The Witch Weekly: a paranormal cozy mystery (The Fairyvale Mysteries Book 2)

by Sofia Belle

  The Witch Weekly

  Synopsis

  Can love save the day, or will this story have a tragic ending?

  Rosie Shaw, local reporter for The Witch Weekly, needs a new idea. Her beloved newspaper is struggling, readership is at an all time low, and if Rosie can’t come up with something viral, her company will be out of business before she can say Abracadabra.

  When her best friend comes up with a crazy idea to save the paper, Rosie is forced to go along with it, otherwise she’ll be out of her job. The idea? A how-to-find-love dating series for single ladies across the world. The only problem? Everything goes wrong.

  When Rosie’s first blind date shows up dead-on-arrival, her best friend is blamed for the murder. Rosie’s out to uncover the killer before it’s too late, otherwise she’ll end up next on his list.

  Can this reporter pull off the story of a lifetime, or will she end up as a headline in the obituaries?

  To my soulmate.

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  The Witch Weekly

  Synopsis

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Which Witch Wore It Best? I stared at my computer screen, fighting the urge to erase the headline. If I had it my way, I’d never write another word about fashion, hair products, or waxing unwanted hair ever again, but my boss demanded it. We needed to sell papers, and apparently, gossip sold more papers than real news.

  I sighed. Even with the help of magic, Mondays were hard.

  Anyway, my name is Rosie Shaw, and I’m a witch. I live in the town of Fairyvale, a place built like a postcard, brimming with the allure of all thing mysterious. A long time ago, us witches were allowed to use magic in public. We hosted shops filled with herbs to make love spells and little corner stores where psychics waved their banners proudly.

  However, that all changed when we became targeted by people who wanted us gone—for good.

  Even after the witches and wizards of Fairyvale were forced into hiding, most of our kind never left town. The only real difference between then and now—besides the fact that leg warmers are no longer in style—is that we keep our spells, potions, and powers to ourselves, and let the rest of the world debate which parts of Fairyvale history are fact, and which are fiction.

  The legends surrounding our town’s witchy history keep the economy humming. Fairyvale mostly caters to out-of-town visitors swinging by, seeking out ghost stories, long-lost lore, or enchanted forests perfect for a romantic weekend getaway.

  As for me? It’s my job to keep the stories about this town flowing. I work at the local newspaper. Ten years ago, The Witch Weekly was a bustling, bubbling newspaper armed with more demand for stories than we had employees. Those years were the golden years.

  Despite the quaint streets, babbling brooks, and historical buildings frozen in time from a past decade, technology evolved in Fairyvale just like it did everywhere else in the world. With the new internet age, people started ingesting their news online.

  No longer did they have to pay for a subscription to The Witch Weekly. Instead of waiting for a paper to appear on their doorstep, the townsfolk began clicking through articles online. For the last few years, the readership of our newspaper had declined at an alarming rate. Alarming enough for me to be constantly fearing the loss of my beloved job.

  My solution? The blog. As one of the younger members of the newspaper, I quickly became tasked with keeping The Witch Weekly relevant in the digital age, a task more difficult by the day. Three years ago, however, I had the brilliant idea to start an online branch of the newspaper. To my delight, it soon became the hottest feature of all.

  Although the blog was good for the newspaper, it put a major dent in my level of job satisfaction. I wanted to be a crime writer, but with the invent of the blog, my job had transformed from reporting on gritty, important issues, to that of a blogger ferreting out the latest gossip and drama.

  Still, a girl’s gotta pay her bills. Spells and potions are great, but it’s against the rules to snap my fingers and conjure up money, so for now, I’m stuck watching paint dry on my nails, then reporting the results on the blog. That’s how I ended up in my office on a Monday morning, predicting the top ten engagement rings for the upcoming wedding season.

  I looked up as a tall, stately man entered the room. My boss, Anders Anderson, was a combination of smart and tough that demanded respect. It was due solely to his stubbornness that the newspaper hadn’t died out completely, like so many others. He ran a tight ship, and when he told me to write about bell bottom jeans coming back in style, I did it without complaining. Mostly. Sometimes there was a little complaining.

  “How’s that article coming?” Anderson asked, leaning on the edge of my desk.

  His silver hair was combed back into his normal, stylish look, his lean build that of a runner. I met his stare evenly, fighting not to flinch under the same expression that’d caused more than one person to cry into their keyboard.

  “I have a deal for you,” I said. “If I get this article done by the end of the day, can I take tomorrow to look into the missing gems?”

  “If you finish this article, then you can start preparing the Top Ten ways to de-frizz your hair in a pinch.”

  “Please,” I begged. “Come on, I’ve been working on these articles for weeks now.”

