Torrent Witches Box Set #1 Books 1-3 (Butter Witch, Treasure Witch, Hidden Witch)

by Tess Lake

  I got back to our end of the mansion, where only Adams awaited me, sleeping on the sofa. Molly and Luce were with their respective boyfriends, Ollie and Will. The moms were away at some sort of business convention for the weekend, and they’d taken Aunt Cass with them. Apart from Grandma, frozen down in the basement and staring at nothing, I was by myself.

  I put my camera down on the table and went to make myself hot coffee (despite it being the end of summer and the temperature sitting at “melt ice cream” level). I’d gotten into the habit of frequently making myself drinks and little snacks so I could avoid having a moment to think about things.

  Things mostly being Jack Bishop.

  It had been the start of summer when he’d returned to Canada to settle his business, and although he’d said it would only be a few weeks, it was nearly the end of summer now, and he still wasn’t back.

  True to his word, he’d written me letters. In the first, he’d pretended he was on an Antarctic expedition in the eighteen hundreds. He had written about the cold and the penguins and filled the letter with jokes and happy things. I had written back to him, pretending I was on an expedition through the Siberian wilderness. And that’s how it had gone for roughly eleven weeks, both of us pretending to be people other than who we were.

  I was looking forward to Jack returning, but somewhere inside me there was a deep ache. It came from a spike of fear I could not remove. I was pretending in letters and pretending in real life too. I’m a witch, but I was pretending I was not.

  I finished making my coffee and tried to shake those thoughts out of my head. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but they forget to add it also makes the mind go crazy and the nights grow sleepless. They forget to say absence pulls on your heart until something snaps because you can’t feel that kind of pain any longer without going crazy. And so you stop caring just because you can’t bear it any longer.

  Wow! Sorry, I’m getting really dark and morbid here. I think it’s because I’m living in the middle of the romance capital at the moment. Molly and Ollie, Goddess bless their cotton socks, are disgustingly cute. Luce and Will even more so. My cousins are enjoying life, love and their boyfriends.

  And… I get to sleep in the next room.

  I think they expected that when Jack returns, we’d instantly be boyfriend and girlfriend and on the same level as they were. The truth is, we’d hardly gone out on any dates, and although we were writing letters, we didn’t really know each other at all.

  I turned on the television and finally managed to get my thoughts out of the dark patch where they’d strayed. That’s how I spent the end of the afternoon: watching mindless television and, after Adams woke up, talking to him. The local news reported on the fire in a thirty-second bit, adding at the end, “It is the third fire in as many weeks.”

  All journalists write the same way.

  I was pondering dinner and another early night when I got a phone call from a blocked number.

  “Hello?”

  “Harlow, it’s Sheriff Hardy.”

  “Hi, Sheriff… what can I do for you?” I said, a little uncertain. I had his number stored, so I don’t know why it came up as blocked.

  “I have some information I need you to keep private. I’m trusting you a lot with this.”

  He paused for a moment and then sighed. I felt a flutter of anxiety in my stomach. What was going on?

  “Well, you were at the fire today, so you probably know we’ve had three fires in the last three weeks. I got word from an old friend of mine that a special arson investigator is going to be coming to Harlot Bay. He’s going to be investigating you.”

  “Me?” I managed to get out.

  “Apparently he knows the old apartment building burnt down, and then there was a fire up at the mansion. I’m not sure how much else he knows, but it’s a matter of record that Zero Bend’s house burned down after you were there as well. You never made it into any reports about the lighthouse fire, but I would definitely be on your guard. I have to tell you something else too – you can’t call me anymore and you can’t come to the police station. This guy is going to be going through phone records, and from what I hear he’s a real head kicker. I don’t want him to find anything suspicious in those records.”

