Hexes and Holly: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Holiday Anthology

by Tegan Maher

  I shiver. “I’ve got the perfect spooky mystery. It happened last Christmas.”

  Imogen snuggles closer to her husband. “It’s a true story?”

  I nod. “The best ones always are.”

  “So it happened before you set Arthur free?” Christian asks.

  “Yes.” I thread my fingers through Arthur’s. It seems odd now to think there was a time when we weren’t together. I don’t like to think of him standing in that cold suit of armour, all alone, for century after century…

  “Winter was harsh last year,” I tell Arthur softly. “The pavements were thick with ice every morning, and it still hadn’t thawed by lunchtime. Mum had only died three months before, and I was working hard at the café, twelve hours most days. It was always busy, customers coming in out of the cold for a hot sausage roll or a mince pie with their cup of tea. I’d found a new recipe online, and I decided to try it out on my customers…”

  One year ago

  “It’s my spin on this online recipe I found for a kind of Christmas cake,” I say to Delia as I put clean coffee cups on the shelf. “It has cornmeal, almond flour, all the usual Christmas fruits, honey, brandy, and wild fennel seeds. We’ll make small cakes and call them Yule Wishes, and get the customers to make a wish when they buy one.”

  Fennel seeds are used in witchcraft for sexual virility, and I thought it would be fun to add a love spell to the cakes. I’ve imbued the aromatic spice with a little extra magical zing to bring love and warmth to anyone who eats them this festive season. I cooked a batch for myself a few days ago, and it was a lovely cake, very dense and moist.

  I thought about what I should wish for as I ate the first one, but I couldn’t really come up with anything. I miss Mum, but life’s cycle is what it is, and I know I can’t wish her back. I have enough money to be comfortable, and Aunt Beatrix and Uncle Max are always there if I need them. I have friends, and I love my job.

  I don’t have a partner at the moment, and I am lonely sometimes. Is it right to wish for love, though? Or happiness? I believe we make our own luck, and I know I’m not ready to welcome someone new into my life right now. So in the end, I didn’t wish for anything except that my friends and family have a pleasant Yule and Christmas.

  “Sounds like a lovely recipe,” Delia replies. “I look forward to getting stuck in.”

  She glances over her shoulder and looks around the room. It’s late afternoon, and it’s just beginning to quieten down after a busy lunchtime. The café is warm and full of the smells of mince pies and coffee from where Cooper, my barista, is making a customer a latte, steaming the milk as the espresso pours into a mug. The flickering fairy lights around the window are reflected in the breastplate of Sir Boss, the suit of armour that stands by the door. The windows have steamed up a little, but I can still see the lawn in front of Glastonbury Abbey glistening with frost that hasn’t had a chance to melt.

  “Have you got a minute?” Delia murmurs in a low voice. “In private?”

  I look back at her in surprise. Ever since Mum died in September, Delia has kept a close eye on me. She doesn’t like that I’ve been working so much, and initially she tried to make me take the odd afternoon off. Eventually, though, I think she realized that being in the café and concentrating on baking helped me cope with my grief, and since then she’s satisfied herself with making sure I have a break at lunchtime, even if it’s only to take Merlin for a short walk, or put my feet up and read for ten minutes.

  Expecting her to nag me because I haven’t done so today, I say, “I’ll have a sit down with a coffee when I’ve finished the cakes, honest.”

  “It’s not that.” She walks away, toward the front door, stops and beckons with her head for me to follow her, then goes outside.

  I wipe my hands on a cloth and follow her. As I pass Sir Boss, the weak winter sun glances off his sword, making me blink. I stop and touch the red stone in the pommel, like I always do. Mum used to joke it was a ruby, and even though I know it’s only cut glass, I still touch it for luck.

  I go out into the cool winter air and immediately regret having left my coat in the breakroom. “Wouldn’t you rather talk inside?” I say to Delia as we stand on the kerb, looking across the road at the abbey. “It’s f-f-freezing out here.”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “Have you noticed anything strange happening in the café?”

