The instructor is stuffing the clipboard in his beat-up briefcase. “Congratulations,” he says flatly. “Now you can continue to practice as a Private Investigator... though I don’t imagine you see much crime around here. This is one of the smallest towns I’ve ever had to issue an exam in. I imagine it’s pretty sleepy.” He yawns for a third time as he pulls his keys from his back pocket.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I say with a smile. “There’s more to Hillcrest than meets the eye. I have a feeling I’m going to make good use of my PI license. Very good use.”
***** The End*****
Do you want to see how Penny and her friends celebrate Christmas?
(Hint: Spells are involved!)
Download the free short story “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” HERE
The Case of the Trust Spell (Book #4)
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery
By Amorette Anderson
Chapter One
The Death Café is quiet, which makes sense given the hour. It’s ten-thirty in the morning, and the before-work rush was over hours ago.
Annie and I are sitting at one of the café’s small, round tables. A vase of colorful flowers, a few slices of coffee cake and a teapot sit between us. It’s cozy and warm in the café; thick January snow falls just outside the window.
“What’s on your mind, Annie?” I ask as I remove my hat and stuff it into my messenger bag.
My friend, knitting mentor, and the owner of the Death Café, Annie Wright, frowns. Her dainty shoulders, covered in a pink knit shawl, sag. “I’m sorry to call you over here like this, Penny,” she says.
She really does look troubled. Annie’s blue eyes usually sparkle with sass, but today they’re dull and flat.
“It’s no trouble at all,” I say. “You know I like to come here like a bazillion times a day. I don’t have any cases going on at the moment anyway. This is better than sitting around in my office alone.”
It’s true. I work for myself, as a private investigator. In between cases, I usually sit in my yoga-supply-closet-turned office and knit. Lately, I’ve also been practicing a few yoga moves in my spare time. It’s not unusual for me to spend an hour or two perfecting a headstand against one of my little office’s walls.
Sure, some might say that my time would be better spent working on something business related, like advertising or polishing my interrogation skills.
But what do they know about running a business in a small mountain town? Staying sane is half of the battle—truly. For me, that involves knitting and headstands.
Plus, frequent coffee breaks, accompanied by snacks.
Lots of snacks.
I reach for a crumbly slice of cake.
“You’re too kind, Penny,” Annie says. “I know that you have plenty going on.”
“Really, I don’t,” I reply. I eye Annie, “You seem upset. Did something happen?” I bite into the cake.
Annie sighs. “Yes—or rather, something didn’t happen that should have. That’s the pickle I’m in. Do you know what day it is?”
“It’s Friday, January 14th,” I say. Then, I remember. I put down my cake. “Oh! Annie! It’s January 14th!” I spring up out of my seat and go to my friend’s side. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and give her a quick hug. Then I kiss her cheek.
She reaches up and takes hold of one of my hands and gives it a squeeze. With a faint smile and nod, she says, “Thank you, dear.”
Now I know what’s gotten into Annie. Today is the death anniversary of her husband, Walter, who passed away four years ago.
I release Annie and return to my seat. “How are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m alright,” Annie says with a sad tone. “You know—this study of magic... it’s actually been changing how I feel about his passing. He feels... closer somehow.”
“That’s good,” I say. Then, “What didn’t happen, Annie? You said that you were upset because something ‘didn’t happen that should have’...”
Annie nods. “Well...“ she says. She reaches for the teapot between us and begins filling our mugs. The Earl Gray tea smells so good as it flows into the pot. It will go well with the cinnamon flavors of the coffee cake in my hand. I accept the mug that Annie extends out in my direction.
When Annie has settled her steaming mug in front of her, she adjusts her shawl and says, “I tried a bit of magic last night—on my own.”
“You did?” I ask, raising my brows.
“I did,” Annie says.
“What did you try?” I ask.
“It was a Summoning Spell. I thought... I thought...” her voice dies down.
I stay quiet. I’ve learned quite a bit about tact over the last half a year or so. I’m still not the most graceful conversationalist, but I like to think that I’ve made progress.
Annie looks down at her hands, cupping her mug. She still wears a bright gold, diamond-studded engagement ring, as well as a gold wedding band, on her left finger.
She examines them as she says, “I thought I could perhaps get through to Walter.” Her voice is soft. “I had an idea that he might simply be in another Realm.”
“Really!” My eyebrows pop up onto my forehead.
I swear, I’ve become almost immune to shock over the past six months, since I started studying witchcraft. My world has expanded so quickly that it’s almost hard to keep up.
I inherited a book called ‘The Art and Science of Becoming a Witch’, or ASBW for short, last September. It was such a curious little book, and I immediately fell in love with the information offered up on the pages.
I was so taken by it that I photocopied the pages and handed them out to the ladies in my knitting circle, Annie, Cora, and Marley. Together we started studying the material and guess what? The spells actually worked!
Well, about half of the time, that is.
It turns out, doing magic is a lot like baking: if you don’t follow the directions exactly, the end result tends to fall flat.
Though I’m not easily surprised these days, Annie’s words have caught me off guard.