  That tiny flicker of anxiety in my stomach was now a ball of ice. The fact is, Sheriff Hardy knew on some level there was something strange going on with the Torrents. I wasn’t entirely sure what he knew, but he had certainly called on us in the past and we’d delivered. I knew vaguely that Aunt Cass had done some work with the police department as well, unofficially. Sheriff Hardy had shared plenty of information with me under the guise of me being a journalist, when really he was just trying to solve crimes.

  “Does this mean I’m a suspect or something? Should I get a lawyer?”

  “I think it would be best you consider getting legal advice if this guy comes asking questions. His name is Detective James Moreland. We both know you had nothing to do with the fire at the apartment or at your property or at Zero Bend’s. I know you don’t have anything to do with the fires in Harlot Bay over the last three weeks, or any of the other ones that haven’t made the news. But cases have been made on circumstantial evidence, so you and your family need to be very careful.”

  I was still sitting on the sofa, but it felt like the whole room was whirling. What Sheriff Hardy didn’t know was that the night the apartment had burnt down was the same night my loser ex-boyfriend had dumped me because I’d lost my job. I’d gone to sleep with Adams by my side and awoken to the sound of fire sirens. The entire apartment complex had burnt down, and although they’d blamed faulty wiring in the end, I knew the truth. I’d Slipped.

  When I’d returned home with nothing more than my cat, my car, my laptop and the clothes on my back, the magic inside me had lashed out just a few days later, burning down the house on the property where my family had been living.

  As a result of that, the moms had gone into deep debt to renovate the center of the Torrent Mansion and what we call the East Wing, where Molly, Luce and I live.

  That was all over a year ago now, and although I was certain I hadn’t started any more fires in my sleep, there was certainly a lot of circumstantial evidence connecting me in any case.

  “Okay, well… thanks for telling me, Sheriff. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’ll be okay, Harlow. He’s only here to look at the arson, and as soon as we figure out whether it is just a bad run of coincidence or someone actually setting fires, then he’ll leave.”

  “Do you think it really could be arson? The first place was just a warehouse and the second was an empty vacation home. It seems random.”

  “I really don’t know. Harlot Bay seems to go through a bad batch of fires every few decades or so, and with all the dodgy houses and bad wiring, it’s hard to know really whether there’s someone behind it.”

  Sheriff Hardy sounded exhausted when he said that. Like he’d had a very long day.

  “What happened to the woman they took out of the house?” I asked.

  Another sigh from Sheriff Hardy.

  “Her name was Lenora Gray. She was eighty-one years old and she died of smoke inhalation about an hour ago.”

  “That’s terrible,” I whispered.

  “It’s murder if someone is behind it. Okay, I need to go now. If I talk to you again, it’s only going to be in an official capacity until the investigator is gone.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” I said and then he hung up.

  I sat on the sofa for a while staring into nothing, wishing someone would come home so I could talk to them. Adams is great, but he’s a cat and most of his solutions to problems involve eating something.

  Honestly, not such a bad idea.

  Molly and Luce would be back tomorrow and we had a game of Scrabble planned, along with some drinks. As that thought entered my mind, I remembered there was still a bottle of red wine in the fridge. I poured myself a glass and then downed i
t in one gulp. Lenora Gray was her name and she’d died in a fire. A deep sadness washed over me and a tear trickled down my cheek.

  Chapter 2

  “Jarqel? What does that mean exactly?” Luce asked, crossing her arms.

  Molly topped off our glasses of red wine before answering.

  “Jarqel? Oh, I’m surprised you don’t know it. It’s a cooking term. It means to microwave something, usually meat, waaaaay too high and then fry it in a desperate attempt to make it not disgusting. You know, like how you cook most of the time.”

  “I do not jarqel my food! I didn’t notice the microwave was set on high is all!” Luce said indignantly.

  I counted up the points.

  “Twenty-two!”

  “Yes!” Molly gave a fist pump and we clinked our glasses together in celebration.

  “I’ll jarqel you,” Luce muttered.

