“What did the sheriff say?” Marley asked eagerly.
When I explained that the treasure went missing, Marley appeared crestfallen. “The mastermind must’ve been tipped off when we breached the protective spell,” she said.
“That’s what I figure,” I said.
“What was the song you heard in Raoul’s head?” Marley asked. “Maybe there’s a clue there.”
“I didn’t recognize the tune,” I said.
“Can you hum it again?” Marley asked. “I know I heard it at the music center.”
I glanced at Raoul. “Cover your ears. I don’t want you turning weird again and stealing my valuables.”
I’ve already checked out your place, dollface. You don’t have any valuables, Raoul shot back.
“True, but I really like my new crockpot.”
Raoul covered his ears with his paws and I began to hum the part I remembered. Marley listened carefully.
“Yep, it’s definitely what I thought it was. Are you sure you don’t recognize it?” Marley asked, smiling.
I squinted at her. “No, why? Do you?”
She laughed. “It’s Three Blind Mice.”
“Who sings that?” I asked.
Marley smacked her forehead. “It’s not a pop song. It’s a kid’s song. Like a nursery rhyme.”
“Oh. Like Ba Ba Black Sheep?”
She cracked a smile. “Exactly.”
“It’s like the Pied Piper meets Oliver Twist,” I said. “You two stay here. I’m going to go clear Raoul’s name once and for all.”
Chapter 13
The music center was winding down by the time I arrived. I met Shayla on the steps as she was exiting the building.
“Hello again,” the siren said. “How did your daughter enjoy her taster session?”
“She loved it,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she’d like to come back.”
“Excellent,” Shayla said. “I think she’s a natural talent.”
“Is your sister still inside?” I asked.
Shayla’s brow creased. “Anything I can help you with?”
“No,” I said. “These are definitely questions for Delphine.”
Shayla shot me a quizzical look. “Okay then. See you later.”
She brushed past me and I entered the music center. I found Delphine in the main room, absently plucking the keys. She barely acknowledged me.
“So it was you who breached my ward, was it?” she said, her focus still on the keys.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I had it designed to tell me such things,” Delphine said.
She was eerily calm under the circumstances. I didn’t like it. “I need you to turn yourself in to the sheriff and clear Raoul’s name. Tell him that you brainwash animals into stealing for you.”
Delphine glanced up at me, her mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “I don’t think so.” She began to play a song on the piano. Not Three Blind Mice or Ba Ba Black Sheep, but Mary Had A Little Lamb.
I heard a low growl behind me and whipped around. A possum stood on its hind legs. I recognized that vacant expression.
“I was going to send him to move more of my treasure to a safe spot,” Delphine said. “But since you’re here, I’ll let him deal with you. Have you ever been bitten by a possum?” She clucked her tongue. “It doesn’t feel very nice, I assure you.”
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.
She continued to play the notes of the song. “Probably six months. No one notices these animals. They don’t care. I’ve been free to bend them to my will and no one is the wiser.”
“I care,” I said. “Raoul is my familiar.”
“Well, that was certainly unexpected,” Delphine said. “Who ever would have guessed? I mean, what kind of witch has a raccoon as a familiar?” Delphine stopped playing on the piano and began to sing the notes instead. Despite the irritating, repetitive notes of the song, the siren’s voice made it sound beautiful and haunting.
The possum hissed at me and I took a step back. “Nice possum,” I said. “You don’t want to hurt me.” What kind of spell could I do on a possum that wouldn’t hurt him? It wasn’t his fault he was under the siren’s control.
Before I could decide, the possum lunged—and was grabbed by the tail in midair. I staggered backward and landed on my bottom. From the floor, I saw a gray wolf with the possum’s tail gripped in its fangs.
Delphine’s song became a shriek of dismay. It was enough to break her hold on the possum. The animal blinked and yelped when it realized its predicament.
“Sheriff, it’s okay,” I yelled. “Let him go.”