Despite the fact that we’re sitting in the ‘Death Café’, (named by Annie herself) I haven’t given much thought to death since we started studying magic.
What if Annie’s right?
What if death doesn’t mean the same thing to a witch as it does to a human?
My thoughts turn to my mother, who passed away ten years ago—when I was seventeen. Could she be in another realm?
Huh. I take another bite of coffee cake while I ponder this.
Our magical studies have revealed other realms—five to be exact. We have learned that we live on the Earth Realm, and are connected to the Fire, Water, Air, and Spirit realms through a magical portal at the edge of town. Our coven controls this portal, as a matter of fact.
I sip my tea as I process her interesting idea. Annie watches me quietly. I’m sure that she knows I’m thinking about my mom. Our mutual losses are part of our connection.
At seventy, Annie is well versed in the art of conversation. Unlike me, she has no problem waiting in silence.
Finally, I speak. “And did you?” I ask. “Did you get in touch with him?”
“I’m afraid not,” Annie says. She lifts her mug but hesitates before taking a sip. “That’s what didn’t happen. I really feel that it should have worked. I wanted it to work so badly...” She shakes her head again and then pats her poofy white hair. It’s a very short do—only just growing back after a spell-gone-wrong turned her bald.
“No,” she continues, “I didn’t get in touch with him. I did, however, get in contact with a different being.”
“Really!” I exclaim. Annie is full of surprising news today! “What happened?” I take a bite of the cake. Cinnamon and sugar clumps rain down, and I lean over the table in an attempt to catch them on the small plate that’s in front of me. I miss, and the crumbs scatter across my lap and the tablecloth.
“Well—I did a séance of sorts,” Annie say
s. “At least, I think that’s the name for it. This is all so new to me. As I said, I did get in contact with a being... one very enthusiastic being.”
“From what realm?” I ask.
“Spirit,” Annie says. “That’s where I fished around first. I was searching for Walter, but instead, I contacted a spirit named Fred.”
“Fred, huh!” I say. “And Walter definitely wasn’t there?”
Annie shakes her head. “Fred was actually quite amused that I was looking for a human that had died. He guessed that I was an amateur witch, I’m afraid.”
“Well, you are,” I say. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of that. We’re learning.”
Just then, the door of the café opens, bringing with it a burst of cold air.
Since I’m facing the door, I’m the first to spot Cora as she walks in. I wave at her and Annie turns to see who I’m waving at.
Spotting Cora, Annie calls out, “Cora! Dear! How is the job hunt going?”
Cora walks towards us, and Annie and I stand to offer up hugs. Cora is wearing a baby carrier on her chest. Instead of a baby inside, she’s carrying her familiar, a feisty, bright-eyed Chihuahua named Blueberry Muffin. I hug my petite blonde friend, sandwiching Blueberry between us lightly, while I second Annie’s question. “Any luck with the employment search?” I ask.
I feel rather than see Cora shake her head.
“The only thing I’ve come across is a job at the Hillcrest Market, running the register in the evenings.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Annie says. She’s making her way across the café, and I know that she’s getting a mug so that Cora can have some tea if she likes.
I reach for a chair from a nearby table and pull it towards ours.
As I place it next to the table, Cora takes a seat. I join her, and soon Annie is with us too, filling a mug with steaming Earl Grey tea for Cora.
“There’s nothing wrong with working at the market in theory,” Cora says. “It might actually be a nice change from doing administrative office work. It would be fun to chat with people while they pay for their groceries. I’m sure I’d learn all kinds of juicy tidbits of information.”
“But...?” I prompt
“But—the hours aren’t right. If I worked in the evenings, when would I get to see Silas?”
Cora breaks into a bright grin as she mentions her soon-to-be husband, a handsome werewolf named Silas Switchback. “He’s so busy working on the new house during the day, evenings are the only time I get to spend with him. We really treasure that time together.”
Annie smiles slightly. “You have such a glow about you when you talk about him,” she says.
Not only is Cora engaged to Silas, but she’s also pregnant with his child. “Or is that a pregnancy glow?” I ask.
“Both,” Cora says happily, as she unstraps the carrier and then carefully lifts Blueberry out of it. “It sure isn’t a ‘happily employed glow’, though.” She gives a self-deprecating laugh and then sets Blueberry on the floor.
The miniature dog starts exploring the café, looking for crumbs no doubt. Well, she’s in luck around my chair. I’ve managed to litter the floor around me. Her tiny nails make a ‘tick tick tick’ sound against the wooden floorboards as she weaves in and out of my chair legs.
“Do you really think you need a job?” I ask. “I mean, you’re going to have an infant at home soon.”
“I know,” Cora says. “Silas and I need to talk about our finances. I’m just so used to paying my mortgage on my own. I suppose seeing as he’s building us a house, I’ll sell mine. That might be enough to replace my income for a while.”
“Ah... enjoy it,” Annie says wistfully. “I remember when Walter and I were newlyweds. Everything is so exciting. You’re still getting to know each other. There’s the wonderful novelty of being a team.”
We all sip our tea. Annie pushes the plate of cake towards Cora. “Would you like some?” she asks.
