A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  I don’t know if I even want to see him right now.

  “What do you think?” Marley says, after we finish our tenth lap down main street. “Should we call it a night?”

  “I guess so,” I say.

  My eyelids are heavy, and my brain feeling foggy. I know sleep will do me good.

  “What a crazy night,” I murmur. I can barely begin to process all that’s happened to us. It’s now two in the morning, and I just want to lay my head on my pillow.

  “I hope you know I’m crashing on your couch,” Marley says, as she turns down the road that will take us to my apartment.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I sigh. “I mean, not that I’m scared or anything. Who would be scared of a few murderous wolves on the prowl? Not this girl.”

  Marley giggles, despite the circumstances. “You’re ridiculous,” she says.

  I like to make her laugh, so I play up my bit. “Strange magical creatures that murder their enemies with daggers in the back? Bah! I laugh at werewolves. I could take on a werewolf single handedly.”

  She giggles again, and then her laughter fades. “You think the werewolves did it, then?” she asks. “One of them killed Raul?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But they’re on the top of my list of suspects.”

  “You already have a list?” Marley asks, looking over at me and arching her brow.

  We’re nearing my apartment now. Marley puts her blinker on to turn into my apartment.

  “Yes,” I say, sleepily. “Any good PI would. Let’s see—we’ve got Sarah, Marty, the two strange men, and Dawson.”

  “Five suspects total,” Marley says. She slips the van into a parking spot. Thank goodness we’ve arrived. I’m about to fall asleep in the passenger seat.

  We both get out and start walking through the dark night, towards my apartment.

  “What was it that you were saying to Chris?” Marley asks. “I saw you make the ball of light in your hand...”

  I sigh. “I told him about what we saw. You know—when the men transformed into wolves. I told him magic was real. I mean, I’ve told him that I’m studying witchcraft before, but I don’t think he took me that seriously. So I had to show him.”

  I’m walking in front of Marley. As we begin making our way down the dark, narrow walkway between two of the Blackbear apartments so that we can reach my staircase, I have my guard up. I feel spooked by the events of the night and I won’t feel safe until we’re inside my apartment, with bright lights on and the door locked behind us.

  And maybe some ice cream, in a dish.

  Ice cream has always been my comfort food.

  Luckily, I have a pint of chocolate in my freezer. There will be just enough for Marley and I to share.

  I walk fast, peering as far as I can into the dark shadowy alcoves before we pass them.

  “How did he take it?” Marley, walking close behind me, asks.

  “He’s Chris,” I say. “How do you think he took it?”

  “Ha.” Marley says.

  Chris is a jock. Through and through. Marley and I have both known him since high school, and we both know how he is.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. The guy is great. I’m with him for a reason. I really love spending time with him. We laugh and have fun and we’ve got Chemistry—with a capital ‘C’. On top of all that, he’s hot as heck. I had a crush on him all throughout high school, and the feeling just never faded.

  But he is kind of a meathead. I hate to say it, but it’s true. He’s interested in sports, his work, and me—the ‘me’ that he knew in high school.

  But I’ve changed.

  I’m not the same girl that was happy sitting on the bleachers, drooling over him as he shot three pointers to the tune of a cheering crowd.

  What I mean to say is—we might be growing apart.

  Not so slowly, and oh-so surely. I feel it in my bones.

  I’m too tired to explain all of this to Marley. At least, too tired to explain it in a cohesive manner. I could try, but it might come out sounding mean. I don’t feel mean. I genuinely love Chris. But I also love magic. I’m not sure that Chris is going to understand that.

  We finish climbing the stairs in silence, and when we reach my door, I hesitate slightly before opening it.

  I never lock my apartment, but I think it might be time to change my security policy.

  Like Neville said, earlier today, Hillcrest isn’t the safe-haven that it used to be.

  My desire to crash on my bed overrides my fear, and finally I push my door open and switch on the lights, as fast as I can.

  The apartment floods with light.

