by CC Dragon
Spells to Die For
Witch’s Brew Cozy Mystery Book 2
By CC Dragon
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
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Spells to Die For (Witch’s Brew Cozy Mystery 2)
Copyright © May 2017
By CC Dragon
Cover art by Coverkicks.com
Edited by Mary Yakovets
Proofed by: Jessica Bimberg
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Blurb
Claudia Crestwood and friends are back again for more mystery, murder, and magic!
New witches are welcomed to town. Even invited to a coven meeting. Then deadly spells turn up missing from the family collection—was it the rival witch or the one who turned up dead? Either way, Claudia needs to retrieve the spells and solve the murder...
With a competing coven growing and a new werewolf in town, Claudia has her hands full. Add in the personal secret she’s still trying to uncover plus her first magical ball and she needs all the help she can conjure!
Dedication
Secrets are just information we don’t have yet...unless they’re about you, then they’ll drive you crazy. Good or bad, they don’t change who we are—just fill in some blanks and embellish the story of our lives.
Chapter One
My life would never be normal. I’d accepted that a long time ago. A witch who spent most of her time with humans and gypsies...odd, but I knew how I got here. Or so I’d believed.
My parents were killed by a werewolf. My uncle, a gypsy werewolf hunter, killed the beast before he got to me. That should’ve been the big family secret I had to deal with, but I’d known that all my life.
I sat in the secret room on the second floor of my business. The first floor was my café, and the second floor was mainly for coven or private meetings. One floor up was my apartment. The secured room I currently occupied held the truly witchy stuff that had to be locked up. I blew the dust off an old spell book. Aunt Mandy told me she’d put my mother’s old books and spells in there. I’d never bothered to check them out before now.
I was raised by my Aunt Mandy and Uncle Vin with my twin cousins Iris and Violet, who were now in their first year of college. I was seven years older than them; I should know more than they did. But my family was keeping a secret about me. I was determined to find the answer. What was this, Sabrina the Teenage Witch?
As a kid, I’d sneak up in the attic of our house and look at the old pictures of my mother and Aunt Mandy. I knew my mother was a powerful witch, and the gypsies from my uncle’s family whispered that she liked the dark magics, at times. But I always wanted to remember my mother. The way she smelled. Her smile. Her laugh. Her hug. Not how powerful her witch game was. My dad was harder to remember. I had flashes and memories, but they weren’t as concrete.
When I asked, Aunt Mandy would say he traveled for his work a lot but then always changed the subject. He was a hunter like my uncle. They chased down the bad paranormals.
Maybe it was a bad divorce? Then, why would they have been killed together? Did my mom cheat and who I thought was my dad wasn’t? I’d been through a laundry list of questions and shot them at my aunt and uncle but got nothing in return. Not even a flinch.
I thought I knew who I was, but now, this secret had me wondering about everything. Some new friends had called me powerful. I’d never run in the serious magical circles the way Bran and his family did. What a way to get introduced to it, through the guy I’m sort of dating.
I flipped through an old notebook full of spell attempts and notes. My mother’s handwriting made me feel closer to her. There were a couple of notes from Esmerelda... She’d also refused to give me any information on whatever the secret was.
Esme was the most powerful witch I knew, and a distant relation on my mom’s side. They’d been close friends, and Esme was always in my life. Pushing me to expand my powers, despite the fact that my aunt was mainly a healer and my cousins lacked any serious magical powers.
I went over every page for clues. The next notebook was more advanced. The spells were darker. Love spells were now love slave spells. Curses was more like it. I found ones for illness and tormenting anxiety. Next in the pile was a nice journal, but it wasn’t personal memories. It was full of notes on werewolves, vampires, and dark magic.
Take out the curses and these could be my research. I found all paranormal and human to paranormal magical transformations fascinating. My café employed plenty of vampires and made sure they had access to animal blood or expired blood from the blood bank so they didn’t drain humans. My coven brewed and provided potions to werewolves so they wouldn’t shift and attack people on the full moons.
Maybe that was all my aunt’s influence. She was an eternal hippie who wanted peace, love and understanding to rule the world. I tried to get everyone what they needed to avoid run-ins and conflicts. Non-magical humans had already had witch trials here in Salem back in the 1600s. Could it happen again?
I flipped through a few more journal-type books. All were spells and almost felt like a study. I wished I had her personal journals that reflected her thoughts and fears. Why had she done this? Was she afraid of something? Were werewolves attacking? On the rise?
My phone chimed, and I sighed. Putting the books away, I locked up the room and pocketed the keys. I had an appointment at the salon and I couldn’t miss it.