The wolf released the possum and it scampered out of the room. The wolf bared its teeth at Delphine, daring her to move. Accepting defeat, the siren sank against the piano.
“How did you know to come here?” I asked.
The wolf morphed back into the sheriff’s human body. His naked body. I wanted to avert my gaze—I really did—but my eyes refused to cooperate. He grabbed the potted plant from the corner and placed it in front of him in a very dignified and strategic fashion.
“I found where she moved the treasure and then tracked her scent back here,” the sheriff said.
“She’s been using music to brainwash stray animals into stealing for her,” I said. “Because they’re small and can get in and out of places without being noticed.”
“So Raoul really did take the golden chalice from the Whitethorn,” the sheriff said. “I told you he was a thief.”
“Yes, it seems so, but he has no memory of it,” I said. “He honestly didn’t know that he’d done it. He was under the siren’s control.”
Delphine’s jaw clenched. “I did those animals a favor by giving them a purpose. Their potential was being wasted.”
“You took away their free will and forced them to commit crimes on your behalf,” I said. “That’s not a favor to anyone except you.”
The sheriff flicked one of the plant leaves. “Hey, Rose. Do me a favor and magic me some clothes so I can arrest her?”
I tapped my wand thoughtfully on my chin. “Hmm. Spells for clothing? Not sure if I know any of those.”
He glared at me. “Rose, this is not the time to mess around.”
I remembered a spell that my cousin Linnea performed and decided to try it. I focused my will, pointed my wand, and said, “Vestis.”
Delphine strangled a laugh and I quickly realized why. The sheriff was now wearing an adorable yellow dress.
“The style flatters your hips,” I said.
He growled and I raised my wand again, recognizing my error. Vestis was Latin for ‘dress.’ Vestitus was ‘clothing.’ “Vestitus,” I said.
The yellow dress was replaced by jeans and a T-shirt.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much,” he replied.
Delphine held out her wrists limply. “If you two are finished flirting, can you get on with arresting me?”
“We’re not flirting,” we said in unison.
Delphine rolled her eyes. “More potential being wasted. Now that ought to be a crime.”
Sheriff Nash slapped the handcuffs on her. “Let’s go, Delphine. Looks like you’ll be singing the blues from now on.”
“Good one,” I said, offering him a fistbump.
He stared at my fist. “Seriously, Rose?”
I dropped my hand to my side. “Fine. I’ll go home and share the good news with Raoul.”
Chapter 14
The next day I was summoned to the sheriff’s office to give a formal statement. The recovered treasure was in the process of being catalogued and returned to its rightful owners. I knew Captain Yellowjacket would be relieved, as would Doris Kingsley.
“Good job cracking the case, Rose,” the sheriff said, when I entered the room. He and Deputy Bolan were already seated at the table they used for interrogations. “I guess you’ll be writing the story for your boss, too.” There was no love lost between Alec Hale and
the sheriff. Werewolves and vampires didn’t mix well at the best of times, and those two had a rocky history.
“I’m writing it later today, so that it makes this week’s edition,” I said.
Sheriff Nash grinned. “Somehow I knew you’d manage to clear your trash panda’s name.”
“His name is Raoul,” I said. “Try to be respectful. You don’t like it when people call you a fleabag.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Nobody calls me a fleabag. They wouldn’t dare.”
“Okay, fine. But you wouldn’t like it if they did.”
He folded his arms and glowered. “You made your point.”
“How did you figure out Delphine was behind it?” Deputy Bolan asked.
I shrugged. “I guess you could say he followed the scent and I followed the musical notes.”
The leprechaun tugged his beard. “That’s not really an expression.”
“It isn’t?” And here I thought I’d said something clever. Damn. “Marley was a huge help. She recognized the tune that I heard in Raoul’s head from the music center. Delphine was the one playing it.”
