Illicit Magic (Stella Mayweather Paranormal Series #1)

by Camilla Chafer

  By the time I woke again and blinked at the clock on the dash, Marc had been driving for hours. The scenery whipped past in a blur of roadside businesses that gave way to trees and open farmland. When we finally left the highway and turned into town, I was pretty sick of sitting in the car and desperate to get out and stretch my legs. We drove a little further until Marc slowed and turned through a pair of open gates.

  Manicured lawns hugged the drive with borders of neatly clipped mature shrubs and a spattering of coloured flowers. It looked for all the world like a large family house, inconspicuous in its normalcy. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Marc parked the car in front and I stepped out before he could walk around and open my door. I inhaled deeply and was tickled to find the air slightly salty, like seawater. I wondered if the ocean was closeby. I hoped so. I had never had much cause to go to the beach but the idea of one nearby seemed pretty nice to me. And so completely normal.

  The house was a two-story, white clapboard with an oversized porch. One end of the house jutted out at a right angle to the main part. Several cars were parked off to the left and there was enough room on the drive that none would have to move for the others to pass. The front door, painted in a soft sage green, was framed with four windows on each side and I could see that the house stretched backwards. It was large and welcoming.

  Someone had clearly been waiting for us because the door popped open just as Marc unloaded our bags. An elderly lady in a floral dress with a white half-apron covering her skirt stood in the shade of the porch in obvious anticipation. She smiled broadly and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Don’t just stand there, dears. I’ve baked scones and made iced tea for you all after that long drive.” She beckoned us to follow as she retreated inside.

  Sure enough, the aroma of baking drifted towards us. We grabbed our bags from where Marc had set them on the driveway and entered the house; Étoile pausing to stoop and kiss the old lady on the cheek.

  “Go on into the kitchen. I’ll just tell everyone that you’re here,” said the old lady as I passed her. When I looked back to the door, she was already gone and Marc was pushing it closed.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Not so much who, as what,” muttered Marc softly, before saying more loudly. “We call her Aunt Meg. She owns the place.”

  “Come on through to the kitchen. Aunt Meg is a whiz at baking.” Étoile signalled to me to stow my bags in the hallway next to hers and I followed her past doorways that led off to rooms full of furniture – but empty of people – and into the kitchen. As promised, the long, scrubbed pine, farmhouse table was spread with a large glass jug of iced tea, icy rivelets dribbling down the sides, and a cluster of glasses next to it. A cake plate with a short stubby stand and fluted edges had a mound of fresh English fruit scones and I sighed with pleasure. There was a stack of china plates and pots with butter and jam. Knives rested on folded cotton napkins. My stomach gave another little rumble so I kneaded it with my knuckles.

  “Have a seat, have a seat, my dears. Stella, we’re so glad to have you here.” Aunt Meg took my hand in hers, covered it with another cool hand and shook it. I shivered at her wintry touch but remembered my manners and said I was pleased to meet her and thanks for having me.

  “Not at all,” murmured Aunt Meg, indicating to sit while she poured iced tea for us. She sat at the head of the table and smiled beatifically at us as she passed out the plates. “What a long drive you’ve had. I’ve made up your beds. Stella, you will have our yellow room. It’s not really very yellow but there are an awful lot of rooms here, so that’s what we call it. Étoile, you are next to Seren as per usual. Marc, you have the blue room. I know you like the green room but that has been commandeered by a new recruit. Do have some jam, Stella. I made it from the fruit from these gardens.”

  I helped myself to the jam and slathered it over my split scone, biting into it. It was still warm from the oven and the apple jam was gently scented with something, cinnamon, I thought. Étoile was already reaching for a second.

  “I’m sorry a welcoming committee hasn’t turned out to greet you but we’ve all been rather busy. Rest assured, everyone is very keen to meet you and they will drift along sooner or later.” Meg cocked her head to one side and leaned back a little to look along the passageway before turning back to us. “Ah, here’s one now. Evan!”

