Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6)

by S. R. Mallery

  Carly’s smirk was classic. “He’s not doing so well now, is he? What a joke. Hmm, Meeks. Yeah. I think I’ve seen him around town with his gorgeous partner. He’s pretty cute, too. But his partner? Wow. Double wow. Like a movie actor.”

  “Oh, bite me. Do you think about nothing else but how good looking a fella is?” Gillian snapped.

  Carly did her talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Yes, Gilly, I actually do. So there, smarty pants!”

  “Girls, girls,” Ellen said. “Let’s not revert back to childhood fights.”

  Gillian chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mama. Actually, we sometimes made up, didn’t we?”

  “That’s right,” Stevie said and held up her hands, palms out. “Ready for some patty-cake, girls?”

  All three grinning now, they stood up together in a small, tight semi-circle, performed their rhythmic pats to each other in a three-way, syncopated pattern.

  “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can,” they repeated over and over again adding the full lyrics and increasing their speed each new round.

  Click-click-click. “Patty cake! Patty cake!” Joselyn chirped, then whistled as she walked over to them. The girls’ screams of laughter rang out everywhere.

  Still giggling, Ellen disappeared for several moments. When she returned, she was carrying a thick, antiquated book. “Now, get going, Gilly. Practice, practice, practice.”

  “With Papa’s spell book?”

  “Yes, indeed. As you all know, he swore by this book, and that says something. He was so effective. You also know how…” Handing it over with a trembling chin, she said no more. Instead, she gave her eldest a gentle push toward the hall.

  “Thanks, Mama,” Gillian said over her shoulder as she continued down the corridor to her room, her mind scrambling.

  But in the end, that didn’t save him, now did it?

  Once she closed her bedroom door, Gillian brought her father’s spell book over to her bed and sinking down, willed her mind to concentrate. No interruptions, no loud noises. Best of all, there was no Joselyn and her distracting antics.

  After gathering her little spell candles, a lighter, incense, her favorite bracelet, different colored ribbons, and various teabags, all gathering dust in a cardboard box hidden away under her bed, she opened up the coveted book and spread it out across her lap.

  Just the dusky smell alone from the book’s yellowed, crumbling page edges brought back fond memories and prickly tears. Memories of how much she had loved her father, as compared to her odd mother. How she cherished his kindness, his gentleness, his jokes, and his all-encompassing hugs.

  “Now,” she said aloud, as she’d done for so many years. “First off, I better find a spell to change the run of bad luck for Nate, Adam, and the police department, so they can find concrete evidence in poor Rebecca’s case. Something’s gotta make things change.”

  She rifled through the book’s back index. “Change luck, change bad, change something,” she kept mumbling as she searched.

  Two minutes later, with Joselyn’s faint whistles outside the room, she pressed a finger down on a listed page number then flipped over to it. “Ah-hah, ‘How to Change a Run of Bad Luck,’” she said then began with the instructions. “First off, stand and press your back against a wall. Then, gathering all thoughts of ability, daring, and fortitude, repeat these words:

  “Dear Good Fortune, make thy presence known.

  Bring thy sword to those who need their truth shown.”

  Her father’s book still clutched in her arms, she stood up and stepping over to the only wall in her room not jammed with either a bed, a rocking chair, or multiple bookshelves, she pressed against it, glanced down at the verse again, and repeated it two more times.

  “Dear Good Fortune, make thy presence known.

  Bring thy sword to those who need their truth shown.”

  As soon as she finished, she shut her eyes and cocked her head slightly to the right, hoping for some sort of sign—even just a spark of sound. But the only noise occurring—besides the New England wind rushes outside—came from Joselyn screeching as loud as a punk rocker.

  Oh, boy. She’s angry I’m not letting her in.

  Back on her bed, continuing on with the book’s index, she noticed numerous love spells. Bah! Can’t believe I’m even looking at this.

