Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  “He was accused of looting coffins a few years ago, but no charges were filed.” Mumford gave me a disgusted look.

  “And Deacon?”

  “He’s the dwarf who owns the jewelry store. He’s always looking for attention. He used to be in that stupid calendar every year until the harpies took it over. Then they only wanted ‘hot’ males, whatever that means.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he staged this whole robbery just so everyone would notice him.”

  Seemed unlikely.

  “Did Gareth look into either of these guys?” I asked. “Or Sheriff Hugo?”

  Mumford laughed bitterly. “Certainly not Sheriff Hugo. He decided on me as soon as he found his so-called evidence. Then he didn’t have to bother hunting down suspects and could spend more time at the Horned Owl, hitting on the staff.”

  “And Gareth? What did he think?” I saw no mention of Mumford’s theories in the file.

  “Piotr Underkoffler is a vampire. Those guys stick together no matter what. And he didn’t think the motive for Deacon was persuasive enough.” I didn’t disagree, but I owed it to Mumford to look into it.

  “I’ll have a word with Deacon,” I said. It had to be soon, since I was running out of time.

  “Thank you,” Mumford said primly.

  “One more question,” I said. “What’s the point of anyone stealing in this town? You can’t sell stolen goods without someone recognizing them because everyone’s trapped here. A thief would get caught eventually, right?”

  “Not a smart one,” Mumford replied. “Spellbound is full of magic, remember. All you’d need is access to the right magic and you’d easily cover your tracks.”

  I hadn’t considered that. The whole magic angle was still new to me.

  “It’s been a productive meeting, Mumford. I have class shortly and then hopefully I’ll speak to Deacon and Underkoffler.”

  “Learning anything good today?” he asked. “Like how to magically acquit your client?”

  I mustered a smile. “Mostly how to avoid Lady Weatherby without her noticing.”

  “She’s a rather difficult woman.”

  “And a tough teacher,” I said. “She won’t let me use my wand in class until I can prove I’m not an idiot.” I paused. “I’m not sure that I can.”

  “Her standards are known to be ridiculously high,” he said sympathetically. “That’s why so many witches fail training the first time around. She wants her coven to be perfect.”

  “Well, I’ve never been perfect,” I said. “And I have no intention of starting now.” I stopped and thought about my statement. “What I mean is…”

  “No worries, Miss Hart,” Mumford said, and stood to pat me on the shoulder. “I understand. Good luck.”

  “Thanks, if I can get through the class without injuring myself or anyone else, I’ll consider it a success.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Class was not a success. And by that, I mean I did not get through the session without injuring someone. Naturally, that someone had to be Lady Weatherby. It wasn’t my fault, though. She insisted on giving me the inflammatory spell. How was I supposed to know that it could set a person’s hair on fire? I thought it inflicted someone with sore muscles.

  Thankfully, Laurel was quick on the draw and used a water spell to douse the flames before any real harm was done. I watched in awe as a stream of water spouted from the tip of the young girl’s wand and splashed Lady Weatherby’s sizzling head. Smoke began to emanate from her black hair. At least it wasn’t steam out of her ears.

  “Miss Hart,” Lady Weatherby said, raking her fingers through her singed hair. “Please return Begonia’s wand immediately.”

  I handed over the wand and returned to my seat, deflated. I was so sure today would be better. I had no reason to believe that, though, other than I wanted to.

  Begonia clapped me on the shoulder. “We’ve all done it,” she whispered.

  Really? They’d all set the teacher’s hair on fire? I found that difficult to believe.

  “Miss Hart, you seem preoccupied,” Lady Weatherby said. “Perhaps if you could focus on spells, you might avoid disastrous results.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “The truth is I am preoccupied, Lady Weatherby. It’s hard to care about inflammatory spells when you have a client on the hook for a crime he didn’t commit and a dead undead guy whose killer hasn’t been identified.”

  Lady Weatherby was silent for a moment and I peeked at her between my fingers. “I see,” she said finally. “I imagine that is quite a burden to bear.”

  Slowly, I moved my hands away from my face. Was she actually sympathizing with me? Was she capable of it?

