Doom and Broom (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Annabel Chase

  “That’s awful.” My grandparents would never have been embarrassed by my failures. They wanted to see me succeed, of course, but they knew I always gave my best effort and wouldn’t choose to demoralize me.

  I surveyed the room, trying to think of more places to search. A picture on the wall drew my gaze. It was a painting of a black cat on a rooftop stretching in front of a full moon.

  “Is that picture crooked or is it just me?” I asked.

  Begonia walked closer to inspect it. “Crooked.” She removed it, revealing a small hole in the wall. “Jackpot.” She reached inside and produced a voodoo doll with long, brown hair and, more noticeably, an obscenely large bust.

  “What did she use to make those?” I asked, staring at the doll’s chest.

  Begonia peered under the doll’s top. “Acorns.”

  “So do we just replace them with something smaller and do a spell?” I asked.

  “Well, if you want your normal chest back, then we need to reverse it. Otherwise, you risk not getting your same boobs back.” She stopped and looked at me. “Do you want your same boobs back?”

  I nodded. Despite my moment of weakness in the bathroom, I knew they were Goldilocks boobs. Not too big, not too small. Just right.

  “Thought I’d check first,” Begonia said. “You never know.” She pulled out her wand and opened her mouth to speak.

  “Begonia,” I said, interrupting her. “Would you mind if I try to reverse it?” I thought of Lady Weatherby’s insistence that I undo my own mistake. I created this mess. I should be the one to correct it.

  Begonia handed the doll to me. “Whatever you want.”

  I retrieved my wand and pointed it at the doll. “Uncomplicate these friendship ties /make my chest its normal size.”

  Simultaneously, the acorns on the doll and my breasts began to shrink until they were back to normal.

  “Yay,” Begonia said, elated. “Great work, Emma. We need to tell Lady Weatherby. She’ll be impressed.”

  “We can’t,” I said. “Not without getting Millie in trouble.”

  Begonia cast a sidelong glance at me. “You’re not going to report her? You have the evidence in your hand.”

  I shook my head. “Millie lashed out because I embarrassed her. If what you say about her family is true—that she embarrasses them—then that’s probably at the root of her behavior.”

  “You’re more understanding than I am,” Begonia said. “I’d be making another voodoo doll right now.”

  “That would get out of control really fast,” I said. “Besides, I like Millie. I’d rather take the high road.”

  “Let’s get back to Demetrius before he turns into a bat and leaves us here,” Begonia said.

  “We’d have his car,” I pointed out.

  She gave me a sheepish look. “Oh, right.”

  “What should I do with my doll?” I asked.

  “Keep it as a souvenir,” Begonia said.

  With my luck, Magpie would turn the doll into his personal plaything. I didn’t like the idea of him attacking me, even in doll form.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll just burn it.” I hesitated. “I won’t burn myself in the process, right?”

  Begonia laughed. “No, silly. Not without a spell to accompany it.”

  I made a mental note. No spells while burning myself in effigy.

  We returned to the car where Demetrius was gazing out the window at the stars. “It’s such a clear night. Do the stars shine as brightly in the human world?”

  “Same sky,” I told him.

  “What happened to your…attributes?” he asked, with a cursory glance at my chest.

  I cleared my throat. “We performed a little magical surgery.”

  “Say no more,” he said and started the engine.

  Begonia sat down first and I plopped onto her lap.

  “Thanks for the detour,” I said. “Please drop Begonia off first, then you can take me home.”

  “I’d be happy to take you at home,” he said with a smirk.

  I fixed him with a hard stare. “You know perfectly well what I said. You have vampire hearing, remember?” I tapped the gear stick. “Now drive.”

  He revved the engine. “Bossy witches,” he said, more to himself. “Damnation, I really do like it.”

  Chapter 7

  It was late when I returned to the house. Gentlemen that he was, Demetrius walked me to the front door. Under the shimmering light of the fey lantern, he kissed me for the second time. The first time had been after our evening at the Horned Owl. That kiss had been light, feathery, and completely unexpected. This one pumped blood to every outpost of my body.