  I brushed the crumbs from my mouth and took a sip from my iced tea. When I looked up, it was all I could do not to gasp.

  The man filling the doorway was at least six foot two with broad shoulders that tapered to a neat waist and long, jeaned legs. Toned arms extended from under a grey t-shirt and his hands didn’t look like strangers to work. As my eyes travelled up from his chest, I noted a tanned, square jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in a day or two, a slim nose and brown eyes so dark I could barely distinguish iris from pupil. His hair was cut short and so dark it could almost have been black. He wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense but he was captivating, the type of man people automatically turn their heads to have another look at. I couldn’t drag my eyes away and my heart did a little flip.

  A fleeting image of being wrapped up in his arms, his lips crushing mine, overtook my mind. He caught my eye and held my gaze. I was glad he couldn’t see inside my mind, but I blushed furiously. His face looked thunderous. And now, come to think of it, Marc didn’t exactly look happy either.

  “This is her?” he asked no one in particular, his eyes still fixed on me, his expression fading from thunder to completely impassive.

  “Stella,” I spluttered, my cheeks still red as the image in my head seemed to topple over and send us sprawling, limbs entwined. Was I supposed to shake his hand now? Good God. “Hi.”

  Étoile looked from me to Evan and coughed lightly, her hand covering a smile and I just had enough time to wonder what she had seen before she said, “Evan will be teaching you.”

  “I will not,’ announced Evan, his mouth set in a firm line. “She leaks. Find someone else.”

  “David could teach her,” snapped Marc, scowling at Evan. The muscles in his arm had tensed though he was still sitting and I could see the veins bulge. What was with him?

  “David is teaching Christy, Clara and Jared,” said Aunt Meg placidly. “Evan will be teaching her. That’s why he’s here.”

  The ensuing silence was deafening. Marc scowled at Evan, Evan looked spitefully at me and I gripped my glass as if it were a life rope in a storm. Étoile finished up her second scone and looked around gleefully as if we were the height of entertainment. Meanwhile, my mind was getting increasingly lurid and I could hardly look Evan in the eye for fear that he would know that I’d just had a very exciting mental picture of us doing something that really should not have popped into my head while I was having a scone with civilised company.

  “If you don’t want to teach me, fine,” I gasped, daring to look at Evan from under my lashes. Marc had leant back in his seat, arms crossed; Meg and Étoile were still looking at the man expectantly. Étoile coughed, but not before I heard her snicker again.

  His jaw shifted and he breathed out. “I’ll teach you,” he said at last, making it sound like the least pleasant chore he could be assigned.

  “Okay.”

  “Fine.” Evan stepped back out of the doorway and strode back the way he came.

  “Whew!” said Étoile. “That was weird. Like he was ever not going to teach you.”

  “He’s an ass,” muttered Marc, swallowing the last of his iced tea and banging the glass back down on the table. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with him.”

  “Evan Hunter is a very good teacher,” Aunt Meg chided as she gathered up the plates and swatted Étoile’s hand from the cake stand with a napkin before she could reach for another scone. I noticed Aunt Meg hadn’t eaten or drunk anything and hoped she didn’t think I was greedy for gobbling mine as fast as I could.

  “What did he mean – I leaked?” I asked, t
hinking that sounded, well, gross.

  “Your magic,” said Étoile. “He can feel it. So can I. You aren’t containing it, so it leaks. Not your fault.”

  “Étoile, would you show Stella her room? Seren is outside somewhere waiting for you,” said Meg, effectively killing that conversation stream dead.

  “Of course, and thank you for your delicious scones.” Étoile didn’t seem to be at all upset that the third scone had evaded her. She stage whispered to me, “Aunt Meg likes to feed. If you’re not careful, she will make you awfully fat.”

