Monthly Bonus Content #1: ‘Hocus Pocus Mishap’ (Jane Version) (Patreon)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a cup of coffee with festive fall latte art. Within the cup of coffee, there's a ghost made out of steamed milk that seems to be wailing. The cup itself is a plain white set on a saucer while there is a bundle of autumn leaves placed to the side. 'Hocus Pocus Mishap' acts as the title in a witchy font; the 'I' is dotted with a star symbol and it appears to be drawn in chalk. ]

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

Alek's suggestion is followed by a gentle nudge to your arm when he sets a pumpkin-shaped cookie in front of you. It's maniacally grinning face makes your own slight frown feel more apparent, so you pointedly dislocate its cookie jaw. No snap comes from Mrs. Corvin's award winning snickerdoodle recipe; it's too soft with a flavor Turn the Page customers rave about.

You brush the cinnamon sugar off your fingers before holding onto the walkie talkie yet again.

"By 'talk' I mean lovingly yell at her," Alek clarifies with a glance between you and the mangled cookie. "Sometimes she gets wrapped up in work. I thought she was getting better, but this time of year can be kind of hard for her…"

"Because of the prank calls and so-called sightings or because of what happened with—?"

"Both," Alek quickly interjects, smiling tightly to soften his tone. "It's both, but if anyone could bring her out of work-mode, it's you. I promise she doesn't mean anything by it—it's how she is…"

It's how she copes.

This is the third day in a row Jane hasn't said 'good morning' to you on the gang's broadcast channel. She's become your daily wakeup call, a routine that speaks to how well she knows your habits and how she wants to hear about your day ahead. Creating times to meet up is what you typically do along with her usual concerned check-in about your well-being. It's been quiet.

It's been so silent.

You hadn't realized how accustomed you are to hearing her soft-spoken voice first thing before even thinking of getting out of your bed.

"I can bring snickerdoodles to her intervention," Alek jokingly suggests, except there's a hint of seriousness to how he regards you. "Maybe she could use a much more personal delivery? I wanted to drop off something for the station anyway. You can do it for me and see Jane."

Before you can agree or disagree with his plan, Alek is snagging a piece of your gifted cookie and jaunting back to the kitchen to prepare.

Your eyes stray to the silent walkie talkie.

Something doesn't feel right.

. . .

. .

.

Something's wrong.

You settle on that conclusion before the door to the station can completely swing shut when confronted with a benevolent smiling face. It's etched in sunny yellow ceramic adding a pop of brightness to the drab interior, but it should not be out here. It shouldn't be anywhere near Tabitha's lips. "That's Jane's," you point out.

Your statement is closer to an accusation.

"—are you, [Name]? It's chilly out."

You've no idea what exactly Trent just said to you, too intent on Tabitha drinking—defiling—a cup that you have always associated with Jane. It's her mug from Alek, a treasured gift that you know she wouldn't risk anyone else ever using. She's deeply sentimental at heart.

"I know," she smugly replies. "I'm borrowing it."

When Tabitha completely lowers the mug from her face, you're treated to a smile that rivals the one etched into the ceramic, but this one holds a hint of maliciousness among its happiness. It only takes you a second to realize her lipstick will leave marks behind on the cup. The bold red color smears along the rim. "Did you get permission to 'borrow' her favorite cup?"

Trent glances between you and Tabitha, staying out of it for now, yet clearly unsettled.

"She poured it for me earlier, sweetie," she reveals, taking another languid sip. "Feel free to go interrogate our busy detective since you obviously have a lot of free time on your hands." Tabitha's pointed remark is further sharpened by her collecting a stack of papers from the reception desk before she departs.

"I was surprised too," Trent meekly adds. "I saw it though. They've been making each other's drinks…"

Is that why Jane hasn't been around Turn the Page as much? Station coffee can't compare.

You set the overflowing cookie basket down in front of him without any comment because you're going right to the source. While the lack of walkie talkie calls and missed lunches could be negatively shading your reaction, you can't be swayed from your gut instinct. Your quick steps along the linoleum flooring only falter slightly when you see the door to her office.

The unlocked, wide open door…

Anyone who passes by would be able to catch a glimpse of Jane who is sitting stiffly at her desk typing away at a case report with an intense focus. The old keyboard loudly clacks with each strike from her fingers, plastic almost abused at this rate. Is a looming deadline to blame? She doesn't appear to be blinking much, eyes riveted to the screen that casts an LED glow over her that only enhances the faint pallor to her skin. It's one that comes from feeling unwell or being too overworked. It has been a while since you last saw her in person, only getting a few waves in passing while out.

(Ruby wanted to chase her for simply waving while the two of you were out shopping on the other side of the street; it was a 'snub' to her.)

