Witch Spells Touble (Nightshade Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Lori Woods

  “Mrs. Simpson, I came by yesterday about the flat you have for rent, remember?”

  The old woman lifts her glasses and takes a look at Red Sumac. “Oh, the Red Witch. Yeah, I remember now.”

  “Well, these are the people who want to rent it,” Red says. She nods toward me. “This is Suzy. She’s a white witch.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And this brave dwarf is Alfie.”

  “Brave dwarf? That’ll be the day.” She looks down at Alfie. “Are you brave?”

  “I assure you I come from a long line of dwarf warriors,” Alfie says, puffing his chest out as he strokes his red beard.

  The old lady turns to Red Sumac. “And of course you told them that they will have to share the flat with the ghost of my late husband Malcolm! He makes a lot of noise still and loves to hear himself talk, even after death. Poor thing tripped and fell on butcher’s knife. He’s grumpy but harmless.”

  “Ghost?” Alfie asks in a tiny voice.

  I glance at him. He’s as pale as Val the vampire from Nightshade.

  “The lady said he’s harmless,” I say, even though I too am apprehensive about sharing a flat with a grumpy ghost. “Let’s see the flat, Alfie.” I say. “There’s a duck berry pie shop on the corner,” I add, hopeful that the panic I see in his face isn’t going to cause his stubby, little legs to start pumping.

  “Just look at it,” Alfie says, nodding his head.

  “I’ll see you later!” Red Sumac backs away without another word.

  “Okay, love, bring your little brave warrior dwarf up and see the flat.” She peers closely at Alfie. “Good thing he doesn’t have an axe,” she says sarcastically, “or I’d be quaking in my shoes.”

  “Snowball!” I say quickly. “No forty whacks comments!”

  “Meow?”

  “Oh, before we go upstairs, don’t believe a word Malcolm says. He was a notorious liar, and dying hasn’t changed that.” She scoots up the stairs so fast that I can hardly keep up with her.

  “Wow, you are in good shape for your age . . . actually, for any age,” I say as we reach the landing of the fourth floor. The old woman starts to unlock the door. “Let’s wait for Alfie,” I say, afraid he will turn back when he sees we’ve gone into the flat without him.

  “Alfie, need help?” Snowball calls down.

  “Yeah, I need Broom Hilda! Can’t we fly through the window next time?” he asks as he finally climbs the last step, and I do mean climb as his legs are too short to climb the stairs easily.

  “Should I wait for Santa Claus, or are we all here?” the old woman asks, giving me a disapproving look.

  “We are all here,” I say and force a smile. Wow, just seeing her once a month to pay the rent is going to take all my social skills.

  The old woman smiles slightly as she unlocks the door and holds it open for us.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” I ask.

  “Oh no, Malcolm hates me. He’ll start screaming lies at me the moment he sees me. Better if you go in alone,” she says, shooing us inside.

  “Hello, Malcolm. We came to see the flat,” I call out and feel stupid, because even after all the old lady said, I still don’t believe in ghosts.

  Suddenly a tall, thin image of an old man is standing directly in front of me.

  I scream.

  The ghost screams!

  Alfie and Snowball turn to run back out, but the old lady slams the door before they can escape.

  “Don’t scare me like that,” Malcolm says, his voice faint, like it is far away even though his gray, opaque image is floating in midair right in front of me. “You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  I look in horror at the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest.

  “Forgot. I’m already dead.”

  “Please, Mr. Ghost, tell your wife to open the door,” Alfie says as he rattles the doorknob.

  “That thing is not my wife. I haven’t seen Martha for weeks. Don’t know what happened to her.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say, remembering that the old woman said he’ll be screaming lies. “We came to rent the flat. That is, if it is alright with you?”

  “I can’t stop you,” he says and then rushes toward me. I can barely keep from screaming as he passes through me. “See, I have no physical form.”

  “See, Alfie, he’s just a pale image. He’s can’t hurt you,” I say.

  “Right, shorty. I’m harmless. And I could use the company. Most people, even witches, are afraid of ghosts.”

