Magic & Mishaps

by Annabel Chase

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

  “I guess she’s happy to have Alec around,” Sheriff Nash said. “She always preferred him to me.”

  “It wasn’t a contest, Granger.”

  “It kind of was, Rose.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “And I lost. Big time.”

  My chest tightened. How many times could I apologize? “If it matters, I’m working on myself.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, but if you find it helpful, I support that.”

  Argh. He had to be the most understanding man in the world. “Thanks for walking me to my car.”

  “Tell Marley hi for me, will you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said softly. I opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. The sheriff stood in the parking lot and waited for me to leave. As I pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see that he was still watching me. Slowly, he turned to walk to his car.

  Chapter Nine

  Moonlight Diner reminded me of the diners back in New Jersey. The hustle and bustle. A bowl of mints on the counter. The smell of breakfast food and strong coffee in the middle of the day.

  “Table for one?” the hostess asked without a trace of judgment. Ah, diners. They were well acquainted with the solo customer.

  “Yes, thanks,” I said. I’d tucked a book in my handbag to read while I ate. Marley liked to people watch in situations like this, whereas I preferred to seek refuge in a fictional bubble.

  The hostess grabbed a menu from the stand and started to walk to the back of the diner.

  “Could I sit in Pam’s station, please?” I asked.

  “Sure thing.” She made a sharp right and gestured toward a small booth. It even had a jukebox just for my table.

  “Perfect,” I said. I slid into the booth and immediately began scrolling through the musical options. Oddly, the tabs were blank. I leaned forward to inspect the machine and find the coin slot.

  “It doesn’t cost anything,” a voice said.

  I turned to see my waitress—a curly-haired brunette with wide eyes and wider hips. According to her name tag, this was the banshee I was looking for.

  “Free music?” I asked. “What sorcery is this?”

  “Ernie—that’s the owner—he has ‘em all charmed so they don’t cost any money and you can request any song you like. If you can think it, that machine can play it.”

  I was so excited that I nearly forgot the reason I was here.

  “Do you need a minute to look over the menu?” she asked.

  “I do, sorry,” I said.

  She patted my shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll give you a minute. We women deserve to take our time. We’re always rushing to please somebody, aren’t we?” She gave me a conspiratorial wink before moving to another booth to check on two elderly customers.

  I turned back to the jukebox and located the instructions. I put my palm on the side where I found the imprint of a hand and said, “Bruce Springsteen. Thunder Road.” The familiar sound of a harmonica came through the speaker and I settled against the back of the booth, listening to the intro. Once the piano took over from the harmonica, I opened the menu and scanned the options. I’d have to ask Marley to learn to play this song on the piano during her lessons.

  Pam returned a couple minutes later. “Anything catch your eye?”

  I glanced up from my menu. “Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and an iced tea.”

  She smiled. “Celebrating something or is it just that time of the month?”

  “It caught my eye,” I replied. I wouldn’t tell Marley or she’d insist on coming back—or worse, that I make them for her at home. I was a terrible cook and no amount of magic seemed to change that fact.

  Pam left to give my order to the kitchen and returned with the iced tea.

  “Are you Pam Kellogg?” I asked, as she set the glass in front of me.

  The brunette’s expression hardened. “I should’ve known you were too nice. If you’re one of those collection agents, you can just scoot your butt right out the door because I haven’t got two coins left over to give you.”

  “I’m not a collection agent,” I said. “My name’s Ember. I’m a reporter for the local paper.”

  She frowned. “Starry Hollow has a newspaper?”

  “It’s a weekly,” I said.

  She tucked a pen behind her ear. “I guess you heard about the health and safety report. I can’t tell you anything or Ernie will hang me by my toenails.”

  “I’m not here about the diner,” I said. “I want to ask you about Bonnie Rydell. I understand you two were friends.”

  Pam’s eye twitched and I got the sense she was struggling to maintain her composure. “Is this one of those sensationalist papers? You’re not publishing photos of the crime scene, are you? Nobody needs to see that.”