  But a strange feeling kept spiraling over her no matter how hard she tried to shake it off. A series of minuscule flutters tingled over her arms, her legs, and her chest. What the…?

  Images of Nate appeared, with his dark, kind eyes, his appealing smile, his arm and back muscles straining through his shirt as he leaned down to pull out laundry. And how the nerves in her hand had exploded when he had reached over to touch it.

  She thumbed through the book, reading about the different love spells, thinking how silly she had become, when one of them popped out at her. It had to be performed on a windy night. Tonight sure fits.

  Reading the instructions, she then opened up her bedroom window and stood directly in front of it, supposedly to face Nate’s home.

  “That’s crazy. I have no idea where he lives.” So, she speculated on the general direction of the police building and turned toward it. “This’ll have to do.”

  When a series of wind gusts picked up outside, she began. “Nate. Nate. Nate,” she whispered. Looking at the next few words, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, boy,” she said. “Here goes…”

  “Braah—braah—braah!” Joselyn screeched from the hall.

  Are you kidding me? She steadied her hands on the windowsill, and let it rip.

  “Winds from the sea,

  Ignore the past.

  Please send me a new love

  that will surely last.

  She paused, her heart in her throat.

  “Braah—braah—braah!”

  Without saying another word, she strode over to her door, opened it up, saw Joselyn perched on a side table, bobbing up and down double-time, her head feathers completely fanned out. “Pretty girl, pretty girl!” she screeched.

  One hand on her hip, Gillian snapped, “Okay, pretty girl, you can came come in, but you have to do what I tell you.”

  Joselyn instantly tried her Cute Act. “Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo!”

  “They don’t call you a Velcro cockatoo for nothing, do they? You just can’t be without me. Well, cute isn’t going to work tonight, kiddo. In fact, I’m going to try out a shut-up spell on you and see how that goes.”

  She marched over to her bed, and picking up Joselyn’s favorite little bell, jingled it three times. “Joselyn. Joselyn. Joselyn,” she said. “Come to me, my precious pet, let me see how good your obedience gets.”

  No sound. Just an exaggerated head swivel to one side and a single parrot’s toe outstretched toward her.

  Wow. Is this actually working? Her heartbeats picked up.

  She repeated the entire process.

  No more response. Except for Joselyn choosing that moment to relieve herself in the middle of the floor.

  “That’s it. Get out of here, you stupid bird!” Gillian hissed and shooed the cockatoo out the room. “And don’t even think about complaining!”

  Shakespeare’s rave parrot-teacher, yeah, right.

  Sinking back down on her bed, her brain swirled. She never realized how much her mother’s constant harping about how once you fall in love with a human you lose your powers was embedded in her psyche. Never mind that Ellen herself wasn’t really a witch, and her impressive warlock father was obviously far more tolerant about witches and humans interbreeding.

  “People who are converts are often the most rigid believers,” Amanda had once told her.

  Yet the reality was, as attracted as she was to Nate, she certainly couldn’t say she was “in love” with him. After all, she barely knew the man.

  Blinking back a couple of tears, she lifted her eyes up toward the ceiling. “I should have helped you, Papa, but I didn’t. And when my s
pells worked well, look what happened to Willy. But now? I can’t even help Rebecca. Oh, I wish I’d never been born this way!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Nate called out of the blue the following Saturday, Gillian figured it had to be his own idea. How could it not? First off, if her spell had actually worked, it would have taken effect immediately. That had always been the nature and power of her skills. On top of that, Joselyn’s recent complete lack of obedience or affection toward her, no matter how hard she tried, further indicated her spell abilities were sadly lacking.

  Yet, she couldn’t help herself. Just listening to the detective’s deep, melodious voice sparked in her an overall surge of happiness. And the fact that she hadn’t had to manipulate anything this time? It was actually pretty thrilling.

  “Good to hear from you, Nate.” In spite of trying to stay cool, unaffected, she was completely caught off guard by the depth of her emotions.