  “Malcolm, would you mind going somewhere out of sight while we look over the flat? You make Alfie and Snowball nervous,” I say.

  “You want me to go back inside the wall?” he asks, sounding disappointed.

  “Just until we get used to the idea of the flat being haunted,” I say.

  “Well, it’s not haunted. It’s just me. I’m not a haunt.”

  “Just until we get used to you?” I ask.

  “Okay. I don’t want to scare you off. I’m lonely up here. You see, I can’t leave the fourth floor. Well, I could, but then I would cease to exist. And I don’t want to be dead dead.”

  “Yeah, I guess being dead is bad enough,” I say. “Now run along.”

  Malcolm vanishes as quickly as he appeared.

  “See, Alfie, he’s just a nice old man,” I say. “Come on, let’s look at the flat.

  “He’s not an old man; he’s a dead old man,” Alfie says, but he stops trying to force the door open and walks toward me with Snowball shadowing closely behind him.

  “See, you’ll have your own bedroom,” I say as we explore.

  “Is the door ghost-proof?”

  “And look, what a humongous bathroom!” I add, ignoring the dwarf’s comment.

  We enter the kitchen. “Wow, I can brew spells here,” I exclaim.

  “Puff! Puff! Smoke as black as coal,” Snowball hisses.

  “Snowball, I’m going to the Academy. They will teach me how to brew spells correctly. No more black smoke.”

  “Probably worse.”

  “What do you say, Alfie?”

  Suddenly Malcolm pops his head out of the kitchen wall.

  “Come on, shorty. We can be best friends!” Malcolm says in his faint, not-really-here voice.

  “My name is Alfie!” the dwarf says defiantly.

  “Touchy, touchy. Sure. Alfie.”

  “The duck berry pie shop is on the corner,” I remind Alfie.

  “Duck berry pie. God, how I miss duck berry pie,” Malcolm says. “It’s been ten years since I’ve had anything to eat. Except for that last couple that rented the flat!”

  Suddenly Alfie turns pale and turns to run for the door.

  “Just kidding, Alfie! We ghosts can’t eat. But when I did, I sure enjoyed duck berry pie,” he says and laughs.

  “Please, Malcolm, don’t joke like that. We are not used to ghosts.”

  “Sorry,” he says, hanging his head. “Just having a little fun with shor . . .Alfie.”

  “You don’t rattle chains at night do you?” Alfie asks.

  “I only rattle my gums . . . but I’ll be really quiet when you’re asleep.” He makes a cross over the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

  Alfie looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Senile,” he whispers.

  I don’t reply but Snowball does. “I must be dealing with the senile already. You are an old, old dwarf.”

  “Okay,” I say, knowing when to step between them. “So we’ll take the flat, right, Alfie?”

  “Only because it is so close to the duck berry pie shop,” Alfie agrees.

  “Then let’s go and tell Malcolm’s wife.”

  “She not my wife! She’s an old hag. I told you that before. They took my wife away.”

  “See, senile,” Alfie whispers.

  “Sorry, Malcolm, I forgot. We’ll just refer to her as the rent hag from now on. How’s that?” I ask.

  “I like you already, Suzy. To
o bad I’m married.”

  “Alfie, let’s go and wrestle the luggage up the stairs. Too bad Red didn’t stay around long enough to use her little spell to get them up to the apartment.”

  I knock on the apartment’s door. “You can open the door now, Martha. We’re going to rent the apartment.”

  The door slowly opens. “Did he tell you I’m not his wife?”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “He was senile before he died,” she says, shaking her head. She held out her hand. “Two months in advance. That last couple fled after one night with Malcolm.”

  “Don’t worry, we are going to stay. I can try and like your husband,” I say.

  The old woman rolls her eyes at me as Alfie counts out the coins to her. Then she smiles. “You don’t happen to know a spell to exterminate ghosts, do you?”

  Wow, she is cruel. No wonder Malcolm doesn’t claim her as his wife anymore.