  "Thank you for an interesting evening," he said.

  "In the human world, interesting isn't much of a compliment," I said.

  “Make no mistake. In Spellbound, interesting is one of the highest compliments."

  The sound of footsteps on the staircase inside caught his attention. "I think there’s someone in your house," he said. A look of concern flashed across his handsome features.

  "No, no. That's just Magpie," I insisted.

  "I know I call that poor excuse for a cat a fantastic beast, but I don't think he weighs over two hundred pounds."

  "You can guess someone's weight by the sound of their footsteps?" I asked.

  He smiled. "Vampire hearing, remember?“

  Note to self: tread softly around vampires.

  "I am sorry about dinner," I said. "Next time I promise to finish the meal."

  "Yes, next time I intend to make it to dessert," he said seductively.

  My insides quivered. "Good night, Demetrius."

  “Sleep well, Emma Hart."

  He waited until I was safely inside before he returned to his car. I heard the roar of the magical engine as he pulled away.

  I went straight upstairs to Daniel's room to see why he’d been lingering downstairs. He was under the covers, pretending to be asleep. I stomped over to the bed and ripped off the blanket. "I know you're awake,” I said. “We heard you downstairs. I told you to stay out of sight. What were you thinking? Demetrius could have seen you.”

  He popped one eye open. "Did he ask before he kissed you? A true gentleman should ask first."

  "That's none of your business," I said. "You know what is your business? Sheriff Hugo has issued a code clover for you."

  "Good thing I'm here then,” Daniel said. He sat up in bed, completely dressed.

  "Do you need pajamas or any toiletries?” Like a toothbrush? I wondered if angels were susceptible to cavities and bad breath.

  "I sleep in the nude," he said, and I nearly dissolved into the floorboards.

  "Make sure you keep your bedroom door closed in that case," I said. “I don't need any midnight surprises."

  He smirked. “So how was your date?” For a brief moment, I thought I detected a note of jealousy, but I knew that was just wishful thinking on my part.

  “It wasn’t what I expected,” I said. And probably not what Demetrius expected either. “I don't know why you don't like him. He seems very nice." A little cocky, of course, but weren't they all?

  “Of course he’s very nice. That’s how he lures you in.”

  “So you’re angry because he’s pulling a page from your playbook?”

  He blinked. “What’s a playbook?”

  “Never mind.” Football references would go over here like a lead broomstick.

  "So are you going to see him again?" Daniel asked.

  "I didn't come in here to reminisce about my date," I said heatedly. "I came to talk to you about Jolene. If the sheriff has identified you as a person of interest, we need to change his mind. Tomorrow, if possible.”

  "That's why I'm here, remember?” he said, spreading his arms wide. "What do you want to talk about?"

  "I need leads," I said. "Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Jolene?” I hesitated, hating to speculate. “Given her experience with depression, is there a chance
she may have taken her own life?"

  He seemed momentarily stunned. "I suppose there is a chance." I knew what he was thinking. It was only weeks ago that Daniel had contemplated suicide. Under the circumstances, it was entirely reasonable to think that Jolene had done the same—successfully.

  "We don't have results from the autopsy yet," I said. "That will help determine whether she killed herself." As far as I knew, there was no evidence of murder at the scene. No blood spatter. No sign of a weapon or forced entry. Suicide was a real possibility.

  "I know someone who might be able to help,” he said. "She's one of yours."

  "A witch?"

  He nodded. "Her name is Paisley. She works at Mix-n-Match.”

  Paisley. Yes, I met her when I went to buy the anti-anxiety potion. "What do I need to ask Paisley?"

  "Jolene had mentioned to me that she was taking an anti-depression potion. She mentioned Paisley's name. Jolene had urged me to try it because she thought it was helping her." Not enough, apparently.

  "And did you?" I asked.

  He lowered his gaze. "No. I didn't want to use artificial means to drag myself out of the darkness. I wanted to do it on my own."

