Magic & Mischief

by Annabel Chase

  I thrust Bentley forward without a second thought. His body went completely rigid, which I assumed was due to nerves. He was finally meeting Meadow in person. Maybe after weeks of fantasizing, the reality was about to prove too overwhelming for him.

  “No,” he said softly.

  “It’s okay, Bentley,” I said, urging him forward.

  “No, no, no.” He pushed backward, almost frantic.

  “Crap on a stick, Bentley,” I said, getting annoyed. “She’s a nymph, not a goddess. A nymph who won’t be interested if she thinks you’re a wimp.”

  “Not a nymph,” he said in a harsh whisper. He whipped around to face me. “Meadow’s not a nymph.”

  I gripped him by the shoulders. “Bentley, relax. You’re about to hyperventilate and I haven’t got a brown bag handy.”

  His face drained of color. “Look.”

  I peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Meadow. My jaw unhinged when I saw the creature wearing the scarf with the silver stars. It was nearly seven feet tall and hairier than Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine. Even more disconcerting was the bright peach-colored lipstick and high heels the creature wore.

  “Dear God. What is that thing?” I asked quietly.

  “A yeti,” Bentley said, close to tears. “Meadow isn’t a nymph. She’s a yeti.” He began to gulp for air.

  “Calm down,” I said, rubbing his back. “Take a deep breath.” I wasn’t the best comforter in the world, especially to my office frenemy, but he was so distraught that I couldn’t leave him like this.

  “Why a yeti?” he whimpered. “Anything but a yeti.”

  “Okay, so she claimed to be a nymph. She probably thought that was more acceptable to an elf, right?” The size difference was appreciable, to say the least. If the yeti was feeling amorous, Bentley was likely to snap like a twig.

  “I knew she was too good to be true,” he said. “I told myself every day not to trust it.”

  “Trust what?”

  “The connection between us.” He buried his face in his hands. “We got along too well. She seemed perfect in every way. Of course it had to be an act.”

  “The yeti’s coming this way,” I said. “What do you want to do?”

  He didn’t give a verbal answer. Instead, he bolted from the gallery, circumventing the yeti completely.

  “Can I get you anything to drink, miss?” the bartender asked.

  I turned my attention toward him. “Your strongest ale would be great.” I was going to need to drink the sight of the lipsticked yeti out of my mind.

  Alec appeared beside me, smooth as the silk scarf around the yeti’s thick neck. “How are you enjoying the event, Miss Rose?”

  “Better than Bentley,” I said, guzzling the ale. “I think one of us will need to write the article on the show. He’s fled the scene.”

  Alec arched a blond eyebrow. “Fled? Was he ill?”

  “If mortified counts as an illness, then yes. His MagicMirror pen pal turned out to be a yeti. He escaped rather than confront the situation.”

  “A yeti?” Alec queried. “How does he know?”

  “Because the yeti is here.” I spun toward the crowd, nearly spilling my drink on Alec’s expensive shoes. There was no sign of the enormous yeti.

  Alec followed my gaze. “I am quite sure I would notice a yeti in the art gallery. They tend toward the taller side.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “This one is about seven feet tall wearing high heels, lipstick, and a silk scarf.”

  Alec laughed. “That sounds like the most attractive yeti in existence.”

  I stared into the crowd, wondering where the yeti went and how Alec could have missed it.

  “Never mind Bentley and his adolescent drama. Come and meet Trupti,” Alec said. “I think you’ll find her delightful.”

  Trupti Kapoor was a tall woman with midnight black hair that hung loose across her shoulders. She wore a yellow dress that complemented her brown skin.

  “Trupti, your artwork is thought-provoking as always,” Alec said, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “I’d like to introduce the newest addition to the Vox Populi staff, Miss Ember Rose.”

  Trupti gave me an appraising look. “Red is your color, my love. It shows off the fire in your heart.”

  “Um, thanks,” I replied. I guess that was the artsy way of saying I look nice.

  “We’d love a personal tour of your work,” Alec said. “Miss Rose is new to town and hasn’t yet been exposed to the excellent talent we have here.”