  “Are there any spells I could use?” I asked. “Truth serum or something that reveals deception?”

  Lady Weatherby sat on the edge of her desk. “If it were that simple, my dear, there would be no need for you, would there?”

  “But there must be magic that’s useful in this situation,” I insisted. “I mean, who cares if I can set your hair on fire? No offense,” I added quickly.

  “None taken.” She steepled her fingers, thinking. “You are correct. There is magic that’s useful for investigations, however, it tends not to be used. Not by Gareth or Sheriff Hugo. Nor by their predecessors.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because facts are facts, but magic can be manipulated.”

  “Ha,” I said. “You’ve never seen the news in the human world. Facts get manipulated every day.”

  “Magic can be used to show things that are not truly there,” she continued. “I can give you a truth potion, but how do you know I didn’t tweak it before I gave it to you? Maybe the result will be a distorted truth. As I’ve said before, part of doing a spell correctly is directing your will. What if your will is to alter the truth?”

  She had a point. “I understand. I just feel overwhelmed trying to learn spells and defend my client…” I trailed off.

  “And exist in a whole new world?” Lady Weatherby prompted. “I don’t envy you, Miss Hart. Your life has, indeed, taken a dramatic turn. Nonetheless, your training here is of the utmost importance. When it comes to you, that is my priority.” She clapped her hands. “Let us return to the lesson, shall we?”

  Considering I’d just set her on fire, it was the nicest she’d ever been to me and I actually felt myself warming to her. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Miss Hart, try the Shield spell. Use Sophie’s wand this time. It’s meant for even the clumsiest of witches.”

  Then again, maybe not.

  After class, Begonia insisted on coming with me to visit Deacon.

  “He has the loveliest rings in his shop.” She extended a hand and I noticed a square-cut emerald glittering on her ring finger. “This was a gift from there, I think. At least it’s marked with Deacon’s signature ‘D.’”

  “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, and sighed happily. “He’s a secret admirer.”

  “That’s quite a healthy dose of admiration,” I said. The ring was stunning. I wasn’t sure how valuable an emerald like that was in Spellbound, but in the human world, it was worth thousands of dollars.

  We entered Deacon’s Stones and I immediately recognized Deacon, not because I’d seen him before but because he looked exactly like the dwarf I’d pictured in my mind. Thank you, Lord of the Rings.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said brightly. Okay, so he was missing the heavy Scottish brogue. I could live with that.

  “Good afternoon, Deacon,” Begonia said. “This is my new friend, Emma Hart. She’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  I caught the flash of recognition in his dark eyes. “You’re defending that goblin, aren’t you?” he asked. Gone was his sunny demeanor.

  I shrugged. “Being a public defender means you don’t get to choose your clients.” I figured if I didn’t spring to Mumford’s defense, Deacon might be mor
e willing to talk to me.

  He grunted in response. “So what do you need to know?”

  As I opened my mouth to speak, Begonia rested her hands on the counter to admire the jewelry behind the glass. Deacon nearly had a stroke right in front of us. His face turned beet red and he clutched his chest.

  “Where did you get that ring?” he choked out.

  Begonia held it up for closer inspection. “It is one of yours, isn’t it? I thought so.” She seemed pleased, completely missing Deacon’s tone.

  He gripped her hand and pulled it closer.

  “Hey,” she said and wrenched back her hand.

  “That’s one of the stolen pieces,” he said. “It’s on the list I gave to Sheriff Hugo.”

  “That’s impossible,” Begonia said. “My secret admirer gave it to me.”

  “Well, who’s your secret admirer?” he demanded.

  She gave him a disappointed look. “If I knew, it wouldn’t be a secret now, would it?”

  “How was the ring delivered to you?” I asked.

  Begonia appeared thoughtful. “By owl,” she said finally.

  “What did the owl look like?” Deacon asked.

  “She’s tawny with the most gorgeous green eyes.”

  “She should be easy to find,” Deacon said.

  “Of course she is. She’s at my house.” Begonia shook her head. “The secret admirer used my owl to deliver the ring.”

  Deacon and I sighed in exasperation.

  “Was there a note?” I asked. “How do you know the ring was meant for you?”