  “Great balls of popcorn, absolutely not.” I was horrified by the suggestion. “I’m writing a piece on Bonnie.” I hesitated. “I met her the night before she died, so I guess I feel invested.”

  Pam’s eyes popped. “You met her that night?”

  I nodded. “We had dinner together at Palmetto House.”

  “That’s the place she was staying because of the paint job, right?” Pam asked.

  “Yes, my cousin Linnea is the owner.”

  Pam sucked in her cheeks. “Hang on. Bonnie said the owner is one of the Roses, descendants of the One True Witch.” She scrutinized me. “You don’t have their hair color.”

  I smoothed back my dark hair. “No, I favor my mother.”

  She fluffed her curls. “Got my hair from my mom, too. Pain in the butt to style and I dread the slightest whiff of humidity, but it suits me.”

  “It does,” I agreed. “What can you tell me about Bonnie?”

  Pam cast a furtive glance around the diner before sliding into the seat across from me. “Helena’s the only one on the floor right now and she won’t tell Ernie.” She clasped her hands on the table. “Bonnie and I were real close.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  She laughed. “In every cloud there’s a silver lining, right?”

  “I guess.” I squeezed the lemon into my iced tea and took a sip.

  “We’re part of the same support group.”

  “Support for what?” For a split second, I wondered whether Bonnie had been ill.

  Pam gave me a sad smile. “Broken hearts, crappy relationships. That sort of thing. I’d broken up with the love of my life after the wereass cheated on me one time too many and my friend Cindy invited me to join the group. Bonnie was a member, too.”

  “Who broke her heart?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  Her jaw tightened. “Jarrod Hellman,” Pam said. “That good-for-nothing werejackal was no better than my Hector, except Jarrod wasn’t into the kinky stuff Hector was.” She shook her head. “The lengths I was willing to go to please that guy. Edible underpants. Role swapping. Dinners in bed. And for what? So he could cheat on me with the first bimbo that caught his eye? What a monster.”

  “So you bonded over your failed relationships?”

  “They were both serial cheaters.” She threw her head back and laughed. “You should hear the lies we were told. We were both suckers.” Her expression softened. “Suckers in love. She seemed to rebound faster than me. Bonnie was real resilient.”

  “Does the support group have a name?” I asked.

  Pam nodded. “Sure does. Wonder Women.”

  “Nice.” I drank more of my iced tea. “So tell me about your fight with Bonnie at the Water Wheel Tavern.”

  Her eyes flickered with surprise and something else…regret?

  “Who told you about that?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ve been interviewing Bonnie’s friends and acquaintances and someone mentioned it.”

  Pam rubbed her hands over her face. “We’d both had too many vodka tonics that night.”

  “Was that a regula
r feature of your friendship?” I asked. “Get drunk and argue?”

  “No way,” Pam said. “More like get drunk and hold each other’s hair back when we vomited later.”

  Sisterhood at its best. “So what triggered the fight?”

  Pam splayed her hands on the table. “I think she called me a skank.”

  “You think?”

  “The music was loud and, like I said, we’d been drinking a lot. She swore she said that the sweaty girl next to her stank, but I wasn’t buying it.”

  “Is there a reason she’d call you a skank?”

  Pam pulled a face. “Of course not. I was a moron. A drunk moron that screamed at her all the way to the parking lot after we got our butts tossed by the owner.”

  “What happened in the parking lot?”

  Pam took a cloth from her apron pocket and scrubbed a smudge off the table. “What do you think? We hugged and cried and told each other how awesome we were.” She shook her head. “It’s all so silly now.”

  “And that was the last time you saw her?”

  Pam chewed her lip and nodded. “It’s a garbage world we live in.”

  “Where were you on Friday night?” I asked.

  “I worked my shift here until eight,” she said. “Then I went home and collapsed. It was a long day. I had a difficult customer and, to make it worse, he did a dine and dash.” She scowled.

