Popcorn and Poltergeists

by Nancy Warren

  More horrifying, the American billionaire could afford the kind of lawyers who could argue that he’d snuck into the library late at night with Travis and a flashlight and pored through the manuscripts with nothing more sinister in mind than confirming their authenticity. The lawyers maintained he’d had every intention of putting in a very generous offer to purchase the manuscripts.

  I graduated to sitting in my living room, and while Rafe and Gran were sitting with me, of course, we talked of nothing else. Gran sounded furious. “Since Reginald Cameron hadn’t actually taken books out of the library, I believe he’s going to get away with nearly stealing those manuscripts.”

  When Rafe said, in the coldest tone I’d never heard, “No. He isn’t,” my heart stuttered.

  “Rafe, don’t do anything foolish.”

  “The most foolish thing I’ve ever done was leaving you in that library alone with a vicious murderer. Don’t worry, Reginald Cameron won’t lose his life. I have a much more fitting punishment in mind for him.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he changed the subject to one I was very interested in. Dinner and a movie. William had made me a wonderful meal. I could smell it warming in the kitchen. Then Rafe offered me a choice of three movies to watch. “I asked Sylvia for recommendations, and these were hers.”

  They were Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, and the first Star Trek movie. I glanced up at him. “Sylvia didn’t suggest Star Trek.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I also asked Violet what she thought you might like.”

  “I have lots of time. Let’s watch them all.”

  He shifted the latest vase of fresh flowers so I could better see the TV. “After dinner, there will be popcorn.”

  I leaned back, thinking this evening was shaping up pretty well. “Rafe, are you romancing me?”

  He sent me a quizzical look. “If you have to ask, Lucy, I can’t be doing a very good job.”

  Chapter 20

  It was a cold but sunny day in mid-February. I was bundled up in a nice thick shawl that wrapped snugly around my arm, still in a sling, though I didn’t need it all the time. My undead caregivers made certain the doctor approved of my field trip and, so long as I didn’t bump the arm in the crowd, she gave me permission. I was still pretty feeble using my left hand, so Sylvia had done my makeup and hair, and Gran had presented me with a beautiful blue cashmere dress that she’d knitted at my bedside.

  Maybe we were an unconventional family, but the nest of vampires living beneath my shop had become my second family.

  Sylvia helped me down the stairs when I was perfectly capable of managing, and Rafe brought the car around in front of my shop. When I came out, he held open my car door but looked at me with concern. “Are you sure you’re well enough?”

  “Honestly, if I don’t get out of my flat soon, I’ll go crazy.”

  Besides, I wasn’t going to miss this gig. Not for anything.

  We purred along during the short drive to St. Mary’s College. When we got there, Rafe tenderly helped me out of the car, and then we walked into the main doors of the college. There were dignitaries, students, staff and invited guests. I was pleased to see Judith Morgan standing with her parents. Carlos had invited Hester, and they stood close together, talking.

  I had to take a deep breath before I could walk into the library, but I felt the difference in the atmosphere right away. It felt cheerful and much less haunted than the last times I’d been there. There was a good crowd of people, and Amelia Cartwright was in full-on principal mode. When she saw us, she immediately came forward, full of smiles. She held out her hands first to Rafe. “This is a wonderful day, and we wouldn’t be here without you. I wish you’d let me thank you properly, publicly.” He merely shook his head.

  She turned to me. “And Lucy. I’m so very sorry you were hurt, but it was all for a good cause.”

  I might not put my injury in those terms, but there was some satisfaction in knowing this college would now be saved. “And you don’t want to be mentioned, either?”

  I felt, like Rafe, that it was always better to avoid the limelight when you had secrets to keep. I insisted I’d done so little that I simply wanted to enjoy the happy outcome.

  After wandering around greeting people we knew—which, for Rafe, was most of the room, and for me, Judith Morgan and her parents and Hester and Carlos—Amelia Cartwright called the room to order. She stood at the lectern, and behind her was a structure covered in blue fabric. Standing closest to her were dignitaries, members of the media, and some very important people who’d come down from Yorkshire for the day.

  With a gracious smile and no need at all of a microphone, she welcomed everyone and gestured to two soberly dressed women, “Our good friends from the Brontë Parsonage Museum in Haworth, Yorkshire.

  “It is my very great pleasure to inform you all that a very generous patron, who has asked to remain anonymous, purchased both of St. Mary’s treasures, by which I mean a manuscript written in Charlotte Brontë’s own hand along with a series of letters, and an original manuscript of Frankenstein. The Frankenstein will stay in Oxford, at the Bodleian Library. The Brontë manuscript we are donating to the Brontë Parsonage Museum, in the name of a woman who made it her life’s work to promote the values of St. Mary’s College. That woman is my predecessor, Professor Georgiana Quales.” There was enthusiastic applause throughout the room, and I realized that many of the people here had been invited because they still remembered Georgiana Quales.

  “While we won’t be keeping the original manuscripts, faithful copies of the originals are now part of our permanent collection. We will be renaming this wing of the library the Georgiana Quales Memorial Wing.”

