A Grave Spell (The Spellwork Files Book 1)

by Jenna Collett

  “There’s no time for excuses. We’re short-staffed tonight, and I’m dealing with a new trainee. We need another case of merlot brought up from storage. Open the bottles, prepare a tray of glasses, and I want you on the floor in ten.”

  I cringed at my least favorite task. Not only was the storage room a spider-infested den of horrors, but I also hated passing wine. The guests would bump and prod me, swiping glasses from the tray unexpectedly while I’d juggle to balance the shifting weight. It was a minefield a simple anchor spell couldn’t solve. The one time I’d tried the spell, it had made lifting the glasses as difficult as picking up watermelon seeds from the kitchen floor. Needless to say, I’d made things worse.

  “What are you waiting for? Go!” Angela snapped her fingers and waved me out the door.

  I dropped the wine key into my pocket and grumbled a curse under my breath.

  It was a short walk to the swinging doors that led to the storage area. Servers brushed past me, carrying pitchers of water and bread baskets, the soles of their shoes squeaking over the kitchen tile. The sounds were muffled as the door closed behind me, and I made my way down a narrow hall. Recessed lighting cast an eerie glow against the walls, making the hallway feel as if it were closing in with each step. I walked on autopilot, still reliving the strange encounter on the road.

  Why was there a Spellwork symbol carved into the wooden sign? As far as I knew, there weren’t any council operations in Thornbridge. Not that it mattered if there were—council gatherings could only be attended by invitation, and the Graves had a standing “don’t bother” status. Still, I should think I would have heard about it . . .

  Focus, Elle. None of that matters.

  Ghost sightings and occult symbols were somebody else’s problem. What mattered was passing my economics midterm and working enough shifts to save for a down payment on a new shop space. Magic didn’t pay the bills—at least, not yet—but tips from the country club were making a nice dent. Nothing else in Thornbridge paid nearly as well. I couldn’t lose this job, and my boss was known for going on firing rampages for the smallest offenses.

  I hurried down a short flight of stairs. The wooden treads creaked beneath my feet like a scene from a horror movie. In the storage room, crates of votive candles and folded tablecloths were stacked against one wall. Next to them were shelves of seasonal decorations set above rows of extra chairs. A mechanical lift used for deliveries sat in the corner.

  The wine was stored in an adjoining room. I scanned the boxes, searching for the merlot, eager to be on my way.

  “Hey, Elle.”

  A young woman’s head popped around one of the stacks, and I nearly had my second heart attack of the night. I stumbled back a few steps, bumping into a rack of pinot grigio. The bottles rattled, threatening to crash to the ground.

  “Zoe, you scared the hell out of me!”

  Zoe glanced guiltily at her phone. A series of chimes rang from her puzzle game. She grimaced and held up a finger, then she used it to swipe diagonally across the screen. The game chimed again before she closed the app. “Sorry! New high score.”

  “What are you doing down here?” I asked between gritted teeth.

  Zoe scrunched her nose and climbed out from behind the boxes. She hobbled a few steps, making it obvious she’d been down there for a while and her legs had fallen asleep.

  “Hiding. I haven’t had a moment to myself all day, and I just needed a minute—or twenty.” She yawned and slumped against a post.

  I nodded in solidarity. Zoe looked bone-tired. Her brown ponytail was wilted, her outfit wrinkled. As a nursing student at Thornbridge, she often burned the candle at both ends, working long hours as a server, followed by studying into the early hours of the morning.

  “Well, you’re lucky Angela is preoccupied with a new trainee. She’d go on the warpath if she caught you hiding down here.”

  Zoe tucked her phone away. She stretched like a cat then cast me a conspiratorial look. Her voice lowered to a whisper even though we were the only ones in the storage room.

  “Have you seen the new guy?”

  “No, I just got here.”

  She fanned her face, eyes sparkling with gossip. “He’s hot, Elle. Like, drop your fork so you can watch him pick it up hot.”