  She grabbed my hand to skitter out of the kitchen as the elderly housekeeper shooed us out with a laugh. We walked back towards the door but peeled off right to the stairway and I followed Étoile as she scampered up. On the way, I peered into the downstairs rooms looking for Evan but he had vanished and I tried to shake the thought of him from my mind. Upstairs, the landing was long and bright, flooded with light from the picture window and punctuated by many doors. The walls played host to a series of landscape pictures. “How many bedrooms are here?” I asked, trying to make conversation while I got the lay of the land.

  “About ten upstairs, I think, including the two in the attic,” said Étoile. “And a couple downstairs and there’s a little cottage on the grounds too for when the house is very full. It’s a very old house. Aunt Meg’s family built it at least a century ago and they have added to it over the years.”

  “She doesn’t have any family?”

  Étoile shook her head as she counted doors, her fingers trailing on the chair rail. “One, two, three... here we are, yellow room.” She pushed open the door and grinned at me. “Got it right, come on in. So, Aunt Meg’s husband died aeons ago and then her daughter. She had grandchildren but they’re gone now too. Oh no, not dead. Seattle, I think. So, you know, close! I think that’s why she likes us here, coming and going and filling the house up. Plus she is paid generously to put up with us.”

  “She’s not a witch?”

  “No, she’s a...” Étoile stopped herself. She pursed her lips and took a breath, then said, “No, not a witch but we love her anyway.”

  She had avoided the question in the car too and I wondered what Aunt Meg was that was so bad no one wanted to say. I was going to ask her what she meant but when I stepped inside the room, the thought slipped away. The yellow room was, indeed, not very yellow. There was wallpaper with pale yellow stripes and tiny roses and a big iron bed with a white coverlet sprigged with pastel flowers, set in between two windows with white shutters. One had a window seat with scattered cushions and a folded blanket. There was a white dresser and a closet set into the wall and a door opened just a crack that led to the en suite. The room was bright, airy and quite the prettiest room I had ever seen. My flat – my former flat, I corrected myself – was positively grotty in comparison.

  “I love it,” I said, grinning at Étoile.

  “Great. Meg knew you would, she always knows. I am next to you and Seren the other side of me. Marc is downstairs. Kitty is opposite and you’ll meet her later. Evan is at the end of the hall.”

  Evan flickered into my mind and I imagined myself alone in a room with him and blushed again. I could not handle having a crush, especially such a lurid one, on my apparent teacher. Étoile winked lasciviously at me.

  “He is rather yummy, isn’t he?”

  “Evan? Sure, I guess.” I shrugged, trying to look nonplussed.

  “Sure. Whatever. Not sure any of us exist on his radar. Not that any of us have tried,” she added as an afterthought. “I am going to head outside to find my sister. Can you find your way back out again? There’s a door to the yard off the kitchen. You can go where you like here. Just stay in the grounds, please.”

  I nodded.

  Étoile started to leave, then paused and put her arms around me, giving me a little squeeze. “Welcome home,” she said and kissed me on the cheek before disappearing into the hallway.

  I looked after her, momentarily blindsided by the little show of affection, then pushed the door. It closed with a little click. My bag was just inside the door so I took it to the closet and decided to empty it, seeing as it looked like I was staying. I hadn’t protested anyway. I hung my clothes on the hangers and folded a few tees into the drawers. Even out of the bag, they looked pitifully few. I put the blue box into the top drawer and my bits of jewellery in the dish on top. It was shaped like a little bird with a fanned tail and my oddments glittered against the enamel.

  I took a moment to brush my ponytail and smooth the sides of my hair before poking around the room, finding, to my delight, that the en suite had been left with fresh towels folded over the tub and a basket of toiletries. There was even a toothbrush still in its card wrapper, which was just as well because I hadn’t brought one with me.

  I sat on the bed for a moment and bounced once, twice, laughing at myself before hopping up to look out the window. Beyond were gardens, mostly lawn, then a path leading off to my right which meandered towards steps that dropped down into another garden level. I could just see a further level that rolled down to a beach, wooden steps carved into the rock and a curl of blue water beyond. I hoped I’d get to explore sometime soon. Maybe even now? Étoile had said I could go anywhere.

