Seeing the extent of the damage wasn’t good for morale. It also proved that Shiloh’s advice of leaving the dressings alone was probably sound. From what could see, gauze was the only thing holding my face together. Removing it wasn’t a brilliant idea, but I was determined.
Shiloh’s mysterious pink toiletry bag had been a permanent fixture on the bathroom counter for weeks. Ordinarily, I’d never consider rifling through it but just in case my nose started bleeding again, I needed backup cotton.
Absolutely nothing in that bag should’ve fazed me. My sisters were the queens of girly junk and I truly believed I’d seen it all – right up until I reached into Shiloh’s bag and pulled out an envelope packed with money.
I was so taken aback that I stood there stupidly shuffling two thousand US dollars from hand to hand. I couldn’t think of a logical reason why Shiloh would be in possession of that kind of loot, or why she’d keep it hidden in the bathroom. While I racked my brain trying to think harder, I counted it again.
“What are you doing?” Despite her soft tone, Shiloh’s voice ripped through the silence, making me jump.
I turned to see her standing in the doorway, looking so betrayed that I wished I’d made use of the new bathroom door when I came in. I’d been caught red-handed, and my kneejerk reaction was to snap at her because of it.
“What are you doing?” I waved the wad of cash at her. “What’s this for?”
I was more alarmed than angry, but Shiloh couldn’t have known that. “What do you think it’s for?” she asked.
I dropped the envelope back in her pink bag. “A large amount of US currency can’t be for anything good – not in this town.”
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, clearly offended. “So what’s your theory, Mitchell?”
“I don’t have a theory, Shiloh,” I said sourly. “All I have is a broken nose and some busted ribs.”
And that was the sole reason my mind had jumped to such wild conclusions. I couldn’t rule anything out any more. The only time big chunks of cash exchanged hands in this town was when someone was being extorted or bribed. In a few short minutes, I’d all but convinced myself that someone was trying to drag her to the dark side. “If you’re in trouble, you can tell me,” I urged, calming my tone.
Shiloh shook her head. “You’ve been here too long, Mitchell,” she said pityingly. “It’s making you crazy.”
As she turned to walk away, I grabbed her arm. “You work at a diamond mine in one of the most corrupt places on earth,” I reminded her. “It’s not crazy to think someone would take advantage of that.”
Shiloh gently took my face in her hands. “No one is taking advantage of me,” she insisted. “That money is to pay for the new exhaust on the jeep.”
I felt like a complete moron for a few reasons. First, Shiloh had taken it upon herself to pay for the stupid car repair that I needed but didn’t want, and second, I was acting crazy.
“Maybe I have been here too long,” I conceded.
She stretched up on tiptoes and whispered in my ear. “Maybe you should let me take you home – back to the real world.”
Years after leaving, I’d met a girl who actually made the possibility of going home one worth considering. Shiloh was special – frustratingly confusing at times, but uniquely special. On some level I already loved her, but it was much too soon to admit to it – even to myself.
“Maybe I’ll take you home instead,” I countered.
“Really?” she asked grinning.
“Sure,” I replied, sweeping my hand through her hair. “But we’ll need a good contingency plan first, otherwise my sisters will eat you alive.”
Witch’s Brew
SHILOH
It was hard to decide what was more troubling: the carelessness I’d shown when it came to hiding the money Louis had given me, or the ease with which I’d lied to cover it up. I couldn’t dwell on which was the bigger failing. Both were less than righteous acts.
Louis hadn’t mentioned the jeep exhaust since I first asked him to find me one, but Mitchell didn’t need to know that. What he did need was some major first aid to making sleep a little easier. I just wasn’t sure if I could be the one to administer it.
“Taking the cotton out of your nose is really going to hurt,” I warned him. “I wish you’d just wait until morning.”
“It’s still going to hurt in the morning.” He sounded exhausted. “I can’t sleep like this.”
