“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. "In fact, I used a truth spell on Sophie.” A necessary lie. “According to the spell, she's being honest.” I waited a beat. "Which means that you aren't."
Mike's hand dropped to his side and he faced me. "She's a witch," he said heatedly. "You don't think she can get around a truth spell? Why do you think you don’t use it in court? It’s unreliable.”
It wasn’t unreliable right now.
"Newsflash Mike. Sophie is a remedial witch like me. Do you understand what that means? It means we suck at spells." At least we suck enough not to graduate from the academy and become full-fledged members of the coven. Yet.
Mike burped, not even attempting to cover his mouth. He was gross, plain and simple. "Fine. You want the truth?"
Oh, I sure did.
"I never saw Sophie with Freddie. I made it up. Happy now?" He returned his attention to the slot machine.
I stood there fuming. "Why would you lie about something so serious? Don't you understand that Sophie could go on trial because you provided false evidence?"
"Don't get all lawyerly on me," he snapped. "She ticked me off. Do you know how many times I tried to ask her out? And do you know how many times she acted like she didn’t hear me or walked away before I could get the words out?” He stopped playing for a moment, reliving the experience. "She thinks she's better than me because she's a witch. Well, who's going to want her in prison?"
I shook my head in disbelief. He was willing to let an innocent young woman go to jail because she bruised his ego? Unbelievable.
“I don’t know why I bother dating at all,” Mike continued. “There’s nothing a girl can offer me that I can’t do better myself. I do a good job of taking care of my needs, if you know what I mean.”
“Mike,” I said, struggling to control my temper. “Your vocabulary isn’t that impressive. Everyone knows what you mean.” His obnoxious behavior didn’t matter. I finally had what I came for. A confession. Now I could end this date once and for all.
"Emma?"
Oh no. Not now.
Slowly, I turned around. "Hi Daniel. What brings you here?"
He glanced from me to Mike, whose sole focus was still the shamrocks scrolling before his eyes.
"I came to speak with the head of marketing about contributing to a fundraiser," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Mike craned his neck. "She's on a date. Can't you see that? Hottest girl in the casino and she’s with me. How do you like them burstberries?”
I shrugged helplessly at Daniel, who looked perplexed. The angel moved closer to me.
"Listen, I'm not a fan of Demetrius, you know that. But this guy is not an acceptable alternative."
There’d be time for an explanation later. Right now, I was desperate to leave.
“I’m glad you’re here, Daniel,” I said. “Would you mind taking home the hottest girl in the casino? My date is officially over.”
Chapter 7
"I'm almost afraid to ask what you intend to do here," Gareth said. He surveyed the kitchen where I'd set out all of my ingredients in preparation for Operation Brownies.
"Begonia and Millie were kind enough to drop off the ingredients I need to make brownies,” I said. I squinted, trying to read the instructions on the paper. I hadn’t realized how difficult it was to read the handwriting.
Gareth covered his mouth in an effort not to laugh. "You’re attempting to bake brownies? Why did they not stay to help?"
Magpie ran into the room and threaded his way between my legs. "Gareth, control your cat. I need to focus."
"You’re far too hard on him," Gareth accused. "You’re so kind to everyone else, but you treat Magpie like the toothless vampire.” In solidarity, Magpie ran over and sprawled out in front of Gareth's feet.
"He smelled food," I said. “He’s not in here to be nice.”
"Well, you do intend to give him a nibble, don't you?"
I glared at my roommate. "He's a cat," I said heatedly. "And even that fact is debatable."
Magpie hissed at me. It was alarming how well this cat seemed to understand English.
Gareth attempted to comfort the hairless beast. "Every living thing deserves love."
It was hard to argue with that. “Have you always had an affinity for cats? Like when you were still human?" I asked as I measured out the first ingredient.
