Magic & Mischief

by Annabel Chase

  “Good idea.” He folded his arms and watched me as I performed the spell again.

  “You don’t need to look so smug,” I said. “It’s distracting.”

  “My smugness is distracting?” he repeated. “That’s one I haven’t heard before. Usually, it’s my good looks.”

  I snorted. “Sorry. Not indulging your ego.”

  “And why should you? I hear you’ve got a bevy of admirers already.”

  I paused and looked at him. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Oh, come on. You have to know everyone talks in a small town like Starry Hollow. And you’re a new witch from the human world. A long-lost Rose. People can’t help but show an interest.”

  “I’m not that interesting,” I said. “I put my deodorant on one armpit at a time like everybody else.” I sniffed the air. “Except maybe you. I think you skipped today.”

  He gave me an amused look. “Antagonizing the teacher is not going to make the lesson go smoothly.”

  “I don’t need the lesson to go smoothly. I have no use for locking and unlocking doors with a wand.”

  “You never know,” he said. “You may find yourself in a dire situation where your very survival depends on your skill with a wand.”

  “Because Starry Hollow is so scary?”

  His brow lifted. “It’s my understanding that your boss nearly attacked you in a heightened vampire state.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I demanded. I thought we were trying to keep the information on a need-to-know basis.

  “Like I said. Everyone talks.” He waved a finger in the air and the door closed.

  “Well, I don’t see how a locking or unlocking spell would’ve helped me in that situation.”

  “You’re missing the point, Ember.” He sighed. “Go ahead and try again.”

  I’d show him. I pointed my wand, focused my will, and said, “Obfirmo.”

  He tugged on the handle again. This time, it didn’t budge. “Congratulations, Ember. You’ve successfully completed a skill that our eleven-year-olds master in their first week of school.”

  I stuck out my tongue.

  “Careful,” he warned. “I know a spell that rips those out.”

  I quickly sucked my tongue back in, unwilling to call his bluff. “So how do I unlock it?”

  “Same thing, but say dissere.”

  I managed the unlocking spell on the first try. Take that, Mr. Smug.

  “Well done, Ember. Now there’s no chance of locking yourself out of the house or your car.”

  “Unless I’ve forgotten my wand.” Which was perfectly plausible.

  He made a noise at the back of his throat. “Yes, I don’t recommend it.”

  “Before we move on to changing the color of a butterfly or something, I have a question about a curse.”

  “A curse?”

  “Not a curse like ‘minotaur shit,’” I said. “I mean a hex.”

  He barked a sort laugh. “I know what you mean, Ember. I’m the Master-of-Incantation.”

  “How would someone create a curse that seems to make nightmares come true?”

  “Depends.”

  “That’s a lawyerly answer,” I said. “Is it possible for a witch to curse people without knowing she did it?”

  He peered at me. “Do you think you’re somehow responsible for what happened to Alec?”

  “I was with them all,” I said.

  “All?” he repeated. “How many have there been?”

  “Never mind that. I’ve been trying to focus on other possibilities, but I’m concerned that I seem to be the common element.”

  He cocked his head, studying me. “I don’t think so, Ember. I think you’d be aware if you were casting a spell of that magnitude.”

  “Then how do I explain it?”

  “You don’t,” he replied simply. “It can’t be you. Your magic may have potential, but you haven’t fully accessed it.”

  “Then how does someone perform a nightmare curse? Do they find a spell in a book somewhere and copy it?”

  He gave a thoughtful shrug. “It’s possible. There are plenty of grimoires that contain curses. Or a more advanced witch or wizard could have created it from scratch. If it’s a different type of magic user, maybe they’ve channeled dark magic somehow.”

  “That’s a lot of options,” I said. “How can we narrow it down?”

  “You should let the sheriff and his team handle it,” he said.

  Ah, so he clearly didn’t know about Sheriff Nash. That was good. No need to panic the townsfolk.

  “I want to follow the story for Vox Populi,” I said. “Alec would never forgive me if I didn’t cover the story just because he was involved.”

