A Touch of Magic

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A Touch of Magic Page 8

by Annabel Chase


  My mother moved to shut the door, but the woman's hand shot out before she could close it. “Go away, Luna.”

  "Don't make me use my magic," the woman warned. “You know I can best you under any circumstances.”

  My mother stiffened. "Don't threaten me. You wouldn’t dare harm us. My husband and I have raised her like she's our own. We love her."

  I stood there in shock. Like I was their own? But I was their own. Geri and Barron Hart. My parents.

  "You have done well by her," the woman said. “And I owe you a great debt."

  "You owe us nothing," my mother spat. "She’s our greatest joy in life. We would do it for nothing."

  "One glance and then I swear I’ll be on my way. You will never see me again. You have my word.“

  "I said no," my mother said, her voice now rising to a shout. She pulled a wand from her waist and held the tip of it against the woman's throat. The woman peered down at the wand.

  "As if your magic could touch me," she said. "You know better, Geri. Sorcery trumps witch magic every time."

  "Each day comes the dawn/sorceress be gone," my mother yelled. The woman disappeared from view and my mother slammed the door closed, sinking against it down to the floor. I watched in disbelief as she brought her knees to her chest and began to cry.

  How could I be seeing this now if three-year-old me was still in the kitchen, happily licking away cookie dough batter? It was then that I turned around to see my small frame peering around the corner, my small fingers still gripping the wooden spoon. Little Me observed my mother with round, fearful eyes. I'd had no idea what she was going through.

  My mother.

  I glanced back at the weeping woman on the floor in front of me. I knew without a doubt that the woman at the door was my biological mother. I began to shake uncontrollably. How could this be? How could I not have known? Even after my father died, why did no one tell me the truth?

  "Emma," I heard a voice call. "Emma, open your eyes."

  My eyes fluttered open and I stared into Ginger's pert face. She snapped her fingers in front of my nose.

  "My mother," I murmured.

  Ginger smoothed back my hair. "Your whole body was seizing. We had to get you out. Are you okay?"

  I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut again. “No, Ginger.” I swallowed hard. “In fact, I don't know if I'll ever be okay again.”

  Chapter 10

  Surprise, surprise. Hugo was not happy about his status as a suspect in the investigation.

  "This is an outrage," Hugo growled. "Voters are well aware that you're speaking to me about the murder. It's going to cost me votes."

  Astrid placed her hands on the table and leaned forward, getting as close to his angry face as she dared without inhaling his putrid breath. "And voters also know that we’re speaking to Lucy Langtree, as well. You were the sheriff, Hugo. You know perfectly well that we need to speak to anyone with a motive and opportunity for murder." She pushed back away from the desk and folded her arms, regarding him carefully.

  "Yes, I was the sheriff, and you were my deputy," he said. “So let's not forget that I was your boss for many years. I know how to do this job better than you ever could."

  "If that were true, then you would be sitting in my office right now," Astrid said.

  I nearly applauded at her refusal to be intimidated by the centaur.

  "You need more than a motive to hold me," Hugo said. "What else have you got?"

  Astrid cocked her head slightly. "We've got hoofmarks near Milton's body. Fresh ones. We've got eyewitnesses who put you with Milton not long before the murder. How's that?"

  The centaur glared at her. "Of course my hoofmarks were near the body. Of course witnesses saw me talking to him before his death. It was Speech Night. All three candidates were there. And Lucy has wings. She wouldn't leave any marks."

  "So now you’re trying to frame Lucy?" I queried. "It's one thing to defend yourself, but it's quite another to try and implicate someone else as a diversionary tactic.”

  Hugo turned toward me and glowered. "I don't need to address you. We all know you have no official role in this investigation. You're nothing but a busybody. I'll not go to Spellbound Prison thanks to an amateur sleuth.”

  "You didn't object to my involvement when it meant helping you solve a case," I said. Okay, that was not entirely true. In truth, he’d objected to my involvement all the time. He seemed to enjoy taking the credit for apprehending criminals, though.

