A Touch of Magic

by Annabel Chase

  Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Tonight? Is that a promise?"

  I blushed again. "I'll come by around eight."

  "I'll even plump the cushions for you," Daniel said with a mischievous wink.

  Laurel came bursting into the secret lair, her eyes blazing with excitement.

  "Did you sneak a latte from Brew-Ha-Ha again?" Millie asked, observing the thirteen-year-old’s hyper demeanor.

  Laurel clutched a large black book against her chest. “You know how I’ve been sneaking into the coven library?"

  "Yes, and I keep telling you to stop because you're going to get caught," Millie snapped. "We’ll all get the blame. I just know it."

  Laurel slapped the book on the coffee table in front of us.

  Begonia frowned. "Another grimoire? Is this for your special project?”

  “No,” Laurel said. “I have plenty of time for that.“

  “That book looks really old," Sophie observed.

  Millie rolled her eyes. "They're all really old."

  Laurel flashed a broad smile. “I’ve been reading through them for fun."

  Millie snorted. "Of course you have. Because that's normal for a girl your age."

  I gave Millie a sharp look. "There’s no need to discourage her," I said. "I was a big reader at her age, too. I wish I had something as interesting to read as an ancient grimoire."

  Laurel opened the book to a page in the middle. The parchment was crinkled and faded. "I almost didn't see this grimoire. It was hidden behind a stack of newer ones."

  Begonia touched the book lightly. "What made you look through the stacks?"

  Laurel's eyes shone brightly. "That's the interesting part. I almost feel like the book was calling to me. I had no reason to move the other grimoires. I just knew I had to."

  Millie peered over her shoulder. "So, what did you find? Something interesting?"

  Laurel tapped the page. "I think so. Check out this spell."

  I scanned the words on the page. It appeared to be two spells—one that involved turning a prince into a beast and the other involved turning the beast back into a prince.

  I cast a sidelong glance at Laurel. “I thought it was true love that broke a spell like this.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Maybe in a fairytale, not in actual magic.”

  "I don't understand,” I said. “There are no princes or beasts in Spellbound.” Unless you counted Hugo as a beast, which was entirely reasonable. “Why is this noteworthy?"

  "Don't you see?" Laurel asked. "This bottom spell breaks a curse created by a sorceress or an enchantress.”

  "But the curse involves turning a beast back into a prince,” Sophie said. "How does that help us? We’re trapped in a town, not trapped in a furry body.”

  Laurel pointed to a particular line on the page. "If you read it carefully, it talks about needing a sorceress or enchantress to break the curse of another sorceress or enchantress."

  The gears of my brain began to turn. "So you think we can modify this somehow and use my magic to try and break the curse on Spellbound?"

  Laurel smiled triumphantly. "That's exactly what I think."

  The girls exchanged uneasy looks.

  "Should we bring this to Lady Weatherby?" Millie asked.

  "I was thinking," Laurel said, "that if we can figure this out on our own, then she'll be sure to graduate us from the remedial program. There would be no way she could argue that we aren't advanced enough to continue then."

  Millie’s expression perked up. "I'm in."

  "Me, too," Sophie said.

  Begonia studied me carefully. "Shouldn't we get Emma's opinion first? After all, she's the one who needs to perform the spell."

  Everyone stared at me. "I'm already working one-on-one with Lady Weatherby to develop my sorcery skills," I said. "You want me to work on this in secret?"

  Laurel bit her lip. "It's up to you, I guess. It might be a lot of pressure if the whole town knows what we’re up to. If we tell Lady Weatherby, then she'll be obligated to bring the information before the coven."

  Good point.

  Begonia hugged herself. "Can you imagine what this would mean? If we break the curse, then we could see the world. We could leave Spellbound."

  “Would you want to?" Sophie queried. “Leave Spellbound, I mean? This is my home. I wouldn't mind taking a vacation beyond the Pocono Mountains, but I would never want to leave here permanently."

  "I would," Laurel said quickly. "I want to see life in other countries. I want to meet witches in covens around the world and see the kind of magic they do."