She has yet to sense your arrival even as you edge closer into the room to stand in front of the—

"Coffee?"

Her attention snaps to you so abruptly you nearly startle a half-step backwards, which would gut her. It's easier to quell your reflex than to soothe your heart beat at the soft crack that must've come from Jane's joints, neck more or less swiveling to face you. Her typing has slowed down instead of halting.

"No, but I did bring cookies," you awkwardly reply. "Alek included oatmeal raisin too."

"No, thank you," she politely declines, voice a little flat. "It's not what I need."

Because she probably needs some holy water…

The cup, the door, the lack of greeting along with everything else all points to something being amiss; however, the sparkly pink hair tie on Jane's wrist compounds it all. You stare at her, while she faces you without truly seeing. It is a mercy when she rises from the desk chair, disrupting her vacant sightline and collecting a boring white cup. You're moving in front of her before you can think better of it, alarmed. This is unlike what happened out at the town line.

There's no placid quality to her or eerie calm.

There is only an absence of emotion that should be specifically reserved for you alone.

She doesn't seem bothered by your unease; it's a mild inconvenience at best. Her steps come to a stop when you place a hand on her tense forearm, feeling it constrict that much more beneath your gentle touch. You should be calling the others—demanding Sofia start on some research—enlisting Ruby to help you hide Tabitha's body if she did this—getting Beckett's opinion along with steadying support.

You just want Jane…

"Did something happen?" you demand, voice raised before you remember the open door. Talking to her when she's not herself is a bad idea, but you can't let her walk past you like a relative stranger. "Did something unnatural happen? Have you even seen Alek or anyone else recently? We thought you were busy, not—"

"I am busy," she stiffly interrupts you. "If you have something to report, then do so at the reception."

She won't even look you in the eye. It doesn't seem like purposeful avoidance that keeps her gaze just over your left shoulder; instead, it's fact. Jane shows no trace of anguish over staring out into the hallway while you're standing across from her looking stricken. People don't waffle or debate refusing to stare at the blinding sun; they know better. She's like that.

It's completely normal to treat you like this, a fact or habit. Something or someone took her.

"…Fine," you whisper, letting her go.

As soon as Jane walks past you without any hesitation, you're rounding her desk to steal her walkie talkie—the one that matches yours. It doesn't need to be in her hands now. Your eyes deviate to the computer screen to see that a word document is opened up, thousands of words fill its page with one thing in common:

Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha.

Through your glare, you do spy a few mistakes within the rows upon rows of Tabitha, pieces of your name that have been chopped up. Letters have been spliced into hers, overtaken in the end, but Jane must be fighting whatever this is. You've seen bizarre things in Fernweh by now, so a lust demon, magic potion, romantic ritual, or anything else isn't really impossible.

What may be impossible is you letting this go where Tabitha is concerned.

You leave Jane's office before you seek out the one responsible for this without a plan or letting the rest of the gang know what's wrong.

Laughter comes from the communal kitchen, a grating, girlish giggle, that prompts you to move faster to prevent your imagination from taking a harmful turn. Trent's kind farewell hardly registers to your ears. You're still doing rather than thinking until you're back in your car, hands clenched around the steering wheel to both steady them and to throttle something.

You can have a moment after you reach them.

"Sofia," you call to her. Your voice echoes from both walkie talkies. "We've got an emergency."

"Are you okay? You sound upset?"

Of course, Beckett answers instead as soon as he heard your strained tone. "No," you sigh.

"Why not?" Ruby inquires. "Where are you?"

"Where's Sofia?" you pose your own question.

"She is measuring my cat for a new, festive collar. Now, explain."

"I'm here," Sofia chimes in after a second. "But you said an emer—?"

"Let's stop with the twenty questions," you interject. "Something's wrong with Jane. I'm not doing this over the broadcast. We need to meet and fix her. She's behaving all wrong."

The slight catch in your tone communicates far more than your clipped sentences, which is likely why they cede the floor to you. Jane treating you like a common stranger is playing on old fears about the potentially irreparable damage left behind by your absence from town. It's cutting you far more deeply than the fact that she might be infatuated with Tabitha.

"Let's meet at the B&B," you conclude. "Now."

. . .

. .

.

[Hours Later After a Research Montage…]

"If this fails, there is always True Love's Kiss."

"Or we murder her…"

Ruby's light-hearted attempt at reassuring you turns grim following Alek's very serious offer.

You say nothing to either of them, pulling out your walkie talkie to address Beckett. "If you keep shuffling around, she'll get suspicious," you warn him. He quickly waves his hand at you before going back to pacing by your car to appear visibly distraught. His nerves about messing up playing bait make it believable, though Alek calling Jane and insisting she personally come out to help is what worked.

