Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6)

by S. R. Mallery

  Endangered Spells

  Copyright © 2020 by S. R. Mallery

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work that includes historical fiction. Names of real people, places, and film/song titles are depicted along with fictitious characters and locations. Dialogues and anecdotes are based mainly on the imagination of the author and not documented action or speech.

  Author’s use of any trademarks does not seek to gain an unfair advantage nor seek to harm or damage the reputation of such protected marks. There is no connection, association, and promotion or otherwise between fictional characters herein-contained and such protected marks.

  Contact: https://www.srmallery.blog

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  THANK YOU

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.R. MALLERY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BONUS EXCERPTS

  DEDICATION

  To my family, dear friends,

  and a little inspiration from the 1958 movie, Bell, Book, and Candle.

  PROLOGUE

  I swear, Carly is gonna put me into an early grave.

  With traffic at a complete standstill in the dark bridge tunnel, Gillian couldn’t help ruminating about her reckless, dare-devil sister, Carly—and the exchange of insults they’d spat at each other the night before. Engrossed in thinking about what she herself should apologize for and what things her sister should admit were out of line on her part, Gillian ignored everything else going on around her.

  Until she couldn’t.

  Without warning, some kind of magnetic force pulled her gaze through the back window of a Mercedes ahead of her car. There, she could make out the silhouettes of a man and a woman on the front seat. Nothing unusual. But when the male driver’s hand flew out, grabbed the woman passenger, then jerked her toward him, Gillian went on high alert.

  What the—?

  Stunned, she eyed the Mercedes and its license plate as cars began to inch forward again and she neared the tunnel’s end. A spark of familiarity flitted through her brain, but there was no time to reflect any further. The driver now shoved the woman backward, and revving up the car, he also headed toward daylight. Suddenly, he swerved over to the tunnel’s narrow sidewalk and drove, half on, half off, missing cars by mere inches before he sped off and disappeared from sight.

  “Where have I seen that car before?” she muttered, as she maneuvered through the streets of Wheelton to get to an appointment with her family’s dear friend, Amanda Rankin.

  Gillian turned resentful. After all, she hadn’t even wanted to see anyone at their coven’s Gambit House. Why should she? Even though Amanda was nice, all she’d hear from other members would be yet another lecture, ad nauseum, about how avoiding her magical powers was simply not tolerated in their world. More than that, she owed it to their coven, because—

  Without warning, the screech of a car’s wheels braking blasted through the air. Is it from that Mercedes? In an instant, Gillian remembered who owned that car. It was her old high school friend, the investigative journalist and mystery author, Rebecca Newell.

  Is Rebecca in trouble?

  She couldn’t help herself. She had to find out. Canvasing through several quiet neighborhoods, she maneuvered up and down the streets slowly, so she could eagle eye each car, driving or parked. But after a good twenty minutes and no Mercedes in sight, she figured it was fruitless.

  Quickly, she texted Amanda, explaining that something important had come up, and unfortunately, she had to go someplace else.

  No kidding. To Wheelton’s local police station.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Unlike her sister Carly, Gillian had never been to the local police department in Wheelton, Connecticut, before. Still shaken at the thought of Rebecca Newell possibly facing harm, she charged up the five front steps and into the station so quickly that her breaths sounded like tiny hiccups. Once inside the small ‘70s-style building, she saw a lone policewoman behind a linoleum-topped desk, busy on the computer. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was Charlotte, a former classmate, and someone she ran into at the library every now and then.

  “Charlotte,” Gillian huffed as she stepped toward her. “I need help. I think someone I know might be in trouble.”

  “Gillian! Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Bet you wouldn’t say that about Carly.

  “What do you mean by trouble?” Charlotte asked.

  Gillian started to give her a couple of details, but was interrupted by a tight-bodied, chiseled-faced man with flawless skin, who appeared from out of the back of the building. He took one look at her and broke into a wide grin.

  “Well, what do we have here?” His voice sounded rich and sexy, although his bright-toothed smile was a bit too overconfident for her liking.

  She immediately gulped. Then she noticed Charlotte rolling her eyes. Interesting…

  “Det. Adam Springer,” Charlotte said, “this is Gillian Good. She’s here to report a possible abduction and foul play.”

  His “Oh?” was riddled with surprise and just a splash of condescension. “Why don’t we go back to my desk, and you can tell me all about it,” he glanced at her left hand, “Ms. Good.”

  Really? Checking out to see if I’m married? Still, he is movie-star gorgeous. Gotta give him that.

  Following him back to his work area required obstacle course maneuvers. Desks in varying states of disarray lined their path as each male detective thoroughly checked her out before returning to his work. A cute, curly-haired man with chocolate-colored eyes and a ruddy complexion, regarded her briefly as she passed by him, but he was less obvious than the others when it came to ogling her. Although he wasn’t quite as handsome as Det. Adam Springer, Super Model, for some odd reason, he impressed her more than the others with all their overt, typical male appreciation.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Good, and you can tell me what happened this morning,” Mr. Handsome said, staring at her as she flipped her long wavy auburn locks over her shoulder. His gaze then slowly drifted down to her chest for a couple of seconds before returning to her eyes.

