Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

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Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels Page 30

by Jasmine Walt


  The box was full of books, which explained why it was so heavy. I was about to push the box aside and look for something more exciting when a title on the top book caught my attention.

  Herbs and Their Magical Properties was printed in fading green font on the worn hardcover. I extracted it from the box and thumbed through it. Who knew that basil had so many magical uses?

  The next book was about harnessing the magic power of stones and crystals. After that was a thick book called The Witch’s Cookbook. The pages showed signs of usage, stained with ingredients and bits of food.

  Three more books sat in the box. They were about numerology, tarot reading, and palmistry. The gears in my head started to turn as I tore open the next box. More books were in there—the most curious one was about psychic self defense—as well as a blue velvet bag of runes, a mortar and pestle, about a dozen glass bottles of labeled herbs, and a box of multi-colored candles.

  I also found a piece of folded black material within the box. It was about as thick as a sheet but not nearly as big. I spread it out on the table. A design of stars and moons was embroidered along the edges, with a large pentagram in each corner. In the center was the same emblem of a triple moon surrounded by an ancient language that was on the dagger and the pendant, which I hadn’t taken off. Two sharpened wooden stakes, a leather holder with five very sharp Chinese throwing stars, and a pair of brass knuckles were at the bottom of the box.

  “What the…?” I said to myself. Why in the world would little old Aunt Estelle need things like this?

  I shook my head and eagerly opened the last box and found more weapons. I pulled out a small crossbow and a set of three black stainless steel throwing knives. A long, black velvet cape was folded under the weapons. I held it up to me; it was the perfect length. Maybe Aunt Estelle wasn’t so little after all.

  Next to come out of the box was a round black mirror. With much curiosity, I set it on the table and looked in it. Was it just me, or was there no reflection? I didn’t realize that I was slowly moving my face closer and closer to the mirror. Everything around me began to fade, and the surface of the mirror rippled, as if it was dark water.

  I leaned away and blinked. I looked down at the mirror again and saw my reflection. I shook my head.

  “This is why I hate looking in mirrors at night,” I said out loud as I wrapped the mirror up in the cape. “Except that it is day, and you are creepy,” I told the mirror as I put it down.

  The next item in the box was a black stone bowl. I was pretty sure it was a scrying bowl that was used to peer into when it was full. What was I supposed to see? Visions? People? I was sure there was an answer in one of the books.

  Several bundles of dried leaves and incense sticks were in a pretty wooden box with Celtic carvings engraved into the lid. There was another wooden stick-like thing towards the bottom of the box. Having assumed it to be another wooden stake, I was surprised to find otherwise.

  I was holding a wand. The body was wooden, with a beautifully carved ivy vine snaking up from the sterling silver handle to the crystal tip. I held it up and half-expected the crystal to light up or glow. Honestly, I was a little disappointed when it didn’t.

  A very worn deck of tarot cards was wrapped in a midnight blue scarf. The very last item to come out was the one that excited me the most. It was a large, leather bound journal. The leather was worn and shiny from being handled over and over. Imprinted in the leather was the triple moon symbol again. A metal buckle held the book closed. I pushed it up, and with a click, it snapped open easily.

  Careful not to rip the old paper, I slowly turned through the pages. I knew exactly what this was. It was not as detailed as ones from movies, however, and the pages were not elaborately painted with pictures of what was being described. Instead, messy handwriting was scrawled over the paper with the occasional badly drawn diagram.

  This was a Book of Shadows.

  I set the book down, and the pages fell open to the translated Theban alphabet. The squiggly lines above each English letter matched the ones on my pendant and dagger. I started at it for a second before closing the book to look at the symbol on the cover, using my finger to mark the page. I flipped back and forth, translating the ancient language.

  “Coven of the Sacred Guardians,” I whispered to myself. What the hell did that mean?

