Better Than Hex (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Annabel Chase

  “This is a wedding, Emma. My volunteer work is about my redemption. The wedding is a more selfish event. Surely you can see the difference.” He moved to the living room. “Why don't we go sit down? But make sure you use a coaster. Elsa doesn't like it when guests ignore the coasters.”

  I sat across from him in one of the white chairs. She was a brave fairy, having white furniture. I’d never in a million years trust myself not to ruin it. “So when is the wedding? Will it be at the Mayor's Mansion like the engagement party?”

  “Elsa wants it at Swan Lake. Invitations will be going out soon. The wedding is set for next month.”

  “I'm surprised Elsa wants to wait that long,” I said.

  “She doesn't, but her mother insisted. The mayor’s schedule was too busy to accommodate a wedding.”

  Mayor Knightsbridge was stalling. I still had no idea what she had planned. I wondered whether it was worth bringing my theory to her, or if she’d be resistant to the idea that Elsa was behind this. It was a risk, but it was one I had to take.

  “The lake is another reason it's taking longer to plan. Arrangements need to be made for the ceremony to be held there.”

  “She wants the reception there, too?” I had a hard time imagining a fancy fairy like Elsa Knightsbridge wanting to dine alfresco.

  “No, just the ceremony. The reception will be held at the Spellbound Country Club.”

  Now that made more sense.

  “Secretly, I think Mayor Knightsbridge is unhappy at the thought of being a grandmother,” he said.

  I balked. “Grandmother?” I was pretty sure I'd just popped a blood vessel.

  Daniel chuckled. “Not yet. I only meant in the future. Elsa can’t wait to be a mother.”

  My stomach turned. The idea of Elsa and Daniel having children hadn't even occurred to me.

  “Is that even possible for you?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn't it be? As far as I know, everything is in working order.”

  A wave of nausea rolled over me. “I'm sorry, Daniel, but the tea isn't settling very well. I think I need to go.”

  He looked disappointed. At least that was something. “Well, I'm glad you stopped by. We should do this again soon. I miss you.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “I miss you, too,” I said, and closed the front door behind me.

  Chapter 14

  I usually socialized at the Horned Owl, so it felt a bit weird to be sitting in the Spotted Owl for a change. I felt like I was cheating on my pub. The interior was similar, not a surprise since both places were owned by incubi brothers.

  “Why do we never come here?” Begonia asked. “It’s just as nice as the other one.”

  “Because of the clientele,” Millie said in a hushed tone. “This place is rougher around the edges.”

  I stifled a laugh. I’d hardly call the patrons here rough around the edges. In fact, I saw the same types of residents that frequented the Horned Owl. There were vampires, shifters, satyrs, nymphs—no group seemed absent from the mix.

  “There’s Astrid and her sister,” Sophie said, waving wildly.

  “Sorry we’re a little late,” Astrid said. “Somebody couldn’t find her favorite lipstick and insisted on rifling through my things to make sure I didn’t steal it from her.”

  “I didn’t accuse you of stealing,” Britta said. “You’re the sheriff now. It would look bad.”

  “It is a pretty shade on you,” I said.

  “Thanks.” Britta beamed at me. “I found it in the kitchen in the cookie jar.”

  “The cookie jar?” I queried.

  Britta waved me off. “Don’t ask.” She slapped her hands on the table. “Who needs a drink? This round is on me.”

  All hands went up around the table.

  “How about a pitcher of Melon Pizazz?” Begonia suggested.

  “Good idea,” Britta said. “I’m going to go flirt with the bartender and see if I can get a second pitcher for free.”

  “No worries about the appearance of impropriety with this one,” I whispered to Astrid.

  She laughed. “Britta was born improper. Seriously, I think she was breech.”

  Astrid sat beside me at the table and scanned the room for Mitch or Harlan.

  “I wanted to look for them,” I said, “but I don’t know what they look like.”

