Secret Spells in Witchwood

by Jessica Lancaster

  Live Grove was on a secluded road, hidden behind tall trees and inside heavy shadows. Witchwood could’ve used a share of tree surgeons to trim the trees into shape, rather than let them overgrow and cast entire streets in darkness.

  Walking at a slower pace in front of me, a face buried in the glowing screen of a phone was a boy, dressed from head-to-toe in a red, white, and blue tracksuit. He came to a pause outside a house.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He jumped slightly with a gasp. “You scared me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I chuckled. “Are you lost?” I asked, catching a glimpse of his face in the light of his phone.

  “Looking for 6 Live Grove,” he said, squinting at his phone screen.

  Staring at the boy, I’d seen him before. “Your face is familiar,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air. “Ohhh! You’re an athlete.”

  He laughed, trying to suppress a smile. “I don’t know how you’d even know, I only won silver,” he said, fishing out his medal from inside his sports jacket.

  It was incredibly shiny. I’d never met an athlete before, especially not one who’d won awards. “Wow.”

  He shrugged. “I should have gotten gold.”

  “It’s better than anything I’ve ever won,” I chuckled. Of course, I wasn’t an athlete.

  We both stood at the gate to the house. There was a small panel on the side of the wall with a screen, a camera, and several buttons.

  Pressing the ‘call’ button, I felt a small surge of energy wash over me. The house was had wards. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, I knew any rich family worth as much as the Kingsway’s had at least one witch in their pocket.

  “Oh,” the boy said as a small jingle rang. “I’m Elliott Aspen.”

  I shook his extended hand. “Evanora Lavender,” I replied.

  “I’m actually kind of nervous,” he said. “I’ve never met them before.”

  “Never?” I asked, somewhat thankful I was in the same boat as another guest. Their anonymity was part of the reason I was excited to be invited to the event.

  He shook his head. “They Kingsway’s are my sponsors.”

  “Oh? Fantastic,” I said. “What do they sponsor?”

  “The sports, financially and stuff.” He shuffled on his feet, pulling the medal around his neck before slipping it inside his jacket. “They’ve been really good to me.”

  “Hello?” a rough voice called through the static of the panel beside the gate.

  “Hello,” I said, turning and waving at the panel. “It’s—”

  “Miss Lavender,” the voice replied. “Someone will be out within the moment.”

  Through the metal mesh gates, there was a wide path leading to the large manor. There were at least three floors, and it was wider than several bungalows all squished together. As the gates opened, a roaring car engine approached from behind, skewing all vision with the two blinding headlights aimed at me. We stepped back as the car drove inside.

  “Well?” Elliott said. “After you.”

  A smile pinched my cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Entering, the gate began closing with a scraping on the ground, sending uncomfortable vibrations through me. A clang sounded as the gates were clamped shut.

  “I can’t wait to personally thank them,” he said, excitedly clutching his medal from outside his jacket. “I never take it off. It fills me with life.”

  We approached the car as it parked outside the front door. Two people climbed out as the tall pale butler held the door and accepted the keys from the slender female in her fancy dress.

  “Oh—my—Doctor,” Elliott said in a panic, rushing ahead.

  The figures were illuminated by the porch light. There was a man alongside the woman. He was dressed in a green tweed jacket and matching trousers while the woman was draped in a floor-length deep purple gown and her red hair was pulled to one side and clipped in place.

  “Elliott,” the woman said, turning to see him. Her turn revealed the glinting crystal necklace. “What brings you here?” she asked with a huge smile.

  I stood behind them, awkwardly waiting.

  The man to the woman’s side nodded to me. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, stepping toward me. “I’m Professor Dusan Yankovic, but you can call me Yan.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I shook his hand, juggling the gift I carried. “Evanora Lavender.”

  “Fantastic, they said there’d be many great people joining tonight,” he said, standing tall on his tiptoes as he sniffed the air. “They weren’t wrong.”

  “And what is it you—”

  Ring. Ring.

  The butler stood in the doorway, ringing a small bell. “Come, come, come inside.”

  Odd, given he’d just left to park a car.

  EIGHT

  The front door opened into a large foyer of shiny white and black marble flooring. There were already people inside, smiling and talking amongst themselves as a woman walked around with an empty silver tray balanced on her fingertips.

  “Now that we’re all here,” the butler began, addressing people in the foyer.

  It appeared I was the last to arrive. Looking around to count heads, there were eight people, including me. An intimate party indeed.

  Every flourish in the house was decorated with finesse. “Wow,” I let out beneath my breath.

  “Right,” Elliott said, standing beside me. “I feel so out of place.”

  That was two of us then. “I bet nobody else here had a silver medal,” I said.

  He smiled. “But I’m completely underdressed.”

  The foyer had a grand set of stairs made of the same marble. It was breath-taking. The butler stood at the foot of the stairs, speaking, but I couldn’t hear over my own thoughts, startled in amazement.

  To think, this place was on the doorstep of Witchwood.

  There was one archway, leading down a separate hall where a slender woman dressed in a skin-tight black dress and white pinafore; the maid. She walked around with her silver plate filled with champagne flutes of yellow liquid.