  Typical male. "I know you’re feeling a renewed sense of purpose now, but if you ever find yourself falling into another black hole, I hope you would consider it. I know in the human world, people manage to live fuller lives with the help of medication." Of course, it depended on the situation. I knew pills weren’t the answer to every malady.

  "You’re my person, Emma,” he said in earnest. "If I ever find myself slipping into that black hole, as you call it, you'll be the first to know. I have a feeling if anyone can bring me back to the light, you can."

  I blinked back tears. We’d only known each other for a short time. It seemed impossible that we could forge such a close connection. I felt it, though, and now I knew for certain that he felt it, too.

  "I'm going to get a good night’s sleep and so should you,” I said. "I'll speak to Paisley tomorrow at the first opportunity. You stay here until I tell you it's safe to come out."

  Daniel groaned. “Fine, but would you mind asking Gareth to stop stalking me? Even though I can't see him, I feel him hovering around me. Sometimes I feel like he's even mimicking me."

  That sounded about right. "I'll speak to him."

  "When you were in the human world,” he said, "did you ever picture yourself sharing a house with a vampire ghost, a deformed cat, an aggressive owl, and a fallen angel?"

  I couldn’t help but smile. "Every day."

  I headed over to Mix-n-Match during my lunch break. I hoped Paisley was working. I wasn't actually sure how many witches worked in the shop or what their schedules were.

  Paisley was there when I arrived and she was alone. Bonus.

  “Hey there, Emma," Paisley said. She seemed very nice the last time we met. Of course, everyone seemed nice compared with Jemima.

  "Hi Paisley. How are you?"

  "Business is slow today, but I expect it will pick up after lunch. How’s the anti-anxiety potion working for you?"

  “It’s helping," I said. "I still feel anxious, but not to the point of panic. It seems to have taken the edge off."

  Paisley smiled brightly. "Yes, that's what other people have reported as well. It doesn't cure it, but it makes it easier to cope."

  “I don't mind being scared," I said. "That's a basic human emotion and I know, in some situations, the whole point is for self-preservation. But I need to be able to fly this broomstick. I don't want to be the only witch without a license.”

  Egads, I sounded like a pathetic high school student. The only one of her friends without a driver’s license.

  “I only wish it didn’t taste so disgusting,” I said. “It would be much easier if I could just do an anti-anxiety spell with my wand.”

  “There are loads of spells you can do with a wand that are equivalent to a potion,” Paisley said. “Unfortunately, anti-anxiety isn’t one of them.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll survive.” I hoped.

  "So do you need something else?" Paisley asked. "Would you like to try a different potion? One that tastes better?”

  I looked around the shop, just to make sure we were the only two present. "Actually, I want to ask you about the anti-depression potion that you sold to Jolene."

  Paisley's expression shifted. Her smile disappeared and her eyes glittered with tears. "Such sad news," she said. "She was a ray of sunshine every time she came in here. Always so cheerful. It was hard to believe she was struggling with depression."

  "I think she worked really hard to disguise it," I said. I knew that wasn't unusual for people who suffered from depression.

  "When’s the last time you saw Jolene?" I asked.

  Paisley looked thoughtful. "Maybe two weeks ago? She’d come in for another bottle. She was close to finishing the one she had."

  "And she seemed to think it was helping?" If it was helping, then why would Jolene kill herself? I had to consider the possibility that the potion was like anti-depression drugs in the human world where the medication actually increased the risk of suicide.

  "Sort of like you," Paisley said. "The potion hadn't eliminated the depression entirely, but it was helping her to cope. She was also trying other things."

  “Other things?" I queried. "Like what? Did she say?"

  “One of them is harp therapy," she said. "And I know because I recommended it. I go, too.”

  Harp therapy? “I’ve never heard of that."

  "There are classes twice a week at the church," Paisley said. "I didn't join for the reasons Jolene did, but I find the music very relaxing. My home life is stressful at times, so it's a way for me to wind down."