Gareth sucked in a breath—except not really because he was a vampire ghost and didn't need to breathe. "Aye, I suppose I did. Back in Scotland, I had a black-and-white cat called Haggis. He followed me everywhere—bit of a nuisance, really. My family couldn't bear him." His expression adopted a faraway quality. "I haven't thought about that in many a year. Do you think Haggis is the reason I'm so attached to Magpie?"
"I couldn't say for sure. Only you could answer that, but I think it's probably not a coincidence." I measured out the requisite amount of chocolate and began melting it in the pan. "Do you remember much of your human life? It must've been so long ago."
Gareth floated around the room, his face contorted in concentration. “Do you know what? I rarely think about it. Being a vampire just sort of takes over, you know?"
No, I didn't know, nor did I want to, but I was interested to hear about Gareth’s human experience.
"Don't you guys ever reminisce about being human?” I asked. “When you socialized at the country club or at poker night, didn’t you ever share your histories?"
Gareth chuckled. "No, we mostly got pissed and competed to see who had the biggest…" He smiled, showing his alabaster fangs. "Never mind."
"So you don't know how any of your vampire friends were turned?" It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't even know Gareth’s story. "Is your sire here in Spellbound?" Was sire the right term for the vampire that turned him? Before Spellbound, my knowledge of vampires was limited to Buffy and Twilight.
"No, he’s not here,” he said. "I came to America not long after my change in circumstances. It was too difficult being around my family. They didn't want to know me anymore."
Understanding dawned on me. I glanced at Magpie and then at Gareth. "And you had to leave your cat behind." It must've been heartbreaking for him. His whole life upended in a single moment. I kneeled down and attempted to pet Magpie. He hissed and backed away, drawing closer to Gareth.
"I never really made the connection before," Gareth admitted.
“Did you leave behind anyone special?” I asked. Since Gareth was a grown man when he became a vampire, it stood to reason that he’d been in a relationship.
“No,” he said. “Just family. I’d avoided attachments, but I never stopped to consider the reason why.”
“Took you long enough to figure that one out.”
He peered over my shoulder as I poured the chocolate from the warm pan into the mixing bowl. "What are all these other ingredients you have? Seems a bit excessive for brownies."
"Begonia says it's her family recipe. It includes some ingredients passed down within the coven."
Gareth raised a curious eyebrow. "Is that so?" He fell silent and continued to watch me work. "Are you sure you want to use so much of that yellow powder?"
I looked at the measuring cup. The powder reached the appropriate line according to the instructions. “Stop acting like a backseat driver," I snapped. "This is my baking project. You can do your own."
We both knew that wasn't true. We still hadn't figured out whether Gareth would be able to touch anything ever again. "Have you decided whether to contact one of the Grey sisters? I’ll make the arrangements. Just say the word.”
Gareth became fascinated by the contents of the mixing bowl. "Not yet. But I will."
"I thought you wanted to be able to move things.” Knowing Gareth, he’d take great joy in acting as a poltergeist in the house. “Why are you not making more of an effort?" It didn't make sense to me. As the public defender before me, I knew he was far from lazy. I couldn't understand his reluctance.
"What if I can’t?” Gareth blurted. “What if I want to, but I can't do it?”
I stopped stirring and shook my head, baffled. "Are you seriously worried about failing?" I couldn't believe what a type A he was. "Gareth, you harass me on a daily basis about my fears and anxieties. You have no business acting afraid of failure." I meant every word. He was already a ghost. He had nothing to lose.
Gareth tried to touch the mixing bowl, but his hand simply disappeared right through it. "Fine, you've convinced me, if only to save you from attempting to bake again. While you’re out dating half the town, I'll do a little investigating of my own."
I stopped mixing again to glare at him. "I am not dating half the town and you know it. I’m investigating a crime so that one of my best friends doesn't take the fall for it."
"Are you certain it has nothing to do with a certain unattainable angel?" He hesitated. “Maybe you’re throwing yourself out there as a distraction?”
I set the wooden spoon on the counter and steadied myself. "Absolutely not. Daniel has nothing to do with it.”
