Witch Spells Touble (Nightshade Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Lori Woods

  “I should put a spell on him so he can’t talk,” Red says.

  “Don’t you dare. He just gave me a clue.”

  “Yeah, bread crumbs all the way to the oven,” Red tells me as I walk further into the basement. I examine the old musty carpet as I pace back and forth.

  “What are we looking for?” Red asks in a bored tone.

  “Clues!” Snowball answers for me.

  Red rolls her eyes.

  “Anything out of the ordinary,” I add.

  “Like spots of blood?” Alfie asks, motioning to a few dark spots on the carpet near where the body was found.

  I hurry over but Snowball beats me to the spot. She leans down and sniffs. “Not blood. Not blood.” She glances at Alfie. “Someone else likes duck berry pie, Alfie.”

  “Sheriff Tudley,” Red says. “He was eating one the other day when I met him down here.”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe he would be eating at the crime scene. But in spite of Snowball pronouncing it duck berry pie, I get down on my hands and knees to examine the stains.

  “Do you want Alfie to sniff too?” Snowball asks. “Be careful though, he might try to lick it up.”

  “Black cats are bad luck. Bad luck. That’s why Suzy is always in trouble,” Alfie says.

  “Don’t you two start,” I say as I stand up. My hands feel grimy. Guess the old vamp hasn’t cleaned the basement since the murder.

  I start to brush my hands off but see a long purple seed with tiny tentacles protruding from one end. I recognize it as a bagger weed seed, but instead of brown it is purple. “I found something, Red. Aubrey was giving a clue alright!”

  “It sounded silly to me?” Red says as she walks over.

  “Look!” I hold my hand out. “Purple beggarweed seeds! I’ve never seen any that color before.”

  “They are rare. The only place I know that they grow is Bellow Moor. And that isn’t a very nice place to visit.” Red shakes her head. “I don’t see any reason someone from the Academy would visit the moor.”

  “Maybe someone from the Academy is from there,” I say.

  “No human beings live there. It’s full of pixies, boggy monsters, and heaven knows what other magical beings,” Red says.

  “It’s a clue, and I have to follow it. Boggy monsters or no boggy monsters. But I would feel safer if you came with me,” I say.

  “Well, I will not feel safe, but I guess I can’t let you go alone,” Red says. “But I have to go home and get my broomstick, I left it at home because I was trying out a new one, but I decided I like the old one better.”

  “I think just the two of us can go. I’ll leave Snowball and Alfie at home. What about meeting you in front of the Academy in an hour?”

  “That works for me,” Red says.

  As we leave the basement. Alfie tugs at my pants. “Thanks, Suzy. I hate little pixies. I really didn’t want to go with you. But are you sure you can manage without me?”

  “It’s going to be difficult, Alfie, but with Red’s help I’ll manage,” I say and wink at Red, who has to turn her head to keep from laughing.

  We leave the Academy. As we near the old house where our apartment is, Alfie says, “I have a duck berry pie in the cupboard,” and runs ahead of us.

  “I saw you winking at Red Sumac,” Snowball says in an accusatory tone.

  “You want to stay home alone?” I ask.

  “No, not with that creep Malcolm.”

  “Then keep quiet,” I say. “And Malcolm isn’t creepy. He’s just misunderstood.”

  Snowball and I are approaching the door to the house when Mrs. Simpson bursts out the door, almost colliding with me.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask. She has a stern look on her face.

  “It’s Malcolm. I’m tired of him repeating that I’m not his wife. If he says it enough times, someone is going to believe him.” She glances at me. “You’re a witch. Can’t you cast a spell to make him mute?”

  “Suzy isn’t very good with spells yet,” Snowball says in a purring voice. “She’s in remedial classes.”

  “Hmm! A witch that’s not a real witch. A black cat named Snowball. A ghost that’s spreading lies. And a dwarf that should be quacking from the amount of pies he eats! Aren’t I the lucky one?” she exclaims as she hurries away.

  “Snowball, what you said about me was unkind,” I tell my familiar as we climb the stairs.