  "Who runs the class?" I didn't want to pander to stereotypes, but I wondered whether Daniel was involved. Somehow, I couldn't picture it.

  "It's not Daniel, if that's what you're thinking," she said with a vague smile.

  My cheeks colored. "No, no," I said quickly. Too quickly. "I thought maybe it was Myra, the church administrator." I’d met Myra when I was investigating Gareth’s murder. She was a gnome, the nosiest gnome in all of Spellbound. She tried to get me to confess my sins, but I soon realized that she was more interested in collecting gossip.

  "Myra lets us use the space," Paisley said. "But she's not involved in the program."

  "When does the next class meet?"

  "Tuesday evening,” she said. "You're welcome to come. We’re always happy to have new members."

  I was definitely going to the next session. It would be the perfect opportunity to interview people about Jolene. If her death was a suicide, then the people she spent time with away from home might be the ones more likely to notice her state of mind. Her guard wouldn't be up as much with them as with Alex and the rest of her family.

  "Paisley, could I have a sample of the anti-depression potion that she'd been using?"

  "Sure. Let me get that for you." The minute she stepped behind the counter, Jemima swooped into the room. It was like a dark cloud settling above our heads.

  "Good afternoon, Jemima," I said. I hoped she didn't ask why I was here.

  "Haven't overcome your anxiety yet?" she asked snottily. "I heard you were flaunting yourself all over town with Demetrius Hunt last night. I guess that doesn't give you anxiety."

  Great balls of nastiness. Jemima sure was a pill. I forced myself to be nice. She was a member of my future coven, after all.

  "We had a nice time,” I said. “Thanks for asking."

  She squinted at me. "But I didn't ask…"

  Paisley handed me the small sample. "Here you go. I hope it's helpful."

  "Thanks a lot. And this is just between us, okay?" I didn't bother to nod toward Jemima, who was now busy applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

  Paisley gave me a thumbs-up. "See you on Tuesday."

  "I look forward to it."

  Armed with new information, I made my way to the
Pines to talk to Alex about his fiancée’s depression. Although I wasn’t surprised to see Kayla, I was surprised to see Jolene and Alex’s families still there.

  Alex greeted me like one of the pack. He hugged me and welcomed me into the house. “It’s kind of you to stop by.”

  “I don’t know that she’s motivated by kindness,” Kayla snapped. “I bet she’s here because she likes the emo angel. She’s probably here to defend him.”

  “Please forgive Kayla,” Alex said with a reproachful look at the younger werewolf. “She’s been irritable since Jolene’s death.”

  “Even more than usual,” a woman said from the living room. She was an older, more feminine version of Alex. She sat perched on the arm of a chair.

  “Does your family come every day?” I asked softly.

  “It’s part of the grieving process,” Alex explained. “When a werewolf dies, the extended family moves in and takes over the running of the household until the bereaved gets back on his feet.”

  Not unlike some human families. After my father died, my grandparents and other members of the Hart family seemed to be everywhere I turned. As a seven-year-old child, it was overwhelming. I felt like I had nowhere to hide and grieve in peace. Every room I entered, someone felt compelled to ask me how I was doing. How did they think I was doing? I was a seven-year-old orphan.

  “I’m not here to defend Daniel,” I said. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about Jolene. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  Now that I was standing in a room full of werewolves, my nerves were frazzled. What if they didn’t like what I had to say? What would they do to me?

  “Nothing’s private in the pack,” Alex said. “You can ask your questions here. If I don’t know the answer, it’s possible someone else here will. This is Jolene’s mama, Patsy, and you met my folks before, LuAnn and Duke.”

  “Nice to see you all again,” I said. I hadn’t met his father, but it seemed rude to correct him. “I’m Emma Hart.”

  “She’s the new witch,” Kayla added.

  Their eyes lit up in recognition.

  LuAnn studied me from head to toe. “I heard you looked like a temptress.” She turned to her husband. “She doesn’t look like a temptress to me. Does she look like one to you, Duke?”