Accidentally 'hitting' a deer has left your friend in shambles, enough that he contacted Alek by walkie talkie who then naturally called his big sister.

Ruby came up with the cover story that would break through to Jane. Sofia used your grandfather's books along with your account of Jane's behavior and what Trent told Alek about a creepy house he and Tabitha recently patrolled to narrow things down. (She must have found something arcane there… Or she's a literal evil witch. Either option seems plausible to you at this point while outraged.) Beckett took the dagger away from you and is volunteering as a lure.

So, what're you doing?

Brooding.

Brooding without your dagger that you were using to cut down any wildflowers while waiting, especially the yellow and pink ones.

"[Surname], you do that remarkably well from spending time with her," Ruby observes. She shuffles closer to your spot in the tall grass, though it hardly earns a second glance. "I am certain Sofia researched this correctly. Love potion antidotes would be in high demand back then and even now. 'No' can be a very hard concept for some people to grasp—to understand."

"It was closer to obsession, not love," you reply.

"Jane has always loved you, okay?" Alek reveals with conviction. "Maybe not in the exact same way as right now, but"—he pauses to cover your hand with his—"she does. So, I really wouldn't worry about Tabitha, just her."

You're unable to muster up a response to that revelation which should be coming from Jane when headlights splice through the evening gloom. Her truck's high beams instantly flick off once Beckett is illuminated; hopefully, she didn't notice Sofia scrunched down in the backseat to help if more antidote is needed. The truck comes to a stop, door slamming shut in a way that does cause Beckett to jump a little as Jane efficiently strides over, too brisk with a single-minded goal.

"…the problem?"

"It was a total accident! I'm so…"

"…calm down…"

You can't completely make out what they're saying aside from Beckett frantically gesturing at the woods, except Jane isn't following his outstretched hand. Instead, she is inspecting the front of your undamaged car. Her focus has yet to rise from the grill that isn't going to have any clusters of fur or blood streaks. She's supposed to glance away so Beckett can use the powder Sofia ground up moments earlier.

Your element of surprise is gradually slipping away; Jane just stepped back, likely cautious.

"She knows," you whisper.

"What?" Alek asks. "How could she—?"

"Jane!"

Your sudden yell draws all of the attention to you—even Beckett's before he reacts, pulling the plastic bag from her hoodie pocket. From this distance, you can see the glinting dust that resembles crushed rubies, each shiny granule gleaming in the headlights. It billows, aided by how Beckett both blew and threw it at Jane.

(He really committed to that.)

Sofia quietly exiting your car can't compare to the thudding impact of Jane's hand coming down on the hood, palm smacking into the sheet metal with force as she coughs. It's an actual coughing fit, hoarse and abrupt. Her other hand weakly bats at the air that's free of the powder she already inhaled. As you hurry closer, you can see a shimmer of red across her white buttoned down shirt. She's no longer trying to clear the air, both hands now pressed against the hood to keep herself upright.

Jane is staring down at it, shuddering faintly while fighting to stay alert with each breath.

"Gosh, what if I kill her?" Beckett frets.

"She is much too strong for that," Ruby instantly disagrees, but she's clearly concerned about that outcome. "Detective, walk it off."

Sofia has to catch Alek's wrist before he goes right to his sister, holding him back, but one warning look from you has her relenting.

"Give her space," Sofia calmly replies. "She's still armed…"

While that advice is incredibly practical, all it takes is Jane folding inwards with her elbows now flush against the car's bonnet for you to bypass the others. She can barely hold herself up. It's all wrong to see someone who exudes a certain quiet strength caving like this, but more importantly, you need to be there for her. Alek looks ready to twist away from Sofia, so you take the step for the both of you, implicitly asking him to wait.

If Jane hurt her brother, it would destroy her.

She's no longer gasping for air, just taking slow breaths that appear vaguely pained from this angle like the powdery substance coated her lungs. It did resemble crushed up gems. Your inability to see her face—to catch her expression—is why you hesitantly rest a hand on the hood instead of on her tense shoulder.

"Ja—?"

Her hand completely covers yours in a split second, flattening out until they're aligned—until she's gently holding yours like always.

When Jane tentatively peers over at you, you've got to take a calming breath to control your reaction because she looks so regretful, possibly even ashamed. The antidote is only one reason why she was quaking. "Don't," you implore her, tone insistent. "Don't blame yourself for this, and I don't want an apology."

Jane doesn't have a chance to say anything about it once you wrap her up in a hug, letting her lean on you in addition to your car. She returns your embrace, almost latching on so you're completely in her arms. She's still shaking slightly, breath catching when she murmurs she loves you. This isn't how you wanted to hear it.

You'll be making Tabitha sorry.