  The doorbell rang, startling me back into reality. Thinking it was James, I set the Book of Shadows down and went to answer it. Instead, there was a young woman, probably in her twenties, standing on the porch. She had thick curly brown hair, which was pulled back in a perfectly smooth bun. That must have taken a long time, since I could barely get my naturally straight hair to lay that flat and even. Her makeup was impressively done as well, and her pristinely pressed black suit made me feel like a slob in my jeans and t-shirt. I absentmindedly ran my hands through my hair. Since I had let the sun and wind dry it, it was messy and a tad bit wavier than usual.

  “Hi, you must be Anora,” she said with a smile. I nodded. “I’m Susan Cospan. I’m James’s intern. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you I was coming.”

  “No, sorry,” I said, though I didn’t know why I was apologizing.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said, almost to herself. “Well, I’m here to take you to the bank and help you finalize everything.”

  I knew the polite thing to do was to invite her in, but a quick glance at the dining room table, still covered with weapons and magic supplies, told me not too. Luckily, my shoes were by the front door. “I’m gonna run and get my purse, I’ll be right down,” I said and closed the door. I remembered to lock the back door and grab the house key to lock the front. The old Ford truck parked outside surprised me. There was a horse decal on the back window.

  “You have horses?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I have a Quarter Horse. James keeps telling me that I need to get a more professional-looking car, but I told him that he needs to give me a raise first because there’s no way I can afford a new car on an intern’s salary.”

  She smiled at me, and we talked about horses the entire ride to the bank, which made it hard to pay attention to the roads and where we were going. I was miles away from anyone I could consider a neighbor.

  When we left the bank two hours later, I had a headache from everything I had been told. I’ve never had to pay taxes before, so the concept of inheritance tax made no sense to me. Susan and I stopped for lunch before she took me back home. She said if I needed anything, I could call her. I thanked her and got out of her truck, eyeing the large house.

  I felt lonely as soon as I walked inside. I put the envelope of papers from the bank on the kitchen counter and realized I had a huge problem when I looked at everything sprawled out on the dining room table. How was I going to get this back home? I could fit some of it in my suitcase—thank God I didn’t over pack this time—but there was absolutely no way I could get the weapons into the airport. The second set of keys James had left were half hidden under the crossbow. Realizing I hadn’t even looked at them yet, I picked them up, rubbing my thumb over the Cadillac symbol. Remembering the old car in the garage, I hurried to see if this was the right key. It was, and the engine started without a hitch. A full tank of gas and a GPS welcomed me to drive around. A note was taped to the GPS.

  Anora-

  I programmed in some helpful locations.

  -James

  Wow, he had really done everything he could to be able to avoid me. I grabbed my purse and the house key. I remembered seeing a Wal-Mart on the way to the bank, and I was sure I’d be able to find it on my own, but I decided to use the GPS in case. I used my new debit card that took money from my new bank account to buy packing tape, Sharpies, another suitcase, and a ton of Sour Patch Kids.

  I didn’t feel like repacking the items from Estelle’s box yet, so I went all the way upstairs to investigate the attic. It was crammed full like an episode of Hoarders.

  I picked my way over the boxes and furniture, and e
eny meeny miny mo-ed a decision of which box to open first, finding it to be full of pictures. I sat cross-legged on the dusty attic floor and let myself go back in time. Aunt Estelle had been married, a fact that I had never known. She looked like a model in her wedding pictures, and her husband was just as attractive.

  I dug deeper into the box and found pictures with Aunt Estelle on a black horse, a picture of her dressed up like a witch for Halloween— an inside joke for her I was sure—and many more of her as a teenager. At the bottom of the box was a wedding photo album. Aunt Estelle’s long, dark hair looked so pretty against her white princess-style dress. She looked so happy in every picture.

  Two old newspaper articles were folded at the end of the album. I carefully opened the old paper, thinking it must be her engagement and wedding announcements.

  “Oh, crap,” I said out loud when the words “unexplained death” jumped out oat me. Estelle’s husband, Reilly, died five years after they got married. The small article said that he was found burned to death inside his own home, except the house never caught fire and there were no signs of anything else being burnt inside the house at all, according to the fire marshal.