“I knew I liked that Marley,” Deputy Bolan said. “She’s one smart cookie.” He shook his tiny leprechaun head in amazement. “How can an apple fall so far from the tree?”
“I often ask myself that same question,” I replied. I was the first one to admit that Marley was far superior to me. I was lucky to have her.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Rose,” the sheriff said. “You have a few good qualities.”
I eyed him. “Such as?”
“You can sniff out trouble better than anyone I’ve ever met,” the sheriff said, with a mischievous grin.
“Gee, thanks. Speaking of trouble, promise me you’ll take Raoul off your watch list. He’s not a criminal and he’s under my protection now.”
The sheriff and deputy burst into simultaneous laughter. “Your protection?” the sheriff echoed.
I straightened my shoulders. “That’s right. He’s considered a Rose now, and don’t you forget it.”
The sheriff’s smile faded. He hated the fact that my aunt practically ran this town single-handedly. “I’ll make a note of it.”
I left the sheriff’s office with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I felt more like a witch today than I had since I first discovered my true nature. I was raised as an unsuspecting human in Maple Shade, New Jersey. Raoul waited all these years in the woods behind the cottage because he sensed a greater purpose awaited him. Like me, he trusted his instincts. He’d shown perseverance and fortitude, two qualities I was more than happy to have in a familiar.
My smile widened. I officially had a familiar. It didn’t matter to me that Raoul wasn’t like the others. Somehow, it seemed appropriate that he was different. After all, so was I.
A Wedding for a Rat
Amy Boyles
Chapter 1
“Dylan, I need you to set a mousetrap in that corner.”
I eyed my grandmother Hazel, unsure of exactly what she was talking about. “Grandma,” I said tentatively, “we don’t have mice.”
My grandmother, a thin woman in her seventies with white hair, who had a penchant for wearing gauzy scarves in the middle of August and donning enough jewelry to weigh down an ox, nearly catapulted from her recliner.
She shuffled over to where I stood in the dining room. “Dylan, I’ve been hearing scratches at night. I know that’s got to be what it is—a rat.” She leaned in very close and stuck her mouth by my ear. “Shh. We must be very quiet. We don’t want it knowing that we’re discussing it.”
I frowned. “What? It’s a rodent, Grandma. Pretty sure it can’t understand us.”
Grandma’s eyes darted from side to side. “You can never be too certain when it comes to this sort of creature. They’re very sneaky. I’ve known one or two in my day that could breathe fire and spread fleas like you wouldn’t believe. Why once, I was in the jungles of Borneo hunting a rare salamander. A tribe of rats had captured the exact amphibian I was looking for. They were mean little creatures with spears. They rode giant cockroaches.”
I raised a hand to stop the craziness. “Right. They rode giant cockroaches.”
Her fingers dug into my arm. “Horrible things, Dylan. Terrible. But my point is, rats are smart.”
I pulled from her grasp and riffled through the mail lying on the table. Most of it was junk. I moved to toss it in the trash. “Do you want me to buy a trap?”
She shook her head with such ferocity I was afraid it was going to fall off. “No, Dylan. We must trap it with magic.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course. It was her life’s work to see me learn my magic and use it every day, whether I wanted to or not.
It wasn’t until recently that I’d learned I was a witch, and my grandmother’s antics tended to get me into more trouble than not.
My baby sister, Reid, bounded into the room. “What are y’all doin’?”
“Dylan’s learning how to magically catch rats.”
Reid fluffed her burgundy curls. “Seriously. This sounds awesome. I want to learn, too.”
Grandma flicked her fingers. “You can watch. Only one person can set the trap.”
I cocked a brow. “If Reid wants to learn, why don’t you let her?” Because to be honest, I wasn’t that interested.
Grandma pinched my shoulders between her old-lady talons. I swear, why was it that old people grabbed harder than younger ones? I seriously did not understand. Sometimes my grandmother had the freakin’ strength of a gladiator.
But anyway, I digress.