  “Of course there was a note,” Begonia said. “It said, ‘Dearest Begonia, A token of my adoration. Thank you for being a breath of fresh air in Spellbound. Yours, X.’”

  “Where’s the note now?” I asked. “Maybe we can have a handwriting analysis done.”

  “Oh, no. That isn’t possible.”

  Deacon rolled his eyes. “Why not?”

  “I accidentally incinerated it.”

  “You accidentally…” Deacon let loose a string of curses. “How? How does one accidentally incinerate a love letter?”

  “Sophie and I were practicing wandwork—the inflammatory spell that you did today, actually—and I let Sophie use my wand.”

  “So technically, Sophie accidentally incinerated it,” I pointed out. That made more sense.

  “I’d shown it to her and left it sitting out when we practiced,” Begonia said. “It was my fault.”

  I gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid the ring will need to go into evidence.”

  “And then back to me once the trial is over,” Deacon said.

  Begonia fought back tears. “It’s such a beautiful ring.” She drew a steadying breath. “It was nice to feel appreciated for a change, you know?”

  I smoothed her hair. “I appreciate you, Begonia. You’ve been one of the nicest, most generous people I’ve met in Spellbound. I’m sorry I can’t buy you a ring.”

  “That’s okay,” she sniffed, and twisted the ring from her finger. “It doesn’t mean as much anymore, knowing it was stolen.”

  She handed me the ring. “I’ll make sure this gets catalogued into evidence,” I told Deacon.

  “Thank you,” he said, and patted Begonia’s hand. “I’m sorry I was irritable with you. It’s not your fault. I can see why he gave it to you. You’re one of the prettiest witches in the whole town. Everyone says so.”

  Begonia’s face brightened. “Really?”

  Deacon and I nodded.

  “Thanks.” She seemed happier now.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the burglary that you might have forgotten to tell Gareth or the sheriff?” I asked Deacon.

  “No. All the information should be in the file.”

  “Were you annoyed not to be included in Darcy Minor’s annual calendar?” I asked.

  His expression clouded over. “That stupid calendar? No, why would I care about a thing like that?”

  “From what I understand, you used to be included. Mr. November, was it? Ever since Darcy took over, she’s chosen to go in another direction.”

  He shrugged his thick shoulders. “I understand. The whole point is to raise money. If a dwarf like me isn’t going to attract the buyers, how can I object?”

  All things considered, he seemed like a reasonable guy.

  “Thanks for your time, Deacon,” I said. “By the way, do me a favor. If the sheriff asks whether I spoke to you, would you mind telling a small fib?”

  Deacon chuckled. “He doesn’t like people stepping on his hooves.”

  “I noticed.”

  “When you’re in the market for a nice piece of jewelry,” he said, “you know where to find me.”

  The likelihood of that happening was somewhere between Magpie getting adopted and me breaking free of the Spellbound curse. My luck was no better here than it had been in the human world.

  “Remind me never to go to a jewelry store with you again,” Begonia said as we left. “You’re bad luck.”

  “You have no idea,” I said. As much as I wanted to laugh it off, I couldn’t. Between Mumford’s case and Gareth’s murder, nothing seemed the least bit funny.

  Chapter Twelve

  I was apprehensive about going to see Piotr Underkoffler, but I promised Mumford I would follow up on his lead. I owed my client that much. Aside from the fact that Underkoffler was a vampire with a bad reputation, he was also the town undertaker. Funeral homes creeped me out as a rule.

  The exterior of the building reminded me of a mini mansion. The front porch was supported by Greek-style columns and the double doors at the front looked over-the-top shiny and expensive. I stepped into the grand marble lobby. I suppose if this were my final party, I would want to go out in style too.

  Underkoffler spotted me the moment I stepped inside. He was short and slight, with greasy, dark hair and the pale skin often associated with vampires. I hadn't noticed the pale skin of the other vampires I’d met, but that was probably because I’d met them in the middle of the night on a golf course. Hard to get a good look at somebody's complexion under the dim light of the stars.

  "Hi there," I said. “You must be Piotr Underkoffler."

