Magic & Malice

by Annabel Chase

  After a few minutes, the door opened and Fitz stood on the landing, looking every inch the attractive male heir that he was. It was no small wonder that the water nymph hadn’t settled down. The combination of looks and money had to be an aphrodisiac that few women could resist.

  Fitz leaned his well-defined bicep against the doorjamb. “Well, hello there, Miss Rose. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “I’m still working on my article for Vox Populi and I had a few questions about your grandmother,” I said. “Would you mind if I came in?”

  Fitz smirked the way he probably did whenever a lamb entered his slaughterhouse. “Don’t mind at all. Watch your step. They’re narrow down here.”

  I followed him down to his man cave. It wasn’t as impressive as Florian’s, but it definitely reeked of wealth and privilege. The unicorn head mounted on the wall nearly made my head explode.

  “Please tell me that’s not real,” I said, pointing to the unicorn.

  “It isn’t…anymore,” he replied. “Drink? I have plenty of alcohol. I’m well-stocked for all the girly cocktails.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Though you don’t strike me as the girly cocktail type.” He studied me carefully. “You’re as happy with an ale as anything else.”

  “An ale will be fine,” I replied. Best to keep my nausea at bay. I had a feeling the more I got to know Fitz, the more repulsive he’d become. I watched as he poured to make sure he didn’t slip anything into my drink. Assuming he was willing to poison his own grandmother, he was capable of anything.

  He handed me a glass and poured one for himself. “Salut,” he said, and tapped his glass against mine.

  “Salut.” I took a sip. “I’m sorry about your grandmother, Fitz. You must still be reeling from the shock.”

  “Two hundred and you think I’m shocked?” He shrugged. “I’ve been preparing for this day for a long time now.”

  My brow lifted. “You have?” I carefully surveyed the room, looking for any sign of potions or paraphernalia that could have contributed to Hattie’s death. I saw golf clubs, fishing rods, and a surfboard. Fitz certainly had a lot of…stuff.

  “Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable?” he said, leading me to the plush sofa. He took up residence in the middle of the cushion, forcing me into close proximity.

  “Your place is pretty cool,” I said. “It was nice of Hattie to let you live here.”

  “I’m the heir,” he replied. “It’s to be expected.”

  “So does that mean you’ll be inheriting the house?” I asked.

  “No, but that’s another story,” he said. Notably, he didn’t seem too bothered about it. “I get to stay here and I expect to get a large sum of money, and that’s all I care about.”

  “Were you close to Hattie?” I asked. “I imagine you must’ve been, living in such close quarters.”

  He laughed. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but it’s an enormous house. I’d hardly call them close quarters.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. You basically live in the same house, unlike everyone else in the family.”

  He drank more ale. “I didn’t see her much. I tended to avoid her. It got tiring to hear her bang on about how I needed to marry a morgen.” He grinned at me. “She would’ve approved of you, though, if push came to shove. A descendant of the One True Witch?” He eyed me with a wolfish grin. “Definitely.”

  “Sounds like your grandmother had very vocal opinions about your personal life,” I said. “You seem like such a strong and independent guy. That must’ve seriously annoyed you.”

  “Oh, I’m strong,” he said, openly enjoying the flattery. “You should see how many pints I can lift at once.” He laughed. “Who am I kidding? They’re all empty so quickly.” He shifted closer to me. “So how serious are you and the sheriff? You should consider upgrading. I mean, the guy makes a public servant’s salary. He can’t possibly be marriage material for a witch of your caliber.”

  I stood abruptly before my fist betrayed me and punched him in his smug face. It seemed that Hattie’s prejudices had rubbed off on her entitled grandson. Not that it came as a surprise. I pretended to show an interest in his decor so as not to let my anger build. I swiveled away from the repulsive unicorn head and focused on other parts of the room.

  “You have such eclectic taste,” I said. For most of the items, I had no clue what I was viewing. There was a selection of masks on the wall that seemed suggestive of different animals.