  “It’s a round world. What goes around comes around,” Snowball says in her purring voice. “Did I lie?” she added sarcastically.

  “You just remember that round world you mentioned,” I say.

  “Suzy!” Alfie shouts as we enter the apartment. “Come and tell Malcolm to stop sticking his head through my duck berry pie!”

  As if Snowball and Alfie aren’t enough, I have to deal with a senile ghost too, I think as I walk into the kitchen. And sure enough, Malcolm is sitting on the floor under the table with his neck stuck through the table and his head protruding out of Alfie’s pie.

  “Malcolm!” I say in a scolding tone.

  “I was just trying to get a taste. Duck berry pie is my favorite,” he says, turning his head and looking at me. “Alfie! It’s not like I have cooties!”

  “Please, Malcolm, get out from under the table,” I tell him as I grab some bread and a slice of cheese from the cupboard. I bring out a small jug. “Here, Snowball, unicorn milk.”

  “Meow.”

  “How can you eat that horrid stuff?” Alfie asks.

  Instead of answering, Snowball licks out her saucer.

  “Malcolm, what did you say to your wife to upset her so much?”

  “Nobody listened to me when I was alive, and nobody listens to me now that I’m dead. She is not my wife!”

  “Okay, sorry I mentioned…the rent hag,” I say, remembering that’s what I had agreed to call the nasty old woman. “Malcolm, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure, who do you want me to scare? I’ve been practicing my boo’s. I’m getting good at popping out of the wall and shouting. But since no one ever comes up here, I don’t get to scare anyone. And I would never scare you and the little ones.”

  “Little ones!” Alfie says.

  “Meow!” Snowball seconds him.

  “Alfie, be good or I’ll tell Malcolm to stick his head back into your duck berry pie.”

  Alfie glances down at his half-eaten pie, and then at Malcolm and is silent.

  “Malcolm, Red Sumac and I are going to go for a ride on our broomsticks. Would you be a dear and keep an eye on Alfie and Snowball?”

  “Sure, Suzy.”

  “I’m two hundred years old,” Alfie shouts. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “When do dwarfs enter their second childhood?” Snowball asks.

  “I didn’t mean for Malcolm to be a babysitter. Just to keep you two entertained. You know, tell you ghost stories,” I say.

  “I got some good ones!” Malcolm says.

  “Okay,” Snowball tells him. “As long as the ghost doesn’t hurt cats.”

  “Or a dwarf,” Alfie says.

  “No, my ghost stories are about them frightening off trolls and changing rats to cheese,” Malcolm says.

  “Yes, tell us the troll stories first!” Alfie says.

  “And turn the rats into Brie cheese. I love Brie cheese,” Snowball says.

  I leave them all at the kitchen table and hurry out before their good moods vanish.

  Red is waiting for me in front of the Academy.

  “Who’s watching the little ones?” she asks as though they really are children.

  “Malcolm,” I say.

  “The ghost of Mrs. Simpson’s husband? You’re kidding. He’s as crazy as a bat.”

  “No, just misunderstood,” I say.

  Red shakes her head. “Let’s just get this trip over with. Even the name Bellow Moor gives me the creeps,” she says as she hops on her broomstick and zips away.

  Of course, Broom Hilda catches up with her in a
moment.

  “If you are entering the witch’s broomstick race next year, I’m not. I’m going to retire from racing and bow out gracefully instead of going down in defeat,” Red yells as she glances over at me.

  I don’t reply, not knowing what to say, and luckily, after a little while, I see vapors rising so thick from the ground that they form a curtain of mist just ahead of us.

  “Is that Bellow Moor?” I call out, instead of responding to her statement.

  Red nods as she dips down closer to the ground.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s certainly not mushrooms as big as houses in all the colors of the rainbow. “It’s beautiful!” I shout.

  Red is saying something I can’t make out as we zip and dodge around the giant fungi. This is a real magical place, I think as, in my excitement, I move ahead of Red. I glance back and see she’s pointing at a pink mushroom. I can’t hear her clearly but think she means to fly closer to it so I do. I am awestruck by the mushroom’s beauty. Too late. I hear Red scream “Danger! Stay away from the pink mushrooms!”

