Bat Out of Spell
An Elemental Witches of Eternal Springs Cozy Mystery
Amanda M. Lee
WinchesterShaw Publications
Copyright © 2018 by Amanda M. Lee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
Enjoy the rest of the Elemental Witches of Eternal Springs Series
Mailing List
About the Author
Books by Amanda M. Lee
One
“You’d better hope I don’t find you!”
I tilted my head to the side, my ears trained for any hint of sound, and narrowed my eyes to glittering blue slits as I waited for the inevitable taunt. Even though I believed there was a chance he’d learn his lesson (and we’re talking every time, not just once), I always turned out to be wrong. This wouldn’t be the time things changed, yet still I waited.
Then it happened.
Cackle, cackle, cackle.
Zoom, zoom, zoom.
I ducked as a small creature barely skirted my scalp and then disappeared somewhere into the bowels of the house. I smacked my hands protectively to the top of my head and let loose a screech that bounced off the walls with enough force to cause the hooting beast I was convinced hid in the hallway, poised to strike, to stop the chattering he enjoyed making when he wanted my brain to explode.
I wanted to be calm. Things would end better if calmness reigned supreme. That’s simply not how I operate, though.
“Swoops!” I yelled loud enough that I was certain the neighbors heard. Even though Eternal Springs is big enough that neighbors aren’t piled on top of each other – there is actual space between houses, which benefitted me a great deal – I have one of those voices that carries. I like to think of it as uniquely attention-grabbing. Others have told me it’s like nails on a chalkboard overlaid with noisy chewing all the while surrounded by the dulcet sounds of some insipid boy band crooning a pop ballad.
This is one of those times I agreed to disagree with people. That happens a lot, by the way.
I checked the spot on my scalp where I was convinced I was missing hair and stomped my foot to get my annoying roommate’s attention. Sure, Swoops isn’t a normal roommate. He isn’t even a normal pet. Most people have cute kittens or dopey dogs to dote on. Me, I have a bat.
No, you heard that right, Swoops is a bat. Don’t worry, I litter trained him. He doesn’t do his business in the house or anything. Of course, that’s not what most people cringe at when they find out I have a pet bat. The first thing I always hear is, “Aren’t you afraid of rabies?”
For the record, no. I, Skye Thornton, am not afraid of rabies. Swoops is clean. Okay, he isn’t clean clean, but he’s not rabies infested or sleep-in-his-own-feces addled or anything. He eats like a messy toddler and takes his humor cues from teenage boys (which means he enjoys fart jokes and a good grope when he thinks he can mess with someone). Instead of a bat, it’s almost as if I have an annoying male child that I never wanted. Too bad I can’t leave him at a fire station under one of those safe haven laws. That would make my life so much easier.
“If you stole my hair again we’re going to have words,” I barked, planting my hands on my hips and waiting for Swoops to make an appearance. He’s a dramatic little thing, all theatrical entrances and extended pauses so I know he really means business. The gluttonous scamp is such a rampant over-actor that he could headline a soap opera … or an episode of one of those Real Housewives of Places I Never Want to Live programs.
How did I end up with a bat as a pet? That’s a good question. It turns out he’s my familiar. Oh, yeah, I’m a witch. Did I fail to mention that? The word “witch” can mean different things to different people, so it’s probably good to clarify exactly what type of witch I am.
I am not the type who enchants shoes or has a wart on the end of my nose. I can fly around on a broom, though. I shunned the cliché for years, refusing to be that person. No one likes that person. Then I finally broke down and read Harry Potter in high school and I became that person. You know what? Now I’m officially fine being that person.
I didn’t grow up in Eternal Springs – that’s the name of this ridiculously small island I’m forced to call home – but I was sent here to make sure I got the very best education possible. That meant being taught with other witches. That meant making friends with other witches. And, ultimately, when the school burned down due to negligence on the part of the people who were supposed to be watching the bridge to the other side – I’m not saying I was at fault as much as distracted by others, and I still maintain they were to blame and I was an innocent bystander caught up in a situation I didn’t create – I was part of the team who was left behind to continuously clean up the mess of a fallen ideal.
I know. I think it sounds stupid, too. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck on an island off the New Jersey shore – I mean, why couldn’t we at least be in a good location, like near Florida or even one of the Carolinas I hear so much about but never get to visit? And I can’t leave until there’s absolutely no threat to Eternal Springs. Who knows when that will be? It could be never.
“I don’t have time for you now, Swoops,” I called out as I picked my way through the house. I needed to fill my travel mug with coffee if I expected to make it through my first assignment of the day. In addition to being one of Eternal Springs’ witchy saviors (I’m one of four, but more on that later), I’m also the owner … and lone reporter … and lone layout person (although I do have occasional temporary help from time to time) for The Town Croaker, Eternal Springs’ only newspaper. That means I have to cover every mundane thing that happens on the island, including the opening of a new wing at the spa. I know, exciting stuff.