  "If that's what you want, Laurel," I said, "then I want that for you."

  Millie elbowed Laurel out of the way to examine the book. "So what do we need to do next? How do we modify the spell?"

  Laurel pursed her lips. "I'm not exactly sure yet. I figure we can leave the grimoire here since no one will notice it's missing, and I’ll work on a modification here in the secret lair."

  Begonia clapped her hands giddily. "It will be our after-school activity. The Break the Curse Club."

  "We’ll call it Operation Border Buster,” Sophie said.

  "We don't need to name everything we do," Millie scoffed. "It's so juvenile."

  "Then I guess I'm juvenile," I said, "because I love the idea of Operation Border Buster.” I handed Laurel a quill. "If you manage to do this successfully, then you just might get an academy named after you."

  Laurel beamed. "Wouldn't it be great to not have to attend the ASS Academy anymore?"

  It would, indeed.

  Chapter 9

  After a few days of respectful silence, Astrid and I finally decided to interview Milton's wife, Carolina. According to friends, she worked part-time in Trinkets, a local gift shop. I was surprised to learn that she’d returned to work so quickly after her husband's death.

  "I don't think it's weird," Astrid said, when I shared my concerns with her outside the store. "We’re talking about vampires. Their sense of time is different from ours."

  "But presumably their perception of love isn't," I said. "I would think it would be the opposite—that she would go into mourning for the year." Because a year to a vampire would feel closer to a day.

  Astrid shushed me as we entered the store and neared the counter where Carolina was unpacking a box of colorful knick-knacks. They were pretty, but I had no clue what they were.

  “Good afternoon, Sheriff Astrid," she said. "And you must be the sorceress I've heard so much about." She seemed to have blocked out my presence at the crime scene.

  "I guess I must be," I said. I couldn't decide whether ‘sorceress’ was better than ‘new witch.’

  Carolina placed her hands on the counter. "I imagine you are here to speak to me about my beloved Milton. I knew you’d come eventually.”

  "We are," Astrid said. "We’re hoping that you can give us some insight into who might have killed him."

  Carolina crossed her arms. "I think it's pretty clear who had the most to gain from his death." She glanced at me. "I'm sorry if the fairy is your friend, but everyone knows how competitive she is. She’d do anything to win the election.”

  “Her competitive streak is entirely within healthy bounds,” I argued. “She’d certainly never murder anyone to get ahead—or for any reason.”

  "Rest assured that we’re looking at all of the potential suspects," Astrid said politely. "But the investigation is ongoing and it’s only prudent to speak to you about any problems Milton may have been having. Any recent disputes that you can remember?”

  Carolina’s fingernails made a clicking noise on the counter. "Milton and I are vampires. When you live as long as we have, you cannot help but pick up a few enemies along the way."

  "How long had you been married?" I asked. I realized that they were the first married vampire couple I'd encountered in Spellbound. Most vampires seemed to prefer the single life, or were too nervous about the extent of a lifetime commitment.

  "I lost count many y
ears ago," Carolina said. "When you are as happy as Milton and I were, you don't count the years. You count the I love yous.”

  "So you and your husband had a good relationship?" Astrid asked. "You weren't having any issues?"

  Carolina barked a short laugh. "Of course we had issues. We're immortal and married. Issues are inevitable. Certainly nothing worth staking him over, though."

  "Would you mind describing some of your issues?" Astrid asked. "You know I hate to get involved in your personal business, but I need to know for the investigation."

  Carolina nodded. "Our arguments were typical for a married couple. I didn't feel that he pulled his weight around the house. I thought that once he sold Lumberland that he’d be around more, but then he went and started volunteering all over town. Nothing changed."

  "So, he was a workaholic?" I asked.

  "Not so much a workaholic," Carolina said. "I think he genuinely believed that he could make a difference here. His volunteering wasn't escapism. It was born of a genuine desire to help. My problem with it was that our own garden was full of dead trees, but he was too busy planting saplings over at the elementary school to tend to his own garden."

