by Harmony Hart
“Professor Beauregard Bacchus. You can call me Beau,” he said. He extended his hand, and I offered mine in return. When our palms connected, I felt a little zap of energy followed by an incredible feeling of warmth flowing through my body. His eyes widened, but he didn’t release my hand.
“Gemma Bradbury,” I replied. “Just Gemma is fine.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Gemma. Looks like we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.” I mentioned that I have a thing for accents, right? Beau’s had a hint of Italian, and every word was killing me, in all the best ways. We stood there for a moment longer, our gazes locked on one another. I could have sworn I heard his heart beating in unison with mine. But I knew that was probably just more wishful thinking. I could have stayed there all night, staring into his eyes, if not for the Mayor’s interruption.
“You have quite a bit to catch up on. I’ll schedule your wand certification exam for 30 days from now. You’ll be working with Professor Bacchus every evening until you’re knowledgeable enough to pass your exam. Upon receiving a passing grade, you’ll be granted a license to purchase a full-power wand, which, as I said before, the Coven will reimburse you for. There is the background check and three-day waiting period, unless of course we happen to have a wand show in town. In that case, you can bypass the background check entirely.”
“So it’s like getting a gun.”
“Heavens, no!” Bennett exclaimed. “We don’t have guns here in Salem. We’re not heathens.”
“Now then, I think we’ve covered enough for one night,” the Mayor said. “This meeting is adjourned.” She waved her hand in my direction as the magical quill finished recording its last word with a flourish and dropped to rest on the table. “Off you scurry.”
“But where do I go?” I asked. “Last I checked, my new apartment was a crime scene.”
“Ah, good point. Professor Bacchus will accompany you to Montcrief’s to determine how long they’ll need to complete their crime scene investigation. In the event the police department needs some encouragement to speed things up, do contact the Coven at once.”
Beau glanced at me. “Shall we?”
“I guess we shall. But,” I worried my lip for a moment. “I’m kind of hungry. I just realized I missed dinner.”
“Dinner?” Titus woke up and scrambled over to my feet. “I didn’t eat dinner, either!”
“I know, I know. We’ll find dinner for you, too.”
“Oh, thank Bastet! I thought you had forgotten all about me.”
“How could I forget about you? You’re clinging to my shoulder like a needy parrot, and your nose is pressed flat against my cheek.”
“Just making sure.”
“Does Salem have anywhere we can get something to eat? Like a grocery store or a restaurant?” I asked.
“We have all of that,” Beau responded. But most businesses are closed by now for the town’s Samhain celebration.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I do know one place. An all-night diner. We can stop there on the way if you’d like.”
“I love you,” I blurted out. Omigosh. That did not just come out of my mouth. Beau quirked a brow and inclined his head, studying me. I swallowed hard and tried again, praying my lips didn’t betray me this time. “I mean, I’d love to.” I drew my bottom lip between my teeth with a nervous laugh. “I don’t usually make a habit of professing my love to strangers,” I explained. “It’s just been a long day. And I’m really hungry.”
“That, Gemma Bradbury, is one problem we can solve.”
3
Exitus.” Beau guided me into the lobby of Coven Headquarters and tapped his wand on the same wall Gil brought me through. The same shimmering golden doorway appeared. But when we stepped through onto the street, it was glaringly obvious that we weren’t in the same place.
We slid into a booth in the corner, and a middle-aged man approached, dropping two menus on the table with a smile.
“Hey there, Professor.”
“Evening,” Beau responded.
“Welcome to Darkwoods Diner,” the man said, eyeing me. “I’m Max.”
“Nice to meet you, Max. I’m Gemma.”
“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” Max leaned in, resting both hands on the table as he examined me. Beau cleared his throat, casting a dangerous glare. Max straightened but didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke. “Not often we get witches in here, especially not during a Sabbat celebration. What brings you in?”
“Food,” I answered. “Why else would we be at a diner?”
“Spunky, too,” he said. “I like ladies with spunk.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said. Mental note: be less spunky around Max.
“I thought you might be coming to check in on Mason, on account of the murder and all.”
“Word really travels fast in Salem,” I mumbled.
“Just here for a meal, Max,” Beau replied.
“Then I’ll let you folks look over the menu.”
“Wait,” I said. “Do you mean Mason Montcrief? He works here?”
“Indeed he does,” Max replied. “Best employee I’ve ever had. But of course that goes without saying. Everyone loves Mason. Even the werewolves. Shame about Morty, though.”
“Excuse me, did you just say werewolves?”
“Indeed. Just like yours truly.” He gave a hearty laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Girlie, if you don’t want to be around werewolves, you shouldn’t be hanging out in The Fringes.”
“Can werewolves smell fear? Asking for a friend,” Titus said.
“Let’s hope not. Because if he can, we’re both in trouble.”
“Gemma is new in town,” Beau offered. “It’s her first night here.”
“Oh!” Max’s brows shot up, and he cocked his head. “Is she—?”