  “Those are tribal masks,” Fitz said, moving to stand beside me. His breath reeked of ale and I wondered how many he’d imbibed before my arrival. Breakfast of champions, it seemed.

  “I feel an energy around them,” I said. It was strange, like a prickling sensation.

  Fitz clapped his hands together. “That’s awesome. Your magic must be really strong. I’ve never had anyone here who could detect it.”

  “So they’re magical tribal masks?” I queried.

  “You bet,” he replied. “The tribe members used to put them on and turn into whatever animal was displayed on the mask. It was part of a ritual.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. That actually sounded cool. I thought of the cute craft masks I bought for Marley’s party and wondered whether there was a way I could make them more interesting.

  “They were destined for a museum,” Fitz continued, “but I managed to persuade the owner to sell them to me instead. I like having things no one else does.”

  “Now you sound like Hattie and her fizzlewick mead,” I said, trying to lead the conversation back to the murder. “I suppose you’ve already broken into her stash.”

  “I haven’t, in fact,” he replied. “Deputy Bolan warned me not to touch anything out of the ordinary in the house or I could be tampering with evidence.”

  “That makes sense,” I said.

  “I don’t see why the mead matters,” he said. “It’s in the cellar where no one’s allowed to go.”

  Ah, so the leprechaun didn’t divulge the means of delivery of the fatal potion. If this family convened as often as mine, they’d all know the details by now. Aunt Hyacinth would have made sure of it. Or maybe not, since in the comparable scenario, she’d be the murder victim. I shivered at the thought.

  “Are you chilly?” Fitz asked. He draped an arm along my shoulders. “I can think of a few ways to keep you warm.”

  My instinct was to shake his arm away, but something across the room caught my eye, so I decided to let it stay put. “Looks like you have an effective tool right there.” I pointed to the collection of items stashed in the corner of the room. “Is that a blowtorch?”

  His gaze alighted on the pile of metal objects and he laughed. “You can tell how often I tidy up this place. Those are from ages ago, back when I used to rail against Grandmother’s authority.”

  I took the opportunity to examine them more closely. “How did you use them?” Not only was there a blowtorch, but also a drill and a chisel.

  He picked up the chisel and inspected it, blowing off the dust in the process. “If memory serves, these are from when my buddy and I got wasted and tried to bust through a wall into the mead cellar.”

  I held up a finger. “A-ha! I knew you wouldn’t be able to stand being kept out of there.”

  Fitz grinned and set down the item. “I lost my interest in the mead when I became old enough to drink all over town and leave tabs in my grandmother’s name. Her accountant takes care of my bills. It’s nice.” He tilted his head. “Would be even nicer to share that with a special someone.”

  “I would think the accounts will be frozen until your grandmother’s death is fully investigated.”

  He scowled. “Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Bummer.”

  “Where’s the key to the cellar now?” I asked. “Any idea?”

  “There are two,” Fitz said. “Grandmother wore one on a chain around her neck and Sampson has the other one. I’m not sure if we sent her out to sea wearing it. I didn’t take a close look
before the send-off.”

  “A water burial?” I asked.

  “Morgens always do water burials. She would’ve preferred a lake, but the ocean’s right there,” Fitz said.

  “Did Sampson ever go down to the cellar to clean or anything?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Fitz said, “though he would’ve been the one to bring up the glass of mead for Grandmother’s annual toast.”

  “She trusted Sampson that much that he had his own key?” I asked.

  Fitz gave a firm nod. “She relied heavily on Sampson to do her bidding. I don’t know how he tolerated her, quite frankly. She was as demanding as they come.”

  “Demanding enough that he’d want her gone?” I asked.

  Fitz appeared surprised by my suggestion. “I hadn’t considered that the butler would’ve done it. I suppose a lifetime of servitude could turn anyone violent.”

  “He would’ve had access to the chandelier, too,” I said.

  Fitz gave me an appreciative glance. “You’re very smart. I like smart women.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Who am I kidding? I like all women.”