  Even as I understand Red’s warning, I see movement in the small holes of the giant plant. Suddenly, what I think is a swarm of giant wasps darts out of the holes. But as they approach me, I see that they are tiny pink people with wings.

  How beautiful!

  “Ouch!” I yell as one of the leading winged people fling a tiny dart at me that sticks in my arm.

  “Pixies!” Red shouts. “Fly as fast as you can!” she shouts as she zooms by me.

  “Stop that!” I shout as another tiny dart punctures my leg. “Go, Broom Hilda!” I scream. In a swish of blowing air, I leave the pixies behind and close in on Red who is still flying at top speed. As I catch up with her, she glances back and then slows down.

  “Didn’t you hear my warnings?”

  “No,” I say as we stop. I pluck the dart out of my arm and then the one in my leg. “Gee, these things hurt.”

  “Just wait. Your arm and leg are going to swell up. Their darts are like wasp stings. Sorry, I should have warned you earlier to stay away from the pink mushroom. That’s where pixies always live.”

  I hope she didn’t let me blunder into the pixies on purpose as payback for having to quit racing.

  “But isn’t Bellow Moor beautiful?” Red asks.

  Sure, she can be cheerful since she isn’t the one with the painful punctures from the two darts. “Is there something I can do to keep the swelling down?” I ask.

  “Yeah, rub some of the moor moss on the punctures. It will take the poison out,” Red tells me.

  I glance down at the green thick moss, not wanting to get off Broom Hilda to grab a handful, but the punctures are beginning to itch and hurt at the same time. Against my better judgment, I climb off my broomstick. I grab a handful of moss and pull on it. “Ouch! Stop that it hurts!” I hear a growling voice say.

  “Red!” I shout.

  She glances back at me.

  “Suzy, that’s not moss!”

  Even as she says it, a monstrous head with hair like moss emerges from the soggy ground.

  “It’s a boggy monster!” Red shouts. “Quick! Back on your broomstick!”

  I move immediately, but as I turn one of the creature’s arms emerges from the mushy soil and grabs my ankle. “Why the rush? I haven’t had my dinner,” the creature says as it opens its huge mouth, which has rows and rows of teeth.

  “Broom Hilda!” I shout. “Red, help!” I add. But out of the corner of my eye, I see pale men without faces swarming toward her. Broom Hilda tries to fly but one of them grabs her broomstick then another one grabs the first one’s legs as Red’s broomstick becomes airborne. Suddenly half a dozen of the pale-faced men are holding onto the first one, forming a chain from the ground up to Red and her broomstick.

  Then as Broom Hilda swats the boggy monster in the face, I lose sight of Red and her attackers. Red’s broomstick can’t gain altitude, but instead drags the clinging creatures across the moor. Broom Hilda’s first swat doesn’t cause the monster to release my ankle, but the second one, a lot more powerful, makes him release me.

  Once free, I jump on Broom Hilda. But before we can become airborne, the beast grabs Broom Hilda’s straw brush.

  “You aren’t going anywhere, witch, except into my mouth!” the boggy monster says as he opens his mouth wide enough to swallow both me and Broom Hilda.

  Now is when I need more magic! I point my finger at the monster and create a fireball. The flame shoots from my finger into the opened mouth of the creature. But the results aren’t what I expect.

  The boggy monster smacks his lips after he closes his mouth on the first ball. “Thank you. There’s nothing better than a hot meal!”

  I am so stunned I freeze as the creature pulls Broom Hilda toward its mouth. I can feel Broom Hilda straining to break the monster’s grip on her straw brush. I feel helpless as I try to figure out how to save the both of us. I will not abandon Broom Hilda. Even as I see the rows of teeth fixing to clamp down on Broom Hilda’s straw brush, I don’t flee.

  All at once, out of nowhere tiny darts fill the air. Pixies! They have caught up to me. I don’t expect the darts to have any effect on the boggy monster but they do! The creature howls in pain as he releases Broom Hilda and dives for the soggy marsh. The boggy monster disappears as fast as it had appeared.