  I’d woken with a slight headache, courtesy of the possibly one too many glasses of wine I’d had last night. The night of sleep had helped improve my mood. Yes, Sheriff Hardy was unable to talk to me and, yes, there was possibly some kind of special investigator coming to throw me in jail, but it was Sunday, I was with my cousins, and while it’s true you can’t buy happiness, you can certainly buy board games and wine and that’s pretty much the same thing.

  The day was warm and it stretched out ahead of us, filled with red wine, good food and our house rules version of Scrabble. If you could explain a word convincingly, it was allowed.

  Hence Luce playing “MTREASURE” next.

  “Explain,” I said, sipping my wine.

  “MTreasure is a shortened form of MaybeTreasure, as in when you find hidden treasure but then it’s taken away from you and you might get it back but probably not.”

  “Topical,” Molly commented.

  “Is a single gold coin really treasure, do you think?” I asked.

  About a week after competing in the Gold Mud Run, we’d taken our shovels and gone to the hidden cave where I’d seen ghostly pirates murdering each other over a chest of treasure. I’d promised one pirate in particular that we’d lay his bones to rest. It wasn’t all altruistic, though – they had buried a chest filled to the brim with treasure.

  We’d dug down and found bones. No treasure chest. No millions in gold coins. After removing all the bones, we found a single solitary coin, which then prompted the great “keep it or hand it in” debate.

  Aunt Cass was very firmly on the Keep It side of things. My mother was not.

  We’d reburied the bones in a nearby field and held a small ceremony to lay them to rest. No ghosts had appeared, but we could all feel the change in the magic after we were done. Then we’d carried on our argument all the way to the ferry, back to the mainland and to the house.

  Mom finally won by snatching up the coin and disappearing with it into town. She handed it in, giving a false location where she found it, and now the coin was stuck in a limbo of Finders Keepers vs. Important Historical Treasure.

  Essentially, Luce was right: it was MTreasure, and it was a very big maybe that we’d end up with it.

  “It was a solid gold coin. I think that counts as treasure,” Luce said.

  “It’s an abbreviation!” Molly complained.

  “I’ll allow it,” I said. I sipped my wine and sighed in pleasure.

  That moment of contemplating peaceful happiness lasted approximately four point five seconds, until an all-black car drove up to the mansion and squealed to a stop outside. The man who got out was tall and thin and wearing what could only be described as “Some Kind of Law Enforcement Outfit, Standard Issue #5.” Think white shirt, black pants, shiny shoes and that indefinable air that suggests you’ve done something wrong and it’s only a matter of time until they find out what it is.

  My warm red wine buzz swooshed out of me, leaving behind crackling adrenaline. Something was about to go very wrong. Was this the investigator?

  We went to the front door and opened it before the man could knock. He looked at me and then over my shoulders at Luce and Molly, who’d followed with full glasses of wine in their hands.

  “Having a party, I see.”

  Not a question. His voice was light but he wasn’t friendly.

  “Red wine and Scrabble!” Luce called out from behind me.

  The man nodded and pulled out a notepad. He wrote something down. Surely not red wine and Scrabble?

  “Ms. Torrent, you’re a hard woman to get in contact with. Did you get any of my calls?”

  My hand strayed to my phone in my pocket. It has been dropped a million times but it still worked most of the time. The magical energy in Harlot Bay isn’t kind to modern telecommunications. I couldn’t tell him this, so I shook my head instead.

  The man flashed a badge in front of me.

  “I’m Special Investigator Detective James Moreland. I’m here about the fire that destroyed an apartment building known as The Meadows. I believe you were one of the people living there at the time. May we speak?”

  My answer died in my throat and I let out something that sounded like gurk.

  Special Investigator? Oh crap.

  Chapter 3

  I was standing there with my mouth open like a fish when Aunt Cass appeared out of nowhere and sauntered up to the front door.

  “Thought I could smell bacon,” she said, looking Detective Moreland up and down.

  “I’m here to interview Harlow,” he said.

  “No, you’re not. Harlow isn’t available for an interview. If you wish to question her about anything, then you need to arrest her. Now go away.”