  Ugh. Fitz was so much worse than Florian. The wizard had a soft and gentlemanly side that Fitz clearly lacked.

  “Thanks for your time,” I said, easing away from him. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re going?” He seemed disappointed. “I thought I could show you the rest of my place. You should see the artwork on my bedroom ceiling.”

  Gross. “Another time. I have a magic lesson that I can’t be late for. I have a Hattie of my own, you see. She’s also very demanding.”

  Fitz nodded solemnly. “I totally understand. May the wind be at your back.”

  The wind was at my back and my front. My hair whipped itself into a frenzy while I stood with Wren Stanton-Summer, Master-of-Incantation and wizard extraordinaire, on the clifftop overlooking Fairy Cove.

  “I thought we’d work on glamours today,” the handsome wizard said.

  “I picture glamours as more of an indoor activity,” I said.

  “You can picture them however you like, but I’m in charge and we’re having this lesson in the great outdoors.” He made a big show of inhaling the fresh air.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “You keep insisting on having lessons outside. You hate my cottage, don’t you?”

  Wren averted his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I pointed at him like a child. “Ha! I knew it. Admit it, Wren. You don’t like being inside my cottage.” My hands flew to my hips. “What’s the issue? Not tidy enough for you? Smells like the enticing aroma of dog food and wet raccoon fur?” Gee, now that I said it out loud, it was amazing that I could stomach being inside my cottage.

  Wren took a deep breath. “It’s your dog, okay? I’m not a huge fan of that creature you live with.”

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “PP3? Are you serious?” The Yorkshire terrier was the most adorable, harmless dog in the history of dogs.

  Wren turned toward the Whitethorn in the distance, clearly embarrassed. “Listen, I don’t want to make a thing about it, but the dog gets under my skin. The way he looks at me. He’s…creepy.”

  My laughter reverberated. “Creepy? Prescott Peabody III is many things, Wren, but creepy is not one of them.”

  Wren threw out his arms in frustration. “You asked me for the reason and I’ve decided to be honest. Don’t make me regret it.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I could understand a shifter or some other paranormal having an issue with PP3, but a strapping wizard like Wren? Complete shock.

  “What if I could learn a glamour spell that made PP3 look like something more tolerable?” I suggested.

  “I was planning to focus on glamouring your hair, but that’s a good plan, too.”

  My hands instinctively touched my head. “What’s wrong with my hair?” It was a pointless question. I knew exactly what was wrong with my hair. We were standing on a clifftop, enjoying a strong sea breeze. Just because it felt good, though, didn’t mean it made me look good. I had no illusions about the frizz factor. The windswept look might work for some ladies, but I wasn’t one of them. I looked like someone had caught me in a fishing net, and then dragged me along the surf for a mile before reeling me in. In the middle of a Category 5 hurricane.

  Wren pressed his lips together. “We’ll start with your idea.” He surveyed the area for a PP3 stand-in. He was just about to reach for a sizable log when Raoul emerged from the trees.

  “Well, what do you know?” Wren said. “A volunteer.”

  Raoul looked at me, his dark eyes glinting with suspicion. What does he mean?

  “I need someone to practice glamour spells on,” I said. “You’re ideal.”

  Raoul waved his paws in front of him. No, no, no. I’m a raccoon, not a guinea pig.

  Oh, come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. I won’t embarrass you.

  Why should today be any different? Raoul grumbled.

  I glared at him. What if I bought pizza for dinner?

  And what would you and Marley have?

  Fine, I huffed. One large pizza for Raoul.

  With all the toppings, he added.

  I shot him a quick look. “All?”

  “Are you two negotiating?” Wren asked. “Don’t you know not to negotiate with terrorists, Ember?”

  “He’s a bandit, not a terrorist. Don’t let the mask fool you.”

  Raoul shook my hand. Deal. Let’s go, caster. Show me what you’ve got.

  I rolled my eyes. “Wren, whatever illusion I cast, can it involve muting him?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Wren’s mouth. “Sure thing.”

