“Were you ever…involved?” I asked.
“Goodness, no. I prefer my males with more color in their cheeks. Besides, fangs scare the girls.” She pointed to her head.
A knock on the door startled me. “Am I expecting anyone?”
She bit her lip. “Oops. I meant to tell you. Mumford’s here. Gotta go.” She scurried back to her room as the office door opened. I’d need to ask why the front door emptied into my office instead of my assistant’s. The layout didn’t appear to make sense. I couldn’t worry about that now, though. Not while I had a goblin standing in front of me. He wasn't at all what I expected. Not that I had expectations regarding goblins.
“You must be Mumford,” I said. There was no nice way to say it—he was hard on the eyes. Lumpy, bumpy, and grumpy. His limbs were too long for his body and his face reminded me of a frog. There was no chance kissing this guy would turn him into a handsome prince.
“And you must be my new attorney.” He gave me a cursory glance. “A witch, is it?”
I forced a smile. “So they tell me.”
“Have you met the witches in your class?” he asked.
“I have. Everyone seems nice.” Except Lady Weatherby, but I’d never utter those words aloud.
“I know a few witches from the gym,” he said. “Begonia and Sophie are regulars there.”
I pictured Sophie falling on the treadmill and dropping weights on her toe. It was none of my business, but the gym didn’t seem like a safe place for her.
“Begonia helped me once when I got locked in the sauna,” he said. “Some of the werewolves thought it would be funny to steam clean a goblin.” His face grew flushed with anger. “I kept my membership, but I haven’t been back since.”
As unattractive as he was in general, I couldn’t help but notice the state of his neck.
“Mumford, I don’t mean to be rude, but your neck looks atrocious,” I said.
Mumford absently touched the swollen side of his neck.
“Are you developing a goiter?” I knew nothing about goiters, but it seemed like the kind of ugly thing someone in Spellbound would have. Instinctively, I touched my own neck.
“I think it’s from where Gareth tried to bite me, Miss Witch,” he said.
I froze. “Gareth tried to bite you?”
He nodded mournfully.
“Did you tell anyone?” Surely someone would have mentioned it to me.
He shook his head. “Everyone’s been so upset about his death, I didn’t think they’d want to hear anything negative about him. They’d accuse me of acting evil again. Goblins are always accused of acting evil. I don’t hear anyone accusing the dwarves of being disagreeable.”
I inhaled deeply and sat on the edge of my desk. “Did Gareth often try to bite others in town?”
Mumford folded his hands in his lap. “Not that I know of, Miss Witch.”
“Mumford, can you please stop calling me that?”
He gave me a blank look. “But that’s your name.”
“No,” I said tersely. “My name is Emma Hart. You may call me Emma or Miss Hart, whichever you’re more comfortable with.”
“I’m comfortable with Miss Witch.”
I groaned in exasperation. “We should take you to the doctor. You need to have your neck examined. It looks like it might be infected.”
“We don’t really have doctors in Spellbound, Miss Wi…Miss Hart. Just healers.”
I hopped off the desk. “Whatever. Let’s go see the healer.”
He shifted his head from side to side. “It has been sore.”
“Why don’t you speak up, Mumford?” I asked.
“Been distracted with the trial and then Gareth,” he said. “Everything else fades away.”
I understood what he meant. Since my arrival in Spellbound, I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
“Come on, Mumford. I’m taking you to the healer. Someone has to look out for you if you won’t do it for yourself.”
Reluctantly, he got up from the chair and followed me out of the office.
“So which way?” I asked, once we were on the sidewalk.
“Left and then two blocks.”
The healer was a druid by the name of Boyd.
I stood in the corner of the room while he examined Mumford’s neck.
“It’s an infection. That’s for certain,” Boyd said. I expected a druid to wear some sort of long, brown robe, but Boyd’s plaid shirt and jeans were more mountain man than mystical. Maybe I was confusing a druid with a monk.
“Can you treat it?” I asked.
