Once Upon a Curse: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Which Village Book 2)

by L. C. Mortimer

  It wasn’t that Which Village was in financial ruin, per say. It was more like, if we didn’t get some income and revenue coming in, our town would completely collapse. I didn’t really understand what Helena did while she was mayor, but it wasn’t budget the city’s finances.

  That much was for damn sure.

  The first thing I’d done when I became mayor was to hire an actual treasurer. Apparently, Helena thought that job should be absorbed by the mayor, but I disagreed. My experience was in the law. I didn’t have a lot of experience with things like balances and budgets.

  That was why I’d hired Gregory.

  “Yes,” the woman in line said. “We all want to be vendors.”

  “Hang on,” I told her. “Let me get inside and opened up, and then I’ll get a sign-up sheet going.”

  “Thank you!”

  I unlocked the building and stepped inside. My secretary, Millicent, was standing there looking scared.

  “Milly?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, whispering. “There were just so many of them! I didn’t know what to do.”

  “So, you did nothing?”

  “I did nothing,” she agreed.

  Milly was a quiet, tiny witch. She was very young and very skittish. She wasn’t particularly bad at her job, but she was wildly nervous. Sometimes, she reminded me of a mouse. If she ever developed the ability to shapeshift, it would definitely be into the form of a mouse.

  “Milly, can you focus for a moment?”

  She looked at me and nodded. She didn’t even blink.

  “And blink like a normal person,” I told her.

  She blinked, but it didn’t look normal.

  “A lot of the people visiting are not witches,” I told her. I wasn’t sure how people had found out about the festival, but I wasn’t going to complain. Vendors were vendors, and even non-magical vendors were going to be helpful.

  The bigger and better we could make the festival, the more likely it was to happen again next year and the year after that and the year after that.

  “I don’t know why you’re telling me that,” Milly said.

  “Because I need you to be patient with them. They won’t be able to use magic to sign their names or anything like that. Print out a list and set it on your desk. Then let everyone in. They can line up, fill out their information, and we’ll email them later to get payment for their tables, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you remember how much we’re charging for the tables?”

  “I remember,” Milly said. She didn’t sound convincing, though, so I handed her a sheet with the list of prices for small, medium, and large booths. There was also special pricing for anyone who needed multiple booths.

  “You’ve got this, Milly,” I said. I headed back to my office and closed the door, relieved to be alone. Unlike many mayors, my office wasn’t located in a courthouse. It was just located in a small, historic stone building.

  It was quiet.

  My office was so quiet.

  I collapsed in my chair and closed my eyes. I had so many things that I had to do, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jaden and Alicia.

  Was Jaden right?

  Was the information lost?

  I still couldn’t figure out whether Stanley had actually gotten himself stuck somewhere. That couldn’t be it, could it? We’d had a few full moons since last year, obviously, but our moon was no longer cursed.

  Could Helena’s spell have had an impact on the curse?

  Could Stanley be trapped in his werewolf form?

  I had no idea, but I did know who to call.

  Carefully, I went over to my door and locked it. Milly wouldn’t disturb me, but just in case Gregory came over with numbers to run or anything like that, I didn’t want to be interrupted.

  I went to a corner in the room where I kept a cauldron. I knew I didn’t really need one at work, but being too far from a cauldron tended to make me slightly twitchy and uncomfortable.

  I started pouring ingredients in, mixing them around, and making sure that they were all in the correct measurements. Once I was satisfied, I whispered the spell that would allow me to speak to my old mentor.

  Sure enough, as soon as the words were whispered, there was a poof of smoke, and Old James’ face appeared in the cauldron.

  “Eliza? Is that you? My, my, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “James,” I said. “I’m sorry for calling you like this. I know I didn’t announce myself or schedule the call.”

  “Oh, it’s no bother at all,” James said, which was kind of him, but unnecessary. I knew perfectly well that I was inconveniencing him by calling this way. Usually, a call like this should be handled only after being scheduled.

  This was a desperate plea, though, and I hoped it wouldn’t be wasted.

  “What is it, Eliza?”

  I took a deep breath but didn’t say anything right away.

  “That bad, is it?”

  “What makes you think it’s bad?”

  “You’re calling me, aren’t you?” James asked quietly. “We both know what happened between us, Eliza. For you to call me…well, it must be terrible.”

  It was, a little bit. Only a little bit, though. James was right in thinking that the two of us didn’t exactly have the cleanest past. I didn’t want to think about that, though. Instead, I ignored his comment and launched into my question.

  I had to keep things as vague as possible. James would be able to help – if he wanted to – but the less information he knew, the better.

  “Do you know anything about werewolves?” I asked quietly.

  He sighed. “You know that I do, Eliza. What’s this really about?”

  “Is there any sort of hex or charm that might make a werewolf sort of…stuck?”

  “Stuck?”

  “Stuck in their werewolf form, I mean. Could anything cause that?”