  "I'll speak to Astrid because I have to," he said tersely. "But I won't answer any of your questions."

  Astrid narrowed her eyes. "First of all, you will address me as Sheriff Astrid and give me the respect that I am due. Second of all, if you won't answer Emma's questions, then she'll simply tell them to me and I will ask you. So, we may as well cut out the middleman and make life easier. Got it?"

  Hugo stiffened. "What other questions do you have?"

  "What did you speak to Milton about on Speech Night?" Astrid asked.

  "I asked him to consider withdrawing from the race," he replied.

  "Why? Because you thought he was taking votes away from you?" I asked.

  Hugo refused to address me directly. He continued to look at Astrid. “The feedback my campaign manager was getting was that Milton’s inclusion was hurting me in the polls. He thought it would be best if we could eliminate Milton…" He frowned. “Okay, that was a poor choice of words. If we could convince Milton not to run and to throw his support behind me, then we would be in a much better position to win.”

  "And how did he react to your request?" Astrid asked.

  "He said he would consider it but not that night," Hugo said. "He wanted to be able to give his big speech. He'd worked hard on it and he wanted voters to hear his message." He shrugged. “I was disappointed when his body was found. I was pretty confident that he was going to withdraw after Speech Night."

  I choked. "You were disappointed when his body was found? Do you even hear yourself? A centuries-old vampire died that night. He left behind a wife and devoted supporters. Yet you were simply disappointed because it inconvenienced your campaign."

  Hugo suppressed a smile. "To be fair, it doesn't really inconvenience my campaign. I may not get his support, but I imagine I'll get his votes.”

  Now it was Astrid’s turn to smile. "So you admit you had something to gain from his death."

  Hugo's expression clouded over. “Don’t play semantics with me. I couldn't say with certainty. We won't know that until the results of the election."

  He had a point. No one knew for certain whether Milton’s supporters would throw their weight behind Lucy or Hugo. To some degree, it didn't matter, though. If Hugo believed that Milton’s death would make a difference to his ability to win, then it didn't matter what the reality was.

  "Am I finished?" Hugo asked. “I’m expected for a game of billiards over at the club.”

  "Of course you are," Astrid said. "Same old Hugo. I suppose this is what constituents can look forward to if you’re elected. Golf games and other leisurely pursuits. Not much different from when you were sheriff." She glanced at me. "What are the rules for impeachment of the mayor?"

  I shrugged. "You'd have to ask the town council for the particulars. It seems to me that they just went through that process." And I wasn't sure how eager they would be to repeat it inside of a year.

  Hugo moved toward the door. "I expect you'll be speaking to Miss Langtree soon. I hope you will show her the same lack of respect that you’ve shown me."

  "The only one showing a lack of respect around here is you," Astrid said. "In your tenure as sheriff, you showed a lack of respect for this whole town. The only one you've ever been concerned with is yourself."

  Hugo didn't bother to glance over his shoulder. He simply trotted out the door. We heard the slam of the front door as he exited the building.

  Astrid looked at me. "What do you think?"

  I drew a breath. "You know him much
better than I do. What does your gut tell you?"

  "I don't know," she replied. "The evidence against him is decent. He had motive and opportunity. We established that."

  "I hear what you're saying," I said, "but we have to remember something. He was the sheriff. He knows how these investigations work. Although he was willfully incompetent, he was never stupid. You really think he would've left his hoofmarks visible if he'd been the one to murder Milton? It would've been simple enough for him to cover his tracks.”

  “Do you think he didn't bother to get rid of any evidence because he was telling the truth? That he only spoke to Milton about withdrawal and then left him alive?"

  “Or he knew we would have this exact conversation and so he left the evidence on purpose in order to make himself appear innocent," I said.

  Astrid groaned and pressed her fingertips to her temple. "Stars and stones. You're hurting my head."

  "What about any fingerprints on the post?” I asked. “Did forensics get back to you yet?"