  “I know who they are,” Astrid said. “I used to bowl in the same league.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t picture the blond Valkyrie bowling. I pictured the heavy ball sailing through the air and smashing through a window when she felt the urge to celebrate a strike.

  “There they are now,” she said. “A booth in the back corner. Mitch has the mustache and Harlan is bald.”

  I craned my neck to see them. Mitch’s mustache wasn’t as bad as I expected. It was so easy to go wrong with a mustache, but his was more Tom Selleck than Hitler.

  “How do we play this?” I asked.

  “How about you go over once you have a drink,” Astrid suggested. “See if you can get them comfortable and talking. Then I’ll swoop in with the questions.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Are you sleuthing?” Begonia asked eagerly. “Can we help?”

  “Probably best not to have too many hands in the cauldron,” Astrid said.

  Begonia fell back against her chair, disappointed.

  “There’ll be other chances,” I said. “There always seems to be a need for sleuthing around here.”

  Britta arrived with two pitchers and set them in the middle of the table. A server followed with a tray of empty glasses.

  “This looks wonderful,” I said. I hadn’t tried Melon Pizazz yet, although I’d seen other people drinking it on occasion. It reminded me of sangria or some other fruity cocktail. Instead of traditional fruit, there were slices of Spellbound fruit like burstberries and razzle-dazzle.

  The server filled the glasses from the pitcher and I took a quick sip.

  “What do you think?” Sophie asked.

  “So good,” I said. “How much alcohol is in here?”

  “Enough to knock you off your broom if you’re not careful,” Millie said. “What am I saying? You don’t even ride a broom.”

  “Thanks for reminding me of my shortcomings, Millie,” I said, taking another sip. Like a box of Lucky Charms, it was magically delicious.

  “You can always count on me,” Millie replied.

  “I’m heading over,” I said, glass in hand. Before I made it halfway across the room, I was intercepted by a familiar, devastatingly attractive face. “Demetrius.”

  “Emma,” he said, offering me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Who was I kidding? Chaste was impossible for a vampire like Demetrius Hunt. Even his affectionate greetings dripped with sex appeal.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Aren’t you usually at the Horned Owl?”

  “I could say the same to you,” he said. “It’s Killian's birthday and he prefers this place.”

  “I didn’t realize vampires celebrated birthdays,” I said. I hadn’t given the matter much thought.

  “It’s the day he became a vampire,” Demetrius clarified. “That’s what we celebrate.”

  I guess that made sense. “Tell him happy birthday for me.”

  He snaked an arm around my waist. “Why don’t you come and tell him yourself? I’m sure everyone will be pleased to see you.”

  I glanced across the room to where the bowlers were engaged in animated conversation. “Maybe for a minute.”

  He steered me toward a nearby booth where Killian was nestled between Samson and Edgar. “Look who the hideous thing Gareth called a cat dragged in?”

  “Hardy har,” I said. “Don’t insult Magpie when he’s not here to defend himself.” And by defend himself, I meant claw their eyes out.

  “Happy Birthday, Killian,” I said.

  “Have a seat,” Samson said, moving over to make room on the end for me.

  “How’s the new boyfrien
d?” Edgar asked, careful to avoid Demetrius’s gaze. I suspected he was warned not to mention Markos.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said firmly. “Markos is a friend. Just like Demetrius.”

  “Do you think he has sex in his minotaur form or his human one?” Samson asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “It’s not really any of our business, is it?”

  “That’s the beauty of being a vampire,” Edgar said. “We’re sexy in the only form we have. We don’t need to disguise our looks.”

  “If you’re going to insult Markos, I’m going to get up now,” I said.

  Demetrius held out a hand to stop me. “Emma’s right. That’s enough.”

  The group fell silent.

  “Is it true he had something to do with the building inspector’s death?” Killian asked, and quickly realized his faux pas. “Apologies. I’m not trying to besmirch his good name.”

  “Is that what the rumor mill is saying?” I asked.

  Killian nodded. “That’s what I heard at the blood bank this morning.”