  I breathe a sigh of relief until I realize that I am surrounded by a swarm of pixies armed with darts.

  “She’s a white witch,” a small voice calls out.

  “Are you a white witch?” another small voice demands.

  “Yes,” I say, wondering what difference it makes.

  “We knew a white witch years ago. Her name was Susana. She was so good to us she cast a spell to make the mushroom grow big enough so we could build our nest in them.”

  “That was my grandmother,” I tell them.

  Suddenly all the little winged people are laughing and buzzing around me like dragonflies.

  “Have you seen my companion?” I ask, thinking of Red.

  “She’s coming, and we’re going. She hates us and would hurt us!” a voice says and immediately the swarm of pixies is gone.

  “Wait, she’s my friend. She won’t harm you!” I call after them, but they don’t stop.

  “I see you defeated the boggy monster,” Red says.

  Was there a hint of disappointment in her voice?

  “The pixies saved me.”

  “Horrible little winged creatures!” Red says.

  “What happened to you? And what were those faceless creatures that attacked you?” I ask.

  “Ghouls. Just smelly old ghouls. They are no match for a witch,” Red says. “Let’s get back to Hemlock.”

  “You have a scratch on your arm,” I tell her as I note the mark.

  “It’s nothing. It will take more than a scratch to defeat me. Now, enough silly questions. Let’s get back to Hemlock. Can you give me a ride, Suzy? I’m feeling very tired after the battle.”

  “But I came here to find the source of the purple beggarweed,” I protest.

  Red points to a raised spot of solid ground. “There is purple beggarweed. It grows in this part of the moor. You want to walk through it and have the seeds cling to you?”

  “No, I just wanted to see where it grows,” I say as Red climbs behind me. A few seconds later we’re airborne.

  Why is she acting like this? Maybe she’s irritable because the pixies stung her too?

  CHAPTER 8

  J ust as Snowball and I are entering Ima Brewer’s classroom the following morning, the secretary from the main office hurries up to me.

  “The headmaster wants to see you. You need to go to his office immediately.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll be there in a minute. Let me just tell Ms. Brewer that I’ll be late for class.”

  “Be sure to come as soon as you talk to her.” She turns and hurries down the hall.

  “Are we in trouble?�
�� Snowball asks, peering up at me.

  “I don’t know.” I too wonder what that is about. Am I really in some sort of trouble—like being sent to the principal’s office on the other side for talking in class or not doing homework?

  I enter the classroom and hurry up to Ms. Brewer. “I was just told to report to the headmaster right away.”

  She frowns. “I wonder why.”

  “I have no idea,” I tell her. “But I better get going.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” she tells me. “The class today won’t be so interesting without my favorite student.”

  I give her a brief smile and head out the door with Snowball trotting beside me.

  Unlike the last time, the door to the headmaster’s office is closed. I knock lightly.

  “Who is it?” he calls.

  “Suzy Maycomber. You wanted to see me.”

  “Come in.”

  I open the door and go inside. He’s seated behind his desk, a stern look on his face. “I sent my secretary out for a break. You and I need to talk about something serious.”

  I feel a jolt of fear. “What is it?”

  “I understand that you have been creating monsters and distorting spells in your brewing class.”

  “Unfortunately,” I say. “It’s very difficult for me to create established spells. I have much more success in creating my own.”

  “So I have heard,” he says.

  “I discovered I’m a Spell Master. It’s nearly impossible for people like me to follow established patterns in casting spells.”

  “Nevertheless, you must be able to meet expectations in your classes!”

  “I try my best,” I say. “I can’t do more.”

  “Unfortunately, that means you are failing.”

  “Did Ima Brewer ask you to speak with me?”

  “No one spoke to me on this matter. I have been following your progress.”

  “Ah . . . so why am I here?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

  “Unfortunately, to tell you I’m expelling you.”

  “Expelling me? I can’t believe you’re saying this! My grandmother, one of the most powerful of witches, also could never master brewing spells.”