“I’ll need to run some tests,” Boyd said. “Make sure it hasn’t moved to the bloodstream.”
“Any idea what caused it?” I didn’t ask about vampire fangs. I’d leave that to Mumford.
Boyd shrugged. “Could be any number of things. When you don’t clean a wound,” he said pointedly, “it increases the likelihood of infection.”
“Mumford has a lot on his mind,” I said. I felt sorry for the goblin.
“I hear you’re defending him now,” Boyd said. I watched as he wiped the swollen area with some kind of ointment and applied a bandage.
“Word travels quickly,” I said.
“My assistant will be in shortly to draw blood,” Boyd told Mumford.
The goblin shifted uncomfortably on the table.
“Do you not like needles, Mumford?” I asked. I hated the pointy suckers, but Mumford was a goblin. I guess I expected him to be tougher.
“Oh, we don’t use needles,” Boyd said.
What was left? “You don’t use leeches, do you?” If that was the case, I could understand the goblin’s wariness.
“No leeches,” Boyd said, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “It’s a magic siphon. We just poke a tiny hole in the skin and the blood is sucked up into the siphon.”
“I could have used a magic siphon when I was growing up,” I said. Needles were on my long list of things-that-made-me-anxious.
“We’ll have the results soon,” he said. “In the meantime, keep using the ointment. You may feel a little lethargic today, but the effect should wear off by tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Thank you for bringing him in.”
“No problem.” Someone had to take care of the poor goblin. It was as though the whole town had forgotten him in the wake of Gareth’s murder.
We returned to the office to talk about the case. The meeting didn’t last long, though. Mumford began to droop halfway through my second question.
“Why don’t we continue this when you’re feeling better?” I suggested.
“Yes, I think that would be wise.” Mumford staggered to the door.
“Can I call you a cab or something?” Did they have cabs in Spellbound?
He waved me off as he stumbled out of the office. “I’ll be fine.”
With me as his only hope for freedom, I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Seven
Since I couldn’t sleep, I decided to make myself useful and track down Gareth’s vampire friends. I had a couple of questions to ask, including ‘would anyone like a cat’? Althea had suggested that I try the Spellbound Country Club during the off hours.
It felt odd to be going to a country club in the middle of the night. Even though the vampires could be out in daylight due to the enchanted nature of the town, they still preferred to be cloaked in darkness. I didn't love the idea of walking through town at night, not with all the strange creatures afoot. I didn't have a choice, though. If I wanted to get things done, I had to leave the house. Sedgwick decided to accompany me, although he kept a reasonable distance. While I was on the hunt for vampires, he was on the hunt for dinner.
Unfortunately for my aching feet, the country club was located on the other side of town not far from the mayor's mansion. It looked as you would expect. There was a valet out front, presumably to collect brooms or other modes of supernatural transport. I was surprised when the young man gr
eeted me by name. Another elf.
"Right this way, Miss Hart." He held open the door for me with a pleasant smile.
"Thank you," I said hesitantly. Was my picture on a wanted poster or something? It made me slightly uncomfortable that everyone in town seemed to know my name, especially when I still felt so ignorant.
I walked through the impressive lobby of the country club. Unsurprisingly, it was empty now.
I stepped up to the counter where the manager was ready and waiting to greet me.
"Miss Hart, welcome to Spellbound Country Club," he said. I couldn't tell what kind of creature he was based on his appearance. He looked like a troll, but not as ugly. I assumed it would be rude to ask.
"Thank you so much," I said.
"Are you looking to become a member? I would be happy to discuss the details with you," he said.
"Not today, thank you. I’m looking for a few friends of Gareth’s. I understand there might be a few vampires with a tee time tonight.”
He looked mildly surprised. "Why, yes. They’re probably around the fifth hole right now. I can have someone escort you there." He snapped his fingers and a centaur appeared behind me.
"Patrick will take you to them."
My brow lifted. Take me—as in for a ride? I studied the centaur.