  A laugh bubbled in my throat, and I nudged her in the side with my elbow. “You’re so cheesy. I doubt he’s that hot. Besides, I thought you were obsessed with Jake the bartender.”

  Zoe sighed with longing. “Jake doesn’t give me the time of day, so of course I’m in love.”

  “You have an unhealthy view on men. They make books for you.”

  “At least I have a view. If you got your head out of your so-called books long enough, you might get yourself a boyfriend. You’re a monk, Elle. All you do is study and walk around with headphones attached to your head listening to podcasts.” She tossed me a teasing grin. “They make books for you.”

  “Then I’ll be too busy reading them to meet anyone. Vicious cycle.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. The truth was a little more complicated. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my stack of novels keeping me warm at night; it was that dating was hard when you were a witch. There wasn’t an app for that, so I had to build all my relationships on secrets and lies.

  Pretty sure they say not to do that in the books.

  Even my friendship with Zoe made me feel a little guilty. Though, she had accepted all my weird quirks and odd-smelling oils, so she’d probably be fine with the rest. I wouldn’t put it past her to use my spells to her advantage. Next thing you knew, Jake would be following her around like a puppy.

  I’d better wait a bit longer before telling her the truth.

  “Let’s go, Casanova, before we’re both caught loitering. You can help me open these bottles.” I hefted the box of wine and headed back toward the kitchen, where we loaded up a pair of trays and took our first spin around the reception room.

  The guests arrived to soft music piped in from overhead speakers, while in the corner, a band did a sound check and prepared their instruments. The cheese and fruit display covered a circular table like an appetizer mecca, and next to it was the shining attraction. Standing almost four feet tall was a giant ice sculpture emblazoned with the university’s crest. It had probably taken the mechanical lift to get the thing up on the reinforced platform. It towered like a crystal beacon in the room, surrounded at its base by ice clamshells full of shrimp and cocktail sauce.

  Moving through the room, I recognized a few professors from the university and offered them glasses of wine and a polished smile. My tray slowly emptied as I stepped out onto the terrace to serve the guests enjoying the night air.

  Twinkling lights illuminated the stone patio that looked out over the golf course. Potted ferns swayed gently in the breeze. I spotted the guest of honor holding court near the outside bar. Professor Laura Roberts taught history at the university, and I was currently enrolled in one of her classes. She’d recently won a prestigious award, and tonight’s celebration was in recognition of her achievements in the field.

  Professor Roberts was a trim woman with high cheekbones and a short bob-style haircut that gleamed white under the lights. Known for her apple-red lipstick and long-winded lectures, she also had a slew of accolades. She was well-traveled and spoke several different languages—even a few of the dead ones.

  I watched her sip a glass of champagne, delaying the climax of a story that held her group of onlookers in rapt attention. A chorus of laughter rang out as I approached the bar and set down my tray. Zoe joined me, leaning an elbow on the bar top. She flashed the bartender her most tempting smile.

  “Hey, Jake, can I get a strawberry daiquiri and a whiskey on the rocks?”

  Jake nodded absently at her request and slid a trio of beers to guests at the other end of the bar. He turned to me and winked, popping a maraschino cherry into his mouth from the fruit tray.

  “Need anything, Elle?”

  “No, not yet
. How’s the apartment hunt going?”

  “Not great. It’s hard to find anything in my price range. I’ve been crashing in my van for the past few weeks. That’s what I get for missing dorm selection.” Jake tossed a rag over his shoulder and pulled two glasses from underneath the bar, starting Zoe’s order.

  “I might have a lead on something,” Zoe said as he hit the button on the blender, drowning out her voice. She turned to me and puffed out a breath. “I think he ignores me on purpose. It’s probably better coming from you anyways. He listens to you.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t take it personally. Jake and I went through training together. There’s nothing like Angela barking in your ear for a week straight to speed up a little employee bonding. Maybe try again lat—”

  My words froze as a crackling sensation filled the air.

  Magic.