I swept my thumb along the bruise under his eye. I was a police officer. I’d seen the very best and worst of human behaviour in my time, but it was still unfathomable to think one man could willingly inflict that kind of pain on another.
I loathed the air that Iron Mike and Louis Osei breathed, which made me even more determined to cut ties with Mike and shut Louis down. I pushed the wild and vengeful thoughts as far away as possible, concentrating on Mitchell as I picked up our paltry first aid kit, took him by the hand and led him back to the bedroom.
“Sit,” I ordered.
Mitchell sat on the edge of the bed. Knowing I’d probably need to hold him still, I wedged myself between his knees.
His hands moved to my hips. “Just do it quickly.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to help.”
“Please, Shiloh.” The only thing worse than the tired desperation in his voice was the pitiful look in his blue eyes. “Just get it done.”
I cupped his cheeks in my hands and gently tilted his head back. “Breathe,” I whispered.
Mitchell closed his eyes and pulled in a slow steadying breath through his mouth. “You always smell amazing,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve told you that before.”
“I’m sure you can’t smell a thing at the moment,” I replied smiling down at him.”
“No, but I remember.”
“What do I smell like?” It was a strange question but I was too curious not to know.
“Crisp and fresh and amazing.” His eyes remained closed as I gently peeled a strip of tape off his cheek. “Like rainwater hitting the ocean,” he added. “Maybe that’s why you remind me of home.”
Mitchell wasn’t exactly renowned for being sweet and sentimental. The unexpected words trickled through my chest like heat, making a reply impossible.
I gently pulled at another piece of tape, uncovering a graze that wasn’t nearly as horrific as I remembered. Deciding against re-dressing it, I dabbed it with some antiseptic-soaked cotton. Perhaps I should’ve warned Mitchell it was coming. He winced, letting out a low groan.
“Stay with me,” I whispered.
“You can see it coming, you know,” he mumbled.
“See what?”
“The rain,” he replied. “And if you lie down flat on your board, you can feel it before it even hits. I miss the rain.”
Vulnerability sounds a lot like truth. Mitchell’s tough but perfect exterior had been cracked, but he was far from broken. I enjoyed the unguarded, candid man I was seeing, regardless of how brief the glimpse had been.
Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, I quickly tugged the wads of cotton from his nose, which felt like ripping him apart all over again. With a woeful groan of agony, he threw his head forward, trying to ride out the wave of pain by pressing his forehead against my stomach. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips. It wasn’t the most comfortable position I’d ever been in, but I didn’t move. “You’re okay,” I told him. “It’s over.”
When Mitchell finally lifted his head, I checked him over as best I could. Mercifully the bleeding had stopped, but that was little consolation. Tears streamed down his face, and his breathing was hard and laboured.
I wasn’t breathing at all. “Now you can sleep,” I said in a shaky voice.
When I was sure he’d cope with moving, I gracelessly scrambled across the bed and pulled back the covers. Mitchell lay back, huffing another pained groan as his head sank into the pillow.
I lay beside him, splaying my hand across
his middle. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He didn’t reply but after a long minute, the tempo of his breathing changed. The rise and fall of his chest slowed, and I felt his body relax against mine.
With the exception of the Atlantic Ocean rolling in, the whole world was quiet. If I could be certain he wouldn’t hear me, I would’ve used that moment to empty my head of all the words I was desperate to tell him – starting with an apology for every lie I’d ever told him.
At that moment, the risk of compromising my cover wasn’t the driving force for keeping quiet. It was the fear of not being forgiven.
Trailing my finger across his bare chest, I absently traced the most important word I’d never told him over and over again – sorry.
Taking me completely by surprise, his quiet murmur broke the silence. “Nothing to be sorry for, lady. Go to sleep.”
***
Even if Mitchell was the forgiving type, Mimi Traore was not. It was just after dawn when she turned up at our door, pounding on it with the strength of a lumberjack swinging an axe.
“Let me in, witch!” she yelled.