She directed me toward an empty corner beside the antique mahogany buffet. “Which place? Which place is best?” Grandma mumbled as she seemed to deciding between a space of only inches.
I nearly smacked my forehead in frustration. I pointed to a bare spot, one of about a thousand along the wall. “How about right there?”
She swiveled her neck in my direction. “Hmm? Oh, Dylan, that’s perfect. Now, call on your magic and focus on creating a little bubble trap.”
A bubble trap? What the heck was that? Like, was it supposed to be like a trap made of Bubblicious or what?
I chewed on my finger for a second before spitting out a hangnail. “Um, I’m not exactly sure what that means.”
Grandma lifted her thin arms as if she were about to conduct the orchestra for crazy people—otherwise known as herself. “That’s exactly what it is, Dylan. Simply a trap that is a bubble.”
Okay, whatever you want.
“It sounds simple enough,” Reid chimed.
I shot her a shut-it look and closed my eyes. “The crazy things I do for this family,” I muttered.
I concentrated on making a bubble. I envisioned it and felt my stomach contract as magic bloomed inside me. I pushed a stream of power from my fingers.
I opened my eyes. My magic shimmered as an orb zipped from my hands and floated to the floor. It bobbed before resting against an open space of wall.
Grandma clapped me on the shoulder. “Well done. I couldn’t have made a better bubble myself.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now, we wait and see what gets caught.”
“Probably dust,” I said.
Grandma poked the air with authority. “I’ve seen some dangerous dust mites in my day, Dylan. Be careful what you wish for.”
Panic fluttered in my chest. The last thing I needed was for my grandmother to seriously conjure a giant dust mite—because I wouldn’t put it past her. “That wasn’t a wish. I wasn’t wishing for that.”
“You can never be too sure,” she said. “One man’s wish is another man’s nightmare.”
I shook my head. “That’s not a saying. That’s not a thing. It’s one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
Grandma shrugged. “Semantics.”
I frowned because that wasn’t the case at all. “How are we going to know if something is caught?”
Grandma wiggled her heavily ringed fingers at me.
“Like any good spell, it’ll chime.”
Whatever that meant.
I brushed my hands on my jeans and said, “Okay, well, I’m going to the kitchen to make a snack. Anyone want one?”
“No, I’m going out,” Reid said. “I’ll see y’all later.”
We said good-bye to her, and I entered the kitchen. I had just poured myself a glass of sweetened iced tea when I heard a beep.
And then another beep.
It sounded like a dinging wake-up call or a muted fire alarm.
I popped my head out from the kitchen and glanced in the corner. There was no way I’d already caught something in that trap—was there?
I peeked over the dining room table. My pink bubble shuddered. I blinked, trying to make sure I was seeing correctly.
In the center of the bubble sat a rat. It was about as long as my size-six shoe. It had black eyes, thick ebony fur and a bald pink tail.
It stared at me as if it wanted to eat me.
“Grandma,” I shouted. “Oh my gosh, we caught something. Grandma, get in here and do something with this thing before it attacks me!”
Okay, I didn’t know if that was true, but I swear the rodent was big enough to spar against one-on-one.
Grandma leaped from her recliner as if ready to fight a pack of ninjas. “Where is it?”
I pointed at the bubble and backed away as the rat still stared its little black eyes at me. “It’s in there.”
Okay, so I’m going to be honest, the sight of that rat sent a quiver of nausea fluttering in my stomach. I did not like rats.
Not uh.
No how.
When I was little, I remembered seeing a terrible movie called Ben. Michael Jackson sang the theme song, and there were all these rats everywhere and they were horrible and they did bad things—
And I’m about to faint just thinking about it.
Grandma appeared. I shoved her in front of me for protection. Okay, I know a seventy-year-old lady isn’t much in the way of armor, but I had to take anything I could get here.
Seven Pets for Seven Witches: A Collection of Paranormal Cozy Shorts Page 4