  “Aren’t you full of compliments tonight?” Trupti said, and batted her thick, dark lashes at him. Ooh, I was so envious of those lashes right now. Mine were like thin spiders and not even the good kind—more like the anemic spiders that no one bothered to step on because they were deemed too insignificant.

  She walked toward the far wall and we kept pace with her long strides. It was easy for Alec, but I really had to hustle. She stopped in front of a huge painting on the wall of—a green pear? Huh. I was pretty sure Marley could paint this in an afternoon. I was glad I’d only had one glass of ale so far. Loose lips sank ships…and insulted artists.

  “I see the attention to detail,” Alec said, admiring it—or pretending to admire it. I couldn’t tell which. The vampire was a smooth operator.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what inspired you to paint a piece of fruit?” I asked. Okay, so I couldn’t keep my mouth completely shut. That went against my nature.

  “As you can see, much of this exhibit involves fruit,” she said, gesturing to the walls. I noticed paintings of a banana, an orange, and an apple.

  “Because you’re a very, very healthy eater?” I asked.

  Trupti laughed. “On the contrary. My parents were adamant that I eat healthy foods as a child. I hated fruit. They would sit me at the table and refuse to let me leave until I ate all my fruit.”

  “You didn’t like any fruit at all?” I asked. Usually there was a preference for citrus or berries. Even Marley ate fruit and she was a notoriously picky eater.

  Trupti shook her dark head. “I spent many a night at the table, falling asleep. I’d wake up to the image of fruit right in front of my eyes.” She shuddered. “They haunted my dreams.”

  “And so you paint them?”

  She inhaled deeply. “A reflection of my childhood trauma. The art helps me to exorcise those particular demons.”

  “Doesn’t it make you focus on them more?” I asked.

  Her brow creased. “It helps me bleed them from my system. I take them from my psyche and leave them on the canvas to rot.”

  Alrighty then.

  “Miss Rose is no stranger to traumatic childhoods,” Alec said, resting his hand gently on the small of my back. It felt nice. Comfortable even.

  Trupti fixed her gaze on me. “Ah, but of course. I’ve heard your story.”

  “Probably not all of it, but that’s okay,” I said. “Maybe someone should sit me down with paint and a canvas and see what I come up with.”

  “I shudder to think,” Alec said.

  “I occasionally host a class,” Trupti said. “Six-week sessions. I’ll let you know the next time I have one.”

  “That would be great,” I said. I nodded toward another set of paintings on the adjacent wall. “These are nice. Are they the result of trauma, too?”

  There were six paintings side by side, each one with splashes of color in the shape of a ballerina. Think Jackson Pollock meets Edgar Degas.

  “No, my love,” Trupti said. “These are called Metamorphosis One through Six. They represent my transformation into a vampire.”

  “You were turned?” I asked. I knew from recent experience that some people were turned into vampires and others were born as one.

  “I was.” She clasped her hands in front of her and contemplated the paintings. “You can see my struggle from one image to the next.”

  Although I saw only lots of paint splotches, I held my tongue. The artwork was obviously of a very personal n
ature and I had no intention of being dismissive.

  Trupti plucked a glass from a passing waiter. “I think it’s some of my best work to date. I’m very proud.”

  “As you should be,” Alec said. “They’re stunning.” As are you, Miss Rose.

  I glanced quickly at my companion. Did I seriously just hear that? His expression remained neutral with the exception of his fangs poking out a smidge. Damn vampire face.

  “Why don’t I see your fangs?” I asked Trupti.

  “I beg your pardon,” Trupti said, taken aback.

  “I always see Alec’s fangs, so it’s obvious he’s a vampire, but I can’t see yours. Do you shave yours down or something?”

  A look passed between Trupti and Alec that I didn’t understand.

  “I don’t shave mine,” Trupti said, with a trace of amusement. “The mere idea of it makes my skin crawl.”

  “So his are just longer,” I said. “A male versus female trait maybe?”

  “Perhaps,” Trupti said vaguely, and sipped her cocktail.