  “It would have to be a pretty powerful curse,” he muttered.

  “Oh, this would be a very powerful one,” I agreed.

  “Can you tell me anything else?” James asked casually. I wondered if calling him like this had been a bad idea. What if he took it upon himself to travel here to try to “help” me? James was the last person I wanted help from.

  Yet you were desperate enough to call.

  I realized that if I wanted a real answer, I was going to have to be blunt. I wouldn’t tell him who the werewolf was or anything like that, but I would have to give a little if I wanted to get anything from him.

  I knew how James worked.

  I also knew that I was playing a dangerous game.

  “Someone hexed a moon,” I told him. “The witch was killed and her curse was lifted, but there was a werewolf nearby.”

  “Did the werewolf cause her death?” James said the words quietly and smoothly, but I could tell that there was ferocity beneath his words. On this one thing, I would need to lie. I couldn’t let James know that a werewolf had killed our former mayor.

  Very few people knew the details of Helena’s death. If James realized what was going on, then he’d come.

  I didn’t want him here.

  “James, the werewolf did nothing. He’s just stuck, though. The moon’s spell has worn off, but the werewolf is still in his werewolf body.” At least, he was as far as I knew.

  “That’s quite an interesting dilemma,” James said. “And I can’t tell you that I’ve heard of such a thing happening.”

  I sighed.

  Of course, he hadn’t.

  So, not only had I put Which Village on James’ radar, but I’d also reached a dead end. If the head of the Werewolves Council didn’t know what was going on, then we were lost.

  There was no hope.

  Either Stanley had just straight-up left the area or he really was stuck in his werewolf body somewhere.

  “All right,” I said. “Do you happen to know of anyone else I can reach out to? I’d like to get this cleared up as soon as possible.”
>
  “I could send someone, if you like,” he said.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “James?”

  “Yes, Eliza?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. It was just a question.”

  “I hear someone at the door,” James said. “I have to go.”

  The call cut and the cauldron stopped bubbling. I sat back on the floor and stared at the swirling liquid in the copper pot.

  James hadn’t known what would have caused Stanley to stay in his werewolf form, so maybe we were wrong. If we were wrong about him being trapped, then we could be wrong about other things, too.

  I didn’t want to tell Jaden, but there was a chance that the werewolf we’d seen that night wasn’t her husband. I knew that she was convinced it was, but why would a werewolf save his wife and then leave for an entire year?

  It didn’t make any sense, and I hated the feeling of helplessness that washed over me.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “One minute,” I called out. I whispered a quick spell to empty the cauldron and then I shoved it in a low cupboard. As soon as the door was closed and I was certain no one would be able to tell what was in there, I stood up, straightened my skirt, and headed to the door.

  I pulled open the office door to see Gregory standing with a stack of papers.

  “Gregory, good morning.”

  “Good morning, Mayor,” he pushed past me into the room, obviously excited.

  “How can I help you?” I asked drily, looking over at him.

  “Oh, you already have!”

  “Tell me how, Greg.”

  “It’s Gregory, please, if you don’t mind. Only my mother ever called me Greg, and I didn’t much like it then.”

  “Gregory, how have I helped you?”

  “These are vendor forms from today!”

  “From today? There must be forty of them.”

  “There are fifty-six, actually,” he said with a smile. “We’re doing it, Mayor! The festival is going to save the city! Can you believe it?”

  “No,” I stared at the papers and shook my head. “I suppose I can’t.”

  Chapter 8

  Jaden

  The next few days went by in a blur. I spent all of my time at the library reading as much as I could about werewolves. I hated how much my knowledge of the paranormal had expanded since I’d arrived in Which Village.

  I knew that I should have been happy about my newfound knowledge, but I wasn’t.

  Every time I turned the page in a book, I was reminded of everything I’d lost, and I was miserable. Even Patricia seemed to notice because she stopped acting as friendly toward me. Instead of coming and getting me after closing, she started coming ten minutes before, asking me to leave, and then going to close up on her own.

  I knew I needed to make things up to her – and to everyone, really – but I was so caught up in what was happening that it kind of felt impossible.

  By the time I was back in my car and driving home, I was dazed and exhausted. I knew that I needed to get my act together – if only for my own sanity – but that was easier said than done.

  My little quest to locate my werewolf husband had turned into full-on obsession, and it carried a price I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay.

  Was I willing to give up the things I’d acquired during my time in Which Village?

  Was I willing to completely separate myself from the people I’d made as friends?

  Was I…

  My thoughts were cut off as something appeared in front of my car: a deer, maybe. It looked over at me, blinking in the glare of my headlights.

  No!

  I braked, turned the wheel so I wouldn’t hit whatever the thing was. I was too slow, though, and I rammed into it. The animal or creature hit my car with a thud, and it flopped over.

  Then my car squealed to a stop.

  I sat, gripping the steering wheel. Was it dead? Oh, it couldn’t be dead. I could never forgive myself if I killed a poor little deer. Not now. Not after everything I’d been dealing with.