Gareth gestured toward the pan as I poured the contents of the mixing bowl into it. "You might want to go lighter on the yellow stuff next time. It's giving it a golden sheen. What did you say it was again?"
I consulted the recipe. "I'm not sure. I can't remember what the girls said it was called. They just told me to measure half a cup." I left the instructions on the counter and popped the pan into the oven. “Twenty minutes and they'll be ready for harp therapy class."
Gareth balked. "You’re going to subject the members of your harp therapy class to your first attempt at baking?"
“Why do you assume that it will taste terrible? How hard is it to mess up brownies?" Oops. I probably tempted fate with that question.
"Oh, I'm sure they'll taste fine. That's not quite what I'm worried about."
My brow wrinkled. "Then what are you worried about?"
Gareth suppressed a smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Do carry on."
I ignored his mysterious behavior. I was sure he was just annoyed that I didn't want to follow his suggestions.
"Keep an eye on the oven for me, will you? I'm going to run up and get changed for class. Everyone's going to go crazy when they taste my brownies."
As I hurried upstairs, I heard Gareth murmur, “You can bet on it."
I showed up at harp therapy, proudly displaying my tray of brownies. I hoped my homemade brownies were as popular as the chocolate and sunshine cookies.
I noticed a few of the shifters sniffing the air as I placed the tray on the snack table.
“Ooh, brownies," Phoebe said. Phoebe Minor was Darcy’s aunt and not a harpy to be trifled with. Her tongue was as sharp as her talons.
"It's my first attempt," I said, "so go easy on me."
"Don't worry, dear," she said. "It's almost impossible to mess up brownies." She shot me a pointed look. “Almost.”
I watched closely as she inhaled a square. Crumbs fell from her lips and she even tried to catch them in the palm of her hand. That harpy was not letting any bit of brownie go to waste. A good sign.
"So what's the verdict?" I asked.
"Surprisingly delicious," she said. As she reached for a second square, more hands appeared. It seemed everyone in the room was now alerted to the presence of brownies.
"You made these, Emma?" Sheena asked. Sheena was a troll and the sister of Wayne, the accountant who sat on the town council.
I flashed a proud smile. "All by myself." I failed to mention Gareth's constant supervision. It seemed unnecessary. And annoying. Definitely annoying.
The brownies disappeared in a matter of minutes. I knew I should have brought a second tray. The church bell rang, alerting the attendees it was time to sit with their harps.
I took my seat between Phoebe and Sheena. Phoebe began to strum the harp strings, listening intently to the resulting sound.
"I really am quite good, aren't I?" she said.
"Not as good as me," the troll shot back. She began strumming more forcefully, as if to prove her point. These two always seemed to be in competition.
"Do you like my new haircut?" Marilee asked. The Amazon moved to stand in front of the group and swung her hair from side to side. "I think it looks amazing. Makes my neck look at least an inch more slender.“
"You'll definitely get laid now," Phoebe said, nodding her approval.
My gaze flickered back to the tall girl, prepared to see an embarrassed blush on her cheeks. Instead, she smiled broadly. "My thoughts exactly," she said.
My radar pinged. This did not strike me as normal behavior for Marilee. She tended to be the quietest person in the room.
Oslo ambled over to me. The dwarf became a fan of mine ever since I helped him gain access to the popular chocolate and sunshine cookies.
"You look pretty tonight, Emma," he said. "I was thinking that I look good tonight, too. "
I squinted at him. "Yes, Oslo,” I said with uncertainty. "You do look good." What was going on?
Maeve took center stage, and began singing at the top of her voice. At the end of the verse, she threw out her hands, ready to embrace the applause.
"I really am fabulous, aren't I?" She took a bow as though she were performing on stage in her playhouse.
The group gave her a standing ovation.
Whatever was happening, I seemed to be the only one unaffected. An uncomfortable thought gnawed at me. I glanced over my shoulder at the empty tray of brownies. Could it be? But these were regular brownies. I made them myself. I didn't use any magic. I used flour, chocolate, some yellow powder…
Uh oh.