At the salon, I met my uncle’s nieces Vivian and Belle. They were a bit older than me, in their early thirties, and odd for gypsy women. They were unmarried and still respectable spinsters. It was a long sad story. Mostly men fought. The gypsy men hunted down the bad vampires and murderous werewolves. Viv and Belle wanted to help, as well, and found a unique way in their jobs. Gypsy women working was odd all by itself. Belle worked in the blood bank, and Viv worked in the local morgue. One supplied vampires, and the other gave all the dead bodies a poke in the brain to avoid a zombie outbreak.
Poor Viv had to do a cleansing ritual after work each day because of the gypsy beliefs about not touching the dead. As much as I was intrigued by gypsy culture and superstitions, I was so glad my uncle hadn’t put me or my cousins through that. He’d left his group and lived the life of a non-traveler while
maintaining communication and connections with his family.
Viv and Belle hugged me as I walked in the salon.
“About time. Your purple streak is fading,” Belle said.
I wasn’t overly vain. I had jet black hair that framed my face but wasn’t thick enough to grow out long. It’d take a ton of time to do anything with it, then. I’d jazzed it up recently with a purple streak. The gypsy sisters, on the other hand, were gorgeous. Thick long chestnut brown hair, Belle’s was curlier than Viv’s, but either could straighten or max the curls on their hair. They had pale skin and blue eyes. The attention they got from men was excessive.
I admired how both girls were still so innocent and strict. But that was the gypsy culture. I’d have been kicked out or married off in my junior year of high school. Not everyone can be so good.
“Sorry I’m late. I was going through Mom’s old books. She was into curses and dark stuff. No doubt,” I said.
The salon was owned by a coven member and her son, so the witch talk wouldn’t upset her. I quietly put a memory spell on all of the humans in the salon, so they’d forget anything they overheard about the magical or paranormal.
The salon was a bit dated, mostly done in black lacquer and neon purple and pink. But everything old became new again, and neon was making a comeback. The place was humming with business because their staff cared and had talent. Normally, my hair appointments were nothing but fun and chatting, but everything now was under the shadow of that damn secret of my past.
“Well, we tried to get info from the elders. Our grandmother refused to discuss it,” Viv said with a sigh.
My heart sank. The gypsy angle was my best hope for independent information.
“Ladies. Lovely as always.” Derrick sashayed up to me. “Claudia Crestwood, I need to put you on a schedule. As in book your appointments before you leave, so you don’t start fading. You say you’ll come back every month, and it’s six weeks or eight. You never call—your cousins have to drag your skinny butt in here. That’s my work. You know how long it takes to bleach the black out of your hair? Those roots. You could bleach the black off my behind quicker. So much work.”
“Sorry. Life is just kicking my behind, right now.” It was cliché to pour your heart out to your hair stylist, but Derrick was a great shoulder to cry on. He’d find a way to cheer me up.
He gasped and clutched imaginary pearls at his throat. “Not another murder?”
“No, family drama, now,” I admitted.
“You’ll feel better when your hair looks better. Get that purple to pop.” He pointed at me.
I loved Derrick. I hated to repeat or think of someone in stereotypes, but he’d tell you himself that he was flaming gay and proud of it. That was just genuinely Derrick.
His mother, Genie, had told me she knew he was gay before he did. He loved his mother, and they both loved doing hair, so who could argue with that? He owned the salon, so we talked small business crap when we ran out of gossip, and he understood or at least respected the gypsy stuff. He made sure only female staff touched the gypsy sisters.
“Donna, Darla, come on. We’ve got all three here today. Those two just need trims but Claudia. Ugh. Come on, you’re my project.” He steered me to the hair washing stand.
The three of us sat, and the washing commenced.
“Nothing, not a peep?” I asked Belle.
“Nope. I asked around the other women. Mom’s generation and Grandma. They all clammed up like it was forbidden.”
“We don’t talk of the dead like you but even this. A secret you deserved to know about.” Belle shrugged.
With clean hair, we moved to the cushy leather chairs. Derrick began with the bleach on my roots.
“Secrets. I need a good secret. I’m so boring.” Derrick sighed.
“No new man?” I asked.
“Please. Men only want me for my money. I mean, I know I look fabulous, but I’m only like a six in the gay bars, so they’re not too interested until they hear I’ve got a successful business. Then, they want me to take them out or they want to get a friend or family member a job.” He shook his head.
“Fools. But they’re just looking for fun or money.
“She’s got a rich boyfriend,” Belle said.
I shot her a glance and nearly got a bleach spot where I didn’t want it.
“Hold still, you. Bleach is done. Now, who is this man?” Derrick asked.
“A wizard. Bran. He’s interesting,” I said.
“Bran? Interesting?” Derrick yawned.
“He’s a Killean and hot. Rich. Magical. Smart. Kind. His parents have a castle,” Belle added.
Derrick smiled and leaned in. “That is potential. He got a brother?”