  As soon as she saw his lips form the word, “Wow,” a little red flag in her head started waving. Focus. Think of Rebecca!

  The man who had left an impression on her before came over to join them and was introduced as Det. Nate Meeks, Springer’s partner.

  “Before you begin, Ms. Good,” Detective Springer said, “where were you headed when this happened?” This time his coveting of her body lasted even longer.

  No way was she going to say anything about their witch’s coven. Then, for sure, they wouldn’t take her seriously. Maybe Mama w
as right. Never get too involved with humans.

  With both detectives sitting there—one handsome as all get out, the other, with his arms folded across his burly, muscular looking chest—she began her story, just as Charlotte showed up.

  “I’m curious, too, Gillian,” she said.

  Without mentioning where she had been headed when it all happened, Gillian simply related everything she could remember, including how she recognized the car as belonging to her old friend.

  “And who would that be?” the detective named Nate Meeks asked.

  Oddly, no sooner had she mentioned Rebecca’s name then all three of them exchanged looks.

  What’s that about?

  Detective Springer’s tiny shake of his head confirmed her suspicion. Something was definitely up.

  “Look,” Detective Meeks said, “we will definitely look into this matter. We do thank you for coming in, Ms. Good, but I have to tell you, your friend, Ms. Rebecca Newell, already has quite a history with this department.”

  “What do you mean? What history?” Gillian took in Detective Meeks, who, having brought it up, remained silent.

  Detective Springer did not. “The problem with your friend is we spent quite a lot of time and money on her when she misled our department in the past. So, please excuse us for not automatically believing she’s actually a victim here.”

  What a jerk. “It was her car, I tell you, I recognized it.” Gillian paused. “Wait a minute. What do you mean by her misleading you?”

  Another look passed, but just between the male detectives this time.

  “Tell me, Charlotte,” she demanded.

  “I don’t think that’s ethical,” Detective Springer muttered.

  “Hey, I know Gillian,” Charlotte said. “Believe me, she’s trustworthy.” She faced her old classmate. “Right?”

  Gillian put up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

  Detective Meeks’s lips curled upward slightly.

  Detective Springer’s did not. “A couple of years ago,” he said, “someone anonymously dropped off a private video tape, along with a ransom note. When we played the tape, we saw a woman tied up to a chair. She said her name was Rebecca Newell, and she had been kidnapped by someone and was being held in his basement. Furthermore, she pleaded that if one hundred thousand dollars wasn’t paid up within twenty-four hours, she would be killed.

  “I remember how scared she looked and sounded. Frankly, it was chilling,” Meeks added.

  Springer eyed Gillian closely. “On top of that, Ms. Good, she actually gave us the last name of the person who was threatening her. And she started to beg for mercy before some unidentifiable man came toward her, so we spent days searching for her and her abductor, trying anything we could do to help save her. Then, she had the nerve to turn up at the station a week later, to tell us she’d made the whole thing up because she was working on an article about how fake videos can dupe people so easily.”

  Her heart pounding, Gillian turned to Meeks. “So, you’re both telling me she was just feeding you a line[1]?”

  At first, the detective hesitated. But after raking his hand through his slightly unruly hair, he answered her. “A line? Yeah, you could say that. But don’t worry, for your sake, we will definitely try and get in touch with Ms. Newell, one way or the other. In the meantime, we’ll need you to fill out a police report with your name and both your home and work addresses. Then, please stick around, while my partner and I check out a couple of things for you.”

  “My work address?” She doubted if her family would appreciate their downtown bookstore suddenly swarming with police.

  “You have a problem with us trying to help you, Ms. Good?” Meeks asked.

  Two jerks. She shrugged. “No.” Applesauce[2]. What bunk. There’s no way they are going to help me.

  “Of course she’ll help us, guys,” Charlotte cut in.

  Meeks stood up. “If you don’t mind, after you fill out your papers with Charlotte up at the front desk, please stay there for just a while longer while we start our preliminary investigation. There’s a snack and drink machine in the next room,” he said.

  Gillian looked over at the handsome Springer. His narrowed eyes definitely read he was a non-believer. Still, she said clearly, “You two think you know your onions[3]. Well, so do I. I heard what I heard, and I saw what I saw.”

  Filling out paperwork with Charlotte was painless enough, but after trying out a vending machine that ate up all of her quarters, as well as sitting on an unbelievably uncomfortable stadium chair for forty-five minutes, Gillian started to get really annoyed. Do they really expect me to stay all day? Then she thought of Rebecca. Chill. However long it takes to make sure she’s okay.