  “You’re fond of the vampire, aren’t you?”

  “He’s a good boss,” I said. “He could’ve decided I was a nuisance and left me to fetch coffee for everyone, but he didn’t.”

  “Because he wants to stay on Hyacinth’s good side, as do we all.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that.” I refused to say anything more out of respect for Alec. The vampire’s admission was a private moment between the two of us and it was none of Wren’s business.

  “You should be careful around him, Ember,” Wren said. “Even when he’s at his most human, he’s still a vampire.”

  “A polished, sophisticated, incredibly polite vampire that happens to believe in me.”

  Wren batted his eyelashes. “No wonder you’re defending him. You’re smitten.”

  “I’m not smitten,” I objected. “No one gets smitten anymore. In fact, it’s a proven fact that no one’s been smitten since the 1800s.”

  Wren laughed. “You are a genuine delight to torture. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  I glared at him. “What’s the next spell?”

  “A light spell,” he said. “If you ever find yourself in a dark cave and can’t see where you’re going, this one comes in handy.”

  “I create light out of thin air?” I queried.

  “No, it’ll come from the tip of your wand.” He tapped the end of mine.

  I thought of Ashara and her amazing performance. “What about fire? Will I be able to manipulate it like I did the rain?”

  “Too soon to tell,” Wren said. “Why? Planning a forest fire? I don’t recommend it. Some of these oaks are hundreds of years old.”

  “Of course not. I just think it would be cool to throw fireballs,” I said. “Very badass.”

  Wren gave me a thoughtful look before brandishing his wand. He pointed to a branch of a tree and said, “Ambustio.”

  Flames sparked and the branch began to burn.

  “What are you doing? You said these trees are old,” I said.

  “Glaciare,” he said in an authoritative voice. The red and orange flames quickly turned blue and the branch iced over. “This branch was already dead. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

  A cracking sound drew my attention upward.

  “Oops,” he said. “Should’ve realized that would happen.”

  The frozen branch broke apart from the tree and plummeted toward our heads.

  “Vesica,” he said quickly.

  The branched bounced off an invisible barrier and fell to the ground.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “I created a protective bubble around us,” he said. “My brother taught me that one. He’s the master when it comes to protective spells. Literally.”

  I reached out to touch the transparent roof above our heads. Although I felt resistance, I saw nothing.

  “Okay, your class is definitely my favorite. Forget the flashlight spell. What’s another cool one?”

  “Changing the color of a butterfly, of course,” he said. “That was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

  I groaned. “It wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.”

  “It’s hard to tell with you. Fine, why don’t we change the color of a leaf? Even easier since the leaf can’t flutter away
.” He gave me the magic words and gestured to a leaf on the same tree as the door.

  I focused my will, raised my wand, and said, “Mutatio argenteus.”

  I watched in amazement as every leaf on the tree turned a brilliant shade of silver. The tree sparkled in the sunlight.

  Wren gazed at the tree with interest. “Very pretty. Not what I asked you to do, but a nice result all the same.”

  I dropped my arm to my side. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Your focus wasn’t narrow enough. You need to concentrate on that specific leaf, not all the leaves. It may not seem like an important distinction now, but there will come a time when it will be.”

  I nodded. “I need to change them back first. How do I do that? They weren’t all the same exact color to start with.”

  “A reversal spell,” Wren said. “Rescindo.”

  I changed the leaves back to their original state and again focused on a single leaf. This time, only that leaf turned silver.

  “There’s hope for you yet, Ember,” Wren said. “I like what I’ve seen so far.”

  “Are you sure you’re not blowing sunshine up my cloak to please my aunt?”

  He grinned and patted my shoulder. “You’re on to me. Seriously, though, good job today. I wasn’t sure whether the rumors were true.”

  I balked. “What rumors?”

  “That you had some of that Rose talent.”

  “But how can you tell? You said eleven-year-olds completed these spells in their first week.”