  "And what was his reaction when you called him out on his behavior?" I asked.

  Carolina gave a bitter laugh. "He accused me of being selfish and not caring about the community." She sighed deeply. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I do care about Spellbound and I think Milton was doing wonderful things here. It's just that I had a certain expectation for life after Lumberland."

  "And he failed to meet it," I finished for her.

  She gave me a sad smile. "He certainly did. And now I have the rest of my immortal life to live without him."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Braun," I said.

  Carolina returned to unpacking the box on the counter. "No need to be sorry," she said. "We had more years together than most couples get. I feel grateful for the time we had."

  "Someone suggested that you might run for mayor in his place," Astrid said. "Is there any truth to that?"

  Carolina laughed again. "Don't be absurd. I like Trinkets. I like my spa appointments. I have no desire to play politics."

  "Will you be voting in the election?" I asked. If she thought that Lucy or Hugo was responsible for her husband's death, then I couldn't imagine her ticking one of their names on the ballot.

  "I'm going to write in my husband's name in his memory," she replied. "Milton would have liked that."

  “I think you’re right. We appreciate your time, Mrs. Braun," Astrid said.

  "If you have any further questions, you can find me either here or at home," she said. "Please let me know when you figure out who killed my husband. I'd like to be able to look that piece of filth in the eye and let them know exactly what they have taken from me."

  "Yes, ma'am," Astrid said.

  "In the meantime," Carolina said, holding up one of the items from the box, "can I interest you in a dream catcher?"

  “A dream catcher," I repeated. It was blue and yellow stained glass in the shape of a turtle, or maybe it was a mole—I couldn’t quite tell. “I thought dream catchers were made from willow trees.”

  “Not this kind,” Carolina said. "These are magical dream catchers, meant to trap bad dreams and only allow the good ones through."

  That sounded like exactly what I needed. I whipped out my coin purse. "I'll take one." I didn’t care what it looked like, after enduring the nightmare courtesy of Beatrice, I would take all the help I could get.

  I was relieved to see that it was Ginger who had the honor of performing the memory spell this time.

  She was there when I arrived at Dr. Hall's office, sitting in front of a small pot on the coffee table. It reminded me of a fondue pot.

  “This looks very different from whatever Beatrice did,” I said.

  Ginger bit her lip. “Yes, sorry about that. Beatrice isn’t as experienced as Meg or I. We should have asked Catherine to hold off until one of us could be here.”

  "I smell sage," I said.

  Ginger smiled. "You smell a lot of herbs. This spell takes quite a bit of preparation. You won't learn anything like this until you graduate from the remedial program."

  "I don't know about that," Dr. Hall said. "Now that she's working with Lady Weatherby privately to develop her sorcery skills, she may be able to manage a spell like this in no time."

  Ginger cast a sidelong glance at me. "It isn't a spell you should ever try on yourself, you know."

  I plopped down in the chaise lounge. "Don't worry. I have no plans to try a spell on myself." Especially now that I knew I had significant magic in my system. I wouldn't want to risk getting trapped in a memory.

  "I'm about ready here," Ginger said. "Catherine, if you'd like to give your client to rundown."

  Dr. Hall swilled her Bitter Pill and focused on me. "You’re going to lie there and relax."

  "Eyes closed?" I asked.

  "I'd recommend it, if you’re trying to relax," Dr. Hall said. "Focus on each part of your body. Start with your toes and imagine them relaxing. Then work your way up all the way to your head. Feel each muscle relax as you focus on it."

  "Sound similar to yoga relaxation techniques," I said.

  "Where do you think I stole it from?" Dr. Hall sniffed. "Now close your eyes and get to it."

  "Yeah. Nothing is relaxing like orders from a scary vampire," I mumbled.

  The aroma from the pot drifted to my nose. I smelled a hint of rosemary and even a little basil. My mouth began to water. I was hungry. Hopefully I'd be eating cookie dough batter in a few minutes, if the spell worked.