I heard Swoops chattering as he zoomed through the house in my wake. He recognized I was heading for the kitchen, which just so happened to be his favorite room in the house, and whatever mayhem he initially had planned fell by the wayside at the prospect of food.
“I’m not feeding you,” I called out as I filled the basin with water and selected a nice French roast pod for my morning caffeine rush. “You were up until two last night eating popcorn. You left bits of it all over the house, including in my bed. That means I’ll have to vacuum when I get home this afternoon. You know how I feel about domestic chores.”
The chattering was much closer this time and when I shifted my eyes to the top of the refrigerator I found Swoops watching me with pitiful eyes.
“I’m not feeding you,” I repeated. “You’re fat. Bats aren’t supposed to be fat. You need to go on a diet. I don’t want to be the only witch in town with a fat familiar.”
Swoops feigned clutching at his chest as he staggered on top of the refrigerator. His steps were so exaggerated he almost looked drunk.
Must have food. Will die without it.
Swoops can’t talk, but because he’s my familiar I can read his mind. He can also read mine. I’m not comfortable with either
… and it’s not just because I enjoy looking at the occasional naughty photograph on the internet (when it works, that is).
“You’re not going to die.” I made a face as I glared at him. “You ate your weight in popcorn last night. You also ate SpaghettiOs, an apple, a bag of Rolos and a jar of pickled okra, although I have no idea where that came from because I certainly didn’t buy it.”
Am circling the drain.
Swoops looked pitiful as he blinked his big eyes. I knew he was faking, but I couldn’t hold out.
“Fine.” I blew out a sigh as I stomped to the refrigerator and grabbed a fresh apple from the crisper. “Here.” I planted the apple on top of the refrigerator and cocked an eyebrow when Swoops curled his lip. No, really, he looked like Elvis. “What’s wrong?”
Corned beef hash.
Ugh. I had to be the only witch in the world whose familiar was addicted to corned beef hash. I shook my head. “No. I don’t have time. I have to be at the spa in forty minutes.”
Corned beef hash.
I stared hard into Swoops’ eyes. I swear the little moppet actually looked as if he was going to cry. I tried one more time to beat a hasty retreat without having to cook him breakfast. I had to be strong. “I can’t be late. You know how Kenna is when I’m late.”
Kenna Byrne, one of my witch sisters, was the most anal-retentive schedule Nazi who ever walked the planet. If I was even five seconds late she would know. Worse than that, she’d jot it down in that little appointment book she carries and then bring it up the next five times I ran into her. No, I couldn’t deal with that. She was worse than a pathetic Swoops any day of the week.
“I have to go.” I slapped the cover on my coffee mug and moved toward the door. “I’ll make you corned beef hash later.”
When I risked a glance over my shoulder I found Swoops was no longer acting pathetic and weepy. Instead, he’d turned belligerent and his stance promised payback later.
“Don’t even start,” I warned.
Swoops merely sneered as he left his perch and headed toward the hallway. Oh, it’s on.
That’s exactly what I was afraid of.
THE ETERNAL SPRINGS SPA and Resort was the island’s lone claim to fame after the loss of the school thirteen years earlier. I was a senior at the time the school succumbed to the biggest fire to ever hit the area, so I had to finish out my education in public school. That meant I knew the locals, including August “Augie” Taylor, the world’s biggest pain in the keister, who just happened to be head of security at the resort.
I held out my press badge, which was homemade and enhanced with glitter, to the faceless security drone at the entrance after I parked my pink Vespa in the lot. Oh, yeah, there are no cars on Eternal Springs. The tourism board believes they take away from the island’s natural ambiance (as if that’s a real thing) so everyone drives scooters and golf carts. Even when it snows, so you can imagine what that’s like as golf carts skid into ditches and the world comes to an end when three inches of fluff falls like clockwork every Christmas.
I kept my gaze on Augie and ignored the security guard studying my credentials. If I could make it to the news conference without having to speak to him my day would vastly improve. The second he shifted in my direction, though, I knew that was not to be.
“That doesn’t look official.” The security guard, who I’d never seen before, had the name “Brad” embroidered on his shirt. He was clearly new, which meant he was doomed to be slow on the uptake when it came to the reality of Eternal Springs.
That was always a bummer.
“It’s official, Brad,” I shot back. “I’m with The Town Croaker.”
Brad uncomfortably shifted from one foot to the other. “It has pink glitter on it.”
I could blame Swoops for that. The last time he got angry with my culinary skills he decided to pay me back by spreading pink glitter around the house. He dusted it on everything, including my press pass. He also managed to drop some in my shampoo and underwear drawer. He truly was a monster when he wanted to be. “It’s still official.”