  “And they do,” he said. “But I wasn’t talking about your magic.” He winked and used his wand to make the door on the tree disappear. “Class is over today. I’ll see you next time.”

  “Okay,” I said, confused. What kind of talent did he mean?

  Once Wren left, I plucked the silver leaf from the tree and brought it home as a souvenir to show Marley. She’d be thrilled to hear about my new spells. Her enthusiasm knew no bounds, which was one of the reasons I loved sharing things with her. She was able to express the excitement that I only felt.

  On the walk back to the cottage, I thought about what Wren said regarding curses. It seemed that the field of possible culprits was wide open. And with so many different victims, it was difficult to figure out what the common denominator was. Despite Wren’s opinion, as far as I was concerned, the common factor was still me.

  Chapter 12

  As we drove down Coastline Drive, Deputy Bolan informed me that Desdemona, the fairy with an attitude, was a tattoo artist that specialized in dragon art. With that nugget in mind, I expected the type of strip mall tattoo parlor that dotted the streets of New Jersey. Desdemona’s, however, was a high-class establishment housed in a modern white building not far from the Whitethorn. There was a view of the ocean from the front of the building and Desdemona had wisely taken full advantage of that fact by placing the tattoo stations in the front rooms instead of the back.

  “She must do good business,” I murmured, checking out the expensive interior. The sleek furniture was stark white with clean lines and the floor was comprised of white tiles, giving it a clinical feel.

  “Her dragon tattoos are legendary,” Deputy Bolan said.

  “Why? They’re just tattoos,” I said.

  “Just tattoos,” a voice repeated, incredulous.

  I jerked my head toward the source of the sound. A fairy fluttered into the room, her short hair a deep shade of purple.

  “They’re not just tattoos?” I asked.

  The fairy circled me, her white wings twitching. “Beautiful skin. Pull up your shirt. I can envision a red dragon on your torso.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t pull up my shirt unless there’s alcohol and a bet involved.”

  She smiled. “Desdemona Gilroy. Nice to meet you. I recognize Deputy McGreen Man over here from my recent visit to the slammer. Still can’t believe you managed to take my wand. You’re stronger than you look.”

  Deputy Bolan puffed out his chest. “You’re speaking to the sheriff’s deputy, Miss Gilroy. Try to show some respect.”

  The fairy rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “And who might you be?”

  “Ember Rose,” I said. “I work for Vox Populi.”

  She gripped my arm. “You work with Alec Hale?” She sighed dreamily. “Tell me how he smells. I imagine a musky scent mixed with fresh pine.”

  “Um, I can’t say I sniff him very often.” Though I had been close enough. “I don’t think pine is in the mix.”

  “Rose,” she repeated, tapping her chin. “Surely not the Rose.”

  “Hyacinth is my aunt,” I said.

  She whistled. “Too bad you got saddled with the dark hair. Usually, you can tell a Rose from a mile away.”

  “I favor my mother, apparently.” Black hair, blue eyes, and a host of psychic skills. Thanks, Mom.

  “Have you ever considered a tattoo?” she asked, eyeing my exposed skin.

  “Not really,” I said. “My daughter’s not a fan of them.”

  Desdemona sidled up to me. “What if you told her these tattoos were special?”

  “She’s ten going on fifty,” I said. “She’s not going to fall for that.”

  Desdemona hiked up her shirt to reveal a large black dragon tattoo on her back. For a moment it looked like a normal tattoo. Suddenly, the dragon opened its mouth and fire shot across the fairy’s back, leaving a tattoo of red flames streaked across her skin.

  “Dragon balls of fire,” I said. “How does it do that?”

  Desdemona pulled down her shirt and faced me. “Fairy magic, of course.”

  “What happens to the flames?” I asked. “They weren’t there originally.”

  “They fade after a few minutes,” she explained. “Until he breathes fire again.”

  “So what do you think?” Deputy Bolan asked. “Would your daughter approve of a tattoo like that?”