  I whip back and forth, trying to look everywhere all at once. I bet I look pretty cool. I can feel my long brown hair flying around me; whoosh, whoosh.

  The apartment is empty.

  Except for Turkey, of course. The bright light woke him from his sleep, apparently, because he unfurls himself from his curled up position, and then arches his back to stretch. “How did it go?” he asks, silently.

  “Well, we’re alive,” I say aloud, to Turkey and Marley both. I reach for the door handle, and latch it. Then, I secure the deadbolt on top of the handle.

  Now that I’ve seen how easy it is to pick a lock, I’ll never forget my deadbolt again.

  For the next half hour, Marley and I unwind by sharing the remainder of my pint of chocolate ice cream. I give Turkey some of his shrimp scampi cat treats. He loves those.

  Finally, a little before three in the morning, I crawl into bed. My eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  *****

  When I wake up the next morning, I wonder for a brief moment if the events of the night before were just a dream.

  Men jumping out of windows, and turning into wolves?

  A dead body at the Hillcrest Inn?

  It must have been a nightmare!

  I get up and blindly shuffle to the kitchen, still half asleep, letting my mind rove lazily over the images that are dwelling there.

  A large, white wolf. He was majestic looking!

  And the black one—lanky and lithe.

  There’s a note on my counter. It’s from Marley. I force my eyes to open wider so that I can read it.

  Good Morning!

  What a crazy night! I can’t believe that there are werewolves here in Hillcrest.

  Gulp. Suddenly I know the images in my mind are not fragments of a fading nightmare. They are memories! I really saw those two wolves. I really saw two men jump out of a window, and transform in mid-air!

  I keep reading.

  I gotta run—I’m giving a massage at nine. I hope you slept better than I did! I kept jumping at every little sound.

  That dead body really freaked me out. We should probably call a coven meeting. Someone’s going to have to deal with those werewolves, and I don’t think it’s going to be the police.

  I’ll be out of my massage by 10:30. Call or text as soon as you get up!

  Love and unicorn kisses,

  Marley

  I prop myself against the counter, trying to process what the note says. Suddenly, I’m flooded with even more memories of last night. It’s all coming back to me. I feel my stomach do a flip as I recall the sight of Raul, face down on his hotel room floor, a dagger sticking out of his back.

  I can’t shake the image, and as I start shuffling around the kitchen, setting the coffee pot up to brew and then pouring myself a glass of water, all I can think about is the way that dead, lifeless body looked.

  Turkey woke up with me, and as soon as I’m done drinking a glass of water, I get his breakfast ready. He weaves between my ankles as I work.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” he says telepathically to me. “I mean, really, it’s eleven in the morning!”

  “Is it?” I say, groggily. I’m not the most talkative person in the world in the morning before I’ve had my cuppa-joe.

  “Eleven oh eight, to be exact.” Turkey transmits. “Practically noon. Four h
ours and eight minutes after my desired breakfast hour. Didn’t you say you were going to start getting up earlier?”

  “I said I’d start that next week,” I say, placing his dish on the floor. Maybe if he’s chewing, he won’t be able to talk at the same time.

  My tactic works. Turkey begins nibbling the food, and the kitchen is once again quiet enough for me to think.

  The coffee pot is now half full, and I grab a clean mug from the dishwasher and fill it with the hot, brown liquid. Once my cup is full to the brim, I inhale the heavenly scent and then set it on the counter. I reach into my messenger bag, which is on the floor leaning against the kitchen counter, and dig out my phone.

  I’m sure that I have about a million missed calls from Chris, and most likely more than a few from Dawn and Neville.

  I swipe my phone on, and purse my lips as I see the screen.

  Zero missed calls? Zero?

  That can’t be. Something must be wrong with my phone. That’s impossible.

  I see that I have one text message. One. Measly. Message.

  Seeing that it’s from Chris, my heart constricts.