“Yes, but I think he’s straight, as well. Sorry.” I shrugged. “He’s not really my boyfriend. We’ve been having dinner and talking.”
“Just talking?” Derrick teased.
“Not pillow talk, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve got a whole family drama secret to deal with first. It’s driving me crazy,” I said.
“Family will do that. My dad up and left when I was a kid. Found out when I came out of the closet that he had a brother who was gay. Hello! Now, Uncle Jonas and me are tight. My momma didn’t get her back child support, but at least he I got a father figure, sort of. What’s the secret?” he asked.
“I don’t know. No one will tell me. It must have to do with my parents, but everyone is keeping silent. That’s why I asked them. If the gypsies don’t know...” I put my hands up in surrender.
“Well, you keep trying. You’ll find a way to shake something loose or a new place to get info. Don’t give up. My momma could ask around. She’s lived here all her life. Your coven is more inclusive than some in her younger days, but she’s tapped in enough. She’ll see what people know.” He dropped a pad and pen in my lap. “Names and birth dates, please.”
I wrote out the info. “Thanks.”
“Please, I got you. And if your man has a cousin or friend who plays on my team, you hook me up. I’ve been wanting to go to that ball for years.” He winked. Derrick was referring to the magical ball held at the Killean mansion. It was beyond exclusive, and getting an invitation had to do with your level of powers and who you knew.
“I can’t even think about the ball, yet,” I said.
“You’re going. I hate you. I’m not powerful enough to get an invitation. I’m a sensitive. I feel people’s pain and help them. I don’t charge, it’s free with hairstyles, but they don’t treat that like its real magic.” He rolled his eyes.
“Bran invited me. I was always more on the human side of things with magic stuff mixed in. Powerful or not, I didn’t rate an invite.” I stared at myself in the mirror. Pale, pretty enough, but my serious expression was going to give me wrinkles. I couldn’t let this secret consume me. “It’ll be fun, but I’m distracted. What could be such a secret to keep from me? I’m an adult,” I said.
“One generation always wants to protect another,” he said.
“But this secret is about me. Or it seems to be, from the way people react. I deserve to know,” I said.
“Damn right.” Derrick pocketed the info. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Thanks.” I smiled up at him.
“Be right back. Gotta prep the color.” He headed to the back.
I turned to the sisters. “Really. Not a hint or a clue?” I asked.
Viv shook her head. Belle pressed her lips together.
“Belle,” I said.
“It’s no help. One of the old aunts, Vin’s sister, said you should drop it. Forget it. The truth would only cause pain and upset,” Belle said.
“My parents were killed when I was five. What could be worse?” I asked.
Belle nodded. “She’s the aunt with the second sight. She predicts things.”
“Really? Did she predict you two would be rebels?” I asked.
“She can’t use her powers on us. She can’t re
ad another gypsy.” Viv rolled her eyes.
“Right, the gypsy code. Do I owe her money for this insight?” I asked.
“No, it was a favor to me, but she can read you because you’re not a gypsy. We know that much. If your father was one of us—even if he left like Uncle Vin, or you had one drop of traveler blood at all—she’d never read on you.” Belle smiled.
“Well, that is something if it’s true. Father not a gypsy.” I nodded.
“With your powers, probably a powerful wizard,” Viv said.
Derrick walked up. “Come on, move your rear. Rinse now, talk later. Some things can brew too long.”
I followed him and tried to find the bright side. “I need to make an appointment for before the ball so you can make sure my hair sparkles,” I said.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have all them witches eating their hearts out. Even the new ones,” he said.
“New ones?” I asked.
“Yeah. I heard like three new witches moved to town in the last month. Underground rumor mill. Some are solo practitioners, so who knows if we’ll ever meet them,” he said.
He rinsed the bleaching gel from my hair. “Does Esme know?” I asked.
Derrick did her hair, as well. “Sure, she does. She knows when anything magical blows in or out of town. But you are distracted.”
“I know. But I don’t want to be rude. Thanks for the info. I’m being very self-centered lately.” I hated myself when I got like that. I had gone through a preteen spell of being all about my loss and my missing out on my parents. I didn’t like that side of me.
“You deserve it. If they just told you, boom. Done. Problem over. Or at least revealed so you can process and deal. This has to be torture,” he said.
“It’s not fun. I should probably review what I know. Maybe I missed something?” I wondered.
“Begin at the beginning,” he replied.
“What?” I asked.
“Google it. Everything you think you know, check it. Old people lie to kids, and memories aren’t always perfect. We remember what we want and block out some stuff. I blocked a lot of my high school years out. They’ve been lying to you your whole life. Name on your birth certificate? Google it. Death certificate for your parents? Get ‘em. Bet that uncovers something.” He grinned.