  “She might.” I tried to decide. “She objects to them because of their permanence, though. She thinks I’ll regret what I’ve done when I’m seventy and it’ll hurt like hell to remove it.”

  Desdemona’s brow wrinkled. “Are you sure your daughter is ten?”

  “Pretty sure. I was there when she was born,” I said.

  “So if you’re not tattoo shopping, why are you here?” Desdemona asked. “I can’t imagine Deputy McSmall and Mighty was eager to see me again after our last run-in.”

  “We’re investigating a curse,” Deputy Bolan said. “Some citizens have experienced their worst fears come true.”

  Desdemona appeared unconcerned. “Sucks to be them. So what does that mean? Some old witch thinks her cat actually has eaten off her face?”

  I shuddered at the image. “No. There have been a few instances, but the immediate concern is that Alec Hale has succumbed to his vampire tendencies.” I deliberately omitted the sheriff’s condition.

  Desdemona’s expression brightened. “He’s ruthlessly savaging women with those impressive fangs of his?” She growled. “Come to Mama. Where can I find him?”

  “Miss Gilroy, this is serious,” Deputy Bolan said. “If you know anything about this, we have to hear the truth. The sheriff can’t perform his duties in wolf form.” He clapped his hand over his mouth.

  “Nice going, Shamrock Sherlock,” I grumbled.

  “The sheriff is stuck as a wolf? So Starry Hollow is stuck with you as interim sheriff in the meantime?” Desdemona asked. “You’re right. You really do need the truth.” She leaned forward and parted her lips as though she were about to reveal a hidden secret. “Gotcha.” She pulled back and laughed.

  I glanced at the deputy, who was fighting the urge to arrest her for being a jerk. “I don’t think she knows anything, Deputy.”

  “She certainly doesn’t,” he agreed somberly. “Nothing at all.”

  “Good evening, my darling family,” Aunt Hyacinth said. “So pleased we could all be together for dinner.”

  “And that Uncle Florian isn’t a frog,” Aspen said.
r />   Aster silenced him with a stern look.

  “I can assure you, I’m the most pleased of all about that,” Florian replied good-naturedly.

  “Is Uncle Granger still a werewolf?” Hudson asked.

  Linnea gave an exasperated sigh. “Hudson, we’re not supposed to talk about his condition.”

  “We all know in this house,” Aunt Hyacinth said. “But the information goes no further. The Council of Elders is not happy with the situation. The curse has gotten out of hand. They’ve decided to launch their own investigation.”

  “What would be your worst nightmare, Grandmother?” Bryn asked.

  Aunt Hyacinth contemplated the question. “I think it would be best if I kept it to myself.”

  “I doubt the ones afflicted so far were running around announcing it to people,” Florian said. “The curse must have a way of getting inside the victim’s head.”

  “It’s not the curse I’m concerned with,” Aunt Hyacinth said.

  “Then what?” Florian asked. Understanding flashed in his eyes. “You’re worried that one of us would use the information against you at some point? Are you insane, Mother?”

  She wiped her mouth with a delicate dab of her napkin. “Simply cautious.”

  “Simply paranoid is more like it,” he replied, and then quickly fell silent.

  “Mother, you can’t possibly think that one of us would want your worst nightmare to come true,” Aster said. “It doesn’t say much for how you view your family.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my view,” my aunt said. She took a long sip of her cocktail. Tonight she served one of Linnea’s favorites—a Starry Hollow mule. The drinks were served in puckered silver mugs.

  “You act like you’re the head of a crime family and we’re all out to steal your power,” Linnea said.

  I didn’t disagree with her assessment. I couldn’t think of a single reason why my aunt would distrust her family members. As far as I knew, the only one who arguably betrayed her was my father and even that was a stretch.

  “How is Granger?” Aster asked. “I would imagine it’s unpleasant for him being unable to shift.”

  “Ask Ember,” Linnea said. “She’s been to see him more than anyone else.”

  I felt my aunt’s steely gaze rest upon me. “Is that so?” she asked.