  It’s not a good feeling, this tightness in my chest. I also get this nervous feeling in my gut. Usually, I’m happy to see messages from Chris. I love hearing from him. His messages make me smile.

  But not this morning.

  I recall the way he told me to move aside, so that he could close his patrol car door. ‘Move’. His voice was icy, almost formal.

  Distracted by my feelings about the lack of calls, and anxious about opening my message from Chris, I gulp my coffee.

  Hot! Hot, hot, hot! It scalds the roof of my mouth and I spit it out, sputtering and spewing coffee all over my phone screen and the countertop.

  Turkey keeps eating.

  He’s seen me do more awkward things than I care to mention, and spitting up coffee is just par for the course, as much as I hate to admit it.

  I use the sleeve of my jammies to wipe off my phone screen, and then the counter, staining it tan in the process. Oops.

  Then, reluctantly, I open Chris’s message.

  Penny

  I’m working overtime. We’re still searching for the two suspects that fled from the crime scene last night. Chief Holcomb arrested Marty last night. We’re also holding Dawson for now, until the fingerprint analysis comes back on the murder weapon. Since you witnessed Marty breaking and entering, you need to fill out a police report. If I’m not at the station, ask to see Officer McDougal. He’ll point you to the report.

  Chris

  Hunh. Well. that got right to the point, didn’t it? All business. No ‘how are you?’; no ‘sorry for the way I reacted last night’; no, ‘talk to you soon, sugar-pie’.

  No ‘I love you’.

  Well, he is at work. His mind is on finding two suspects.

  Two suspects I told him that he wouldn’t find—not if he insisted on looking for men instead of wolves.

  He didn’t take me seriously, at all, did he?

  The more I think of this, the madder I get.

  He’s asking me to fill out a stupid police report, as if that’s all I have to contribute here? As if I’m just a civilian, who happened to be passing by when Marty was breaking into the inn?

  Screw that! I was there as an investigator, and I’m a witch.

  I have work to do—and filling in blanks on a silly piece of paper is the least of my concerns.

  I’ll get to that when I get to it.

  Right now, I have much bigger fish that need to be fried.

  Like the fact that there are two potentially dangerous werewolves roaming around Hillcrest.

  Why are they here? How are they connected to Raul? Did they kill him? And if they did, are they planning on killing again?

  I need to learn about werewolves. As much as I can—as quickly as I can. I need to talk to an expert.

  With a fluttery feeling in my gut, I realize who the man I need to talk to is. He practically has a PhD in all things magical. He’s been researching—and participating in—magical phenomenon for over five hundred years. He happens to be a vampire, in fact.

  Doctor Maxwell Shire.

  Luckily, the man won’t be hard to find. He lives in Blackbear Apartments, in Unit D just across the way.

  I also happen to know that he’ll probably be home. He’s a professor at the Hillcrest College, and usually has Fridays off. On most Friday mornings, he wakes up early and goes for a long run, followed by a yoga routine and then some sort of smoothie.

  How do I know all this?

  He’s invited me to participate.

  Several times.

  I always say no.

  I’m not really a yoga girl.

  I love Zumba, but something about folding myself into a pretzel doesn’t strike me as appealing. Plus, being alone with Max in his apartment wouldn’t exactly be healthy for me—no matter how wellness-oriented the activities are.

  In fact, it sounds downright dangerous.

  Dangerous to my love life, that is.

  Chris and I are on the rocks, and Max is the one man in this town I’d consider being with besides Chris.

  But if I’m serious about learning the nitty-gritty facts about werewolves, which I am, I’m going to have to risk it.

  Chapter Six

  When Max opens the door to his apartment, he’s shirtless. Great.

  This is not getting off to a good start.

  “Why, Penny!” he says, grinning mischievously. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  His torso is rippled with muscles. I mean, really. There are little divots and bulges around his eight pack, outlining muscles that I didn’t even know existed.

  Without being able to help it, I take a closer look at his chest and abs. Okay, I might be staring. Then I place my hand on my own abdomen. Do I have muscles like those?