  I didn’t drink, but as walked around, weaving between people like it was a dance and a smile, I accepted a glass.

  “I shouldn’t,” Elliott said with a drink in hand.

  We clinked glasses and I pressed my lips to the rim of the glass, feeling the bubbles pop at my nose. “Do you know any of these people?” I asked, taking a sip.

  He hummed. “Doctor Jones,” he said, nodding to the woman who’d arrived at the same time as us. “She’s amazing.”

  That was at least one more person here than I knew.

  Walking around the foyer with the champagne in hand, warming against my grasp. I listened to people talk amongst themselves, I tried to see people and faces. One face stuck out to me, and the more I stared, the more I grew confused as to where I’d seen it before.

  “You okay, sweet cheeks?” the woman I stared at asked.

  I rebuffed a couple words in a mumble. “Yes, yes.”

  She had slicked back blonde hair, thick smoky eyes, and a plum lipstick. “Oo,” she giggled with excitement, hooking her arm around mine. “So, you’re the witch,” she said in a whisper.

  “Well, I—I—I should put this somewhere,” I said, gesturing to the box. The longer I tried the balancing act of the champagne flute and the gift, the more my hands began to ache.

  “Exciting,” she said, biting her lip. “Over here.” She pulled on my arm, tugging me toward a table where a couple other smaller boxes sat.

  I placed the box among them. “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” I said. “I’m Evanora—”

  She giggled louder, fanning a hand over her face. “I know who you are.”

  Rich people. Perhaps their existing witch retired, and I was the replacement.

  The woman clenched my free hand in hers, making eye contact with me for a moment while her smile grew across her face. I knew who she was.

  “You’re the woman fro
m the news,” I said.

  “Bingo!” she laughed. “I’m Bella.”

  “Bella Donna,” I replied. I knew because it struck me as an odd name, given that belladonna is the name of deadly nightshade, a poisonous berry.

  Her grin widened. “I for one cannot express how happy I am you’re here.”

  “Bella, you can’t keep her all night,” a hearty laugh came from behind.

  We both turned together to see an old balding man in a pinstripe suit with a hand resting awkwardly on his stomach. “I’m Rory Danvers,” he said, extended his hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his sweaty hand. He kept hold of my hand longer than I’d have hoped, but I pulled free from his wet grasp. “Evano—”

  “I know about you,” he said, winking. “Do you know about me?”

  This wasn’t the best start. If these people were the best in their fields, I had no idea who he was. Perhaps just rich, but then I’d have no idea unless he’d been involved in a magical scandal. I hummed a little in thought before I heard his raspy voice give way.

  “Danvers Industrial,” he said. “I guess if you’re not in the oil business, you won’t have a clue.” His laughter turned to a hacking cough. He sipped the champagne.

  He was right. I had no idea. “And how do you know the—”

  “Oh, entrees are coming,” he said, waving down the maid.

  Bella pawed a hand at the air fondly. “What a doll,” she said. “Oh.” She clasped a neckline, sniffing the air. “Divine.”

  The same maid came around with another plate on her hand.

  “What is it?” I asked the maid.

  She shook her head at me as Bella chuckled lightly once again, almost like everything was delightfully humorous. “Tomato jam and Manchego cheese on bruschetta,” Bella said. “I spoke with the chef.”

  I picked one of the pieces of bruschetta from the plate. It smelled amazing, and as I took a bite, my senses were taken on an adventure through the Iberian Peninsula. A groan left my throat. “So good,” I said, swallowing hard.

  “Not eaten today?” Bella asked.

  Before I could reply, a man in a long cream coat approach Bella and pulled her aside.

  I was alone again, this time thankful for it. I watched everyone from afar as I enjoyed the rest of my entrée.

  The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, sending a tingle through my spine.

  It was cold, like a hand crossing my skin.

  “Help.”

  NINE

  Turning sharply, almost spilling champagne, I tried to catch a glimpse of the person belonging to the voice. And I did. A woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a floor-length cream floral dress brushed passed me.

  At the foot of the stairs, a small crowd of new people stood, facing forward with smiles on their faces. An older woman, at the top with her hand on the shoulder of a man who stood beside a blonde lady, and in front of them, there were three people; a woman, the one who’d passed me, and two men.

  “The Kingsway family,” the butler announced.

  Applause ruptured from the crowd.

  Elliott tugged on my elbow as I clapped softly with the glass in hand.

  “Big family,” he said.

  “Uh.” My body clenched. After the voice prickled my skin and spooked me, I was a little sensitive. “I have no idea who any of them are.”

  “Me either.”

  The butler cleared his throat again, settling the applause. “Mrs. Kingsway would like to thank you all for attendance on this beautiful evening,” he said.

  The woman at the top of the stairs smiled and nodded. Her dark grey hair was pulled tight and secured in a bun on top of her head. “Thank you,” she said. “You can all call me Vivian,” she said. “And it’s an honour to be graced with everyone’s presence tonight.”

  She was the V. Kingsway from the invite.

  “Her son, Ezra Kingsway and his wife, Margot Kingsway,” the butler continued.

  The couple held hands, turning to each other they smiled.