  I stared at the empty space where just moments before, the creature had stood.

  “Get out of the car, Jaden,” I told myself.

  I had to get out of the car.

  Where was a witch’s broom when I needed one? Witches who flew around on brooms never had to deal with things like hitting deer. Oh, I knew that most of the time, witches were pretty immobile as a people. Most of us still used regular, boring modes of transportation like run-down cars or the ankle express, but flying would have prevented this.

  I got out of the car and walked around carefully.

  “Hello? Mr. Deer? Are you okay?”

  When I stepped in front of my car, I was shocked to find…

  Nothing.

  There was nothing there.

  Only, there should have been. I was certain that I hit something. Had it gotten up and run away? Had it somehow managed to escape me?

  I looked around, not quite sure what was going on. How had the creature sneaked past me? Was I imagining things?

  Only, as I looked at the front of my car, I knew that I wasn’t imagining anything. There was a dent in my bumper: a nice, big one. There was also a tuft of fur.

  And a little bit of blood.

  Whatever I’d hit was hurt. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do now. If it had stuck around, I would have been able to do a small healing spell for it. I’d been practicing. I knew I could heal minor injuries.

  I wasn’t really sure if hitting something with my car made it a minor injury or not, but a girl could dream, right?

  “Hello?” I called out into the darkness. I looked around, but I didn’t see anything.

  Nothing.

  The road was surrounded by trees, so that wasn’t really surprising. Whatever it was must have crawled away so I couldn’t see it, but something felt off. Strange.

  Reluctantly, I walked back to the car. I peered into the backseat before I got inside. I’d seen one too many horror movies to not check the backseat. I’d learned from movies that if you hit something and it disappeared, it was probably going to haunt you later.

  Damn, I hoped I wasn’t about to be haunted.

  Chapter 9

  Jaden

  When the weekend arrived, Fiona came over to practice baking apple pies. She wanted to have a booth at the festival, which seemed like both a very clever and very horrible idea. Fiona wasn’t exactly an expert baker, but she wanted to be. Who was I to deny her that?

  I liked the idea of being able to help her, so I prepared a ton of baking supplies, got out a couple of different pie recipes, and spread everything out over my counters.

  “Your kitchen is bigger than I thought it would be,” Fiona commented when she walked in.

  “Is it?” It felt like a normal-sized kitchen to me.

  “It is,” Fiona said. “It’s bigger than your mother’s kitchen was. I thought this house was an exact replica.”

  “I thought you and my mother weren’t friends,” I said drily, looking at her. I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. “You said the two of you never hung out.”

  “Well,” Fiona said, letting her voice get a little high and squeaky.

  “Well?”

  “That might not have been entirely accurate.”

  “Excuse me? I thought you hated each other.”

  “We didn’t hate each other,” she shrugged. “We just weren’t close.”

  “But you were inside her house.”

  “On occasion,” she said. “For witchy meetings and such.”

  “What kind of witchy meetings?” I asked.

  “Sometimes your mother hosted the coven coffee,” she shrugged. “I’m in the coven. I attended.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “The coven coffee? Is that still a thing?”

  “No, it stopped with Helena,” Fiona said. “The new coven leader hasn’t tried to start anything like that. Pity
, really. It always made everyone feel connected.”

  “I’m more interested in the fact I never knew you were in my mother’s kitchen,” I pointed out.

  “You’re still harping on that, are you?”

  “I am,” I said. “I’m a witch, Fiona. I can harp all day long and never get tired.”

  “Well,” she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you’ll make a decent witch yet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it,” she said. “I wasn’t so sure about you at first. I rather thought you’d be kind of awkward or sloppy when it came to your magic.”

  “I’m both of those things.”

  “Not anymore,” she pointed out. “Now you’re a bit better. A bit more particular.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

  “Take it for what it is.”

  “I’ll take it,” I accepted the compliment and pulled out a little book. I set it on the table.

  “What’s this, dear?”

  “It’s a recipe book.”

  “What?”

  “It’s like a potion book or an herbal manual,” I explained in terms Fiona would understand. “It’s the kind of thing humans use when they’re trying to set up their baking. They check to see what items they need. It makes everything very easy.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is,” I agreed. “Let’s get started.”

  For the next three hours, Fiona and I baked. We baked apple pies with lattice tops and crumble tops and everything in-between. We tried different recipes, different types of apples, and even different cuts of apples. By the time the end of the afternoon rolled around, I was exhausted, but it looked like Fiona was just getting started.

  “I like this,” she said, taking a bite out of one particular pie. It had Granny Smith apples that had been sliced with just the tiniest bit of skin still on the apples. The crumb topping was filled with lots and lots of cinnamon. It was my personal favorite, as well.

  “I think you’ll do well with it,” I told her.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I told her. “Fiona, you’re a good witch.”

  “Why, Jaden, I do think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”