  “Define strange.”

  “Anything going missing?”

  I frown as I try to work out what she’s referring to. I don’t recall anything disappearing in the kitchen. I don’t keep any valuables at the café, and I’ve not noticed the takings being down; if anything they’re up at this time of year. “No,” I concede.

  “Well,” she says, “for the last couple of mornings, I’ve come in and checked the cabinet, and I’m sure there have been fewer cakes and pies in there than when I left the evening before.”

  I scratch my cheek. Delia’s the one who normally tidies up the cabinets ready for the next morning, moving any bread to the “day old” basket, and making sure any unsold pies and cakes—not that there are ever many—are the first used the next day. So she would be aware if any had gone missing.

  “I know sometimes you take something home from the café for dinner,” Delia adds. “But usually that’s an individual steak pie or sometimes a slice of chocolate cake, not normally whole lemon-curd cakes or family-size pies.”

  My eyebrows rise. “I assumed you meant we’d mislaid a couple of muffins.”

  “No, whole cakes and pies.”

  That’s slightly more puzzling. “Nobody’s broken into the café that I’m aware of.”

  “I know. I’m not sure anything sinister is going on. But I thought you should know.”

  “What do you think is happening to them?”

  She hesitates and nibbles her bottom lip. “You don’t think Cooper…?”

  Cooper Lyttle started at the Avalon Café a year ago. He’s in the middle of training at the local culinary college, and he works for me part time. He makes a super cappuccino. He’s a lovely lad, only eighteen years old, cheeky but respectful, and I can’t believe he would suddenly start stealing from me.

  “I did say he could help himself to the food,” I remind her. I tell all my staff—Delia, Cooper, and Allison and Joss who work in the kitchen—they’re welcome to have the odd pie or cake if they feel like it. Has one of them assumed I meant they could take home the family dinner?

  “I’m not about to go around accusing everyone,” I say gently, because I know Delia would have plucked up the courage to raise the issue with me. “But I trust that you know when something’s up. So let’s double-check the stock tonight, and come in early tomorrow morning and check again.”

  “All right.” She looks relieved that I believe her. “That makes sense.” She shivers and rubs her arms. “Sorry to bring you out here. It’s so blooming cold!”

  “Santa will need to wear his thermals,” I joke, following her back in. Ooh, she’s right, and the warmth of the café is very welcome.

  The rest of the afternoon is busy. The Yule Wishes prove a huge success, with the customers having great fun making a wish as they pay for their purchase, and we’ve sold out of mince pies by two o’clock, so I make a mental note to double the batch for tomorrow.

  It’s not until we close the café at six o’clock that I’m able to think about it again. Cooper—who had a full day today—waves goodbye and goes home, and Joss follows soon after.

  Allison pauses, waiting for Delia, as they live close to each other and often walk home together. But Delia says, “I’m going to stay another half hour tonight, dear. You get going.”

  “Okay.” Allison smiles. “See you tomorrow.” And she leaves, too.

  Normally, this is my time alone in the café. With the tables all cleaned and the kitchen equipment washed and put away, I usually put on the TV or radio and let Merlin out from the breakroom, where he stays when the weather’s not warm eno
ugh for him to lie outside. Then I sweep the floor with my broom, thinking about the day and doing what my mum always used to do, and getting rid of any negative energy with the dust and crumbs while I send out good thoughts for tomorrow.

  Tonight, though, I grab a couple of sheets of paper and two pens, and Delia and I start writing down the contents of the cabinets. There’s not much left at all today—a couple of family-sized pies with a scatter of individual ones, one large lemon-curd cake and one carrot cake, a small assortment of muffins and buns, and a couple of Yule Wishes.

  “Do you want the Wishes?” I ask her.

  “Are you sure?” Her face flushes. “I feel terrible taking anything now I’ve accused someone of stealing.”

  “That’s not the point at all,” I insist. “I would have no problem if Cooper or one of the girls asked if they could have a pie or a cake. It’s taking it every night without asking that makes me uneasy.”