  I looked from Wren to my familiar. “So what would you prefer to see when you walk in my house, Wren? A mermaid on the sofa probably won’t cut it. She’ll be gasping for water.”

  Wren shook his head. “I don’t know why you think I have a thing for mermaids.”

  “Because you have a p…Because you’re a dude.”

  The wizard glanced at the water beyond the cliff. “They have a certain appeal, I’ll admit, but I’d like to settle down with a nice witch.”

  “What is it with wanting to stay within the coven?” I asked. “Why does it matter?”

  Wren shrugged. “It’s not a mandate. If I fall in love with someone and she happens to be a nymph or a fairy, I won’t reject her. I just like the idea of everyone in my family being a part of the coven and having the same traditions. I guess it’s kind of old-fashioned.”

  I felt myself softening. “Actually, Wren, it sounds really nice. I’ve just been hearing a lot of elitist remarks recently. I mean, I guess it’s easy for me to say witches aren’t superior because I am one, but I truly believe that.” It seemed akin to wealthy people claiming that money isn’t everything—it sure can seem that way when you don’t have enough of it.

  This wizard is a keeper, Ember. I’m telling you, if you ever get tired of that furball, you’ve got a prospect right here. Plus, you get that whole teacher-student vibe. Sexy. He began gyrating in a circle and singing boom-chicka-bow-wow.

  I tried to ignore him and focus on the lesson. “How about a turtle? You don’t want to date them. They don’t talk, they’re harmless, and they fit on my sofa.”

  Wren chuckled. “A turtle it is then. Wand at the ready, Ember.”

  I produced my wand and twirled it for good measure. “Armed and dangerous, captain.”

  He scrutinized me. “You do remember you’re glamouring a raccoon to look like a turtle, right?”

  I winked at Raoul. “Yep. A turtle. Hairless and with a shell. Got it.”

  Raoul appeared visibly ill. I’m starting to regret my decision.

  “All the toppings,” I reminded him.

  He puffed out his chest. Do your worst.

  Wren aimed his wand. “I’ll demonstrate. Focus your will and picture Raoul as a tortoise.”

  “We agreed on turtle,” I said.

  Wren
shot me a quizzical look. “What’s the difference?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Marley.”

  Wren took aim again. “Focus your will and picture Raoul as a turtle. Then say incanto testudo graeca.” Green light streaked from the tip of his wand. When I glanced at Raoul, a turtle blinked back at me.

  “Very cool,” I said. “It’s still Raoul, though, right?”

  “Yes, it’s only an illusion,” Wren replied.

  “How long does it last?” I asked. I could already think of a number of ways this type of enchantment could be useful.

  “If you don’t add a time element, it wears off in a matter of minutes,” Wren said. “I’ll get rid of the glamour and then you can practice.” He pointed his wand at the turtle and said, “Restauro.”

  Raoul replaced the turtle. How’d I look as a turtle? Did my butt look big?

  You had a shell, not a butt.

  Yeah, I guess the shell covers the fat butt.

  I’m pretty sure turtles are skinny, I said.

  Make sure I’m an astute turtle, he said. I don’t want to have that slow expression a lot of them wear. It doesn’t fit with my brand.

  I laughed. Your brand? You’re a raccoon. You don’t have a brand.

  Raoul folded his arms. I do, too, have a brand. Sassy and sophisticated.

  I barked a short laugh. “Sophisticated? I don’t think so. Your idea of a gourmet meal is the dumpster behind the French restaurant.”

  That’s entirely sensible, mademoiselle, he replied, sticking his nose in the air.

  I shook my head and aimed my wand. “Incanto testuda.” I peered down to see a lute on the ground. “Um, I think I may have gone astray somewhere.”

  Wren chuckled. “You think? Musical instruments aren’t a bad glamour, though. I wouldn’t mind seeing a lute on your sofa. The only problem is I may decide to strum it.”

  “Oops. I guess I didn’t focus my will,” I said.

  “You also didn’t use the right phrase,” Wren said.