  CHAPTER 3

  I ’m excited and nervous. I hardly slept a wink, what from hearing the ghost tromping around much of the night. I grab my robe and hurry to the bathroom to take a shower and turn on the hot and cold water. At first, nothing happens. Then water begins to spurt out of the showerhead. Spurt, spurt, spurt. And it’s cold.

  Wonderful. Finally, it stops spurting and comes out in a steady stream. That’s better, I think. I hold my hand under the stream. Icy cold! I am not in the mood for a cold shower; I’m already chilly from the wind around the ill-fitting windows. Maybe it just takes a while for the water to heat so I wait. One minute. Two. Okay, I take the plunge. A cold shower it is.

  On my face and arms it’s not so bad, but when it hits my lower back, I nearly jump out of my skin. I soap up as fast as I can and step onto the thick bathmat. Suddenly, the bathroom is filled with steam. Super. I put on my robe and hurry back to my bedroom.

  As I’m slipping into the silly black dress—the required uniform for student witches—I hear Alfie exclaim, “Wow, look at all this steam. That means a nice hot shower. I love nice hot showers.”

  Has anyone ever had thoughts of strangling the nearest dwarf? I’m kidding, of course.

  Laughter! I hear someone laughing loudly. I spin around, and in front of me stands the ghost with the butcher knife in his chest. “Did you have a nice shower?” he asks.

  “What!” Why did he ask me such a question? “Were you spying on me?”

  He seems shocked. “I’d never do such a thing. I was just wondering if you had a nice cold shower?”

  Now I’m mad. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you?”

  “Yep, and it was fun. Cold water for you; hot for Alfie.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Did it when I was alive. Drove my wife crazy. She didn’t figure out what was going on for a long time. Then she caught me—at the sink turning off the hot water and then turning it on and turning off the cold. Oh, she was mad.”

  “It may be fun for you, but it could end up scalding one of us.”

  “Heavens to Betsy, I didn’t think of that… I’m…sorry?”

  “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “I am sorry, and I promise not to do that particular thing again.”

  “Implying that you will do other things!”

  “Just have to wait and see, won’t we?” He fades away till there is a mere hint left, and then he disappears into the wall. I shake my head in irritation.

  I wish Alfie would hurry. I’m very ill at ease for a couple of reasons. The students have been in school together for years and know each other. But I don’t know any of them, and they don’t know me. And they’re years younger than I am. When you’re older, five or six years difference in age doesn’t mean very much, but these kids are just that—kids. At their age, five years makes a lot of difference. I’m also ill at ease because all the other students are bound to know a lot more about witchcraft that I do.

  Suddenly, I hear Alfie scream. Is it the ghost again? Then I hear some very choice words. And something about boiling water. “Uh-oh,” I mutter. “The shower got him, too.” The next moment, I hear Alfie stomping back to his room.

  It was also bothering me about how Alfie would spend his time while I’m in class. Snowball could accompany me, but not him.

  “What am I going to do all day?” he’d asked.

  “Read… Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” He’s dyslexic and could never learn to read.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he’d said. “Besides, I’m not the sort of person to park himself in front of the tube for hours on end.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” I told him.

  When we stopped at the school to confirm that I was properly enrolled, I saw an advertisement for a school of magic for dwarfs. All dwarfs can perform some magic, but the ad said it guaranteed to improve their skills. So that was the solution. The two schools are next to each other, and even two dwarfs—those who are also warlocks—are on the faculty at both schools. So he’d have good teachers.

  At first, Alfie balked at the idea…that is, until he saw the headmistress after I’d finally talked him into at least going next door to look at the school. She was tiny, but absolutely gorgeous, with silvery blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and emerald-green eyes. She appeared to be in her early thirties, though with dwarfs you never know. In fact, Alfie was over two hundred years old.

  Anyhow, it was all set. By the time I was ready to go—with my new, extra-size spiral notebook and half a dozen pens carefully arranged in my new backpack—Alfie popped out of his bedroom.