  “Well, you’re going to keep working on them until we get a steady readership back. Otherwise, you can go apply to flip burgers at the Haunted Hamburger.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he said. “If we don’t double our readership in the next two weeks, I am going to have to make some serious cuts around here.”

  “Cuts? I thought we were done with layoffs for this year.”

  “We were fine until the latest review from the Board. We’re struggling to remain profitable, Rosie. I haven’t said anything because I don’t want to worry you, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “We’re running out of options. If you have any magic tricks up your sleeve, now would be the time to pull off a miracle.”

  I snorted. “Magic tricks. Right.”

  Though rumors flew around our fairy tale town about the true existence of magic, we didn’t talk about these things in the open. The Council of Magic had made it a rule that witchcraft and wizardry could only be discussed between family members—a rule created for our own safety.

  Despite the rule, I had a pretty good idea who else in town had magic tendencies. For example, I’d swear on my life that Andy Sweet’s donuts had a little something extra in their glazed frosting, and I’m fairly confident that Whitman’s Flower Shop sprinkled in a little fairy dust with their fertilizer.

  “Anderson, if you let me cover the disappearance of the gems, that will generate m
ore traffic than articles on how to pick your nose.”

  “The Council looks at hard data. Numbers and facts. And your crime stories just don’t sell, I’m sorry, Rosie. Your latest conspiracy theory article got two views, and it took you two weeks to research. One of those views was me, and I’m guessing the other was you. It’s just not working.”

  I sighed. “That brings me back to wedding dresses for any body type.”

  “You can always flip—”

  “—burgers down at the Haunted Hamburger, yeah, I understand,” I said. “It’s just depressing. That’s not why I studied journalism.”

  “You’re a talented reporter, Rosie, and I’m not an unreasonable man.” Anderson ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll make you a deal. Write me an article so full of drama, teeming with pop culture, something so catchy that folks can’t resist reading and sharing it with their friends. Make this article go viral. If you bring in a few thousand extra readers to your blog, I’ll give you a week to investigate whatever you want. Budget, time, whatever you need.”

  I considered the offer. “You mean it?”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  Slowly, a smile crept over my face. Extending a hand, I shook Anderson’s and closed the deal. “You’ve got it. A viral blog post within the next two weeks, then the article of my choosing.”

  Anderson nodded, then turned and strode towards the door. “Make it good. And don’t forget about the de-frizz project, I need that on my desk ASAP.”

  “Hey, Anderson—hang on a second.”

  He looked back, an eyebrow raised.

  “What do people want to read about?” I asked “What’s so juicy people will share it with everyone they meet?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s up to you to find out. I’m curious to see, myself. Two weeks, Rosie.”

  My desk shook as Anderson shut the door and left me alone with my thoughts.

  I glanced down, sighing at the notes scrawled on my page. High profile, expensive gems had been stolen from a museum recently, and I was itching to investigate. I groaned louder, almost in physical pain as I pushed those delicious notes off to the side, and focused on pulling off a miracle.

  Chapter 2

  After two hours spent scrolling through my inbox, I wasn’t any closer to coming up with a miracle idea that would save the company. Sitting here, staring like a robot at my computer screen, wasn’t prompting any lightning strikes. It was however, turning my brain to mush and giving my lower back spasms.

  I clicked my pencil a few times, blew out a sigh of frustration. If I couldn’t come up with an idea in the next day or two, I’d have to strap on an apron and head down to the Haunted Hamburger, begging for a spatula.

  Picking up the phone, I leaned back in my chair and dialed a number I knew by heart.

  “Hey, Layla, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “Do you have a second?”

  “Bother me?” Layla, one of my two best friends, gave a boisterous laugh. “Monday afternoon isn’t my most busy time. What’s up?”

  I grinned, her voice already lifting my spirits. The two of us, along with Belinda Bright—the local wedding planner—were as close as sisters. The three musketeers. The troublemakers of Fairyvale—you name it.

  Layla was a bubbly, buxom blonde who ran the only lingerie shop in town, the Witches Britches. All of us were witches, though each of us had different tendencies. Belinda could sense true love. Layla had a knack for making people look and feel their best. Together, they made up what I called my family.

  “I need your opinion on something,” I started. “This article I’m writing is giving me problems.”

  “Excuse me?” I could hear Layla smile across the phone. “You want my opinion on one of your articles? Well, this is a first. Let me grab a pen so I can mark this date on the calendar.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. You’re funny. Listen, I have to pull a game-changing article out of thin air within the next two weeks. Readership is at an all time low, and I need a post that’ll go viral. Tell me, what’s something that would make you pick up a newspaper? Or, you know, click on my blog?”

  “Me? I don’t read.”

  “Pretend you did.”

  “That’s a big, fat if. However, I suppose I’d read something if I couldn’t get the juicy information I wanted elsewhere. You know, like a last resort.”