  "In a moment, I’m going to spread some of this mixture on your forehead," Ginger explained. "Just continue to relax and breathe deeply. I’ll be chanting quietly over you."

  "Okay," I said. "What will you be doing, Dr. Hall?"

  "I'll be listening and observing," she replied. "Often times, the client recites what's happening in the memory or the dream out loud. It helps to know whether you’re in a safe place."

  “You mean not trapped in a stone room with no windows or doors?”

  “No. Sometimes if it's reliving a traumatic memory," she said, "then I might need to pull the client out of the dream if it gets too overwhelming."

  "Well, that's not the case here. I just want to see my mother again and figure out whether this is actually a memory."

  "Hush now," Ginger said. "I'm ready to start."

  I kept my eyes closed while Ginger smeared the potion across my forehead and chanted quietly under her breath. I picked out an occasional Latin word, but her words were otherwise unintelligible. I felt myself begin to lose consciousness. I tried not to be too hopeful about seeing my mother or fearful of returning to the stone room.

  "Focus on the imagery now," Dr. Hall said. “Remember your parents’ kitchen. What it looked like. The details.”

  It was easy to remember. The walls were painted yellow with tiny blue flowers. It struck me that I had chosen a blue and yellow pot from the Mad Potter to display on my mantel. And a blue and yellow dream catcher. I wondered whether they were subconscious decisions because of the kitchen.

  "The stove is hot, so please be sure not to touch it," my mother's voice said. My mother!

  She stood at the butcher block countertop beside three-year-old me. She wasn't as tall as I remembered, probably because I was viewing her now from my adult height. She was about five feet five inches tall, with an abundance of freckles. I moved to where I could better see her. Stars and stones. She was so pretty. Her hair was a deep chestnut with a hint of red. Her almond-shaped eyes were a rich brown color, so different from my own green eyes. She still had a softness to her. The way she looked at me. Her eyes were tinged with love.

  "Can I lick the spoon now?" Little Me asked. Oh, how I loved to lick the spoon even now.

  "Not quite yet," my mother said. "We need to finish putting the cookies on the baking sheet."

  "Can I do that?" I asked
eagerly. Spell’s bells. I was an eager helper, even back then.

  My mother smiled down at me. "Of course, Emma. You're my little helper."

  Emotions stirred within adult me as my mother showed younger me how to scoop the batter from the bowl with a tablespoon and plop it on to the baking sheet. Even when I made a mess, she didn't scold me. Instead, she laughed and cleaned it up with a swift move of her finger.

  "As soon as the oven beeps, then we'll slide the tray in,” she told me.

  I nodded at her with solemn eyes.

  "Now can I lick the spoon?" persistent Little Me asked.

  She patted my head. "Yes, Emma. Now you may lick the spoon." She handed it to me as the doorbell rang. I watched as my mother wiped her hands on her apron. "Now stay here, and remember not to touch the oven because it’s hot. I'll be right back."

  I knew that I would obey her. I always did. Adult me followed my mother through to the living room and the front door. The living room was a little shabbier than I remembered. The furniture looked well used and there were scratches and dents in the table. I didn't remember being poor, but we clearly didn’t have a lot of money.

  My mother opened the door and the first thing I noticed was the look of shock on her face. Not a friendly neighbor, then.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked in a low voice.

  "I want to see her," a female voice replied.

  "You know you can't. You shouldn't even be here. It's too dangerous."

  I moved behind my mother to catch a glimpse of the unexpected visitor. I didn't recognize her. She had medium brown hair and green eyes like mine.

  Like mine.

  I stared at her. It wasn’t just her eyes that were like mine. In fact, she looked remarkably like I did now. Although she was taller than me by a couple of inches, we shared the same coloring and build. Her lips were slightly fuller than mine, giving her a more sensual look.

  "I've heard rumors," the woman said. "They have worried me greatly."

  "We’ve heard them, too," my mother said. "We’re taking precautions. You coming here creates risk. I have to ask you to leave."

  The visitor shook her head adamantly. "Please. Let me see her now that I’ve come all this way."