“Yes,” Beau answered. “She’s the one who found Morty. And she’s under the Coven’s protection, so you might want to spread the word that we expect Gemma to be treated with the utmost respect,” Beau warned.
Max tossed up his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Professor. I didn’t realize she was spoken for.”
“As if that would stop you,” Beau said. “Be a gentleman, and we won’t have any problems.” I felt a flush creeping up my cheeks. It wasn’t enough that Beau was blindingly gorgeous and oozed sex appeal. He had to be chivalrous and protective, too? Be still, my witchy heart.
“Message received, Professor,” Max conceded. “I’ll be back to take your order in a few minutes.”
I waited for Max to disappear into the kitchen before I smiled at Beau. “Thanks for that.”
“Max is pretty harmless overall. But he does have quite a reputation with the ladies. Not all of it good,” he said, passing me a menu. “Sometimes he just needs to be reminded to mind his manners.”
“Not so different from your average human male. So what exactly do they serve at a werewolf diner?” I asked, opening the menu and glancing over it.
“Darkwoods Diner is famous for its steak and burgers,” he said. “And pie. But I’m partial to their breakfast menu.” He flipped my menu over and pointed at the back page.
“Breakfast?” My eyes widened as I read the headline: Breakfast served 24 hours. I went silent as I scanned the page, taking in the wide selection of typical American diner food. Pancakes, French toast, omelets, steak and eggs. The works. I loved food in general, but breakfast was my happy place. Especially breakfast for dinner.
Max sauntered back to the table just as I closed my menu. “What can I get you, ma’am?” He exaggerated the word with a pointed look, and I could barely contain my eye roll.
“I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes, two eggs over medium—”
“Three,” Titus interrupted.
“—sorry, three eggs over medium, hash browns and—”
“Bacon! All the bacon!”
“—two sides of bacon,” I said. Max and Beau both stared in disbelief as I kept going. “And
a water with no ice. And coffee. Black.”
“Sure you don’t want to add the first two pages of the menu to that order?”
“I haven’t eaten all day.” I glared at him. “And I’m sharing with my cat.”
“Hey, I don’t judge,” he said with a chuckle. “You can afford the calories. And besides, I like a woman with a hearty appetite.” He scribbled my order onto a notepad and regarded Beau. “The usual? Scrambled cheese eggs, sausage, and toast?”
“Yes. Thank you. And black coffee.”
“I’ll have this right out,” Max promised. He returned moments later with our drinks and a small bowl of water for Titus.
“This seems like a great diner,” I said. “Is it always this empty late at night?”
“Never,” Max said. “But between Samhain and the full moon, a lot of folks are otherwise engaged. Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’d be in a heap of trouble handling the customers all by my lonesome.”
“Did Mason leave right after he got the news about Morty?”
“Leave? He was never here. His shift didn’t start until an hour ago. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “No reason.”
After Max disappeared, Beau narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
“Not much,” I said. I didn’t know Beau well enough to say what I was really thinking. Everyone on the Council seemed to think Mason was the obvious heir to Morty’s fortune. If that were true, and Mason wasn’t at work when it happened, then that would give him a motive and the opportunity to kill Morty. But as much as I loved watching crime dramas, it wasn’t my job to figure out who killed Mortimer Montcrief. That was a job for the admittedly inept Detective Otto.
I raised my coffee cup to my lips, inhaling deeply, and let the sweet, rich aroma wash over me. "It’s no pumpkin spice latte, but it’s good.”
“Pumpkin spice latte?” Beau tilted his head with interest. “What’s that?”
“It’s this seasonal drink at Starbucks—that’s a coffee shop—and to be honest, it’s terrible for you, way too much sugar. But it also tastes like autumn in your mouth. So I let myself have one every year on Halloween. I was planning to go get one after work today, but—” I shrugged, “—I ended up here instead.”
“Interesting,” Beau said. “I don’t know anything about pumpkin coffee, but we do have a coffee shop. I’d be happy to show you where it is.”
“That’s sweet, but diner coffee is okay for now. I’ll just get my pumpkin spice fix once I get back home.”
“Gemma,” he looked at me with a solemn expression. “I don’t think you understand. Salem is your home now. There’s no going back to the human realm.”
“What do you mean?” I set my cup down on the table with shaky hands as I stared back at him. “Why can’t I go back the same way I came in?”
“And here we go!” Max appeared, setting a stack of plates on the table one by one. To his credit, he even delivered a small saucer for me to share my food with Titus. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Beau replied.
“I’m fine,” I said. I slipped one egg and two pieces of bacon onto the saucer and began tearing the bacon into small bites. I was too distracted by the revelation that I was trapped here to focus on my own food.
“Salem is cursed,” Beau began. “No one can leave. We can travel to other places within the magical realm,” he said.
“Centuries ago, the land that now makes up Salem was werewolf territory. Legend has it that a powerful witch crossed over from the human world to escape persecution by religious fanatics. She, along with the other witches she called into Salem when she crossed over, formed a protective shield around the town, ensuring that no humans could follow in their pursuit of the witches. They built the town of Salem, and it was gradually populated by other magical creatures from the realm. Over time, the werewolves grew resentful of the witches encroaching on their territory, and a violent battle ensued. The witches won. After the Battle of Salem, the wolves were pushed out into the area we now call The Fringes. And here we are.”