  “Glad you feel that way, Gillian,” he said, with an almost hum to his voice. “I realize this is kind of last minute, but I was wondering, since I finally have a day off tomorrow, if you’d like to spend it with me. Possible?”

  “Yes, it is.” Why am I so out of breath?

  “Great. What would you like to do? Lady’s choice. Of course, you do understand that if something comes up with any case, I’ll have to take a rain check. Particularly this current one about the authors.”

  So much for my spell on helping the police. “I’d expect no less. After all, I truly want Rebecca’s killer caught.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  A short lull followed as she tried a little self-brainstorming. Then it occurred to her. An activity that the barhopping Carly would probably never do. “How about a nice afternoon walk?”

  He chuckled. “Sounds perfect, and I know just where to go for that. Ever been to Didion Park?”

  “No, actually. I’ve heard of it, though.”

  “It’s one of my favorite places, and I’d love to introduce you to it. Around two o’clock tomorrow then. Why don’t I pick you up?”

  Uh-oh. Not with Mama around. “How about I meet you at the park?”

  Silence on his end. “You okay, Gillian?”

  Does he have a sixth sense or what? “Yes, of course, I’m fine. I just feel more comfortable doing it that way if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you before I start out,” he said then gave her directions.

  * *

  In spite of a hope-springs-eternal feeling she got from Nate’s attention that night, she decided to try one more love and friendship spell. It couldn’t hurt, could it? As relieved as she had felt about not influencing Nate’s call earlier, now, major insecurity was doing its best to take over.

  First off, making sure Joselyn was in Carly’s room so their pet would feel loved and appreciated, she said her goodnights. Then, closing her bedroom door, she prepared to try one more incantation.

  With her father’s spell book still handy, she took certain objects out of her box of witch equipment, sank down on her bed, and thumbed back to a page she’d seen before. No sooner had her eyelids rolled closed when she started in.

  “Bring on friendship far and near,

  Make Nate someone who becomes dear.

  Bring on friendship far and wide,

  Make our relationship like the rising tide.”

  True, the inane words did seem corny, but for some reason this time, she didn’t care. She suddenly felt the need to stack the deck at least one more time.

  Slowly, she rocked back and forth on her bed, her mind revisiting a time when she had watched her father execute so many spells, late at night when supposedly all three daughters were asleep. But not her. Not only was she the oldest, she’d also always been the most curious—and ingenious at routing out special hiding places.

  During several tropical storms in New Orleans, when high winds and heavy floods had made life so difficult, she would station herself behind an armoire in the herbal room and watch her father perform one spell after another. Aided by his adoring wife and watched by an oddly quiet Joselyn perched nearby, it seemed Elijah could truly work miracles.

  Gillian pictured another time, just after her father had died, when Ellen had attempted a certain invocation that turned out to be life changing. It was a hushed spell, which, as her mother later told them, she used to get them all out of New Orleans, so they wouldn’t have to deal with their nonstop memories of her husband and their father.

  Now, recapturing that time even more fully, Gillian pictured Ellen’s trembling hands and her lower lip, bitten hard enough to produce blood. Even at nine years old, the little girl thought it strange that her mother’s sadness would also bring on what seemed to be a sense of fear.

  “Mama,” she now called out in her room, “was it just grieving that had you pack us up and move so far? Or was there something more to it?”

  A gentle knock on her door swiftly broke her thoughts. It’s probably Stevie.

  It was. As soon as she let her sister in, Gillian was touched by the girl’s knitted eyebrows. She always appreciated her sister’s protectiveness, no matter what.

  “All you all right?” Stevie asked, eyeing first her sister, then their father’s book.

  Gillian sighed. “Yes, sure. Just trying something.”

  “Tell me, tell me.”

  “All right, but this is strictly between you and me. Got it?”

  Nodding, Stevie sat down on the rocker. “Go on, Gilly.”

  “I’m doing—well, trying to do—a love and friendship spell on someone.”