  “We should let the artist mingle with her other guests,” Alec said, his hand still on my back. “Do let us know how the evening turns out.”

  “Same to you, darling.” She blew him a kiss and we walked away.

  “Shall I escort you home?” Alec asked.

  “I hope you do, since I didn’t drive here,” I said.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Right this way, Miss Rose.”

  We exited the gallery, my thoughts on poor Bentley.

  “Bentley will be fine,” Alec said, once we were in the back of the limo.

  I shot him a disgruntled look. “You’re not supposed to be able to read my thoughts.”

  “Your shield is weak tonight,” he said. “From the alcohol.”

  “Well, so is yours. I know you think I look stunning,” I said, and proceeded to burp in his face. Sweet baby Elvis. Kill me now.

  To his credit, he ignored it like the vampire gentleman he was. “You do look stunning. It’s not a secret. Everyone in the gallery thought so, except Bentley, of course.”

  I squinted. “You read their minds?”

  He shrugged. “Not deliberately. Sometimes I catch snippets of thoughts. This evening, I caught many snippets about the woman in the red dress. And I must say, Miss Rose, I wholeheartedly agree.”

  I inched closer to him. “You can’t tell me I look stunning and then call me Miss Rose.”

  He gazed down at me. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s such a personal comment,” I argued. “But then you use my last name to maintain distance from me. That’s Marley’s theory anyway. It sends a mixed message.” Sheesh. What was in that ale? My mouth was working overtime.

  “Marley has a theory, does she?” His mouth twitched again in that way I found incredibly sexy. Damn vampire face.

  “Damn and vampire do tend to go hand in hand,” Alec said.

  I groaned in frustration. “Why can I see your fangs so often? I get the sense that isn’t normal.”

  “Oh, it’s very normal,” Alec said, his thigh pressed against mine again. The limo pulled in front of Rose Cottage and I simultaneously wanted to climb onto Alec’s lap and jet inside the cottage.

  “Because vampire fangs are normal?”

  “Because I’m very attracted to you, Miss Rose,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Oh. Not the answer I was expecting.

  “Well,” I said, straightening beside him. “I guess I’m very attracted to you, too.” Take that, Mr. Matter-of-Fact.

  “But it cannot possibly go anywhere,” he said. “And so I resist the temptation.”

  “Exactly, “ I said, and then hesitated. “Wait. Why can’t it go anywhere?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “You are a Rose. A descendant of the One True Witch. Niece of my employer, the most powerful witch in Starry Hollow. Hyacinth would never approve of me as a suitor for her blood relation.”

  “But she adores you.”

  “She adores me in the role I play,” he said. “If I attempted to climb out of my box…Well, she would not appreciate my efforts. Not with her niece. You see how she feels about Wyatt Nash.”

  “But Wyatt is a playboy werewolf whose idea of high fashion involves cowboy boots.”

  “It’s more the werewolf part that bothers Hyacinth,” he said. “If Wyatt had been a philandering wizard, your aunt would have gladly looked the other way.”

  “And she feels the same way about vampires?” I asked.

  “She feels the same way about anyone that isn’t a member of the coven, and even then there might be issues.”

  I paused. “Like my mother?”

  He nodded somberly. “Exactly.”

  I stared at his handsome face. I longed to trace his rugged jawline with my finger.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Rose,” he said. “But let us try to enjoy the time we spend together, no matter the circumstances.”

  I sighed deeply. “I’ll try, but I’d much rather enjoy the time we spend together in a variety of unholy positions.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Goodnight, Miss Rose. Pleasant dreams.”

  I remained rooted to the soft leather, unable to tear myself away from him.

  “Go, before we do something we regret,” he urged.

  I took one last look at the handsome vampire who wanted me. It was both strange and remarkable.

  “Goodnight, Alec,” I said, and hurried toward the certainty of Rose Cottage.

  Chapter 4

  Wren Stanton-Summer was the Master-of Incantation and my latest coven tutor. His fraternal twin brother, Dillon, was the head of security for the coven, otherwise known as the Watchman. The brothers also happened to be cousins of Aster’s husband, Sterling—ah, the tangled web of coven relations.