“So the natives were displaced by immigrants? There’s a shocker,” I said. A curse, huh? Now seemed as good a time to stress eat as any. I set about slicing my pancakes in half, then stacking one half on top of the other and cutting the double stack into bites before drizzling syrup over them. I was just about to slide a fork full of delicious diner breakfast into my mouth when I caught Beau watching me, a small smile playing on his luscious lips. “What? The pancake to syrup ratio is better this way,” I explained.
“I see. You’re an interesting woman, Gemma Bradbury.” He smirked and bit off a piece of toast.
“That’s a stretch,” I said. “This place is crawling with supernatural creatures. Wings, magic, shifters. The whole shebang. I’m just—” I shrugged— “me. Nothing super original to see here.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said. “I suspect that once you’ve been around Salem awhile, you’ll find you’re anything but ordinary.”
“So you’ve told me how Salem was created,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain how I got here. Or why I’m stuck.”
“Something to do with the Vortex Years,” he said. “No one fully understands the reasoning or magic behind them,” but scholars like me have been studying the Vortex Years for centuries. Every seven years, during the eight Coven Sabbats—Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Midsummer, Lughnasadh, and Mabon—the veil between worlds is lifted, allowing those with magical blood to cross over from the human realm into Salem. From what we’ve gathered, this Salem connects with every town or city called Salem in the human realm. Many have tried to leave, but vortex pull appears to be a one-way ticket. Once someone enters Salem, they can never leave.”
“Like Hotel California.”
“But you don’t need a hotel. You’ll be staying at Morty’s apartment.”
“No, it’s a song about—” I paused. “I guess you don’t exactly have access to the Eagles here.”
“Oh, yes! We have eagles. And hawks. And ravens. And owls. All kinds of birds, really.”
“No, The Eagles are a band. From America. In the human realm.” It felt weird to already be referring to the only place I’d ever lived as “the human realm. “So every seven years, a bunch of new witches move to town?” I asked. “Why is everyone acting like my arrival is such a big deal?”
“We don’t always get new people. Sometimes we go several cycles without any arrivals,” he said. “Today was the first day in this Vortex Year. And you’re the first arrival. But you also share a name with the town’s founder.”
“You mean the witch you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes,” he said. “Her name was Mary Perkins Bradbury, and she narrowly escaped a fiery fate during the Salem Witch Trials. The Coven believes you might possess the power to free Salem.”
“That’s crazy talk,” I protested.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “I have no doubt you’re an extraordinary woman. But we’ve had Bradbury witches cross over before. And yet the curse remains.”
“So why would I be any different?”
“You may not be,” he said. “But you can’t blame them for having hope. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world without hope, even if that hope is misguided.”
I nodded as I pushed my empty plates toward the edge of the table and moved a very sleepy Titus onto my lap. I stroked her neck, more for my own comfort than hers, and wrapped my free hand around my coffee mug. It had been empty for a solid ten minutes, but it felt good to anchor myself to something real as I tried to process everything Beau had just told me. I stared at the mug, silent, as I pondered my next steps.
“Listen, Gemma.” He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “I know this is a lot to take in. But I’m sure you’ll come to love Salem in time. And anything you need, I’ll be here for you.”
“If I really am stuck here,” I said af
ter a moment of reflection, “I guess I should learn how to be a witch.”
“We can start your lessons as soon as tomorrow,” he offered.
“Deal,” I said. “But there’s also that pesky little problem of me being accused of murder. If I’m going to live in Salem for the rest of my life, I’d prefer not to be behind bars.”
“I’d like to tell you not to worry, that Detective Otto will suss out the real killer,” he said. “But the truth is, he probably won’t. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I said. “I have a feeling my best chance of exoneration is to find the murderer myself.”
“I would tell you to let the Chief’s office handle it, but we’ve already established that’s not the most promising path. And even if it was, I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”
“You’re a perceptive guy,” I said. “I’m not about to let my forever fate rest in someone else’s hands.”
“No,” Beau said, gazing at me thoughtfully. “I don’t imagine you would.”
I sat back in the booth, considering my own words carefully. As a quintessential people pleaser, I’d been content to let other people dictate my actions for years. Well, maybe content was an overstatement. More like, scared that people wouldn’t like me if I stood up for myself, which in turn bred a simmering resentment over my self-inflicted situation that eventually came boiling to the surface in an epic volcanic eruption that incinerated everything in sight. And then, once I was satisfied I’d burned every bridge in the vicinity, I’d pack up and move on to somewhere, something, someone new.
But this situation was different. I could feel my resolve strengthening within my core, demanding that I face this challenge head-on. Was this a side effect of being a witch? Maybe crossing over into Salem had changed me somehow.
“So talk to me about Mason Montcrief,” I urged. “Did he have a good relationship with Morty?”