  “It’s not true,” I said. “I mean, the investigation is ongoing, but Markos isn’t a suspect.”

  “That’s good news, I guess,” Demetrius said.

  “Except for the fact that there’s a murderer on the loose,” Killian said. “Not such good news then.”

  “Astrid’s doing a great job,” I said. “She puts her investigations before anything else.”

  At that moment, a cheer went up across the room. I cringed as Astrid and Britta climbed onto the tabletop and began to dance.

  “You were saying?” Killian said pointedly.

  “I swear,” I said. “She’s doing that for a reason, but I can’t tell you why.” I hoped she was, anyway. I knew the goal was to keep the bowling team relaxed and chatting. If they thought Astrid was drunk, they’d be more likely to talk openly.

  “That was quite the engagement party, huh?” Demetrius asked. “I’ve been to a lot of celebrations, but that one was something else.”

  “It was something else all right,” I said, trying to disguise my bitterness.

  “I never thought Daniel would settle,” Samson said. “I suppose there’s hope for you yet, Dem.”

  Demetrius’s dark eyes met mine. “I’d like to think so.”

  “Please choose someone less annoying and vain than Elsa Knightsbridge,” Edgar said. “If you’re going to tether yourself to another being for eternity, she has to be tolerable.”

  “I’m aiming for a bit more than tolerable,” Demetrius said.

  “Which is the reason you’re still single,” Samson said, and everyone laughed. “You need to aim lower, my boy.”

  “I’d prefer to aim higher.” Demetrius brought the bottle of ale to his lips.

  “This has been nice catching up,” I said. “But I need to go and say hello to someone.”

  “More friends?” Killian asked. “You’ve certainly proven to be quite the social butterfly.”

  I smiled sheepishly. “I like to get to know people.” In particular, two bowlers who might know something about a murder. “It was great to see you.”

  I slid out of the seat and threaded my way through the tables until I reached the back corner booth. At this point, my drink was nearly empty.

  “Is this the line for the restroom?” I asked, glancing around in confusion.

  Mitch laughed. “There’s no line. It’s right down that hall.” He pointed behind him.

  “Thanks.” I hesitated. “Nice mustache. Not many men can rock a mustache like that without looking ridiculous.”

  Mitch straightened in his seat. “Thank you, honey.”

  I cringed inwardly. I hated when men called me ‘honey.’ It felt so demeaning. “You look familiar. Haven’t I seen you with Ed Doyle?”

  Mitch’s expression soured. “You knew Ed?”

  I nodded. “A shame what happened, isn’t it?”

  “Terrible,” Harlan said. “I’m Harlan Michaelson. We were on Ed’s bowling team.”

  “Oh, I guess that’s why I’ve seen you together,” I said.

  “Can I get you another drink?” Mitch offered. “What girly cocktail do you have there?”

  “A Melon Pizazz,” I said, struggling not to clench my teeth. Okay, so maybe it was a girly cocktail, but he didn’t have to point it out.

  Mitch blew a shrill whistle that got the whole pub’s attention. “Another Melon Pizazz for the little lady,” he yelled.

  I wanted to blend into the furniture. “I heard you guys played an unfortunate game last week.”

  Harlan groaned. “We shouldn’t have lost the championship. It was a sham.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It was Ed…” Mitch hesitated, sensing that perhaps it wasn’t wise to speak ill of the dead. “He messed up his last turn. Cost us the championship.”

  “What do you mean he messed up?” I asked. “What did he do?”

  “He had a chance to pick up a spare, which would’ve given us the win, but he didn’t manage it,” Mitch said.

  “He tripped over his own hooves,” Harlan added. “I’ve never seen Ed trip in his life. He didn’t have a clumsy bone in his body.”

  “So you accused him of throwing the game on purpose?” I asked. My drink arrived and I handed my empty glass to the server.

  “I didn’t,” Harlan said, shooting an accusatory look at Mitch.

  “It seems stupid now,” Mitch admitted. “I know Ed had no reason to lose.”