  I was out of my room before I could talk myself out of poking around someone else’s property.

  The first room I came across, after scampering down the stairs, was the living room, directly opposite the stairs and across the entrance hall. It was comfy with wide sofas and a big TV in the corner. I scanned the DVDs lined up on the shelf above it. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Twilight,” “An American Werewolf in London,” “Supernatural,” “Carrie.” Some wit had folded a piece of card and put it on the shelf in front of them; “documentaries” was the label in a flowing script. I stifled the urge to laugh and then thought a bit. Perhaps there was something more to the label than a joke. Despite the warmth, I shivered and turned away.

  The living room was comfortable with three big sofas in blue ticking and two armchairs. A stack of thick floor cushions lay behind them. Clearly, the room was designed for seating many people and I wondered how many the house could hold. On one wall was a fireplace with a stack of logs in a basket and next to that, the large flatscreen television and a DVD player with the remotes stacked neatly on top. On the other wall was a wide window overlooking the front garden; the opposite window had French doors that viewed a small patio with an iron table and chairs worked in a fancy pattern that made it look like lace.

  I headed back out to the hallway and retraced my former steps past two closed doors, which I assumed were the ground floor bedrooms (I wondered which one was Marc’s) and towards the kitchen. The old lady, Aunt Meg, wasn’t there so I went out the open door, across the patio, following the path into the garden.

  A small group sat in a circle under the shade of a large tree. Marc had trailed behind me and he nudged me as I debated which way to go. “Settling in?”

  “Yes, thank you. My room is incredibly pretty.”

  “The girls thought you would like it. They’ve been looking forward to you coming. They’re a bit starved for company here.”

  “So anyone new will do, huh?” I jested but Marc frowned, deep lines setting between his brows. I rolled my eyes. “Joking.”

  “Under the tree there is David.” Marc indicated to the thin young man gesticulating at the group of three who sat in front of him. A long welt ran from his eyebrow, across his cheek and finished under his chin. It was new and angry. Marc lowered his voice. “He was attacked three weeks ago. He got out just in time and managed to get here. He tried leading a regular life but I think he’s happier to be here now.”

  “And the others?”

  “Jared is new like you.” Marc pointed to the boy who sat in front of David. He didn’t look more than seventeen. “He pretty much can’t control anything he does. Seren’s had to put spells on Jared to stop him breaking stuff. He’s already broken three chairs just b
y looking at them the wrong way. Aunt Meg was getting pretty pissed.”

  “Can you do that? Just put a spell on someone?”

  “You’re not supposed to.” Marc frowned and looked thoughtful. “But Seren did discuss it with Jared first and he was pretty embarrassed so he agreed. He can lift the spell anytime he likes; Seren made sure of that. He’s not being forced.”

  “What if someone put a spell on you and you didn’t know?” I asked.

  “No one should use a spell against another so that they do what the spell caster wants, or can’t... There are severe consequences for that,” Marc finished. He dug at the ground with the toe of his sneaker. With his hands thrust in his pockets and his shaggy hair spilling over his forehead, he could have been discussing a photo shoot, not the perils of illicit magic. He pondered what he said for a moment, then shook his head and continued, nodding at the two girls in the circle. “Christy has been here for a few months and she’s pretty smart. Clara is her sister and struggling a bit but she’s keen and that counts for a lot. They’re all finding their feet here.”

  “Did the council know about them?”

  “About Jared, yes, and they decided he needed some intensive training, well, away from the regular world. Christy and Clara just turned up one day. They say they didn’t even know why, just that they felt they should be here and the wards that guard this place just let them walk right in.”

  I nodded, trying to show that I understood in some way. Marc led me away from the group and around the side of the house.

  “So this place is guarded by magic?” I asked like a total newb. It was quite at odds with the image I wanted to project. I was independent, stubborn and self-sufficient. So much for that! Here I was completely reliant on other people.