Magic & Malice

by Annabel Chase

  “No, you should make Wish pancakes,” Tanya said. “I have a wonderful recipe I could share.”

  “Thanks, Tanya,” I said. The fairy cornered the market on baked goods in our office.

  “The party will be featured in next week’s society section,” Alec said. “Your aunt insists on maintaining that section.”

  Of course she did. Aunt Hyacinth loved nothing more than a good pecking order. One of the main perks of being descended from the One True Witch was the family’s elite status among other paranormals.

  “Who’s this Hattie and why is she special?” I asked.

  “Hattie is a morgen who has outlived her husband and a couple of her children,” Alec said. “She lives on the family’s estate at the north end of town. Her immediate family will be in attendance.”

  “I guess I need to take photos?” I asked. Photographs were not my strong suit. Then again, nothing was my strong suit. I just bumbled along and hoped I didn’t screw it up too badly.

  “A photo of Hattie would be preferable,” Alec said. “Perhaps if you bothered to look, you’d know that half the society pages are photographs.”

  My cheeks flamed. “Maybe I’m too liberal for the society pages. The hierarchy makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Says the witch by the name of Rose,” Bentley muttered.

  I whipped out my wand and poked him in the cheek with the tip of it. “Watch it, Smith. I have a special spell with your name on it.”

  “When you two are finished with your sibling spat, I shall give you the address, Miss Rose.” Alec smoothed his lapel. “Then I shall head out for the remainder of the day.”

  “Hot date?” The words were out of my mouth before I could censor myself.

  “Not unless you mean a hot-tempered date,” Alec said. “As I believe you may have overheard, Holly is displeased with me at present.”

  I was surprised that he was willing to admit that much. “I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

  “Indeed.” He managed a smile. “In the meantime, I shall seek refuge in my work.”

  Big. Shock.

  “I’ve started on my next book and would prefer complete silence,” he continued. He grabbed a notepad and pen from my desk and scribbled an address. “Four o’clock. Do be punctual. Hattie may be two hundred, but she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “Why me?” I asked. “Why not Bentley?”

  Alec’s mouth twitched. “Wait and see, Miss Rose. All will become clear.” He strode out of the office without a backward glance.

  “All will become clear,” I mimicked, once he was out of earshot. “Yes, as clear as blood.”

  Chapter Two

  At four o’clock on the dot the next day, I arrived at Rollins Manor, the estate of Hattie Rollins-Mahoney. It was an impressive, asymmetrical Tudor-style house with a steeply pitched gable roof and an elaborate chimney. Streamers flew from a pole atop the chimney, making it look like a turret. It was hard to read from this distance, but I was fairly certain ‘Happy 200th’ was emblazoned across the colorful material. There were several cars parked in a neat row and I wondered whether I was the last one to arrive.

  The moment I rang the bell, a butler materialized. He was bald and stout, much like Aunt Hyacinth’s butler, Simon. “Good afternoon, Miss Rose.”

  “Beautiful day for a party,” I said. “You know my name?”

  “Of course, miss. You’re an expected guest.”

  “Right. And what’s your name?”

  “Sampson, miss. Right this way, please.” The butler accompanied me through the impressive foyer with its gigantic chandelier, and down a hallway to an enormous portico at the back of the house where the Rollins-Mahoney clan was nibbling on hors d’oeuvres and sipping cocktails.

  “Which one is Hattie?” I asked, scanning the group.

  Sampson frowned. “The lady in the black kaftan, miss.” The butler cocked his head. “Are you quite sure you’re a journalist?”

  I took his point. There was clearly only one two-hundred-year old woman out here. Hattie Rollins-Mahoney held court in a raised swivel chair that allowed her to overlook the entire party. Her black kaftan was covered in white and red bird silhouettes. She wore her dyed black hair pulled back in a French twist and her dark red lipstick only served to accentuate her weathered complexion. Hattie was clinging to her youth with every product available to her. Apparently, no one in the family dared to tell her that she was making matters worse.

  “I can take it from here, Sampson,” I said. “Thanks.” I approached the birthday girl’s chair and cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hello, Mrs. Rollins-Mahoney. I’m Ember from Vox Populi.”