  The tips of my fingers curled. I scanned the crowd, searching for the source. Zoe continued to complain about Jake even as my focus narrowed on the target: a man carrying a rack of bar glasses across the patio. He had to be the new server Zoe mentioned.

  Was it impolite to whistle? Zoe hadn’t been joking. The man was gorgeous. Standing a head taller than almost everyone else, he had a walk that snagged every available eye. His jaw was clean-shaven, accentuating a firm mouth, and waves of jet-black hair had been swept away from his temples.

  My eyes narrowed. I wondered if he’d sold his soul to the same devil as Ivy. How come my hair needed constant touch-ups and a couple hundred dollars in product while everyone else’s seemed effortless?

  As he drew closer, the magic energy he exuded grew sharper. He was one of us, and if I could sense his abilities then he could sense mine. A spark of excitement flickered to life inside my chest. Maybe Zoe was right. I’d never been a social butterfly, always hiding behind my schoolwork and steadfast ambition. It could be time for a change.

  “Nobody should look that good in polyester,” Zoe muttered.

  “It’s criminal,” I agreed as the man approached the bar. He placed the rack of glasses next to the ice chest and stepped behind the counter.

  Jake finished making Zoe’s drinks then angled his head toward the two of us. “Hey, Caden, have you met Elle and . . .?” He paused as if trying to remember Zoe’s name.

  “It’s Zoe,” she finished for him with a tight grin. Whipping her hand out across the bar, she waited for Caden to return the greeting.

  “Nice to meet you, Zoe.” He shook her hand, flashing her a sexy smile. Their eye contact lingered while he reached into the fruit bin for the finishing touches to her order.

  His attention turned to me. I braced for the extra wattage emanating from his smile, but when his gray eyes met mine, they were cold. He studied me with an expression that doused my spark of excitement. I fumbled for something to say, settling on Zoe’s technique and offering him my hand. It hung in the air for an awkward beat. Horrified, I realized he wasn’t going to shake it. My face heated, and my hand dropped to my side.

  “Elle, was it? Looks like your tray’s empty. There are fresh glasses by the ice.” His dismissal felt like tripping down the stairs in front of a large crowd. All I wanted to do was slink away like an injured animal and lick my wounds.

  Could he not sense my magic? Did I smell? It took everything inside me to keep from sniffing my armpits just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.

  “That was rude,” Zoe said after Caden picked up an empty glass rack and walked back inside.

  My throat was tight with humiliation. Forcing a fake smile, I shook the embarrassment away and refilled my tray.

  “It’s no big deal. I should get back to work.”

  The night devolved from there.

  Chapter 3

  I felt the burn of Caden’s glare against my back as I bent to refill the water glasses in my section. Clearly, we weren’t going to be friends with benefits—or friends at all, for that matter—but did the man have to stare at me as if I’d poured salt in his cereal?

  He’d been giving me the evil eye all night, which wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he didn’t get along famously with everyone else. It made no sense, and I was seriously starting to develop an inferiority complex.

  The guests were seated watching the award presentation, lights dim except for the spotlight on the podium. Professor Roberts accepted her award, and the room burst into applause. Her speech was followed by dessert. Servers weaved through the tables carrying glass plates of triple truffle chocolate cake with a dollop of whipped cream on the side. I finished serving my section then went to get coffee.

  Caden stood at the coffee station scooping grinds into the basket. My footsteps slowed. I could wait until he was finished. No sense in poking the bear.

  My toes tapped out an impatient rhythm. I couldn’t believe I was avoiding the new guy. Was this how all my shifts were going to go? What could I have possibly done to piss him off?

  Angela breezed past me, her hawk eyes narrowing on my inactivity. It was as if she could sense the service disruption. Her heels ground to a halt on the linoleum.

  “Your section needs coffee, Elle. Move it.”

  Hearing my name, Caden bristled. I laughed under my breath and stepped up to the coffee station. A man literally cringes at my approach. How fun! Can’t wait to tell my diary.

