Pumpkins and Potions

by Tegan Maher

  ❖

  Slapping the handcuffs on Harvey Arnold, Detective Whitman pushed him towards the waiting police car while firemen finished spraying water on the Beasleys’ smoldering pumpkin patch.

  Mr. and Mrs. Beasley had finally arrived on the scene and were stunned to see their patch completely destroyed. “Why, Harvey?” asked Tom Beasley. “Why would you do this?”

  “Because you killed my brother when you burned my crop twenty-five years ago.”

  “We’ve told you before, Harvey, we didn’t start that fire!”

  “Like I believe a word that comes out of your filthy, lying mouth,” growled Harvey. “You wanted to steal our business, so you burned our patch to the ground, killing my brother at the same time!”

  “We would never!” gasped Norabelle, pressing a hand to her chest.

  “My brother told me it was you,” he said.

  “Well, then Wayne was lying,” said Tom.

  “I guess we’ll never get the truth. Wayne’s ghost is gone forever now,” I said.

  Detective Whitman looked at me curiously. “And how exactly did that happen?”

  Jax beamed. “We zapped him into a ghost trap.”

  “Ghost trap?” Detective Whitman looked puzzled. “You girls have ghost traps?”

  “We do.” Jax pointed at the small rectangular box lying on the ground next to Holly. “Holly, can you hand that to Detective Whitman?”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What am I supposed to do with a ghost trap?”

  Jax shrugged. “I don’t know, dispose of it?”

  Holly leaned over and picked up the box. The second she stood up with it, her body went comatose.

  Recognizing the vacant expression on her face, I threw out a burst of magic to catch her before she could tip over. “Holly!”

  “What’s happening?” asked Tom.

  “She’s having a vision,” Sweets explained.

  When the ghost trap she’d been holding slipped from her hands and hit the ground, Holly began to come to. Her hand went to her forehead woozily. “Oh, wow,” she whispered.

  I released my magical hold on her as Alba and Sweets took Holly by the elbow.

  “What was it, Holl?” asked Jax. “Did you see something?”

  “That ghost,” she said quietly, pointing at the ghost trap. “I—I saw it…” She shook her head. “It happened so fast.”

  “What happened so fast?” asked Detective Whitman.

  Holly looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining sincerely. “I saw the fire.”

  “We all saw the fire, Cosmo.”

  “Not this one.” Holly nodded towards the pumpkin patch. “The one before. The one that killed Wayne Arnold.”

  Harvey Arnold, who was being led off by a police officer, stopped walking and looked back at us. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” she whispered. “I saw who started it.”

  Harvey narrowed his eyes. “It was the Beasleys, wasn’t it! Admit it!”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Holly. “It was Wayne. He started the fire himself.”

  “Wayne?!” said Harvey, “That’s ridiculous. You’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying. I saw your brother start that fire.”

  “But why would my brother do that? That fire killed him!”

  “He wanted out of the business and he thought if he burned the pumpkin crop, there would be an insurance payout and he could split it with you. He thought that was the only way you’d let him out.”

  “But—but the fire killed him!”

  “It got out of control,” Holly agreed. “It started to spread to the house. He ran inside to save some things and he never made it out. It was an accident that he died.”

  “An accident?!” said Harvey. “No! I don’t believe you. Why? Why would he want out?”

  Holly sighed. “There was a woman. Mary…”

  Harvey’s eyes went wide and for the first time belief registered on his face. “Mary? Wayne wanted to leave the family business for Mary?”

  Holly nodded. “I’m sorry, Harvey.”

  “No.” Harvey’s head shook. “No. Why would he lie to me about it?”

  “He was embarrassed by what he’d done—that he’d taken your livelihood away from you,” she explained. “He liked the idea of blaming it on someone else. When you came up with the idea of framing the Beasley’s on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you the truth after all these years.”

  Harvey looked appalled at what the lie his brother had told him had caused them to do.

  “I saw more,” she whispered, looking up at Detective Whitman. “Harvey and Wayne were the ones smashing the pumpkins around town.”

  Detective Whitman looked over at Harvey. “Wait. Harvey, you were our pumpkin smasher?”

  Harvey shifted uncomfortably.

  Norabelle Beasley looked at Holly curiously. “But why would they do that to the town?”

  “They were trying to frame the Beasley’s. They were trying to make it look like the Beasley’s needed money. So when the pumpkin patch burned down, they could make it look like insurance fraud. Like the Beasley’s burned their own business down.”

  Detective Whitman looked over at Harvey. “You were the one that called in that tip, weren’t you?”

  Harvey winced. “Wayne lied to me. He said the Beasley’s killed him and got away with it.” He sniffled. “I never would’ve done it if I’d have known Wayne started that fire.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry Tom, Norabelle. I’m so very sorry for what we’ve done. If I could take it all back, I would.”

  “Take him away, boys,” Detective Whitman instructed his officers.

  When he was gone, we all looked at the Beasleys. “We’re so sorry about all of this,” said Sweets. “Your whole pumpkin patch is ruined.”

  Tom put an arm around Norabelle’s shoulder. “I’m just thankful everyone is okay. I’m not worried about the pumpkin crop. That’s replaceable. Loved ones aren’t.”