  I poised my pen above a notebook. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” Layla said. “But just think about it for a little bit. What’s something everyone needs the answer to, but can’t find? You figure that out, and you’re golden. I mean, why do you think girls read about how the de-frizz their hair in the summer?

  I shrugged over at my desk. “Good question.”

  “Because they don’t want frizzy hair! They want boys to fall in love with their long, smooth, luscious locks. They want other girls to be jealous. They want to feel nice.”

  “Yeah, but a post about frizzy hair is not going to go viral. Everyone writes those posts.” I exhaled a long sigh. “And anyway, that’s just silly if girls think that frizzy hair is going to prevent them from finding a boyfriend.”

  “That’s it!” Layla said. “There’s your title. Girl’s Guide to Finding a Soulmate.”

  “What? No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No! I don’t have the answer to that. Nobody does.”

  “That’s exactly the point.”

  “So you’re suggesting that in the next two weeks I figure out how a person can find their soulmate.”

  “Well, you asked what sort of article I would read. I guarantee I’d pick up a paper or click on a link if I saw that title.”

  “You’d actually pick up the newspaper read it.”

  “Everyone’s looking for the soulmate,” Layla said. “Myself included.”

  “In the off-chance this works, how would you suggest I start my research?” I raised a hand to rub a burgeoning headache away from my temples. “I mean, my dating history isn’t exactly stellar.”

  “Yeah, what’s it been? Five years since you went on a date?”

  “Is not my fault that the pool of guys in this town is tiny.”

  “You’re full of excuses. Maybe this is the boost you need to get back out in the dating world.” Layla chuckled. When she didn’t hear me laughing back, she snorted, then fell quiet. “I suppose if you’re looking for a place to start, I would start at the beginning. What are people looking for in a relationship, or love, or whatever you call it?”

  I waited for a long time, but Layla remained silent. “Well?” I prompted. “What’s the answer?”

  “What are you looking for? I can tell you what I want, but I can’t tell you what you want. Your story will be better if it comes from the inside.”

  “I’m looking to investigate a story that doesn’t focus on love, boys, or hair products. Beyond that, a pint of ice cream and a good book are all I need for my happily ever after.”

  “That’s what I call denial. What do you really want? Don’t you ever want to come home to someone, crawl into bed with a nice, warm body at the end of the night?”

  “I’m not looking for a relationship, I’m focusing on my job. However,” I continued quickly. “I would imagine that most people want someone kind, someone who is handsome, and someone they can lounge around with in sweatpants on Saturday mornings.”

  “That’s not a bad start,” Layla said. “But I know a way we can figure this out objectively. Turn on your computer.”

  I heard keys clicking in the background and raised an eyebrow at my screen, even though Layla couldn’t see it. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Are you looking at your computer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Type in www-dot-the-magic-maker-dot-com.”

  I hesitated over the keyboard. “Are you sure this is appropriate for work?”

  Layla sighed. “For being the best reporter in the business, you are so out of touch. Magic Maker is the newest, hott
est dating site. Use it to gather some data.”

  “Data, I can understand data—it’s so much easier than love.”

  “Then, you’ll like my plan! You can find out what people are looking for in a partner just by reading through a few profiles. Everyone fills it out right there on the page. Maybe you can find some trends that are the same across the board!”

  “I do like myself some data.” I scrolled through the first page. Then I realized there were more pages. Many more. So many faces and profiles, each of them filled with a person’s wants, needs, desires. “Yikes, this will take a while.”

  “Don’t look at everything in detail, scan for the big things. You’re not going to learn anything by writing down the color of people’s cats.”

  “Speaking of cats,” I said. “I do not trust anyone who has a cat as his or her profile picture. I’m looking for man, not a feline.”

  “To each their own,” Layla said. “For instance, right now, I’m about to click on a guy who claims he’s descended from Michael Jackson. Choose your battles, I suppose.”

  “I want the average Joe. Not a wizard, not a cat, just… a normal, easy-going handyman.”

  “A handyman?”

  “The handyman. The All American Guy. You know, the person who everyone could see themselves marrying.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You don’t want the Average Joe. You’re writing a story about how to fall in love. Readers wants their love to be extraordinary,” she said in a dreamy voice. “Quick, let’s play a game. After a few seconds of looking at all these profiles, what do people want? As fast as you can, give me an answer.”

  “They want a soulmate. Hence the reason they’re on the dating site in the first place.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “This is hard. I have no experience in these matters because I haven’t met a guy in years who can hold my attention.”

  “Good! We have to break this down into actionable steps. Your readers will want a one, two, three step program to help them find a soulmate in this crazy world. So tell me, Miss Picky, how does a guy hold your attention?”

  “If he’s interesting.”