Cora shakes her head. “No, thank you,” she says. “I actually can’t stay—though it feels wonderful to sit down and get off of my feet for a minute. I’ve been so tired lately.”
She sighs. “But I have two more interviews lined up for the day and before they begin, I have to run up to the building site and bring Silas his lunch. I was just stopping in because I saw Penny’s bike outside. I thought I’d invite you both in person.”
“Invite us to what?” Annie asks.
“An engagement party,” Cora says. “Silas and I are going to host it up at the new building site. The house is all winter proof now. Silas has put up big sheets of plastic around the frame. It’s very festive... almost like a tent. The house has a really open feel inside. Not at all like my place, where every room is separate, connected only by a doorway. I think it’s going to be a very modern...”
Her tone is dreamy as she continues. “We’re going to set up space-heaters and a table in the section that will become the dining room. It’ll be a christening of the house, of sorts, and a celebration of our engagement too. Next Friday night. Can you make it?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Annie says.
“I’ll be there!” I add.
“Great!” Cora says happily. She takes one last sip of her tea and then excuses herself. “I’ll be on my way, then. Annie, thank you for the tea!”
“I wish you could stay and chat longer,” Annie says.
“Another day,” Cora promises. “I’m excited about our next coven meeting. This cycle four stuff is still a puzzle to me.”
“I think all of us feel that way,” I say, thinking of the section of ASBW that we’re currently reading. It’s called ‘The Trust Spell’ and as far as I’m concerned, it may as well be written in Chinese! I barely understand a word of it.
After Cora loads Blueberry Muffin back into the baby carrier and bustles out the door, I return my attention to Annie. “Are you going to tell Cora and Marley about your little séance experience?” I ask.
Annie nods. “Of course,” she says. “But I wanted to bring it to your attention first, Penny, because there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Fire away!” I say.
“You placed a spell on the portal to keep it closed. And you’ve kept that spell in place for the past two months.”
I nod. “I had to! Having it open was too risky. Magical beings kept walking into the earth and wreaking havoc in Hillcrest. Not only that but once they’re in Hillcrest they could go anywhere and cause trouble. We had to do something. I think it’s best if we only open it up for certain occasions. You know—like when Silas wants to move the rest of his pack here to Hillcrest. For special reasons like that, I totally think we should open it up.”
I adjust my fake glasses, which I wear to help me feel smarter.
And boy, do I feel smart at this exact moment. I’ve never been much for politics, but at the moment I feel as though I’m sitting on a panel for the UN, discussing international affairs in a diplomatic way. Except instead of discussing the borders of countries on Earth, I’m discussing the borders between entire realms.
Go me!
Maybe there’s some sort of magical magazine I can be featured in.
I can imagine my face on the cover, with a caption reading, ‘Most Inspiring Diplomat of the Year: Penny Banks’. I’d be sitting with one leg crossed over the other, my hands folded on my knee, and a serious, intense, yet warm subtle smile on my lips—not unlike Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.
I’d be wearing something that a brilliant diplomatic woman of the year would wear.... perhaps a royal blue pants suit with gold buttons. The blazer might even have shoulder pads. Subtle ones of course, not like the big football player padding of the eighties, but just something to make my shoulders stand out a bit. Yes, that would look very—
“Well, I think I have an occasion for us,” Annie says, interrupting my daydream. “A special occasion worthy of opening up the portal.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
; “When I went fishing around in the Spirit Realm, trying to contact Walter... I found Fred instead. As I said, he was very enthusiastic—about one thing in particular.”
I wait.
“Tennis,” Annie says. “Fred is absolutely, entirely, crazily excited about tennis. He says that the Earth Realm is the best place for the sport; it has something to do with our gravity and the way the ball bounces. It’s beyond me. He asked if we would host a tennis tournament.”
“A tennis tournament!” I exclaim. Really! Now I’ve heard it all. My friend’s first attempt at a séance has led us to discussing a tennis tournament!
“It could be good, you know,” Annie says. “Kind of a diplomatic move. Just like the Olympics.”
The word ‘diplomatic’ sparks my interest. Again I envision myself on the cover of a Witch Times magazine: Diplomat of the Year.
Maybe there’s even some sort of award I might win. It would be like a Nobel Peace Prize for witches.
I pop the last of my coffee cake into my mouth and then adjust my glasses again. “Things have been a bit tense between the realms lately,” I say. “It would be kind of a nice peace offering to the Spirit Realm to host their tournament. In fact, I don’t see a reason not to do it. You think this Fred is a good guy?”
“He sounded like a good guy,” Annie says. “I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him—it was a lot like being on the telephone. He sounded very kind and jolly. He said he’s in his seventies and he did sound like a wise soul. He laughed a lot.”
“Interesting,” I say. “Do you think you can reach out to him again?”
“I plan on it,” Annie says. “I told him I’d contact him again this evening, right when I closed up the café. I’ll go home and perform the same sort of ritual. It was fairly easy, you know. All I needed was a black candle, a bundle of sage, and a few other odds and ends. Very doable. Should I tell him the tournament is a go, then?”
I don’t hesitate before nodding. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, let’s do it.”
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 54