  “Were you home alone that night?”

  Pam cocked her head. “Kind of personal, don’t you think?” She broke into smile. “I’m just messing with you. I live with my grandmother now. We moved in together after Hector and I…” She trailed off. “Nana hated the senior facility she lived in and I wanted the company, so win-win.”

  “It’s nice to have a couple generations under one roof,” I said. I tried to picture living with one of Marley’s future children when I was old. It was tough to picture Marley as anything other than a kid, though.

  “Nana loves when it’s my turn to host Wonder Women,” Pam said. “She thinks it’s great when women support each other like we do.”

  “Boy, I could really use support like that." My only foray into a female support system involved the Power Puffs, a group of overachieving moms at the middle school where Marley attended prior to the Black Cloak Academy. Needless to say, it didn’t end well.

  “Well, feel free to join us. In fact, we’re meeting at Rochelle's house tonight.”

  “She won't mind a new addition?” I asked.

  Pam slapped a hand on the table. “Absolutely not. We’re a tight-knit group, but we don't aim to exclude anyone, especially a woman in need. What's your number? I’ll text you the address.”

  I gave her my number and she immediately texted me the details. “Thanks. I'm really sorry about Bonnie. I only had dinner with her, but she seemed like a bright spark.” I omitted the part where she hit on my boyfriend. It seemed so insignificant now.

  Pam’s smile turned sad. “She was.”

  “Kellogg, your order’s up,” a voice called from the kitchen.

  Pam slid out of the booth and wearily exhaled. “She will be missed."

  The doorbell rang and PP3 launched into a barking frenzy.

  “Did someone slip Red Bull into your water bowl?” I asked, stepping around the aging Yorkshire terrier. I immediately wondered whether Raoul had gotten his claws on Red Bull down at the dump, but quickly dismissed the notion. The raccoon was far too unwell to be wreaking havoc.

  I opened the door to greet Marigold. “Thanks for changing the time so that Marley could join us,” I said. “I know you’re not a fan of change in general these days.”

  Marigold leveled me with a look. “I haven’t even crossed the threshold yet.”

  “Liar,” I shot back. “You’ve been menopausal for months.”

  Marigold gestured to the doorway. “I’m talking about the threshold of your home.” She took an exaggerated step inside. “Are you going to bring up menopause every time you see me?”

  “I’m just curious, that’s all,” I said. “Someday in the far, far future, I’ll be suffering through hot flashes, too. Good to collect the intel now when it’s readily available and your mind hasn’t left you…yet.”

  “Try the internet,” Marigold said.

  “I always tell her Google is her friend,” Marley chimed in from the sofa. “Hi, Marigold.”

  “The internet is not the same as firsthand accounts,” I argued.

  “True,” Marigold said. “I’ve found that textbook cases of anything are generally only found in textbooks.” PP3 sniffed her feet and Marigold bent over to pet his head.

  “Why don’t we head out to the woods?” Marigold suggested.

  “It is a nice day,” Marley said. “We should enjoy it. Right, Mom?”

  “I’ll check on Raoul before we go,” I said. “Make sure he has everything he needs.”

  I hurried to peek in on the raccoon and found him snoring away peacefully. As I returned to the living room, I overheard Marley say, “I think it’s because she doesn’t have her own mom to ask. It’s different for me because I have her, but she only has Aunt Hyacinth.”

  Marigold tittered. “I can’t see your aunt chatting away with anyone about her hormonal changes. I’d hate to be her healer. Must be hard work.”

  “So she’s not trying to be annoying and nosy,” Marley continued. “She just misses her mom.”

  I remained rooted out of sight, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. On the one hand, Marley had a point. I didn’t have anyone to talk to me about these private matters—to warn me about what my future as a woman holds. On the other hand, how could I miss someone I never knew? I learned about my period at school not long before I actually got it. My father was wonderful and educated me on many topics, but female sexual development wasn’t one of them. No small wonder I had Marley as young as I did. Not that I blamed my father at all. I wasn’t ignorant—just stubborn.