The centaur smiled at me. "Climb aboard, Miss Hart. We’ll be there in two shakes of a minotaur's tail."
Minotaurs shook their tails? I'd have to see that to believe it. Reluctantly, I stepped toward the centaur and he held out his hand to assist me. As he lowered his hind legs, I swung a leg over his back and nearly toppled over. With one leg hooked around his back and the other on the ground, I dangled there helplessly. The manager rushed out from behind the counter to help me look less like a fool. He had his work cut out for him.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's my first time mounting a centaur.”
Patrick stifled a laugh. "You don't say?"
“Haven’t you ridden a horse?” the manager asked.
“Um, no.” I’d lived a relatively sheltered life. Until now.
With the manager's help, I managed to stay atop the centaur’s back.
"Good luck," the manager said. "Please do consider joining. We love diversity in our membership."
"I'll think about it," I said. Although I wasn't interested in golf, I did always want to learn how to play tennis. No time like the present.
Patrick carried me through the automatic doors at the back of the clubhouse. It was a bumpy ride. It reminded me of the hayrides I used to take at Halloween as a child. Uncomfortable, yet still mildly enjoyable.
I caught sight of Sedgwick circling above me, probably laughing his tail feathers off. Jerk.
As promised, we found the vampires on the fifth hole. There were three of them, sipping what appeared to be Bloody Marys and looking ridiculous in plaid trousers and hats with pom-poms. I was under the impression vampires were more dignified.
“Gentlemen,” Patrick said, galloping to greet them. “May I present Miss Hart?”
I gave a nervous wave and attempted to slide off Patrick’s back without sustaining a head injury. One of the vampires handed his drink off to another one and came over to assist me.
“Here, let me help you.” His voice was smooth like silk.
“It’s okay. I can do it.”
Patrick’s hind legs dropped to the ground and I shifted my butt to the side, preparing to hurl myself off. The vampire leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Trust me, buttercup, you don’t want to fall in front of this lot. You’ll never live it down.”
I sat still and let the vampire lift me off in one swift movement.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Shall I wait for you, Miss Hart?” Patrick asked.
The thought of getting on and off the centaur again made me queasy.
“No,” the vampire said quickly. “No worries, Patrick. We’ll see her safely back to the clubhouse.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunt.” Patrick bowed slightly before galloping away.
I held out my hand. “Emma Hart. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunt.” I looked at him for the first time—really looked at him—and realized with a start how handsome he was. I was shaking the hand of an attractive vampire. Kill me now. Wait! Don’t kill me now. Wrong expression. I hoped he couldn’t read minds. Was telepathy a vampire trait or was that just in the movies?
“Miss Hart, why are you squinting at me?” he asked.
My eyes widened. “Was I? Sorry, it’s so dark out here. Hard to see everyone.”
The vampire holding the golf club came over to shake my hand. “A pleasure, Miss Hart. I’m Samson and this is Edgar.”
The handsome vampire smiled and I noticed his fangs for the first time. They weren’t as pronounced as I expected.
“Demetrius,” he said.
“Hi,” I managed to say. My stomach felt like butterflies in a blender. I couldn’t tell which made me more nervous—the fact that I was surrounded by vampires alone in the dark or the fact that Demetrius Hunt was really, really hot.
I hedged my bets and chose fear.
“How can we help you, Emma?” Edgar asked, draining his Bloody Mary. I noticed he had a red mustache. It looked far more gruesome than a milk mustache.
“You might have heard I’m taking over Gareth’s cases,” I said, suddenly acutely aware that I’d stepped into their permanently dead friend’s shoes in nearly every respect.
“And his house,” Edgar said. “Perhaps his bank account as well?”
“Enough, Edgar,” Demetrius said. “We all know Gareth’s job was thankless and his house was a money pit. Spellbound isn’t doing this young lady any favors.”
Um, thanks?
“Well, I’m here because you’re his friends and I thought you’d be able to answer some questions I have.”