  The next article was his obituary. The ink was blotchy from teardrops. I didn’t want to read it. I folded the papers back and set them down, moving on to another box.

  This one had boring regular books in it, nothing that sparked any interest in me. The next had hideous 1980s decorations, and the one after that had old blankets and quilts. I became distracted with a very detailed, handmade dollhouse castle, complete with fancy handmade furniture. The castle was incredibly well decorated and life-like. Yet no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find the royal dolls that lived there.

  I opened another box, finding it full of leather pants, corsets, and halter-tops. I should have known better than to think I’d gotten my share of surprises that day. I expected to find a whip and some handcuffs next. Instead, I found matching accessories: belts with metal hooks and loops, gloves, and my favorite, fingerless leather gloves with long spikes on the knuckles. I had actually seen gloves like this at the Ren Fair before. They were designed to act like claws; when you made a fist, the “claws” pointed forward.

  I held the pants up and thought they’d fit. I shook them out several times, took off my jeans, and tried them on. They were a little loose on my waist, but other than that, they fit me perfectly. I uncovered an old mirror to check myself out. I laughed, but really I liked them. I had no idea where I’d ever wear them, but these were definitely going home with me.

  I wanted to put a top on too, and I couldn’t decide between the corset and the midriff-showing halter. Deciding the corset required more work, I pulled the halter on, topping off my outfit with the claw gloves, even though it made it difficult to go through the rest of the stuff.

  I went through five more boxes until I got too bored. They contained little figurines of various animals, more regular books, and other types of house décor. An old sofa and a few mismatched armchairs were also stuffed up here. I could go through the rest of the stuff later…if I ever got to come back here.

  I went downstairs and was still bored. The TV wasn’t hooked up to cable and the quiet was getting to me, making me feel lonelier than I already was. I could go look in the basement…nah. I doubted there was anything down there.

  I rolled eyes at myself. I shouldn’t be scared of this house. Of my house. I grabbed weapons from the dining room and felt confident enough to explore the basement.

  The wooden stairs creaked with every step I took, and dust clouded around my feet. There was a single light bulb at the base of the stairs. My hand closed around the dust-covered string. I pulled on it, and with a click, the light flashed on.

  The basement was large, dim, and mostly empty. An old fridge, toolboxes, and a milk crate full of mason jars were pushed up against the far wall. A storage closet was off to the side, the white paint peeled off the splintering door. There was no need for me to go in there. I took a step back. No, definitely didn’t need to look inside. I pulled the string again and rushed up the dark stairs.

  I went into the kitchen and tried to eat as much food as possible since I didn’t want anything to go to waste. I sat in the library, reading and playing on my phone, trying to pass the time.

  Around seven-thirty, the doorbell rang. I froze, wondering who in the hell would be at the house. It was dark outside, and I hadn’t turned the porch lights on yet. Since none of the windows had curtains, I was sure whoever was outside definitely knew I was home. Damn it. I wanted to run and hide and pretend I hadn’t heard the doorbell.

  Apprehensively, I opened the door. A middle-aged couple and two children stood on my porch; the girl looked no older than ten, and the boy was maybe thirteen. They had arrived in an old, beat-up truck.

  “Hello!” the women said cheerfully. “You must be—” Her voice faltered, taking in my bizarre outfit that I forgot I was still wearing. At least the table was cleared off, for the most part. “—old Estelle’s niece.”

  “Anora. It’s nice to meet you.” I would have offered a hand to shake, but I would have stabbed the nice lady with my claws. I put my hands behind my back and struggled to remove the gloves.

  “I’m Donna Campbell. This is my husband Bill and our kids, Stephanie and Max. We live up the road.” She pointed east, a direction I hadn’t yet gone. “We heard talk that someone finally moved in, so we came to welcome you to the community.” She held up a plate of cookies.