  Wren was prime wizard beefcake, a far cry from the crazed clown and cheerleader-cum-drill sergeant I’d labored under so far.

  “Why did you want to meet here instead of the cottage?" I asked. We stood in the heart of town, on the corner of Thistle Road and Coastline Drive.

  "Because we need to do a little shopping before we can get started," Wren said.

  "What kind of shopping? Is it time for my first pair of colorful striped tights?"

  "Not unless you want to look like Marigold," he said. He looked me up and down. "I'm guessing that’s not a life goal."

  "Not really,” I said. “I’m more of a minimalist."

  Wren smiled. "Good. So am I." He turned and began to walk down the block and I hurried to keep up with his brisk pace. He came to a halt in front of Spellcaster’s and opened the door. A bell above us jingled, reminding me of Aunt Hyacinth’s silver bells.

  "What's in here that I need?" I asked. The shop was full of every magical item you could imagine. Brooms, pointy black hats, and ugly black shoes with buckles that reminded me of the Pilgrims.

  "For starters, you need a wand," Wren said.

  I bit my lip. I didn't want to tell him that I'd been practicing with Linnea's starter wand. I knew my aunt wouldn't like it and Linnea was desperate to keep her assistance secret. Nobody wanted to poke Aunt Hyacinth’s nest.

  "Okay," I said. “Let’s go for it. What’s the procedure?”

  Wren strode down the aisle labeled ‘basic wands.’ "It's like buying the right baseball bat or golf club. You need to see what feels right for you."

  "There's no magic to it? A wand isn’t going to tap me on the shoulder and choose me? I’m not going to hear one calling to me?"

  His brow wrinkled. “If you hear one talking to you, let me know so I can summon the healer because it means you’re on the fast train to Delusion Town. Population: you.”

  Beefcake and sarcasm. In some circles, that would make him fairly irresistible, however, I tended to prefer the sarcasm be one-sided—my side.

  “Good to know.” I studied the wide array of wands on the shelves. There were so many choices, I didn’t know where to look first. "I had no idea they came in so many colors."
r />   "That's a newer trend," he said. "When I was a boy, all starter wands were black, brown, or white."

  "Linnea had a red one," I said. In a case that resembled a large lipstick tube.

  Wren cocked an eyebrow. "Did she? I suppose that's because she's a Rose. Your family has access to things that the rest of us don't."

  I laughed. "Then what am I doing here with you? What if I want special treatment?"

  Wren’s expression shifted. "Make no mistake, Ember. You’re already getting it."

  My smile faded. He was right. I knew perfectly well that I was receiving preferential treatment. My job at Vox Populi, my late entry to the coven, my individual tutoring—my aunt had gone above and beyond what she would've done for any normal witch. Then again, I would do the same for a beloved family member. I just didn't know I had anyone aside from Marley until my trio of cousins showed up in New Jersey.

  "What about this one?" Wren queried, tapping a simple black wand on the shelf.

  "I am partial to black," I said. Secretly though, I'd grown accustomed to Linnea’s bright red wand and wondered whether a pop of color wouldn't be better.

  "I'm sensing hesitation," Wren said. "No big deal. We can keep looking."

  "Is there any advantage to having a black or brown wand?" I asked. "Or were Silver Moon witches and wizards just really boring back in the day?"

  Wren chuckled. "Hey, I'm not that old. Linnea is only a couple years younger than me. You have to remember that our coven draws much of its magic from nature. Black, brown, and white are colors of earth."

  "What about blue?" I asked. "Like the sky and the sea? Or green?“

  Wren resisted a smile. "Okay, so maybe the coven was a bit boring." He pointed to a wand. "But there are plenty of options now."

  There certainly were. An entire range of blue wands stared back at me, from a deep, dark blue to a sapphire blue to a light eggshell blue.

  "I should have brought Marley with me," I said. "She probably has an opinion."

  "It's your wand," Wren said. "Why let your daughter choose for you?"