  He smiled, displaying his fangs. "I am," he said. "I take it you are the new witch in town. What’s your name again?” He snapped his fingers, thinking. “Anna Hertz, is it?”

  I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew perfectly well what my name was. He was playing a game and it immediately rubbed me the wrong way.

  "Emma,” I said, mustering my friendliest tone. “Emma Hart."

  "How can I help you today, Miss Hart? It's a bit premature to be shopping here, one would think." Although he looked a bit giddy at the prospect. The undertaker definitely gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  “I’m here to ask your involvement in the jewelry theft,” I said. “The one Mumford has been accused of.”

  Underkoffler focused on me. His icy gaze seemed to penetrate my soul. I could easily picture him feeding on the blood of the innocents. He was probably one of the main reasons this town was cursed in the first place. Maybe he tried to bite the enchantress while she was in town and she didn't quite appreciate it.

  “I don't know anything about the jewelry heist.” He didn't seem angry or insulted that I insinuated his involvement.

  “Are you sure about that?” I asked, and decided to push the envelope a little further. “After all, Gareth was your friend. Maybe he found out that you were the real culprit and you killed him to keep him quiet.”

  He continued to fixate on me. “I like your style, Emma Hart. If you ever grow bored with this public defender business, come and see me.”

  When pigs fly. Wait. Did pigs fly here? I’d have to check.

  "Do you think Mumford stole the jewels?” I asked.

  "I have no idea. It's nothing to do with me. That's the beauty of being a narcissist. If I'm not at the center of it, I just don't give a damn."

  W
ell, glad we got that sorted. "I visited a few of your friends at the country club the other day," I said. “Do you ever golf with them?" I was curious to see if the other vampires were willing to socialize with Underkoffler. It was one thing to protect your own, but if they willingly hung around with him, that suggested he was socially acceptable.

  "I don't care for golf," he said and sniffed. “It's a tedious game and the clothes are hideous.”

  He didn't really answer my question. "Are you the only funeral home in town?" I asked. A monopoly on corpses. A vampire's wet dream.

  "Not every deceased member of the community chooses a proper burial," he said. "Some people don't like the attention."

  I was hesitant to point out that most of them wouldn't be aware of the attention, given their situation. “I understand Gareth’s service was held here.”

  "Of course. He was one of us. And I didn't charge his estate any money." He appeared quite proud of himself.

  "One last question, Mr. Underkoffler. Do you have any theories on who may have killed Gareth?"

  "You, too?" He sighed heavily. "I've already spoken with Sheriff Hugo at length about both the jewelry heist and Gareth’s murder. I know nothing about any of it, no matter what anyone thinks." He crossed his arms and huffed.

  "Please don't take offense," I said. "I'm simply trying to help my client."

  He smiled again, reminding me of his deadly teeth. "You do so remind me of Gareth, saying things like that. He was always trying to help. It was one of his most annoying qualities. That, and his loud socks.”

  Loud socks? I assume he meant colorful. I’d have to rifle through the dresser drawers and see what he meant.

  I left Underkoffler's funeral home feeling mildly unsettled. Although I'd been afraid to meet vampires when I first arrived, he was the first one to actually make me uncomfortable. The whole time we were speaking, I felt like he was staring at my neck. It reminded me of the way a man might let his gaze linger on my chest for too long, not that there was too much to ogle. For some men, any boobs would do.

  My negative feelings aside, I wasn't sure that Underkoffler had anything to do with the jewelry heist or Gareth’s murder. There didn’t appear to be a motive. He seemed to be doing well financially, given his monopoly on funerals in town. I knew from experience that criminals didn't always steal because they needed the money, though. I definitely couldn’t see a reason why he would want to kill Gareth. He may be a social pariah, but Gareth seemed to look out for him for some reason. There was no discernible reason why Underkoffler would turn on him. In fact, of all the people in town I'd met so far, Underkoffler seemed to be the one worse off as a result of Gareth’s murder. If he were a different sort of vampire, maybe he’d be more interested in helping solve the murder. I guess he wasn't kidding about being a narcissist. He wasn't the one murdered, therefore, he wasn't interested in solving the case. Note to self: no narcissists as friends.