  I didn’t know all the details, but I knew that between Rafe and Reginald Cameron’s lawyers, they had worked out a deal where in order to avoid any unpleasantness, both legal and publicity-wise, the billionaire would have the satisfaction of buying those manuscripts he wanted so very badly and then donating them so that everyone who wanted to could see, study, and enjoy them. I doubted he’d also been the benefactor of the Georgiana Quales wing of this college and suspected the man standing at my side was responsible, though of course, he’d never admit to it.

  I looked around at all the happy faces as Amelia Cartwright told everyone that thanks to this generosity, St. Mary’s was on a secure financial footing for the foreseeable future.

  During the applause, my eye caught movement from across the room. The single-hung windows had been opened an inch or so at the bottom, presumably to let in fresh air while so many of us were in the library. I saw a piece of fabric that seemed to be hanging over the sill.

  I caught my breath as I recognized it. I nudged Rafe and whispered, “Georgiana Quales’s scarf. See? It’s hanging from the windowsill.”

  Rafe followed my line of sight and then, as we watched, the scarf drifted out of the window and disappeared as though unseen hands on the outside had pulled it free.

  “Godspeed, Georgiana,” he whispered.

  As the memorial plaque was unveiled, I slipped my right arm out of the sling and clasped Rafe’s hand.

  A Note from Nancy

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading the Vampire Knitting Club series. I am so grateful for all the enthusiasm this series has received. I have plenty more stories about Lucy and her undead knitters planned for the future.

  I hope you’ll consider leaving a review and please tell your friends who like cozy mysteries.

  Review on Amazon, Goodreads or BookBub.

  Your support is the wool that helps me knit up these yarns. Turn the page for a sneak peek of Garters and Gargoyles (Book 10 of the Vampire Knitting Club) and The Great Witches Baking Show.

  Join my newsletter for a free prequel, Tangles and Treasons, the exciting tale of how the gorgeous Rafe Crosyer was turned into a vampire.

  I hope to see you in my private Facebook Group. It's a lot of fun. www.facebook.com/groups/NancyWarrenKnitwits


  Until next time,

  Happy Reading,

  Nancy

  Garters and Gargoyles

  © 2020 Nancy Warren

  Excerpt from Chapter 1

  Rafe tossed the newspaper aside with disgust. “In my day, secret societies were exactly that, secret. None of this showing up on the front page of the newspaper looking drunk and disorderly.”

  I was busy re-stocking shelves but at the words ‘secret society,’ I had to look over his shoulder. There’s just something about the notion that intrigues me. Probably because I’m pretty sure I’d never be invited to any secret club. Unless you counted my local coven which I wasn’t invited to join as much as forced into by my annoying witch relatives.

  The front page of the Oxford Daily showed a fuzzy photograph of four young men looking definitely the worse for wear. One appeared to be peeing into the bushes outside a very nice house. Behind them was a broken window. The headline read: Rowdy Youth Damage Oxford Property. I skimmed the article but it was only a couple of paragraphs about how these young men had disrupted a quiet neighborhood, vandalized property and police believed a young woman had witnessed their behavior. They were looking for help in identifying the men and wanted the young woman to come forward to help with their inquiries.

  “There’s nothing there about any secret society,” I said, disappointed. I wanted to read about bizarre midnight rituals and feasts that lasted days. This just looked like a stag party gone wrong.

  Rafe shook his head at me. “There used to be dignity and honor associated with The Order of the Gargoyles. Now it’s a group of rich lads with weak heads and no morals.”

  I had to hold back my laugh. “Order of the Gargoyles?” Was he kidding me?

  When he gave me that snooty look down the length of his nose, I had to ask. “Were you in this secret club Rafe?”

  “Yes. It’s a very old order that’s long existed at Cardinal College. Technically, I still am a member.

  I glanced at the paper and back at him. His jaw was set and he looked very peeved. “Do you know those kids?”

  “Oh, yes. And I think it’s time I paid them a visit.”

  He looked so forbidding, I put a hand on the sleeve of his navy cashmere sweater. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing like what they deserve.” With that I had to be contented, as he left Cardinal Woolsey’s with a determined stride. I ran to the window and watched him head in the direction of Cardinal College.

  Order your copy today! Garters and Gargoyles is Book 10 in the Vampire Knitting Club series.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of The Great Witches Baking Show.

  The Great Witches Baking Show

  © 2020 Nancy Warren

  Excerpt from Prologue

  Elspeth Peach could not have conjured a more beautiful day. Broomewode Hall glowed in the spring sunshine. The golden Cotswolds stone manor house was a Georgian masterpiece, and its symmetrical windows winked at her as though it knew her secrets and promised to keep them. Green lawns stretched their arms wide, and an ornamental lake seemed to welcome the swans floating serene and elegant on its surface.

  But if she shifted her gaze just an inch to the left, the sense of peace and tranquility broke into a million pieces. Trucks and trailers had invaded the grounds, large tents were already in place, and she could see electricians and carpenters and painters at work on the twelve cooking stations. As the star judge of the wildly popular TV series The Great British Baking Contest, Elspeth Peach liked to cast her discerning eye over the setup to make sure that everything was perfect.