  “Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to spend time with these strangers. But they knew who Aunt Estelle was. Not wanting to be rude, I invited them inside.

  Donna gladly stepped in. The children followed, and I thought I saw Bill roll his eyes at the back of Donna’s head. Donna was a short, stout woman with dyed blonde hair with thick brown roots showing. She had on jeans and cowboy boots, and her pale pink button-up shirt was spotless and wrinkle free. Her husband wasn’t much taller, and he also had on jeans and boots, but his were dirty. He had a red flannel shirt unbuttoned over a dirty white t-shirt, complete with oil stains. He looked like a farmer that had come from the fields. The little girl looked like a skinnier and younger version of her mom, and the boy looked like her as well, but he had probably outweighed his mother years ago.

  “Oh wow! Just, wow!” Donna said as she walked through the foyer and into the living room. “It’s as big on the inside as it looks on the outside! Beautiful!”

  “Thanks,” I said, watching Donna move around, inspecting the woodwork. Bill and the kids stayed in place by the door. Max was eyeing my chest. Oh right. The leather halter-top. I was probably more well endowed than my aunt, and I was wearing a pushup bra, which, combined with the tight leather, made me look horribly cleavagey and slutty. I wished I could dash upstairs and grab my t-shirt. “So, have you guys lived her long?” I asked Bill, wanting to break the silence before it got awkward…well, more awkward.

  “Yep,” he said with a nod.

  “Oh.” I smiled awkwardly and let out a breath. The kids were still staring at me like I was an alien. I took a step back and went to find Donna. The house didn’t feel like mine yet, but the thought of having this stranger look around like it was a museum bothered me. I called bullshit on her coming to welcome me.

  “So,” I started, causing Donna to jump. “Did you know my great aunt?”

  “Oh, not too well.” She flicked her eyes to me then back at the house. “She kept to herself most of the time. She was real quiet too, but she was there when you needed her. Never knew how she knew when there was trouble, but boy were we glad for her help more than once. She actually looked a lot like you when she was younger, I remember. It seemed she never aged, then suddenly one day she was a weak, old woman.”

  I took the cookies and steered Donna back toward the front door. Her eyes went to the stairs; her husband cleared his throat.

  “Well, Anora. It was nice to meet you. Hopefully we will see you aga
in.” Donna’s eyes sparkled with delight.

  I smiled and said goodbye, and breathed a sigh of relief when I shut and locked the door. “Don’t worry, they’re gone,” I said to the house. I spent the rest of the evening packing things up in boxes. I decided to ask Susan to have the weapons shipped for me and made up a story about Aunt Estelle collecting antique armor and weapons.

  Ethan called me that night. I’d just closed the Book of Shadows when my phone rang.

  “Thought you might need some company again,” he said when I picked up.

  “Of course I could.” I smiled, wishing he were here with me. We talked for an hour before I was sleepy.

  “Call me when you land tomorrow. I want to see you, if it’s okay with you,” he said.

  “It’s okay with me,” I said with too much excitement.

  “Sweet. See you tomorrow Anora.”

  “Annie,” I said, feeling he had earned the right. “You can call me Annie if you want. My friends and brother do.”

  “I like Anora. It’s different and pretty, like you.”

  I smiled, glad he couldn’t see the grin on my face right now. “Goodnight, Ethan.”

  “Goodnight, Annie.”

  11

  I turned down Laney’s request—for the third time—to join her and her on-again-off-again boyfriend Josh, at the movies that Friday night. She pressed her lips together and looked at me, trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. I promised I was tired and that I’d join them on the next movie-date, though I truthfully didn’t want to go and be the third wheel.

  I hadn’t been able to get a hold of Ethan all week. I’d called him when the plane landed—like he asked—and got his voicemail. I left a message and didn’t hear back from him. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I called him again Monday night, and still nothing. I wasn’t calling again. It pissed me off that the lack of response caused hurt. Way to pick them, Anora.

 

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