  "Wiped clean," Astrid said. "Hugo is right about one thing, though. Lucy wouldn't leave any tracks. She could have fluttered to him and away from him without leaving a single mark on the ground."

  "But Lucy also wasn't seen speaking with him that night," I said. "We haven't spoken to a single witness that saw the two of them together except next to the stage."

  "True," Astrid said. "But she still had motive. We need to speak with her."

  "Maybe Britta should sit in on that one with you," I said. “Lucy and I are friends and you know I don't think she did it."

  "We’re all friends with Lucy," Astrid said. "There's really no way to be impartial on this one."

  "So you don't want me to sit out?"

  Astrid shook her head. "I don't think you should ask any questions, but I certainly don't mind if you’re present. You always seem to pick up on things that others miss.”

  I hated the idea of detecting any suggestion of guilt in Lucy's interview. It seemed disloyal to even consider the possibility.

  "Let me know when you plan to speak with her and I'll be there," I said. If nothing else, it might provide Lucy with moral support to know I was sitting there.

  "Who knew a mayoral election could be so exciting," Astrid said.

  "If you think this is exciting, you should see elections in the human world. This whole thing is a cakewalk in comparison."

  Astrid’s brow lifted. "How is it that you still managed to be…well, you, in spite of all the craziness in the human world?"

  "I'm not sure exactly what you mean, but it sounds like a compliment, so thank you."

  Astrid laughed. "Hugo would fit right in, wouldn't he?"

  "Other than the fact that he’s a centaur, he sure would." The world was full of Hugos minus the horns and horse’s body. Then again, it was full of other types, too. That was a beauty of the human world—for every Hugo, there were three Astrids. Long may they live.

  Incoming, Sedgwick screeched, flying into the kitchen, where I was busy removing a batch of cookies from the oven. My memory about my mother had prompted another baking attempt. I hadn’t told anyone about the revelation about my parents, not even Daniel. Part of me wondered whether it really was a dream and not a memory. How would I know the difference?

  “Incoming what?” I asked. “You?”

  The wind chimes sounded.

  Not me, Sedgwick said. He flew over to investigate the cookies.

  “Don’t touch,” I said. “You’ll burn your beak.”

  Shouldn’t Gareth be here to supervise? Sedgwick asked.

  My hands flew to my hips. “You sound concerned that I will burn down the house or something. I’m not that bad.” No matter what Gareth would have everyone believe.

  I’ll keep an eye on things in here while you answer the door, Sedgwick said.

  “As long as it’s eyes and not beak,” I called over my shoulder. I opened the front door and was surprised to see Laurel by herself.

  “Hey,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  "Would you mind if I practiced my special spell for you?" Laurel asked. "My mom won't let me go to the secret lair because I came home past curfew last time, but she said I could come to your house."

  "Of course I don't mind," I said. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

  "My spell is best performed at a table," Laurel said. "We can use the dining room table or the one in your office."

  Gareth appeared out of nowhere, fully prepared to enter panic mode. ”Not the one in my office," he objected hotly. "That table is an antique."

  I looked at him askance. "I thought they were all antiques."

  "Yes, but the one in my office is the antiquiest."

  I shook my head. "That's not even a word."

  Gareth folded his arms and glared at me. "I haven’t the foggiest notion what your remedial witch friend is going to do. The dining room table is indestructible and, therefore, a better option.”

  "Fair enough," I said. "Laurel, the dining room table it is."

  "That sounds good to me," she replied. "The more room, the better."

  "Oh, no," Gareth said. "She needs a lot of space. This is bound to be a disaster."

  I sighed deeply. "Gareth, you need to stop being such a worrywart."

  Laurel dipped into her bag and retrieved a hand mirror about the size of her face.

  “That’s it?” Gareth queried. “A mirror? Why did she say she needed space?”

  I shushed him and turned my attention to the mirror. The frame was weathered and bronzed and the handle was one of the most ornate ones I'd ever seen. There were leaves cut into the metal in an intricate pattern.