  “We’re so thankful for you girls. You stopped the Arnold’s before they could burn down any of our buildings. You saved our business!” said Norabelle. “We owe you a debt of gratitude. How can we ever repay you?”

  Sweets smiled. “I don’t know about the rest of the girls, but I’d sure love that spiced pumpkin punch recipe.”

  Norabelle Beasley winked at Sweets. “Oh, Sweets. That’s the least we can do. Consider it yours!”

  “But now the whole town is out of pumpkins,” said Jax. “That’s so sad! Halloween’s ruined!”

  “Not necessarily,” said Sweets. “I did happen to notice one thing when we were driving up to Arnold’s Pumpkin Emporium.”

  “What’s that?” asked Detective Whitman.

  “There were pumpkins growing wild in the fields. I guess they managed to reseed themselves. There’s a whole ton of them out there. Enough for the whole town!”

  Putting my arms around Sweets and Jax’s shoulders, I smiled. “Then I guess Halloween isn’t ruined after all!”

  Want to read more about Mercy, Sweets, Alba, Jax, and Holly? Learn more about the Witch Squad’s adventures, by clicking here.

  M.Z. Andrews lives in the Midwest. She is married, has four children, two step-children, and three fur babies. She has always had a vivid imagination and has put that to good use—telling stories since she began speaking. Aside from reading and writing, M.Z. enjoys gardening, canning salsa, and has makes embroidered patches as a hobby. She loves watching KC Chiefs football games, reality TV, and her children’s sporting events.

  You can follow her online at:

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  Scaring the Potion off Her

  Samantha Silver

  When a local bar’s recipe for pumpkin punch is stolen, and the owner receives a ransom call, she hires Ali to figure out who’s taken it before Halloween is completely ruined. Will Ali be able to solve the ca
se and find the culprit before the deadline?

  1

  Fire-breathing dragon versus earth witch. Who was going to win? That was an easy one: I was.

  I floated on my broom, hundreds of feet above Lake Cyrene below, its surface glimmering in the late October sunlight. Across from me, a black-and-orange dragon slowly pumped his wings, eyeing me, each of us waiting for the other to make a move.

  His mouth opened wide and a burst of flame shot out towards me. He was bluffing; I knew Egan didn’t have the firepower to reach me. I hovered in place, letting the residual heat of the flames that burned out twenty feet from me wash over me, and when they dissipated and I could see Egan once more, I grinned.

  “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to beat me,” I said, taking my broom into a sudden dive.

  Egan roared above me, obviously not expecting me to move so quickly as I darted down toward the lake. Pulling up before I reached the water, my toes just tickled the surface as I leaned down, the aerodynamics paramount as I flew toward the trees by the shore. It was nearly November in the Pacific Northwest, and the evergreens were interspersed with the gorgeous red, orange and yellow hues of deciduous trees preparing to shed their leaves for the upcoming winter.

  And right now, those trees were going to come in pretty handy.

  I zipped between them, darting from left to right like it was a slalom course. I moved my broom from side to side—agility had always been one of my strong points—as Egan’s wings flapped above me. He roared in frustration—the dragon was far too large to navigate the quick turns in the trees—and I knew I had him. He wanted to catch me more than anything, I knew that. And I was going to take advantage of it. I pulled up hard, and popped out from the canopy a couple seconds later. Egan spat fire toward me and the heat of the flames brushed against my face for a moment, but again I was too far away for them to do any real damage.

  Darting around, I did my best to act like a fly at a barbeque in the summer, being as annoying as possible. I flew toward Egan, tantalizingly close, poking at his scales to annoy him. I was agile enough to always get away as he turned, roaring every time I managed to get under his skin. Eventually, I knew he’d had enough. He would do anything he could to get me. I flew upwards, pressing myself down on my broom for more aerodynamics, and he followed, shooting another burst of fire toward me. Then, right when he was about to catch me, I dove down toward the lake.

  Even though I was pretty experienced on a broom, and I loved the adrenaline coursing through me, a straight nose-dive toward the water was still pretty terrifying, and I clutched at the handle, gritting my teeth as I told myself that if this worked and I got the timing right that was going to be the end of it.

  The glistening waters of the lake came closer and closer, and right as it looked like I was going to plummet head-first into them I pulled up, the tip of the broom just glancing against the surface of the lake as I avoided it.

  Egan, unfortunately, wasn’t so lucky. He had been so focused on catching me he didn’t see what was happening until it was too late, and while he tried to pull out of his own dive, his extra weight and momentum overtook him and he plunged directly into the frigid water.

  I did a slow loop around the spot where Egan had gone into the water, ripples flowing out in every direction from the point where he’d gone in. A moment later he surfaced, the dragon gone and replaced with a skinny young man with black hair plastered to his face. He gasped heavily as he surfaced, before wiping the hair from his eyes and floating in place, looking up in the sky until his eyes landed on me.

  “Alright, I have to admit, you got me good,” he said with a grin as I flew down to lake level.

  “Need a hand?” I asked, and he nodded. With a swift movement he grabbed the broom above and hoisted himself onto the back of it, grabbing hold of my waist.