  “I still can’t believe any of them would do that,” Delia says, putting down her pen, “but it’s hard to think of how else they could go missing. Surely if someone broke in, they’d take everything, and break open the till, too?”

  We don’t keep a lot of money in the till because of that, not that I’ve ever had a break-in, as Mum taught me how to put a magical ward on the door to stop unwanted characters after dark. I haven’t renewed it for a long time, though. Maybe it’s got so weak that a thief has been able to bypass it?

  “We’ll know soon enough,” I say briskly, going to the breakroom to collect our coats. We slip them on, and I turn out the lights in the kitchen and hallway, then finally the café light before we cross to the door.

  “Good night, good knight,” I say to Sir Boss, like I always do, and I kiss my fingers and press them to his breastplate.

  His arm squeaks. I stop and stare at it for a moment. The suit of armour is old, probably from the Tudor period. It’s stood in the café as long as I can remember, on permanent loan from the museum next door. The joints have almost certainly rusted, which was why it must have squeaked.

  On instinct, I lean forward and lift the visor of the helm. It’s empty.

  Of course it’s empty! What did I expect?

  I lower the visor with a smile, go through the door, and lock it behind me. Then I head off after Delia, into the cold, wintry night, Merlin trotting by my side.

  The next morning, as we agreed the day before, Delia and I turn up at the café fifteen minutes before the others, at 7.15 a.m.

  “Morning!” I say. I check that the keyhole hasn’t been tampered with, then slot the key in the door and turn it.

  “Morning. Cold one, isn’t it?” She blows on her hands as I open the door, and we go inside.”

  We walk up to the cabinets and stop.

  I was half expecting the large cakes and family-sized pies to be missing.

  I didn’t expect the cabinets to be completely empty.

  2

  “Oh goodness.” Delia puts a hand over her mouth. “Everything’s gone!”

  I rest my hands on my hips. “All right. This is silly. We probably wouldn’t miss one or two muffins, and I can even understand a large pie. But the whole cabinet!”

  “What’s going on?” Behind us, Cooper comes into the shop. He walks up to where we’re standing in front of the cabinets, then stares at the glass.

  “You’re early,” Delia states.

  “Mum’s going up to London and dropped me off on the way. Where’s all the food?”

  “We’ve got a problem,” I reply. “Let’s wait for Allison and Joss to come in, and we’ll have a little meeting.”

  Within ten minutes, the five of us are sitting in the café with a cup of coffee, and Merlin stretches out at my feet. I’ve explained what’s happened, and now it’s time for the unpleasant discussion.

  “Hand on my heart, I don’t believe that any of you had anything to do with this,” I inform them. “But we five are the only ones with keys to the café, so I have to ask—have any of you lost your key, or can you think of a time when someone you know might have had access to it without you realizing?”

  Cooper and Joss shake their heads, and Allison’s eyes fill with tears. “I don’t think it was me,” she whispers, always the sensitive one.

  I drop to my haunches in front of her and take her hands. “I’m sure it wasn’t. I love and trust all of you.”

  “But if it wasn’t one of us,” Cooper adds, “then who took all the cakes?”

  None of us has an answer, and in the end, I finish the meeting and we get started on the day’s work.

  Delia joins me in the kitchen as I begin making the Yule Wishes. “What do you think?” she murmurs.

  “I don’t know.” I add the currants, candied ginger, orange peel, cranberries, and chopped apricots to a large bowl, pour over the brandy, and put it aside to let it soak for a while. Then I look out through the glass to the café. Cooper has switched on the fairy lights and is currently draping a piece of tinsel around Sir Boss’s neck. It makes me smile, but I can’t stop the heavy weight of sadness sinking into my stomach. “I don’t think it’s any of them, but that makes me uneasy. It means someone broke in here, and that’s a horrible thought.”

  “I know what you mean. I feel a bit queasy.” Delia swallows hard and turns away. “I’d better get on with the sandwiches.”