  "That's a gorgeous mirror," I said. "Did you get that specifically for this spell?"

  Laurel shook her head. "No, this belongs to my grandmother. In the spell I’m devising, it made sense to use an older mirror if possible. The older an object is, the more likely it is to have picked up magical energy along the way."

  "Well, it’s beautiful. So, what’s your spell?"

  Laurel set the mirror on the table. “I’m going to do a spell that allows the mirror to act as a visual portal. You say the name of someone you want to see while holding the mirror handle and the mirror will show the person to you."

  I stared at the beveled glass in wonder. "A true magic mirror." It was a little different from the oversized mirror in the secret lair that we used as a combo television and movie screen.

  Gareth floated over to investigate. "Did I hear her say she’s created a magic mirror?"

  "Hopefully," I said. "That's the plan."

  Laurel looked up at me. “Anyone in particular you’d like to see?"

  Gareth heaved an exasperated sigh. "We all know what you're going to say. Why did she bother asking you?"

  “What's wrong with saying Daniel?” I asked him.

  "Because you see him every day," Gareth complained. "How much time do two people need to spend together?"

  "Technically, I won't be spending any time with him because this is not a two-way mirror," I said. "But if you would like to choose someone for the experiment, I’d be happy to oblige," I said.

  Laurel watched me expectantly. "Would Gareth like to see someone?"

  I crossed my arms and huffed. "Apparently so. Give us the name, Gareth."

  "Markos would be nice," he said. "Since I didn't manage to manifest in his office."

  "Fine," I said. "Magic mirror, I would like to see Markos, the minotaur."

  We watched as the beveled glass gained colors and a shape began to form. At first, I noticed the horns. He was in minotaur form, which he’d been using more often than his human form.

  "There you go," I said to Gareth. "Are you happy now…?"

  "Oh my," Gareth said and I covered the mirror as quickly as I could.

  Laurel blinked at me. "What's the matter?" she asked. "He was there. I saw him. Why did you cover it?"

  I glanced at Gareth over my shoulder. "Well, um… I think you might n
eed to adjust the spell so that we can't glimpse people when they’re indisposed."

  Laurel stared at me, the realization sinking in. "He was naked?"

  I nodded solemnly. "As a jaybird. Not that you know what that expression means. He was getting into the shower, I think.”

  Laurel snatched the mirror from my hand. "What did you see? It was his butt, wasn't it?" She stomped her foot on the floor. "No fair. I miss all the good stuff."

  I patted her on the head. "There will be plenty of time for the good stuff when you're older, Laurel. In the meantime, I suggest you find a way to modify the spell. If Lady Weatherby thinks that you’re spying on residents in an inappropriate fashion, she'll never let us create our own spells again."

  “I don't suppose you could encourage her to leave the mirror here for fine tuning,” Gareth said.

  I shot Gareth a menacing look. "I don't suppose you’d like to be exorcised from this house."

  Gareth heaved a sigh. "Fine. You’ll have no more requests from me." He pretended to lock his lips and throw away the key.

  Laurel placed the mirror back in her bag. "Why don't we take a look at your spell now?" she asked. "Maybe we'll have better luck."

  Given that it was me, somehow I doubted it.

  “It's a simple spell, really,” I said. “I just need parchment and a couple of quills."

  “Ink?” Gareth queried. “You’re messing around with a spell involving ink on my furniture?”

  “If all goes well, the ink will be on the parchment, not your furniture,” I said. “Why don’t you practice your skills and bring me the supplies from the office?”

  Gareth disappeared and returned in a flash with the requested items. He placed them on the table with surgical precision.

  “You did it,” I exclaimed.

  “Now let’s hope you’re equally successful,” Gareth replied, seemingly unconvinced.

  I retrieved my wand and performed the spell I’d written. The first quill dipped into the inkpot and then moved toward the parchment. As it touched down, the inkpot lifted into the air and dumped its contents all over the parchment, splattering droplets on the table.

 

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