  “You thought he bet against us,” Harlan said.

  “You guys bet money on the games you play?” I asked.

  “Not all of them,” Harlan said. “But this was a championship game.”

  Astrid chose this moment to make her appearance. “Hey, Emma. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was making new friends,” I said, smiling brightly. “Do you gentlemen know Sheriff Astrid?”

  Four heads bobbed.

  “Congrats on the promotion,” Harlan said. “I hear Hugo’s had trouble getting off the sofa these days.”

  The men at the table laughed loudly.

  “He’s not happy with me,” Astrid said. “That’s for sure.”

  “Why not?” Mitch asked. “It’s not your fault he was crap at his job.”

  “Hugo is a blamer,” Harlan said. “He likes to blame others for his inadequacies.”

  “Sounds like you, Mitch,” one of the other guys said.

  Mitch glowered at him. “I said I was sorry about blaming Ed. Let’s forget it, okay?”

  Astrid’s ears perked up. “Ed Doyle? You guys knew him, right?”

  “We were just telling your friend here about our championship game last week,” Harlan said.

  “Any idea who murdered him?” Mitch asked. “I guess you must be investigating that.”

  “I am,” Astrid admitted. “I’ve been talking to people. Is there anyone you can think of? Anyone with a grudge against Ed?”

  “Besides Mitch?” Harlan asked, guffawing.

  Mitch gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow. “That’s enough, Harlan. It’s not funny.”

  “Because it’s true?” Astrid queried.

  “I didn’t hold a grudge,” Mitch insisted. “I was mad for about five minutes.”

  “Five minutes is long enough to tamper with the rung of a ladder,” Astrid said.

  Mitch’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Is that what happened? Somebody messed with his ladder?”

  Astrid nodded. “It was just weak enough so that when his hoof came down in it, he lost his balance and fell. One of the top rungs was deliberately targeted so that he fell from a good height.”

  Mitch swallowed hard. “Poor Ed. I gave him such a hard time that night over something so stupid.”

  Harlan patted him on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up. We were all miserable that night. You just more vocal about it.”

  “Do you think Ed died thinking we hated him?” Mitch asked. I
noticed the tears welling in his eyes. I wasn’t expecting that reaction.

  “Of course not,” Harlan said. “He knew how hotheaded we got when things didn’t go our way. He wanted that championship too. I bet he blamed himself more than anyone.”

  “Typical Ed,” Mitch said, chugging the rest of his ale. He burped and set the empty mug on the table. “How’s that fruity cocktail?”

  “It’s good,” I said. “Would you like to order one?”

  “No, I’ll just have some of yours.” Before I could object, he swiped the drink from my hand and glugged it down. I didn’t mind since I had no intention of drinking it after his lips touched the glass. “That’s pretty good. What’d you say it’s called again?”

  “Melon Pizazz,” I said.

  “I think I’ll order a pitcher for the table,” he said. “You girls staying?”

  Astrid and I exchanged looks.

  “I think we need to get back to our friends,” I said. “It was nice meeting you.”

  As we walked back to our table, Astrid nudged me. “Not our guy, huh?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Nobody was upset enough to murder Ed. It sounds like it was one drunken night of giving Ed a hard time and then forgotten by morning.”

  “That was my impression,” Astrid agreed. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I saw you talking to Demetrius,” she said. “Is he still showing his fangs at every opportunity?”

  I laughed. “He’s made it clear that he’s still interested, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s not my business, but why not give him a try? If you’re not interested in Markos and Daniel is marrying Elsa…”

  “Daniel is not going to marry Elsa,” I interjected hotly. I didn’t realize how intense my reaction was until I saw the look on Astrid’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

  “It’s okay. I get it. You love him.”

  Desperately.

  “Have you told him yet?” Astrid asked. “Maybe he’d change his mind about Elsa if he knew the truth.”

  I shook my head. “I…can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because what if it doesn’t matter?” I asked. “What if the information doesn’t change his mind?”