The Cauldron Coven

Chapter 6 - Death's Shroud

Tansy laughed as she shook her head. “You are bad. Rick has a hard time keeping his zipper up on a regular basis. It's because he only buys his pants from Kitty's Thrift Shop at the other end of the street. I'm sure it had nothing to do with any hanky panky going on in the back of his store." She chuckled again. If anyone could make something out of nothing, it was Melinda Tipton.

“Besides, isn't he like, what, a hundred or something?" Jayden asked, her brows pinched together. “Betty is only forty. That image is just…gross."

“What's wrong with older people having a little fun?" Wanda asked, hands on her hips as she faced Jayden. “We're not dead, you know?"

“Wanda!" Jayden shouted, eyes wide. “I don't need images like that in my head."

Wanda just grinned at her. “Images keep me going." She winked at Jayden as she turned, giggling.

Famallumi c****d an eyebrow at them. “Amazing."

“I know," Wanda said as she wiggled back to the shelf she was cleaning.

“Well, hello," Melinda said as she turned, facing Famallumi. “Where did you come from?" She pushed herself off the counter with a bump of her ass and started toward the elf. “My name's Melinda…"

Oh, god. Tansy left her spot behind the counter, moving to run interference before Famallumi slipped and said something he shouldn't, which knowing the elf's history, could be anything and everything. “This is a friend from way back when," she said as she reached Famallumi just before Melli reached out to take his arm. “We studied together. He came back to dig deeper into his, um, folklore and mythology."

“You like history, huh?" Melli asked. “I kind of live in the present, you know? Living for the moment, that's me."

“Well, I, uh," Famallumi shot furtive glances around at the others, his eyes wide with what Tansy would have sworn was fright. “I like all of time, really. I, uh," he stood straighter, “did I hear Wanda say you brought something from your bakery. It wouldn't be those little lemon tarts, would it? Absolutely amazing."

His compliment brought a bright smile to Melinda's face, her eyes sparkling. “You've tried my lemon tarts? All-natural ingredients, I'll have you know. Nothing but the best for my customers. Not like that Caked Holes shop down the street."

Tansy laughed, noticing Wanda rolling her eyes behind Melinda. “Well, it shows," Tansy said. “How did you get today off, anyway?"

Melinda winked at her. “I had to take some quiche to Peter Rourke over at A Taste of Blarney." She laughed as she turned. “But I should get back. Who knows what Marcus has given away in my absence? Take care, ladies." She stopped and winked at Famallumi. “I'll make sure to send some more lemon tarts over for you later."

“Um, yeah, well, thank you," the elf stuttered, squirming where he stood.

Tansy hid her laugh behind her hand. For once, Famallumi didn't say, “Amazing." It was good to see him flabbergasted for a change instead of fascinated, and all because of the attention of a woman. If Tansy remembered what Rhychard Bartlett told her about the elf, Famallumi was seventy-five years old, which in the Land Under was a teenager. Had the elf even reached puberty yet? Did he like women? She turned her gaze back to the elf, her brows pinched as she studied him. How did the faerie realm handle romance, love, and s*x? She shook her head, running her hand over her dark hair as she turned back toward the glass counter, the bell jingling over the front door as Melinda stepped out into the late Harbor City morning.

Jayden bit down into one of the pastries as she leaned on the counter. When she finished chewing, she said, “I miss the others being here."

Tansy nodded. She missed them being there, as well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mark Rochester stared at the M.E. as she stood over the body of Roger Sanders. “Scared to death?" Mark repeated. “That's really a thing, and not just a cliché?"

Tricia nodded and then brushed her sandy hair out of her light green eyes. “It's an actual thing. Rare, but an actual thing." She stood there, gripping the clipboard to her chest with her arms crossed over it.

Mark shook his head. “How does that even work?"

“When a person experiences a big enough shock, the body experiences a massive surge of adrenaline. It happens just like a heart attack, shortness of breath, sweating, pressure, tightness in their chest or arms."

“All right, but don't they have to be close to having a heart attack already before something like that can happen?" He was seriously considering smacking the next person to jump out at him as a joke.

Tricia shook her head. “No, even healthy people can be scared to death, but like I said, it's rare. It basically starts with a person's flight-or-fight response to some imagined threat. They'll experience anxiety, increased blood glucose levels, increased heart rate, even sweating more than normal. The massive surge of adrenaline is more than the body can handle and brings about sudden death."

Mark glanced back at the body on the metal table. “So, you're saying someone jumped out at this guy while he was reading and it killed him."

Tricia shook her head. Again. She did that a lot, Mark noticed, whenever he asked her questions. “No. What I'm saying is that something scared him to death. I'm not saying what that something was. That's your job." She shrugged. “However, from what I saw at the crime scene, I couldn't begin to tell you what scared him. He seemed to be having a quiet night at home with a good book. You never did tell me what he was reading when he died."

Placing his hands on his hips, Mark shook his head this time. “A fantasy novel, if I remember correctly." He made a note to look up the book and see what it was about. “So…would you say this was natural causes? I mean, how do I prove someone scared the hell out of him, causing him to keel over in his comfy recliner?"

She nodded. “I'm listing it as natural circumstances, even though he was healthy. There was no obvious signs of struggle or attack, no poisons or other chemicals in his system." She shrugged. “I don't see how else I could classify it."

“All right," Mark said, still staring at the body a moment longer. It just didn't seem right. How could a man just die like that? Mark nodded, forcing himself to accept what Tricia said. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it."

“Anytime," she said as he turned and left the morgue.

He stepped out into the late-morning sun, his hands in his pockets, his brain still trying to make sense of it. Since he met Rhychard Bartlett and his friends, Mark had seen some crazy-ass things: dark elves, creatures that suck the life out of people, turning them into statues made out of the trunks of banana trees, demons and body possession. It all made him start to question every case that came his way, especially ones like this one.

Turning back to the front door of the city morgue, he wondered if he should reach out to the Warrior and ask him about his take on this. Natural causes. Tricia said it was natural causes, even if he was scared to death. No sense borrowing trouble when there was none. There's been enough trouble, lately. Pulling his keys out of his pockets, Mark started toward his car. There were other cases to solve, normal cases with human culprits. He had to stop looking for bogeymen behind every corner.

He stepped off the curb, heading toward his car when a rush of wind swirled around him, pulling at his sports coat and mussing his hair. He covered his eyes from the dust kicked up by the windstorm, bracing against what felt like tornado-strength winds. The howling in his ears almost sounded like a mournful wail as it whipped around him, threatening to bring him down. Then, it stopped almost as fast as it started, almost knocking Mark off his feet from the abrupt disappearance of wind, just as it had almost knocked him on his backside when it first arrived.

Mark glanced around, following the wind as it twirled down the street, kicking up debris and rocking parked cars, but only in a narrow path as opposed to what he thought a natural windstorm would act like. He straightened his coat as he stared at the fading sight, his heart pounding in his chest. Yeah, no such thing as bogeymen.