“Such as?” Edgar prodded.
Okay, he was going to be a pain in the butt. I could tell. I decided to start simple.
“Did Gareth have a cat?” I assumed Mr. Cat hadn’t purchased his own cans of tuna, but in this town, who could be sure?
Demetrius burst out laughing. “That hairless monster is a cat? And here I thought it was some sort of ogre cursed by a miniaturization spell.”
“His pantry is full of cat food,” I said, “so I’m willing to go out on a limb and say it’s a cat. Do you know its name?”
The vampires exchanged glances.
“Mr. Furry Face?” Edgar offered weakly.
“No, wasn’t it Sunshine?” Demetrius said.
So Gareth was a fan of irony. Good to know.
Samson snapped his fingers. “Magpie. It was definitely Magpie.”
What a relief. “Thank you. That’s helpful. So I take it from your reactions that no one would be interested in adopting Magpie?”
My suggestion was met with stony silence.
“Anything else?” Demetrius asked.
I tried not to stare into those intense dark eyes. Maybe he was trying to glamour me. I didn’t even know if that was a real vampire trick. I was going to have to hit the library sooner rather than later. Or the bookstore. Juliet was meant to be a fountain of knowledge.
“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I met with Mumford…”
They groaned in unison.
“What’s wrong with Mumford?” I asked.
“I’ll write you a list,” Edgar said, and raised an eyebrow. “In blood.”
I could tell he was trying to get a rise out of me, so I ignored him. “He seems sweet,” I said. “I feel sorry for him.”
Samson patted my shoulder. “How fitting. You have Gareth’s heart.”
“Except hers probably beats,” Edgar said.
“I believe it does,” I replied. At least I hoped so. I hadn’t checked since I arrived here. I resisted the urge to check my pulse. I’d wait until I was alone.
“What do you need to know about Mumford?” Demetrius prompted.
“He says that Gareth tried to bite him, and
I was wondering…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence. The three vampires began yelling at the same time.
“Impossible!”
“Nonsense.”
“Ridiculous.”
I took a step back and held up my hands. “Listen, I’m not here to accuse Gareth of anything. I just thought maybe—if it wasn’t an isolated incident—then there could be a situation where he tried to bite the wrong person and it ended up in Gareth’s murder.”
The vein in Edgar’s forehead throbbed and he came dangerously close to me. “Let’s get one thing straight, shall we? Gareth was a gentle soul who would, never ever bite anyone.”
Demetrius grabbed Edgar by the arm and yanked him away from me. “Enough, Edgar. Emma said she isn’t here to accuse him. She only wants to help.” He looked at me. “Edgar is right, though. Gareth wouldn’t dream of biting anyone. It wasn’t in his nature.” He hesitated. “Well, I suppose it ought to have been.”
“But it wasn’t,” Samson said. “We even made fun of him for it.”
“It’s why he was so suited to the role of public defender,” Edgar said softly. “He cared about everyone in this town.”
“You guys seem to find Mumford annoying,” I said. “Is it possible that Gareth was just expressing frustration with his client? Maybe he wanted to scare him?”
Edgar folded his arms across his scrawny chest. “Not a chance.”
Next topic. “Do you know anything about the petition he was preparing to file?” I asked.
Samson’s brow furrowed. “What kind of petition?”
“To remove holy water from the church.”
They looked surprised.
“He was planning to go ahead with that?” Demetrius asked. “We thought it was a joke.”
“Do you ever attend church here?” I asked.
The three vampires howled with laughter.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I get the picture. I had to ask.” I thought for a moment. “Who would object to the petition, assuming he or she was aware of it?”
Edgar scratched the stubble on his chin. “Myra is the only one I can think of.”
“Who’s Myra?” I asked.
“She’s the church administrator,” Edgar said. “But don’t be fooled by her just because she’s a gnome. For a lady who organizes church bingo, she has a wicked tongue.”
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