“I need to check with my boss.”
“Wait.” The word was barely out of my mouth before Brad called to Augie. My high school nemesis seemed to be expecting the cry for help because he added a little swagger to his step as he joined us.
“What seems to be the problem, Agent Lockwood?”
Agent Lockwood? That had to be a joke. “Why are you calling him ‘agent?’ He’s a security guard.” The question was out of my mouth before I remembered that I didn’t want to engage in mindless conversation with a guy who made my skin itch because he was so snarky. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of snark. But I much prefer it when I’m the one doling it out.
“That’s his title,” Augie replied simply, accepting the press pass from Brad and smirking. “Nice glitter.”
“Thank you. He’s not an agent, though. He’s a rent-a-cop.”
Augie’s smile slipped. “He’s an agent of Eternal Springs Spa and Resort.”
Was that supposed to impress me? “Whatever.” I didn’t bother to hide my eye roll. “Can you clear me through? I’m going to be late for the news conference. Kenna will be all over me if that happens.”
“Yes, well, I don’t pretend to understand your relationship with the other girls from your school.” Augie handed back the press pass. “That really does look unprofessional.”
“So does wearing black socks with sandals.” I gestured toward his feet. “Do you really want to get in a battle about who is more unprofessional?”
Augie shrugged. “We’ve fought about more juvenile things than that.”
He wasn’t wrong. “I have to get going. I’m running late.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Oh, now he was just trying to get under my skin. He was like a tick. He wanted to suck my blood and give me whatever the personality equivalent of Lyme disease is. “Augie, I’m not joking. I have to get over there. If I’m late I’ll be in a boatload of trouble.”
Instead of letting me through, Augie narrowed his eyes. “August. My name is August.”
Whoops. I always forgot he hated being called Augie. I was hardly the only one on the island to refer to him by that moniker. His high school nickname had stuck. He wanted to be called “August” because it sounded more professional. I mostly ignored his request, but because I was running late that would’ve been a prime way to butter him up.
Ah, next time. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean it. Not even a little. “I’m simply frazzled. It’s been a long morning and it’s not even eight yet.”
Augie heaved out a sigh, resigned. “I would torture you and not let you through, but the resort owners are relying on coverage for the big event.” He swept out his left arm and pointed toward the new building, which was so white it gleamed under the early morning sun. “You should probably get over there.”
“Great.” I started striding in that direction.
“And don’t wander!” Augie yelled to my back. “You have a tendency to wander and stick your nose into places it doesn’t belong.”
I would’ve argued the point, but I didn’t have time and, well, he was right. I’m a wanderer and busybody. I’m not sorry about either.
I tried to push Augie’s attitude and words out of my mind as I increased my pace to the point I was almost running. I saw Kenna’s black hair from five hundred yards and knew she was probably already melting down. That’s her way. If the slightest thing went wrong and her schedule was thrown off by as little as thirty seconds she’d make me pay in unfathomable ways. Her mind was so warped she’d make Swoops’ glitter bomb attack look like child’s play.
I was so lost in thought – and determined to be in my seat before the clock rolled over to eight – I decided to cut through a small patch of foliage. We’re talking low bushes and flowers that I can easily jump over, so it’s not as if I planned to trample anything. That didn’t exactly happen, though.
Instead of bre
ezing through the area, gracefully leaping over the bushes and planting myself in a chair so I could pretend I’d been there the entire time I tripped over my own feet and sprawled into the bushes. I landed hard enough that I whimpered … and then made a face when I realized my tailbone was vibrating.
“Graceful,” Kenna snarked, her business suit immaculate as she watched me from fifty feet away.
Great. She was going to punish me regardless. Why did I bother to run? “Yes, well, I almost became an ice dancer rather than a reporter,” I said, planting my hand on the ground to give myself leverage to stand, frowning when I realized something was under me. “I think I might have missed my calling.”
I shifted to stare at the large item sticking out from beneath the bush’s green boughs and almost choked on my own tongue when I realized I was staring into a pair of lifeless eyes. They were green … and glazed … and emanating from a woman who was very clearly dead.
Uh-oh. It seemed my morning was going to take another turn … and it was one none of us needed.
“Well, fiddlesticks.”
Two
Eternal Springs Spa and Resort is famous for several things. The biggie is the mud pits. I’ve never understood why anyone would want to sit in mud – I mean, it’s wet and dirty, people – but it’s a thing and the resort is almost always packed. The resort is the only way the island can sustain itself, so I’m grudgingly respectful of the facility and the people who run it.
Its other claim to fame is its plastic surgery wing. People come from far and wide for face time with the resort’s gaggle of world-renowned doctors. Why was that important in the wake of me stumbling over a dead body? Because once the woman was identified her appearance garnered a few questions.
Bat Out of Spell Page 1