  Closing her eyes, she drifted off into that special, magical state she knew well. The place that had always helped her to cast spells, even as a young child; even as a teenager, when she gleefully reeled in various boyfriends, whether they knew they were attracted to her or not. Until that horrible thing that happened to Willy—all because of her.

  Don’t think of that now. For Rebecca’s sake, at least try to use your powers again.

  She pressed her hands together, steeple style, then held them up to her chin and rolled her eyelids closed. Have them find Rebecca alive and well. Have them—

  Slowly, she opened her eyes open to see the two detectives standing over her. Springer’s smirk showed plain skepticism. Meek’s dark eyes registered something else. What was it? She couldn’t tell.

  “Well?” she asked them.

  Springer cleared his throat. “We can’t seem to locate your friend. Judging from her previous antics, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Still, we feel you should go home now, and we’ll continue our search. Meanwhile, here is my card. Call me if you think of anything else. He turned the card over. That’s my personal number on the back.”

  When she rose, he let out a deep sigh. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Meeks shook his head. “Not cool, detective,” he muttered.

  But his partner didn’t seem to be listening. He was gawking at Gillian. “Boy, you’re not blushing at all, are you, huh? You must be one tough gal.”

  You have no idea. She attempted a smile that only half worked. “Frankly, I’m mostly thinking about my friend, Rebecca. Thanks for the card, Detective Springer.”

  “Adam, please call me Adam. Can I call you Gillian?”

  Not my first choice, no. Still, she shrugged. After all, it was really about Rebecca and her needing their help. “All right—I suppose.”

  Detective Meeks scowled at his partner a moment or two. Then, nodding his goodbye, Gillian noticed he didn’t offer her his card.

  As the two detectives walked off, she stood still, regretting she had even come.

  She stopped by Charlotte’s desk on her way out to let her know how it had gone with the other two detectives. “By the way, thanks so much for vouching for me.”

  “My pleasure. Hopefully, it got them to take you seriously.”

  Gillian cocked her head. “Why would you say it like that, Charlotte?”

  There was a slight pause. “Maybe because Adam Springer is an okay detective, but he’s definitely full of himself,” she said, her voice suddenly hushed. “He knows how attractive he is. But more than that, truth is, once he gets an idea about something, he isn’t likely to change. It took me making detective grade recently for him to take me seriously.”

  “What about Detective Meeks?”

  Charlotte’s grin activated two dimples. “Whole different category if you ask me. He’s not only a great detective, his instincts with clues are amazing. He’ll find things that no one else will. In fact, he’s so intuitive, we’ve started calling him the Clue Whisperer.” She laughed. “Particularly when we’re all out together at a bar at the end of the shift and on our third cocktail.”

  “Well, I sure hope he can find out more about Rebecca. This is so upsetting.”

  “Of course. You were pretty chummy w
ith Rebecca a few years back, as I recall.”

  “Yes, she was the bee’s knees[4]. She sometimes would send me whatever manuscript or article she was working on, and we’d talk about it. Not recently, though, now that she’s become such a big cheese[5].”

  She noted Charlotte’s scrunched up face and added, “Hot shot, I mean.”

  A light giggle spilled out. “Oh, Gillian,” Charlotte said, “I forgot how you always used those old phrases.”

  “Yes, flapper phrases, to be exact.”

  “Interesting. Anyway, I always thought they were so cute.” Charlotte leaned forward. “Tell you what,” she said, her voice low, “I’ll call you if anything big happens around here. But I can’t give you any details. I don’t want to get demoted just when I worked so hard to make detective. Okay?”

  “Yes, I understand. I certainly don’t want you to get you into any trouble. By the way, is it all right if I go back inside to get some water from the vending machine? If it works, that is. It sure didn’t before.”

  Laughing, Charlotte swatted her hand toward the other room. “Go ahead. But first, let me tell you the secret of that machine.”

  “Secret, huh? Okay, what is it?”

  Charlotte snickered. “Kick it as hard as you can with your foot.”

  Walking back toward the vending machine, Gillian frowned. Some police department. Hope their investigative process is better than their machines.

  Once inside the room, she put in a quarter for a bottle of water.

  Nothing.

  She shook the machine a little then dropped in another quarter.

  Nada.

  Okay, enough is enough. I’m going to get this sucker to work if it kills me.

  She started to kick the machine with her boot. One, two, three times.

  Nyet. “Fiddlesticks[6]!” she called out.

  Determined, she swung back her leg to kick it again.

  “Hey, hey, hey. Stop!” Meeks put a firm hand on her shoulder.

  Halting in mid-stride, she almost toppled over.

  Leaping around, he held onto her as he steadied her.

  “Sorry. I was told to do this,” she said slowly, too aware of his arms around her as his dark brown eyes fixed a slow burn into her deep purple ones.