  Hattie offered me a withering glance from her position on high. “Nothing wrong with my hearing. I see you’ve come empty handed.”

  My cheeks grew flushed. “It was my understanding that I’m covering your party for the weekly paper.”

  The elderly morgen leaned forward. “Tell me your name again, dear.”

  “Ember Rose, from Vox Populi.”

  “Rose, did you say?”

  “That’s right, ma’am.” I swallowed hard. Hattie was almost as tough as dealing with Aunt Hyacinth.

  “I would’ve expected better from a Rose,” she said.

  I whipped around and surveyed the other guests, desperate to get away. “Why don’t you introduce me to your family so that I can make a note of everyone’s names for the article?”

  Hattie sniffed. “I don’t make introductions, my dear. Introductions are made to me.”

  “I can help you,” a woman said, hurrying over. “Hi, I’m Hattie’s granddaughter, Lacey.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lacey.” She had her grandmother’s dark hair, although Lacey's color still appeared natural. “I’m Ember Rose.”

  “It’s so sweet that the paper wants to cover Grandmother’s birthday festivities,” Lacey said. “Though I guess two hundred is a milestone to be celebrated when you’re not a vampire.”

  “My aunt is old-school and insists that the society section covers the ‘right’ families,” I said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes in case Lacey was in agreement with that sentiment.

  To my relief, Lacey rolled her eyes. “Don’t let her demeanor fool you. Grandmother was over the blood moon when she heard you’d be covering the party. Can I offer you a drink? We have bucksberry fizz for the cocktail hour.”

  “Why not?”

  Lacey beckoned one of the servants forward and plucked two flutes from the tray. She handed one to me. “This is from Grandmother’s personal stash. Not as sacred as the fizzlewick mead, of course, but then, no one’s allowed to partake in that except her.”

  “Sacred mead?” I repeated.

  Lacey lowered her voice. “You’ll see. She’ll toast with it at dinner later. No one else. It’s been passed down from generation to generation and she doesn’t believe in sharing it until she’s passed on.”

  I glanced over at Hattie. With her special, private cocktail and social expectations, now she reminded me even more of Aunt Hyacinth.

  “You must be the reporter.” A young, attractive man swooped between us. “I’m Fitzgerald, Hattie’s grandson.” He kissed my hand. “I didn’t realize they made reporters in your image. I assumed they all looked like Bentley Smith or I would’ve allowed myself to be interviewed ages ago.”

  “You know Bentley?” I asked. If I could get dirt on Bentley while covering this party, it would all be worth it.

  “He and I dated the same nymph a while back,” Fitzgerald said. “Of course, Bentley didn’t realize she was seeing us both at the same time. Poor fella was gutted.”

  Poor Bentley, indeed. He was definitely a one-woman kind of elf. Good thing he’d found Meadow. They seemed really happy together.

  “Are you still dating her?” I asked.

  Fitzgerald chuckled. “Certainly not. I don’t even remember her name. I only remember his because he works for the paper.”

  Lacey heaved a sigh. “My younger broth
er thinks it’s hilarious to bring home a different girlfriend every week to toy with Grandmother’s fragile emotions. He’s the only male in the family, so she’s desperate for him to marry a morgen and produce an heir.”

  That also sounded familiar. “You must know my cousin, Florian. Sounds like you travel in the same social circles.”

  Fitzgerald’s brow shot up. “Florian Rose-Muldoon is your cousin?”

  “That’s right. I’m Ember Rose.”

  He whistled. “That wizard is a legend. I can only hope to rise to his rank when it comes to…” He paused. “To wooing women.”

  Wooing was a nice word for it. Wholly inaccurate, but nice.

  “I suppose you live in a man cave here as well,” I joked.

  Fitzgerald’s smile faded. “Why is that funny?”

  Oh. “It’s…not funny. It seems to be what all the wealthy eligible bachelors do.”

  “If it weren’t for Grandmother’s overindulgence, Fitz might actually be a decent guy,” Lacey said.