  I don’t think so.

  I press into my stomach, trying to feel anything like what I’m seeing in front of me. It’s a matter of scientific curiosity. I’ve dressed in black pants and a thick black sweatshirt, and it’s kind of hard to feel my stomach through all of the padding. I’m also wearing my bulky fake glasses, and they slip down my nose a bit as I concentrate on my belly.

  “Penny?” Max says, a concerned look on his face. “Are you having abdominal pain? Where is it?”

  “Uh,” I say, finding it hard to form words. Darn it. He’s just so handsome. The sight of him is making me go brain dead.

  “Where is it?” he asks again. “In what quadrant? Have you had your appendix out? It could be appendicitis.”

  I stop poking and prodding my stomach and look up, adjusting my glasses at the same time. “Um... no. Max—I’m not here because my stomach hurts. My stomach feels fine.” Fine except for the butterflies stirring around in it, that is. “Uh—do you think you could put a shirt on?”

  “Why?” he asks, with a grin. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, uh—maybe? I just was hoping to ask you some questions, and I don’t think—”

  I stop short. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

  “You don’t think Chris would like it if you and I visited while one of us was half undressed?” Max asks.

  I sigh. “Exactly,” I say.

  Max’s grin broadens. I find myself looking over his torso again. I seriously can’t help it!

  “I’ll grab a shirt,” Max says, laughing lightly. “Wait here.”

  He leaves the doorway, and I watch his back as he retreats into his apartment.

  His back is almost as muscular as his front. Good lord, this guy knows how to use his time wisely. Doctor Max Shire is one of the healthiest people I know. His expertise in the field of longevity has allowed him to live to five hundred while still looking like a young man.

  A young, very fit man. He’s had five hundred years to train himself into perfection, after all.

  When he returns to the door, he’s wearing a bright red muscle shirt. It’s m
ade of a shiny, sporty material, and it hugs his chest and ribcage tightly. It’s not much of an improvement over being shirtless, but it will have to do.

  “Better?” Max asks.

  I still feel faint.

  “Better...” I repeat in a coarse whisper. I clear my throat. “Max—like I said. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. Do you—” I gulp nervously, and then press onwards. “Do you think I could come in?”

  “Of course,” Max says. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since the moment I moved in, Penny,” he says. “That’s the reason I moved here, in fact. I wanted to live near the most beautiful witch-in-training I’ve ever met. You know what they say, location, location, location.”

  I blush a little bit, and frown. “Don’t call me beautiful, Max,” I say.

  “Why not? You are.” He looks at me with his dark, deep, rich brown eyes.

  “I—I should probably remind you that I have a boyfriend,” I say.

  “Oh, right,” Max gives a little laugh. “You’re still giving that a go, are you? How are things with Chris, these days?”

  “Fine,” I lie. I’m not here to cry on Max’s shoulder about how close-minded Chris was last night. I’m here to collect facts.

  “Good,” Max says, in a way that tells me he’s seen right through my lie. He steps aside, and motions in to his apartment. “Come on in, Penny. I just whipped up a smoothie, in fact. I’d be happy to share it, if you’re feeling adventurous.”

  I step through the door, into his entry way. It’s much bigger than mine is, which is odd, because I thought all of the Blackbear Apartments had the same floor plan.

  “Adventurous is not exactly how I’d describe my eating habits,” I say. “And right now, I’m feeling stressed. Not adventurous, exactly. I had kind of a rough night.”

  “Oh, Penny,” Max says, as he leads me out of the entryway. “Stress is not good for the system. It’s actually the number one cause of aging. Cortisol is one of the most destructive forces in the body. You should never allow yourself to feel stress.”

  “I can’t help it,” I say. “I’m in the middle of a really hectic case.”

  “Oh—you can help it. You’re just choosing not to,” he says, somewhat vaguely. “You always have a choice, Penny. There are no exceptions.”