  I grabbed an empty carafe and waited a few painful minutes for the coffee to finish brewing. The silence stretched, and I cracked first, needing to fill it for my own sanity. I went with something easy, the common ground of the working class. No way he could find fault with that.

  “Long night, huh? First days are always the worst.”

  He grunted.

  My teeth clenched. Was he incapable of polite conversation? On my second attempt, I tried to address the issue.

  “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. It’s funny, considering . . . well, you know.” I wriggled my fingers, implying our shared magical abilities, but his puzzled expression made me think the action looked more like jazz hands.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked with a frown.

  “Forget it,” I mumbled. Why should I bother being nice when he couldn’t do the same? What was the point? He could take his magic and his rock-hard body and go stick his head in the shrimp bowl. His attitude was already as cold as ice—might as well use it to preserve the shellfish.

  The coffee finished brewing, and we reached for the sugar basket at the same time. His hand covered mine. A jolt of electricity shot up my arm. It buzzed, mellowing into a warm sensation. He felt it too by the look on his face. I figured he would jerk his hand away, but instead he hesitated, prolonging the connection, testing it in some way.

  A weird feeling crept into my bones. That Graves Warning again.

  I shouldn’t have sensed anything beyond the magic coursing through his veins, but I felt his distrust. It was like a storm cloud darkening with rain; a tempest of frustration mixed with a layer of fear. Not fear of death. Something more insidious. Fear of failure, of indecision.

  His gaze sharpened, almost as if he knew I saw straight through to his center. The moment grew too tense, so I deflected.

  “Beat you to it.”

  “Huh?” His brow creased, and some of his tension eased.

  “The sugar. I had it first. You’ll have to fight me for it.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice for his ears only. “I’m scrappy. It won’t be easy.”

  Surprise lifted the corners of his mouth, and the warm feeling in my arm spread to my toes.

  So, I can make him smile.

  And boy, was it worth it.

  He flexed his fingers, removing them from mine. The edges of his smile evolved, turning seductive. “Consider it yours. But don’t get too comfortable, ’cause I’ll be back for it, and I don’t fight fair.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Were we flirting? Had I somehow tripped into his good graces? Out of practice and riding an attention high, I got cocky.r />
  “So, about that thing I was talking about. We have something in common.” I wriggled my fingers again, my mind screaming, “Stop doing jazz hands!”

  I might as well have thrown ice water in his face. His expression hardened, and our cozy bubble popped. He didn’t meet my gaze as he picked up his coffee carafe.

  “Drop it, Elle. You don’t know anything about me.” The coolness in his tone was in direct contrast to the heat climbing my neck.

  What a jerk! My mouth hung open as he stalked through the swinging doors. A red haze clouded my vision. I struggled with the urge to retaliate. To show him I wasn’t kidding when I called myself scrappy.

  Enough was enough.

  I chased after him, the doors crashing open as I entered the reception room. My nose twitched, palms rising as the spell shot through my fingertips.

  Barely a foot in front of me, he stumbled. The spell tangled his feet, sending his body careening forward. The instant gratification surging through my body turned to horror when I realized my mistake.

  He caught himself before falling, counteracting the spell, but the coffee carafe in his hand sailed through the air. Hot liquid spewed from the opening in what seemed like a slow-motion arc. The destination: a table full of guests.

  No!

  I was about to try another spell to divert the scalding spray until Caden beat me to it. Still partially hunched over, he muttered an incantation. The coffee veered just enough to hit the floor and not the nearby table. I almost sank to my knees in relief.

  Caden gazed back at me. I expected rage, not the look of grudging respect.

  “I knew it. I knew you were one of us,” I said.

  He gave me a subtle nod then mouthed something that sounded like, “Behind you.”

  A hand wrapped around my elbow and yanked me off the floor. Manicured nails dug into my skin as Angela dragged me into her office. The door slammed closed behind us, and she rounded her desk.

  “Are you crazy? You could have given table eight third-degree burns! What were you thinking?”