  “Don’t be bitter simply because your own husband wasn’t a decent guy,” Fitzgerald said.

  Lacey's expression soured. “Don’t mention Weston, please. Not during the party. If Grandmother hears you, she’ll lose her appetite and the whole day will be ruined.”

  “I’ll convince her to eat,” Fitz said smugly. “I’m her favorite, after all.”

  “What’s this about favorites?” Another young woman came over. She was a petite version of Lacey with the same dark hair and attractive features.

  “Avonne, have you met Ember Rose, the reporter?” Lacey asked.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.” Avonne extended a dainty hand. “Avonne Beauregard. My husband, Stone, is over on the lawn.” I glanced across the yard to where a muscular tree nymph was engrossed in a phone call. He was impossible to miss thanks to his brightly colored top that seemed out of character with the rest of the family.

  “It’s always work with that one,” Fitz said. “Does he never stop?”

  “That’s how he earns his living,” Avonne said. “Not everyone comes from money, Fitz. He’s managed to earn it all by himself.”

  “And a good deal of it at that,” Fitz said.

  Avonne’s smile forced her eyes into a squint. “Aster and I serve on the board of the VWFF together.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “I’ve heard her mention that organization.” The Vampires Without Fangs Foundation. I decided to quote my cousin and pretend to be knowledgeable and civic-minded. “Vampires missing their fangs is not simply a vampire problem. It's a problem for everyone.”

  “So true, Ember,” Avonne said, appearing pleased. “I always thought I was the most organized paranormal in town until I met Aster. She puts me to shame.”

  “She’s been working under the watchful eye of her mother,” I said. “It’s hard not to become an uptight perfectionist under that kind of constant scrutiny.” I faltered. “I mean, organized and efficient.”

  Fitz chuckled and clinked my glass with his. “Welcome to the family, Miss Rose. You’ll fit right in.”

  “Fitz, do you ever stop flirting?” A woman with fair hair joined our trio.

  “Ella, this is Ember Rose,” Fitz said. “Ella is our cousin.”

  “I’m Hattie’s great-niece,” Ella said. “The blond sheep of the family.”

  “You can thank Ella for helping Sampson to organize the party,” Fitz said. “She lives in a cottage on the outskirts of the estate, so she’s always over here.”

  “Not always,” Ella objected. “Besides, you live on the property. I didn’t see you helping with the party planning.”

  “I’d have helped with the fizzlewick mead if Grandmother would ever let anyone near it,” Fitz grumbled.

  A servant came by our little group. “A top up, Miss Lacey?”

  “Only if it’s a calorie burning potion,” Lacey replied. She patted her belly. “Not that anything I use seems to be effective.”

  I glanced at her seemingly flat stomach. “Why do you think you need to lose weight? You look great.”

  Lacey shrugged. “A side effect of Weston and his philandering, I’m sure. I have it in my head that there are all these flaws I should fix. If only I were ten pounds lighter, Weston wouldn’t have strayed.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous, I know.”

  “If I gain too much weight, I don’t need a Weston. My familiar will be sure to mention it.” Raoul would have a field day with muffin top jokes or snide comments about objects in the mirror being as large as they appear.

  “That’s wonderful that you have a familiar,” she said. “I always envied the witches and wizards with their constant companions.”

  “Morgens must have a good relationship with animals, though, right? You’re kind of woodsy.”

  “Woodsy?” Lacey echoed. “Not really. We’re water spirits, so similar to nymphs. We have an affinity for water—lakes and rivers, that kind of thing. Not the ocean so much.”

  “Right. Woodsy water,” I said.

  Lacey laughed. “We don’t have the same connection to animals as you have with your familiar. I’d love a talking cat in my life.”

  “I would’ve taken a cat, too, but I got a raccoon,” I said.

  Fitz polished off his drink. “A raccoon? I like it. Very feral.” He gave me a hungry look and I wondered whether Florian came on this strong when he met a new woman. It was probably a numbers game—the more women you hit on, the more likely you were to score.

  “Grandmother, Stone and I would like to give you our present,” Avonne announced, “but it involves going to the front of the house.”