  Aunt Cass didn’t wait for a response. She slammed the door in his face.

  I suspect Detective Moreland was a seasoned professional and used to having doors slammed in his face. He didn’t yell out (which is what I would’ve done). He simply returned to his car and drove away.

  “Go Aunt Cass,” Molly commented. Aunt Cass whirled around, but then saw Molly was not being sarcastic (for a change).

  “Well, if the Internet has taught us anything, it’s that you don’t talk to police.”

  “Why is he after Harlow, though?” Luce asked worriedly.

  “She was at the scene of a few fires, so they’re going to try to pin it on her nice and easy. They won’t succeed, though,” Aunt Cass said, looking at me meaningfully.

  Near the start of the summer, Aunt Cass’s cottage full of fireworks had exploded one night. We’d tried to cover it up as a special event we were putting on for the guests of the Torrent Mansion Bed-and-Breakfast.

  After the fire, I’d detected a magical scent. It appeared the fire had been started by a witch or some other magical entity.

  Aunt Cass didn’t talk much about it, but I had the distinct impression she was still investigating who’d blown up her stash of illegal fireworks.

  I suddenly realized Aunt Cass wasn’t supposed to be here.

  “Weren’t you away with the moms?” I said.

  “That business convention was boring. I came back.”

  “How? Did you drive here?” I asked.

  “Yes, darling, that’s right. I, a powerful Slip Witch, hopped in my invisible car and drove back here. Use your brain, please.”

  Well, there went that moment of happy family bonding. Before we could break out into a bout of snarking at each other, though, another shiny black car pulled up out the front of the house.

  It was Dominic Gresso, real estate agent and developer. A long while ago I had written an article about him after his business partner had tried to embezzle funds and then pin it on Dominic. After the investigation, Dominic had come out clean and his business partner had gone to jail after being virtually run out of town. I know this makes it sound like Dominic is actually the good guy and his business partner was the bad guy, but the truth is they’re more like two sleazy bad guys in business together and one did some bad things he got caught for. Dominic is in his forties, has a head of magnificent thick black hair and is quite overweight, thoug
h he wears tailored suits to hide it.

  He knocked on the front door with his pudgy hand. Aunt Cass opened it and he looked at us in surprise. I’m not sure he was expecting to find Aunt Cass and the three of us standing behind the door, holding glasses of red wine.

  “Yes, what is it, Gresso?” Aunt Cass said.

  She seemed to be in a particularly spiky mood today, and I reminded myself not to get on her bad side.

  “Good afternoon, Cassandra. I was wondering if April was available?”

  Molly, Luce and I resisted sharing a glance, although I could feel we were about to. Our grandma, April Torrent, is frozen in the basement and has been for at least twenty years. The short explanation is: something magical went wrong.

  “She’s not available. What is it you want?” Aunt Cass said.

  Dominic took a shiny white card business card out of his pocket and tried to pass it to Aunt Cass, who just stared at it like he was trying to hand her a piece of poo. After a moment of awkwardness, he handed the card to Molly, who took it reluctantly.

  “Well, I’ve seen what you’ve all been doing with the mansion up here and I think it’s amazing. I want to talk about buying the property and developing it. I think we would be looking at well over a million if you’re interested in selling. Would it be possible for April to give me a call as soon as she is available?”

  “We’re not selling,” Aunt Cass said, flatly.

  “I understand it can be an emotional topic. I really do have a good offer for you. We can preserve the mansion if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  “What I am concerned about, Gresso, is that when you were twelve years old you came to my front door telling me you were selling cookies for charity. I put in an order for a box of mint chocolate chip cookies and then I never saw you again. What happened to my order?” Aunt Cass said, sarcasm dripping off every word.

  Dominic flushed red and looked down at the ground, for a minute I think reverting back to that twelve-year-old boy who had probably been running some sort of scam to make money off people in the neighborhood. Then he cleared his throat and got himself back together.