  “We’d better move it,” he says. “We don’t have time to dillydally around.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I say.

  His face turns red. “Sorry, Suzy. I guess I’m just nervous. I’m worried because I can’t read.”

  “Maybe the school will teach you how.”

  “Sure, that’ll happen when vampires can’t become bats anymore, when witches are grounded, when the Werewoods becomes a botanical garden—”

  “Enough already!” I turn to Snowball. “All ready?”

  “For some unicorn milk? I certainly am.”

  “For school, silly,” I tell her.

  “Breakfast first!” Snowball replies and rubs around my ankles.

  “Okay. We’ll stop at the nearest restaurant first.”

  “For some duck berry pie,” Alfie says. “I can hardly wait for duck berry pie.”

  I have a nice bowl of oatmeal, Alfie has his pie, and Snowball has her unicorn milk. Afterwards, we all jump on Broom Hilda and head toward the school.

  Alfie jumps off first. “Well, on to the guillotine.”

  “It will be fine, Alfie. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind the thought of the guillotine if Teena the headmistress is holding my head.”

  I laugh. “Good luck, Alfie.”

  “You too, Suzy. You’re going to become the best white witch in the world. You’ll see.”

  I’m touched. “What a very nice thing to say, Alfie.” For the second time this morning, his face turns red. “Have a great day,” I tell him as he strides toward the steps to the school for dwarfs.

  “Well, Snowball, Alfie is facing the guillotine. Now it’s time for us to face the firing squad.”

  “That’s why human beings are so funny,” Snowball comments. “They overexaggerate everything!”

  “Everything? Now I think that’s a little bit of overexaggeration, too!”

  Snowball rolls her eyes.

  “Come on, Snowball. The firing squad awaits.”

  Snowball flicks up her tail and follows me up the steps. I’m surprised to see Red Sumac waiting at the top. She opens the door and holds it for me. “You must be feeling all sorts of emotions, so I thought I’d meet you and try to help ease any anxiety. First, I want you to meet the headmaster.”

  “Oh, I met him last year on the day of the competition. He wasn’t the friendliest person I’ve ever met.”

  Red f
rowns. “It’s the strangest thing,” She stops and looks me in the eye. “He’s changed.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Not as abrasive. Actually, downright friendly. I’ve only seen him briefly since the school year is just starting, but the change is inexplicable.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I tell her.

  “Come on and see for yourself.”

  She takes me down the hall to an office with the door standing wide open in welcome. I see the headmaster seated behind a massive oaken desk. As soon as he sees us, he smiles, stands, and comes around the desk to greet us.

  “Good morning, Ms. Sumac.” He gives us a wide smile. “And I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure—”

  I interrupt him, which I probably shouldn’t do. “You probably see so many students you can’t possibly remember them all.”

  “Are you implying that we’ve met previously?” He waves us to chairs in front of his desk and goes around to his own seat.

  “At last year’s competition.”

  “Silly me…for not remembering such a charming young woman.”

  “She’s the head librarian at Nightshade,” Red explains. “She’s taking a year off, however, to attend school.”

  “Isn’t that a bit unusual?”

  “I’m from the other side,” I tell him. “I didn’t know I was a witch until recently.”

  “Ah, and you want to brush up on your skills, I take it.”

  “More like learn my skills.”

  “I see,” the headmaster says, but he frowns in puzzlement.

  “Suzy is a Spell Master,” Red explains. “Because of that, she has difficulty with spells others created, so she wants to at least learn a little bit about doing them.”

  “A Spell Master,” the man says. “By the way, my name is Matthew. Matthew McGregor.”

  “Suzy Maycomber, sir.”

  “Ah. Are you by any chance related to one of the most powerful witches on record?”

  I smile. “I think you’re referring to my grandmother, Susana Maycomber.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “Pleasant as this is,” Red says, “I want to introduce Suzy to the teacher of her first class—Remedial Brewing.”

  “Of course, of course. I don’t mean to keep you.” He turns to me. “A pleasure, my dear.”