  “Only if you’re up for it, Hattie,” Stone added. He’d finally returned from his phone call on the lawn. “We can wait until later.”

  Hattie lowered her chair to the ground. “It’s a present,” she said. “Do I look like a moron to you? Of course, I’m up for it. When you get to be my age, there’s no sense in waiting. You never know when it will be the last present you ever receive.”

  “Grandmother says what’s on her mind,” Fitz whispered. “We call her filterless.”

  Hattie held out her arm for assistance and Stone rushed over to escort her. Everyone waited for them to enter the house first. We trailed behind them down the hallway and through the foyer. As they crossed the middle of the foyer, I heard a loud, creaking sound, followed by a snap. The chandelier dropped and I instinctively yanked out my wand to perform a freeze spell. Stone was faster. He grabbed Hattie by the shoulders and leaped aside as the chandelier came crashing down.

  “Glacio!” I said. While I didn’t save any lives, I managed to keep the pieces of crystal from flying in all directions. I looked over at Hattie and Stone to see them both shaking.

  Avonne appeared visibly upset. She hurried over to wrap her arms around her husband and her grandmother.

  Hattie brushed her aside. “No need to fuss. Everyone’s fine.” She glanced up at the empty place on the ceiling where the chandelier had been. “Sampson, I want to know which cleaner was the last one to touch that chandelier because she’s fired.” She narrowed her eyes at the butler. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Sampson bowed slightly before disappearing from the foyer.

  “Let’s get on with the show,” Hattie said. She began hobbling across the foyer to the front door. “I don’t want my birthday roast to get cold just to see some lame present I could’ve bought for myself if I’d truly wanted it.”

  To my surprise, no one reacted to Hattie’s rude declaration. The family simply followed her out the front door as though she’d commented on the weather.

  “What do you think, Grandmother?” Avonne asked.

  I peered over a shoulder to glimpse—a purple and blue unicorn? “Wow,” I breathed. I’d never seen a unicorn in bright colors before.

  “Your favorite colors,” Stone said proudly.

  Now that Stone was in closer proximity, I noticed that his loud shirt was also in purple and blue.
Probably not a coincidence.

  “I suppose that’s better than last year’s gift,” Hattie said. She wagged a finger at Stone. “You’re finally learning.”

  Stone’s relief was evident. He escorted the elderly morgen down the steps to examine the unicorn up close while I took a few photos with my phone. Hattie stroked the beast’s purple snout.

  “She’s a beauty, Grandmother,” Fitz said. “Not as beautiful as you, of course.” He gave Hattie a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Enough with the flattery,” Hattie said, swatting at him. “The gods know you get enough out of me as it is.”

  Fitz slipped into the background without another word.

  “I’ll have Sampson bring the unicorn to the stables to join the others,” Lacey offered.

  “No, Sampson is busy with my party,” Hattie said. “Have the gardener do it.” She retreated into the house and everyone closed in behind her like lemmings. We skirted the frozen chandelier and assembled in the formal dining room. I knew I was supposed to make a note of all the place settings and accouterments—the types of things the readers of the society section would be interested in—but I had no idea what anything was called. I took more photos instead and decided to ask Simon to identify everything later. Aunt Hyacinth’s butler would answer without judging my ignorance. That was his way.

  Hattie sat at the head of the table, of course. To her left were Lacey, Avonne, and Stone. To her right sat Ella, Fitz, and me. Sampson appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Ballywick will bring in the first course momentarily, mistress.”

  “Wine, Sampson?” Fitz asked, tapping his empty glass.

  “And don’t forget my special fizzlewick mead for the toast,” Hattie said.

  Sampson turned to the sideboard and popped the lid off a decanter. He poured the reddish-purple liquid into a glass with the letter ‘H’ etched into it. He delivered the single glass on a tray and set it in front of Hattie. She removed the glass and inhaled the scent of the mead before sighing loudly.

  Sampson proceeded to pour wine into the remaining glasses. Hattie waited until we each had a full glass before raising her own. “A toast to my two hundredth birthday. May you all live as long as I do and be as rich as I am, so that your family gives a minotaur shit about you.”