  “And their adult children, Felix, Camilla, and Conrad,” he said.

  I’d heard of Felix, the son who’d brought Veronica—or whoever it was living across from Gregory on Eden Road.

  Margot cleared her throat with a gentle cough. “As you know, our twins are home from their travels around the world. Camilla and Conrad.” She planted a hand on either one of their shoulders. “I guess they ran out of money,” she chuckled.

  A wheeze of laughter came from behind, glancing toward the sound I noticed it belonged to Rory, the older man in the pinstripes.

  A woman from the small gathering approached Felix, standing away from the twins. She clung to his shoulder and popped a heel as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “We’re also pleased to announce to our engagement,” Felix said. “Meet my beautiful fiancée, Petra Williams.”

  “A toast,” Vivian said. “To the happy couple.”

  Glasses clinked as cheers were held.

  Silence came over us again as the matriarch of the family held her glass high. I wondered what she was waiting for, perhaps another guest or announcement.

  “To dinner,” she said, stepping down and pushing past everyone else. “I’m starved,” she declared. “Let’s go.”

  The maid skittered ahead of Vivian, pushing open doors as she led the way.

  I followed at the end with Elliott, both of us dawdling in amazement at the place we found ourselves in. The hallway was long, decorated in deep red walls with gold gilded picture frames around grand portraits.

  “Think this is her?” Elliott asked, standing still.

  We paused at a painting and looked it up and down.

  A slight burp left the back of my throat from the nauseating champagne bubbles. “Oo,” I pressed a hand to the base of my neck. “Families do tend to usually strike a resemblance.”

  He reached out and brushed it across the frame. “Wow.”

  The butler clapped his hands from further along the hallway. We both glanced in his direction before beginning to rush ahead.

  I stopped abruptly. Elliott bumped into me. The champagne spilt across the strip of fabric laid on the wooden floor.

  “Sorry,” he said, offering me his glass.

  It was a blessing; the bubbles were going to give me acid reflux. “Look at this one,” I said, nodding to the cause of my distraction.

  In the picture that had caught my attention from the side of my eye, an entire family; the woman I assumed was Vivian stood beside a man, and they stood above three people, who stood above significant others, and they stood above children; like a pyramid.

  “When’s it from?” Elliott asked.

  I squinted, squeezing my eyes to see through the glasses in the darkening hall. “1993.”

  “A-hem,” a loud cough startled us once again. “We’re waiting.”

  We arrived in the dining room as people stood around talking. Nobody had yet been seated at the long table in the room. There was more reason to stand around, gawping. The room was covered in an array of creams and beiges, touched with flourishes of gold. It appeared this was so far the most expensive room I’d seen—and not just in this house, but anywhere I’d ever been, ever!

  “What are we waiting for?” Vivian said as the open double doors to the dining room were slammed shut. She clapped her hands twice. “Let’s be seated.”

  TEN

  The maid and butler escorted us to our assigned seats. I was sat between Elliott and the professor, Yan, I’d met earlier. It wasn’t the worst scenario, I could’ve been sat beside the reporter, and she seemed somewhat fake with her doll and sweet cheeks.

  I pulled away my pashmina and stuffed it into the pocket of my blazer, before taking my blazer off and placing it over the back of the chair.

  Directly across the table from me was the daughter, Camilla. I wasn’t keen on making eye contact with her, not after earlier when she’d sent chills down my spine. Although it couldn’t be h
elped, every single time I looked up from the name card on the table, I was almost face-to-face with her, and she was always looking directly at me.

  From the head of the table, a bell rang, pulling all eyes to it.

  Ezra Kingsway straightened his back out, rolling his shoulders as he stood from his chair. His mother, Vivian sat at the opposite end of the table.

  “Thank you for joining us tonight,” he said, snapping his fingers to beckon the maid. “We’re not a religious family, so I won’t ask you to say grace, but what I will ask of you, is that you enjoy every fork and spoonful of food.”

  I smiled at the thought.

  “I just wish we’d get food now,” Elliott whispered, his hand pushing at his stomach through his jacket. “I’ve been too nervous to eat, and now I’m starving.”

  The feeling I knew well. “I wish I could’ve had more entrées.”

  He groaned slightly.

  The mechanical whiz of wheels spinning came through a door separate to the one we’d walked through. A woman dressed in all white, wearing a tall puffy chef’s hat wheeled the metal cart.

  “Chef,” Ezra said, snapping his fingers as he sat.

  The woman straightened her chef whites. “Red lentils and sweet potato soup,” she declared.

  The maid and butler served the dishes while the chef spoke to Ezra. I continued to avoid eye contact with Camilla, occupying my time with thoughts about the soup as it was served around the table.

  Served with a little cracker bread, I held my hand over my glass as someone attempted to pour wine into it. “I’m okay,” I said. I’d make do with water from the jug.

  “Are you sure?” the maid asked in a soft voice.

  I smiled back. “Definitely.”

  Elliott nervously clenched the different cutlery utensils. “I’ll have water too,” he said.

  Once the maid had left, Elliott let out a sigh.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t drink,” he said. “While training, I’m not allowed to drink.”

  “But you’re not trai—”