that. It’s been a while since Jessica had a nice fellow. And where did you two—?”
Mercifully, Derrick’s phone rang. When he looked down at the screen and saw who was calling, he said, “Pardon me, ma’am, but I have to take this.”
“Oh, please.” The old woman’s eyes twinkled as she reached for her own phone. “Go ahead. Don’t mind me.”
Derrick did mind her, however. The enemy was everywhere and could look like anyone, including this kindly grandmother—or a former high school football player who now sold cars for his father-in-law. You could never be too careful.
Derrick excused himself, laid down his book, lifted a protesting Pye from his lap, and stepped outside the shop to take his call, making sure to catch Jessica’s eye on his way out so she’d know where he was. She nodded as he lifted his phone to his ear—and even though he was halfway out the door, he didn’t miss the amused glance she exchanged with twentysomething Becca, the bubbly brunette who’d been sneaking surreptitious glances at him ever since he’d set foot in the place.
Did no one in West Harbor take anything seriously?
“Hello,” he said into the phone when he was safely on the sidewalk outside the shop. He could still see Jessica inside through the enormous plate glass display windows, adjusting the hem of a gown the young mother was trying on. “Did you get my message?”
“Of course I got it.” The person on the other end of the phone sounded grim. “Why do you think I’m calling? Are you honestly telling me that Rosalie Hopkins—”
“Exactly what I wrote to you.” He didn’t want to say it out loud. The foot traffic on West Harbor’s main thoroughfare wasn’t as bad as it had been over the weekend, but it was still surprisingly brisk for a Monday. Derrick had to stick close to Enchantments’ doorway to keep out of the way—and to keep his end of the conversation from being overheard.
“We always suspected. But that kind of power—and that kind of blatant disregard for life . . .” The caller seemed perplexed. “We haven’t seen anything like that since—”
“That’s why I wrote. Between that and the Bringer of Light’s exceptional gifts—if they’re true—I have a feeling we might need to accelerate things a bit.”
The caller’s voice sharpened. “Accelerate them how?”
“Well, to start with, maybe by telling Jessica Gold the truth.”
He didn’t want to say it. He knew the kind of reaction he was going to get.
But he had to say something, because Jessica deserved the truth. If the woman was going to put her life on the line—and that was clearly what she was doing, thanks to Rosalie—she needed to know who she was really working for.
But the caller, as he’d predicted, disagreed. Strongly.
“No! Absolutely not! Do you want to get her killed?”
“She was very nearly killed earlier today,” he said tersely into the phone, while turning to look through the display window. Jessica was now having an animated conversation with the toddler’s mother while making subtle changes to the gown she’d tried on. Before Derrick’s eyes, the woman bloomed, becoming pretty as a rose. But not as pretty as her stylist. “If I hadn’t been there—”
“Then stay there. Continue doing what you’re doing. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Derrick fought for patience. “Please explain to me how I’m supposed to do that. This isn’t the Middle Ages. Did you know that following a woman everywhere she goes can be considered harassment?”
The caller scoffed. “How is it harassment when you’re saving her life?”
“When she doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing because she doesn’t realize the enormity of the threat against her.” Derrick reached up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. His eyes hurt. Was it all the caffeine, the lack of sleep, or the absurd amount of stress he was under? Probably all three. “Look, I was thinking: What if we changed things up and simply eliminated the threat against her?”
The response was immediate—and exactly what he’d expect. “No! You know how I feel about bloodshed.”
“I’m not talking about bloodshed.” Probably. “A simple binding spell would keep the woman from doing any more harm. And it would be what she deserves—she’s a menace.”
“You know what the penalties are for casting a binding spell on a Council member?”
“Lucky for me I’m not a Council member, then, isn’t it?” he quipped.
“Very funny. But you know it’s too risky. You’re right that she’s a menace—but she’s a menace with powerful magic that we might need on our side when the time comes . . . if we can turn her, that is.”
Derrick raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t suggesting that I try to—?”
“No. She’d never listen to you. But the girl—she might listen to her.”
“What girl? Do you mean the Chosen One? Because take it from me, those two are not on the best terms—”
“No, not that one. The other . . . ”
He was used to the caller speaking in cryptic terms like this. He’d learned long ago to ignore it. He himself preferred action—but he didn’t often get what he wanted.
“Fine,” he said, with a certain amount of sarcasm. “Then I’ll continue protecting the Chosen One from our own people—and the weather.”
The caller’s voice warmed. “You’re a good boy. Have I told you that lately?”
“You think so? Well, in that case, give me a raise. A big one.”
This was followed by laughter. Then the caller hung up—without saying goodbye, as usual.
He put his phone away, then turned around and went inside. Not much had changed. The mother of the toddler had disappeared into the dressing room, presumably changing back into her street clothes, and Grandma was still waiting in the second Friends and Family chair, her phone neatly tucked away.
“Well,” she said conversationally, as Derrick sat down again. “How was your call?”
“Fine.” His coffee cup was empty. It was after five. He really couldn’t drink another one, or he’d never sleep tonight. But with what he knew now, could he afford to sleep?
“It doesn’t look like it was fine.” Grandma played with the baby some more. “Who was it? Your boss?”
“Sort of,” Derrick said, and settled back into his chair for what he presumed would be many more hours of waiting. “It was my mother.”