The evening carried on much the same, with each person in attendance displaying a heightened level of confidence. Marilee demonstrated her flexibility by performing various feats of yoga. I noticed the eyes of the men pinned on her as she hooked her legs behind her neck. I buried my face in my hands. Why did everything I touch turn to chaos?
"What's your problem?" Phoebe asked, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow. "Everyone's having a great time tonight except for you. Maybe you need to get yourself a haircut and a little action."
"I've had more than enough offers for action lately," I said. "Tell me, Phoebe. What do you think is your best quality?" I needed to test my theory, not that Phoebe Minor was ever hesitant to speak her mind.
"It's obviously my witty personality," she said, straight-faced.
I choked on my response. “I’m sorry. Did you say that you think your personality is your best quality?"
"Sure. Ask anybody.”
What on earth was in those brownies? I thought it might be a dash of confidence, but maybe it was a dollop of delusion.
I turned toward Sheena. "What's your best quality?" I asked.
She leaned toward me and whispered, “I may look like a troll, but I'm a werewolf in the sack.” She puffed out her ample chest with pride.
Oh boy. How long would it take for the magic to wear off? Class was only an hour long. I couldn't send the residents into town like this.
I watched in horror as Oslo asked the bendable Amazon to go for a drink after class. Talk about polar opposites. To my utter shock, she agreed. I don't know how I heard a word, though, because the sounds of the harps around me were deafening. It seemed they all believed that they were the best players in the group and were desperate to prove it tonight.
The minutes ticked by and I prayed that no one made an absolute fool of herself before the potency of the brownies faded.
"I think when I leave here, I'm going to get a tattoo," Sheena announced. "I've always wanted one, but I didn't think I could pull it off.”
"Screw that," Phoebe said. “You’re a troll. You can pull off anything. Tell you what, I'll go with you."
"Where do you want to go?" Sheena asked. "The Ink Stain or the Needle Gnome?"
Phoebe licked her lips. “The Ink Stain’s tattoo artist is an incubus. I vote we go there."
I had to keep them from
getting tattoos. If they regretted it later, it would be my head on a platter. And with a harpy involved, I had no doubt it would be my literal head on a literal platter.
"You both have such beautiful skin," I said. "Do you really want to ruin it with a tattoo?"
"What are you, my mother?" Phoebe snapped. "Do you know how many times I've had to listen to that old bag tell me what to wear and how to look to attract a man? As if I needed her help. Her cootchie has been untouched for so long, it has cobwebs."
I grimaced. "I was hoping we could all go for a drink after class." Of course, I hoped for no such thing, but I was desperate to keep them from making a permanent decision.
"You should get a tattoo with us," Sheena said excitedly. "I'm going to get the face of a wolf on my left cheek."
"Sheena," I implored. "Don't do that. Your face is so pretty."
Sheena laughed. "Not that cheek, silly."
"I want a big tongue with a piercing right here," Phoebe said, patting her hip flexor.
"I'd rather not get a tattoo," I insisted. "But I would love to spend a little time with the two of you after class. Maybe we could just go to the Horned Owl for an hour." Or two, depending on how long it took the magic to wear off.
The church bell clanged and I was filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety. Most people would be going home for the evening, so I imagined the spell would fade before they managed to get into any trouble. Phoebe and Sheena, however, were another story.
"Yes," Phoebe said. "Let's hit up the pub. Shots are on me."
"I used to love to dance on the bar there in my younger days," Sheena said.
"You’re still young at heart," Phoebe said. "You get your butt up there. I want to see you shaking it in front of that bartender's face."
What had I done? As much as I wanted to get to the bottom of this, I had to see Phoebe and Sheena through the rest of the evening first.
Everyone filed out of the church and I made sure to stick close to the harpy and the troll.
Phoebe draped a wrinkled arm around me and smiled. "Hold onto your broomstick, Hart. It's going to be a bumpy night."
Spell's Bells (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 7