  I let her go and turn back to making the cake. I found the recipe online and adapted it a little, adding a spell to give it a romantic twist. I mix the almond flour and polenta, leave it for a while and go and make several batches of mince pies, then come back to add butter, diced apple, the soaked fruit, and finally the fennel and anise seeds I blessed last night.

  As I mix it all together, I check to make sure nobody’s listening. Joss and Allison are both chatting while they make sausage rolls over by the window, so I say the spell softly.

  “Goddess, bless these small Yule Wishes, let them lead to hugs and kisses, banish winter’s ice and snow, thaw cold hearts and make them glow.” I pass my hand across the mixing bowl, and for a moment the air glitters with magic.

  Then I jump as, in the café, there’s a huge crash.

  “What the…” I run to the window and stare in alarm as I see Sir Boss lying on his back on the tiles. “Oh no.”

  I run out of the kitchen and into the café, where Cooper and Delia are already trying to lift the suit of armour back.

  “What happened?” I support the heavy suit from behind as several customers rush to help.

  “I don’t know.” Cooper puts a shoulder beneath the knight’s and heaves him up, and between us, we get him back on his feet. “I guess someone knocked into him.”

  But Mrs. Russo, my hairdresser who’d come in for a cup of coffee and a mince pie, shakes her head. “I was sitting there,” she says, pointing to the table in the window, not far from the door. “I was facing him, and I swear, nobody knocked into him. He just fell backward.”

  Cooper frowns and pushes the knight with a finger. Sir Boss doesn’t move. I do the same, trying to make him wobble, but now he feels as solid as he always has, as if it would take a forklift truck to make him shift an inch.

  “Must have been a strong breeze,” Delia says, meeting my gaze.

  “Hmm.” We both know it wasn’t.

  What on earth is happening here?

  About an hour later, I go into the café to put some clean glasses on the shelf and find Joss mumbling away to herself as she searches under the counter.

  “Something the matter?” I ask.

  She straightens, runs a hand through her hair, and gives me a frustrated, puzzled look. “I can’t find the takeaway boxes.”

  I have a supply of cake boxes delivered every week, printed with the words The Avalon Café on the top and my logo of a witch flying on a broom. “They’re in the large cardboard box, where they always are,” I state.

  She steps back to let me look. I bend and peer into the box. They’re not there.

  I straighten again
and meet her gaze.

  “This is weird,” she says. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply firmly, “but whatever it is, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  After the lunchtime rush slows down, I take a walk with Merlin into town and pay a visit to one of the technology shops.

  “Afternoon, Angus,” I say to the young guy who greets me.

  “Hi, Gwen.” He comes into the café every morning for a takeaway latte and a pie for his lunch. He’s an expert on anything technological. “What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” I admit. “I want some kind of security camera so I can record the inside of the café and see if anyone enters during the night, but I don’t want anything too big or complicated.”

  “Sounds like you want a nanny cam,” he states. “I’ve got the very thing over here.” He leads me to a counter and shows me a mini security camera. “It has motion detection and night vision, and if it spots movement, it sends a push notification to your phone.”

  “That sounds perfect.” I pay for the camera and listen to his quick spiel about how to set it up.

  “You’re not worried about being broken into, are you?” Angus asks when he’s done. “I can’t bear to think of someone stealing from the café.”

  I put the camera in my bag. “I’m not sure. Let’s just say that it’s better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

  “Of course. Well, good luck, and let me know if you need anything else.”

  At the end of the day, once we’ve closed the café, Cooper puts the camera up in the corner for me and helps me link the picture to my phone. We all huddle around and look at the screen. We’ve got a perfect view of the room, with Sir Boss on the right by the door, the counter to the left, and the cabinets straight in front of us.

  “That should do it,” Cooper says. “Are you going to stay up all night?”

  “It has motion detection,” I reply. “And it’ll make my phone beep if it spots any movement. I’ll stay up as late as I can, but it’ll record, too, so it doesn’t matter if I miss anything.”