I could only assume that she’d heard the news that Mitchell was missing in action, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume that she thought I had something to do with it.
“She’s not going to go away, is she?”
“Not a chance,” came Mitchell’s groggy reply. “She’ll huff and puff until she blows the house down.”
Of all the people I’d met in Kaimte, Mimi terrified me the most. Getting out of bed and answering the door was an act of bravery.
I’d barely turned the handle before she pushed her way in.
“Good morning, Mimi,” I greeted her. “Do come in.”
“Where is the dumb boy?” she barked.
Mimi was Mitchell’s self-appointed scary fairy godmother. She was fiercely protective, which meant I was going to be in a whole world of trouble when she laid eyes on him.
“He’s still in bed,” I replied. “It’s very early.”
As expected, an apology for waking us wasn’t forthcoming. Mimi dumped the wicker basket she was carrying on the beanbag and stomped through to the bedroom. I followed at a safe distance, hanging back near the doorway.
She didn’t say a word as she checked him over, but the pissed-off tutting was constant.
“It’s not that bad, Mimi,” insisted Mitchell. “I’m okay.”
She reached behind his head, thumping his pillow back into shape. “The heks girl did this.”
It wasn’t a question. The crazy woman spoke as if she was stating fact. Despite his best efforts, nothing Mitchell said was going to convince her otherwise. Even after hearing the whole story, she lumped the blame on me.
“Witches are sent by the devil,” she hissed, glaring at me. “He wants you to believe that you’ve found an angel.” Mimi sat on the edge of the bed and roughly tugged a piece of gauze on his cheek. “She makes you fall in love with her and then she strikes.”
Mitchell’s groan wasn’t brought on by pain. He was frustrated and fast losing patience with her.
“Why, Mimi?” he grumbled. “Why would the devil bother with me?”
She cupped his face in her hands, showing him the most tenderness I’d ever seen from her. “Because you are good, my boy,” she said quietly. “And he always tries to steal the good souls.”
Despite her claims, I hadn’t come here to steal souls. Stolen diamonds were my thing, but it was becoming impossible to stay on task because Kaimte was crazy town. I’d altered course so many times because of it that I no longer had a clue which direction I was heading in.
I was never going to beat Mimi. The only option I had at that point was to join her. When she finally stopped fussing with Mitchell’s face and walked out of the room, I was hot on her heels.
She reached into her wicker basket and pulled out a large pot. “Boil some water,” she demanded, thrusting it at me.
“We have a kettle,” I replied.
Even with her elaborate head-wrap, I had to be at least a foot taller than her but Mimi had no problem fronting up to me. She looked so menacing that when she stepped closer I stumbled backward.
“Do you want him to heal?” Her voice was as angry as her expression. “Or would you rather see him in pain?”
Until she arrived, Mitchell wasn’t in any pain. He’d slept through the night quite comfortably, only waking because of her incessant pounding on the door – but I was much too cowardly to point that out.
“Of course I do,” I mumbled, snatching the pot from her grasp.
Lighting the antiquated gas stove was a process. In the five minutes it took me to get a flame happening, Mimi went to work.
The kitchen table was one of the few pieces of furniture in the shack, and by the time she was done every spare inch of it was covered with bunches of herbs, small bags of coloured powder and bundles of sticks. I had no idea what she was up to and didn’t dare ask.
“I’m scared of you, Mimi Traore,” I told her. Despite the weak admission, my tone was strong. “Maybe you’re the witch.”
“No.” The corner of her mouth lifted but she didn’t look at me. “Heks are bad women.”
If I had to wear the title of witch, it only seemed fair that I was given a thorough job description. I demanded to know more.
“A witch is wicked,” she explained. “Mysterious and charming at first – then deadly.” Mimi picked up a bunch of twigs and began stripping the leaves. “Men are easy prey for her. She seduces them with lies and beauty, and then causes them much trouble and unhappiness.”