  “I don’t really mind talking about it,” Marigold said. “It’s a normal part of a woman’s life cycle.”

  I wiped my cheeks and turned the corner. “What is—coloring white hair? I think you missed a few spots near your ears.”

  Marigold ignored me. “Are we ready?” She didn’t wait for an answer. We marched out of the cottage and around back to a clearing in the woods.

  “We spend a lot of time outside at school now,” Marley said. “It’s one of the best bits.”

  “Very different from school in New Jersey, I imagine,” Marigold said.

  “We rarely went outside,” Marley said. “There wasn’t much outdoor space anyway. Recess usually ended up being about twenty minutes.”

  “That a tragedy,” Marigold said. “Communing with nature is so important.”

  “The academy has been emphasizing that,” Marley said. “I even get to eat lunch outside if I want.”

  I clipped my cloak at the front to protect myself from the chilly breeze. The sun lost some of its potency in the woods.

  “And how are you finding the academy?” Marigold asked.

  Marley’s gaze shifted to the ground. “It’s good.”

  Marigold shot me a quizzical look and I shook my head.

  “What’s your favorite subject so far?” the plucky witch asked. She wasn’t going to let the conversation slide too easily. The cheerleader-meets-drill sergeant was too strong in her.

  “Herbology,” Marley said. “I want to make my own potions and spells.”

  Marigold clapped her hands together. “Brilliant. I think that’s a wonderful ambition for a young witch.”

  “Except I’ve nearly killed Raoul,” Marley said. “So I think maybe herbology isn’t the subject for me.”

  Marigold shot me another look and I shrugged.

  “Nonsense,” Marigold said. “Raoul is a blip. He’ll be fine. You’re on the threshold of magic. You can’t say you’re not good at something because you’ve bungled it on day one. The Black Cloak Academy is there to support you.”

&
nbsp; Marley glanced up to the tree branch overhead where Bonkers had appeared to keep watch over her. “Bonkers says not to be so hard on myself, too.”

  “Your familiar is very wise,” Marigold said.

  I thought of my visit to Seers Row with Emma and Daniel. “You know, Marley. You’re a hybrid. It could be that your human genes are interfering with your magic, just like we thought when your magic wouldn’t manifest.” Of course, we’d been wrong then, but it didn’t necessarily mean I was wrong now.

  Marley shot me an annoyed look. “Oh, sure. Blame my dad when he’s not here to defend himself.”

  “Marley, don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’m not blaming your father. I’m stating a fact. Facts usually appeal to you.”

  Marley huffed. “You’re right. Maybe it is my human DNA. If I were one hundred percent witch like you, it might be easier.” She paused and gave me a critical look. “No, that’s definitely not it.”

  I laughed. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on—if it’s a physical thing, or a crisis of confidence, or something else.”

  “It’s something else all right,” Marley said. “I’m plain terrible. I’m the worst witch who ever lived!” She threw her wand on the ground and stomped away.

  “Marley, where are you going?” I yelled.

  “Back to the cottage to check on the raccoon I almost killed with my terrible magic.” She sprinted toward the cottage. I didn’t need to see the tears to know she was crying. My stomach clenched. I hated seeing my child is distress. It made me feel as sick as Raoul.

  “She left her wand,” Marigold said.

  “I’ll bring it home.” I retrieved it from the ground and was about to tuck it into my pocket when Marigold reached for it.

  “This is the wand we used during our psychometry lesson, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes, it belonged to Ivy,” I said. “One of our ancestors.”

  Marigold ran her hand up and down the length of the wand, feeling the carved runes. “Strength and power and disappointment. That’s what you told me you felt when you were connected to this wand.”

  “Yes, it was very strong energy,” I said. “Almost overwhelming.” I hadn’t had a chance to delve further into the mystery of Ivy yet, not with so much happening around me. I had a book from the library that had given a few details of the witch’s scandalous past, but there was a lot more to learn.