  “Wow. That’s new for you, huh? I thought you’d sworn off all that.”

  “Yes, but for some reason this person is…” Her pause lasted a good two seconds. “Worth it.”

  “And he is?”

  “One of the detectives in Rebecca’s case. Nate Meeks. Tomorrow afternoon, I have a date with him to walk in the park. But don’t you dare tell Carly!”

  Giggling, Stevie shook her head. “Not on your life.” She got up and bent over to hug her sister. “Good night. Have fun tomorrow. You deserve it, big sister.”

  * *

  Two steps into Didion Park with Nate, and Gillian felt as if she had entered a magical realm. Pathways, lined with sugar maple and hickory trees and a lake bordered by spice and witch hazel bushes, all exploded with autumnal red, yellow, and tawny colored leaves, thrusting her visual sensibilities into high gear.

  And with their easy banter about books, movies, politics, and life in general, her feeling of attraction and trust grew stronger with each passing stride.

  Finally, stopping at one point, she couldn’t help commenting, “Boy, this is all so different from the Bayou swamps near New Orleans. When we lived back there, my family would go on these excursions, all around the state. I was the oldest child, so perhaps I’ve kept the strongest memory of it.” As they continued to walk, she gave him a side-glance. “What fond memories do you have of your childhood?”

  A sudden darkness flickered across his face.

  Immediately sorry she had asked, she blurted out, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s all right. No problem. Gillian, like many other people’s childhoods, mine was far from perfect. My father left us when I was very young, and my mother was forced to work several jobs to make ends meet. She and I aren’t that close, but I do have a lot of respect for her. Unlike you, I have no siblings, I’m afraid. I hope you consider yourself lucky. To have a tight family sounds wonderful.”

  He doesn’t know Carly. “Thank you, Nate, but we’ve had our fair share of issues. We don’t always make—”

  “Whoopee[21]?”

  Exploding with laughter, she exclaimed, “You slay me[22]. How did you ever know that flapper word for just having a good time? I figured I’m the only crazy one still using that expression innocently, rather than to imply having sex.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve got a confession. After I called you, I looked up some flap
per expressions. I figure if I was going to see you today, I should learn at least a couple of them.”

  Suddenly, her pulse sped up, as she envisioned him and possibly doing the more modern definition for “Whoopie.”

  Silently, he picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the still water. One-two-three-four-five skips.

  “Well, I’m impressed.” Gillian picked up a flat stone and tried it. One skip and it plopped into the water. Laughing, she tried it again. “So much for trying hard not to be a girly-girl.”

  He picked up another stone, and going over to stand next to her, demonstrated how his finger and hand wrapped around the stone. He wriggled the configuration several times. “Try it like this.”

  Forget the stone, the closeness of his body felt both unnerving and surprisingly comforting.

  She tried it again. When the stone skipped five times, she burst out laughing. “You’re a genius!”

  “Genius, huh? Not according to the general public. We still don’t have any real clues in this case.”

  She looked away.

  “Look, Gillian, I wasn’t going to say anything about the case, but it’s really bothering me. I just need one clue. But I apologize. I didn’t mean to spoil this wonderful day.”

  Placing a hand lightly on his arm, she said, “It’s not spoiled. I’m glad you actually care.” She paused. “By the way, did you ever find her journals?”

  “What journals?”

  “She’s written in journals for years and years. There should be something in them to help you.”

  “But where are they?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Suddenly, a slight wind cropped up, and reaching out toward her face, he caught a few stray strands of her long red hair then gently curled them behind her ear.

  Instantly, she shivered as he drew a shaky breath. “You cold?” he asked softly.

  His words sounded concerned, almost gallant, yet his long gulp afterward indicated he obviously understood being cold probably wasn’t the sole cause of her shivers.

  “I—I’m all right, thanks.”

  They continued on, the wind growing, the sky darkening, and she knew she could no longer stay silent about certain things. She had to speak up.