Her definition described my recent behaviour to a T, but I refused to be affected by it. I’d attended enough domestic disputes during my career to know that she was describing any woman who treated men badly. They were the traits of a bitch, not a witch.
I waved at the pile of junk on the table. “What’s all this for? If you’re planning some weird ceremony to drive the devil out of him, you might as well stop right now.” There was no way I was going to let her put Mitchell through that. He didn’t have the strength to push her out the door but I was prepared to give it a crack if need be.
Mimi glared at me, her chocolate eyes hard as flint. “The devil isn’t in Mitchell,” she said. “He’s creeping up behind you.”
The woman unnerved me so much that it took effort not to turn around and check. “I am not a witch,” I angrily replied. “Tell me what I have to do to prove it to you.”
The basket she’d brought with her was huge. I didn’t doubt for a second that she had some sort of witch detector in there. As long as it didn’t involve drawing blood or setting me on fire, I was prepared to let her use it.
Mimi didn’t take me up on the offer. Instead, she dropped a handful of herbs into the stone mortar she’d brought and began grinding. “You’re not that brave,” she told me.
She was probably right, but I was too stubborn to back down. “Try me.”
Abandoning the herb crushing, she walked to her basket and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. I recognised it immediately – it was the mystery bottle from the Crown and Pav.
“Witch’s brew,” she announced, waving it at me.
“Mitchell said that bottle’s been on the shelf for years,” I replied, sounding far more frightened than I’d hoped. “No one knows what it is.”
“I know what it is,” she replied, edging closer. “It’s witch’s brew – and if you’re a witch, one sip will kill you.”
Putting any sort of faith in Mimi was nonsensical. For all I knew, the bottle contained drain cleaner. I was stupidly stubborn, but I had no death wish. “I’m not going to drink that,” I declared.
Mimi slammed the bottle on the table. “Because you are a heks girl.”
Where I come from, the justice system requires evidence before a conviction. All crazy Mimi needed was a hunch. On the plus side, acquittal was a simple process, too. All I had to do was take a sip of drain cleaner.
As I stared at the bottle, something deep inside me snapped, possibly the last thread of my common sense. Desperate to put an end to the madness and clear my witchy name, I picked it up. “I must be out of my freaking mind,” I muttered unscrewing the lid.
Without putting an ounce more thought into it, I threw my head back and took a swig. The clear liquid burned my throat and the flavour was vile, but within seconds I knew I’d live to see another day.
“It’s gin,” I spluttered, wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “Gin kills witches?”
Mimi shrugged “I have no idea.” She smiled, perhaps for the first time ever. “No witch in her right mind would’ve agreed to drink it in the first place.”
The laugh that tumbled out of my mouth was involuntary. I should’ve been furious with her. “You’re a crazy woman, Mimi,” I told her. “Are you happy now?”
“You’re not a witch,” she finally conceded. “But you are trouble.” She took a step closer to me and whispered a harsh warning. “And as long as you’re in this town, the devil will be right behind you.”
Rules
MITCHELL
Mimi Traore sometimes reminds me of my mother. Both women are hard and share the same style of tough-love parenting, but it’s a method that’s always worked for me.
It had taken Shiloh hours to patch me up the day before, but it was all for nothing. As soon as Mimi arrived she ripped every bit of gauze off my face, all the while muttering under her breath about what a terrible job the heks girl had done.
Shiloh didn’t take it to heart. In fact, she put a lot of effort into winning Mimi over that morning, which was extraordinary considering Mimi had gone to great lengths to terrorise her.
Forging the peace treaty seemed to be going well. I couldn’t hear any screaming or yelling from the kitchen, but I could hear calm chatter. I could also smell something cooking, and it wasn’t remotely pleasant. When Shiloh appeared, I asked her what it was.
“Marigold, cayenne and a few other bits and pieces,” she replied, crawling across the bed. “It smells foul, doesn’t it?” She lay down and gently rested her head on my shoulder. “I think she’s going to make you drink it.”