  “Sorry about the water, but, well, it is your fault,” he said as he dripped onto me. A moment later we landed on shore, and I pulled out my wand.

  Muttering a quick spell under my breath, Egan’s clothes dried immediately.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Least I can do after kicking your butt,” I replied.

  “Hey, only because I didn’t realize what you were doing.”

  “As I said, kicking your butt. I won that round, fair and square.”

  “Fine, you did. I thought you promising not to use any spells meant I’d win for sure. You should fly competitively. You’re crazy good at it.”

  “I’ve considered it,” I replied with a grin. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “You know it!”

  With a wave, Egan ran off, and I began walking slowly back toward town, broom in hand. Egan was training to be an Enforcer, and part of his exam was going to involve catching a witch or wizard on a broom trying to get away. We’d practiced together once a week ever since, and with his exam coming up in a couple of days, we were training daily.

  My phone buzzed at that moment and I pulled it from my pocket.

  Ali, it’s Frances Moore from It’s Rheaning Beer. I’d like to hire you to solve a crime.

  My eyebrows rose. It’s Rheaning Beer was one of the most popular bars for witches and wizards here in Mt. Rheanier. I hadn’t heard of any crimes committed recently, so this had to be new.

  Sure. Be there in ten, I replied. Since I’d put out my shingle as a private investigator, I’d quickly earned a reputation as the best witch in town if you had a problem that needed to be solved. It helped that I really enjoyed the work.

  I walked along the trail that ran next to the lake until I reached downtown. Mt. Rheanier was built right on the shores of Lake Cyrene, with the buildings mostly in Swiss Alpine style. With Mt. Rheanier in the background, the whole place looked absolutely magical.

  It’s Rheaning Beer was located on the bottom floor of a two-story building, with the owners, Frances and Johnny Moore, living in the apartment above. They were stalwarts in the town, with Frances’ family having opened the pub on its founding a couple hundred years ago. It was, in fact, the oldest business in town, since it figured the first place people needed when they got here was a bar.

  I pushed open the door and found myself standing in a very warm, comfortable interior. Exposed wood beams and plush green carpet gave the space a cozy feel. Tables were scattered around, of varying sizes and shapes, with a mish-mash of unmatched chairs around them. The entire back area of the space made up the bar, made of dark mahogany, with green-topped stools in front of it.

  Frances stood behind the bar, her blonde curls bobbing up and down as she danced along to some music while pointing her wand at a pile of dirty glasses. A moment later they were sparkling clean, and she muttered another spell, causing them all to fly up onto the shelves behind the bar.

  As soon as she spotted me, Frances smiled and motioned for me to come over to the bar. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “Some pumpkin punch would hit the spot right about now, I think,” I replied. “And no problem. What’s been going on?”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” Frances said. “Someone stole the recipe I use to make the pumpkin punch potion.”

  I gasped. “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I was,” Frances replied, her smile turning into a grim line. “I showed up to work this morning and the recipe was gone.”

  Frances’ pumpkin punch was one of the most famous drinks in the entire paranormal world. Witches and wizards from across the globe visited Mt. Rheanier in late October during the two weeks leading into Halloween when she produced it. Not only was it one of the most delicious drinks I’d ever had in my life, but Frances also added a potion to it designed to make people feel giddy and happy that made me feel things I could only describe as euphoric. There was nothing else like that drink in the entire world.

  This was big news.

  2

  “Alright,” I said. “Walk me through last night.”

  “I c
losed up shop around two in the morning, as I usually did. There were only a couple of customers left at that point. Ken Dryden, obviously, for one.”

  “Obviously,” I said with a nod. Ken was a nice guy, but the guy basically lived in a beer glass, and it was well known he stayed here until closing every night. Frances had tried to get him help for his alcoholism multiple times, but it never stuck.

  “Keri-Lynn and Kelly Rockford were here too,” Frances said. “Keri-Lynn had just been dumped by her boyfriend, and they were drinking away her sorrows. And singing away her sorrows, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone completely break down during karaoke that badly.”

  “I didn’t realize anyone wanted to use the karaoke machine since the last century,” I said with a chuckle.

  “No, I had to dust a few spider webs off it, that was for sure,” Frances replied. “And Julianne Kent was here, studying away for her exams in the corner. I felt bad for her; she comes here after the library at Spellford closes, since it usually quietens down a bit after midnight, but with Keri-Lynn drunkenly crying her way through “I Will Survive” it wasn’t exactly an ideal studying atmosphere. Julianne kept glaring at the two sisters, and eventually I just cast her a soundproofing spell so Julianne could get some work done.”

  “What’s she studying again?” I asked.

  “Medicine,” Frances replied. “She’s going to be a Healer, and it’s a miracle too, given her family history.”

  “No kidding,” I replied. Julianne’s mother had been in and out of prison her whole life, and her father was barely able to hold down a job. She’d grown up poor, but Julianne was one of the hardest workers in town. She was younger than me, but I knew she had a lot of potential, and it was great that the community had managed to rally together to make sure she got into a good college and got scholarships to pay for it.