  When the reality show became a hit, Elspeth Peach had been rocketed to a household name. She’d have been just as happy to be left alone in relative obscurity, writing cookbooks and devising new recipes. When she’d first agreed to judge amateur bakers, she’d imagined a tiny production watched only by serious foodies, and with a limited run. Had she known the show would become an international success, she never would have agreed to become so public a figure. Because Elspeth Peach had an important secret to keep. She was an excellent baker, but she was an even better witch.

  Elspeth had made a foolish mistake. Baking made her happy, and she wanted to spread some of that joy to others. But she never envisaged how popular the series would become or how closely she’d be scrutinized by The British Witches Council, the governing body of witches in the UK. The council wielded great power, and any witch who didn’t follow the rules was punished.

  When she’d been unknown, she’d been able to fudge the borders of rule-following a bit. She always obeyed the main tenet of a white witch—do no harm. However, she wasn’t so good at the dictates about not interfering with mortals without good reason. Now, she knew she was being watched very carefully, and she’d have to be vigilant. Still, as nervous as she was about her own position, she was more worried about her brand-new co-host.

  Jonathon Pine was another famous British baker. His cookbooks rivaled hers in popularity and sales, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d been chosen as her co-judge. Except that Jonathon was also a witch.

  She’d argued passionately against the council’s decision to have him as her co-judge, but it was no good. She was stuck with him. And that put the only cloud in the blue sky of this lovely day.

  To her surprise, she saw Jonathon approaching her. She’d imagined he’d be the type to turn up a minute before cameras began rolling. He was an attractive man of about fifty with sparkling blue eyes and thick, dark hair. However, at this moment he looked sheepish, more like a sulky boy than a baking celebrity. Her innate empathy led her to get right to the issue that was obviously bothering him, and since she was at least twenty years his senior, she said in a motherly tone, “Has somebody been a naughty witch?”

  He met her gaze then. “You know I have. I’m sorry, Elspeth. The council says I have to do this show.” He poked at a stone with the toe of his signature cowboy boot—one of his affectations, along with the blue shirts he always wore to bring out the color of his admittedly very pretty eyes.

  “But how are you going to manage it?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll help me.”

  She shook her head at him. “Five best-selling books and a consultant to how many bakeries and restaurants? What were you thinking?”

  He jutted out his bottom lip. “It started as a bit of a lark, but things got out of control. I became addicted to the fame.”

  “But you know we’re not allowed to use our magic for personal gain.”

  He’d dug out the stone now with the toe of his boot, and his attention dropped to the divot he’d made in the lawn. “I know, I know. It all started innocently enough. This woman I met said no man can bake a proper scone. Well, I decided to show her that wasn’t true by baking her the best scone she’d ever tasted. All right, I used a spell, since I couldn’t bake a scone or anything else, for that matter. But it was a matter of principle. And then one thing led to another.”

  “Tell me the truth, Jonathon. Can you bake at all? Without using magic, I mean.”

  A worm crawled lazily across the exposed dirt, and he followed its path. She found herself watching the slow, curling brown body too, hoping. Finally, he admitted, “I can’t boil water.”

  She could see that the council had come up with the perfect punishment for him by making the man who couldn’t bake a celebrity judge. He was going to be publicly humiliated. But, unfortunately, so was she.

  He groaned. “If only I’d said no to that first book deal. That’s when the real trouble started.”

  Privately, she thought it was when he magicked a scone into being. It was too easy to become addicted to praise and far too easy to slip into inappropriate uses of magic. One bad move could snowball into catastrophe. And now look where they were.

  When he raised his blue eyes to meet hers, he looked quite desperate. “The council told me I had to learn how to bake and come and do this show without using any magic at all.” He sighed. “Or else.”
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br />   “Or else?” Her eyes squinted as though the sun were blinding her, but really she dreaded the answer.

  He lowered his voice. “Banishment.”

  She took a sharp breath. “As bad as that?”

  He nodded. “And you’re not entirely innocent either, you know. They told me you’ve been handing out your magic like it’s warm milk and cuddles. You’ve got to stop, Elspeth, or it’s banishment for you, too.”

  She swallowed. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t believe the council had sent her a message via Jonathon rather than calling her in themselves. She’d never used her magic for personal gain, as Jonathon had. She simply couldn’t bear to see these poor, helpless amateur bakers blunder when she could help. They were so sweet and eager. She became attached to them all. So sometimes she turned on an oven if a baker forgot or saved the biscuits from burning, the custard from curdling. She’d thought no one had noticed.

  However, she had steel in her as well as warm milk, and she spoke quite sternly to her new co-host. “Then we must make absolutely certain that nothing goes wrong this season. You will practice every recipe before the show. Learn what makes a good crumpet, loaf of bread and Victoria sponge. You will study harder than you ever have in your life, Jonathon. I will help you where I can, but I won’t go down with you.”