Magic & Mischief

by Annabel Chase

  Daffodil appeared on the horizon in a wide-brimmed hat and gardening gloves. White hair poked out from beneath the hat. She didn’t smile when she spotted me in the driveway.

  “Are you lost?” Daffodil removed her gloves and tucked them into the back of her waistband.

  “Not today. This is quite a place you have here,” I said. “I’ve only seen farmhouses like this on television.”

  Daffodil surveyed the tranquil location. “It has its charms. Do you like burstberries?”

  “What’s not to like?”

  “I grow twenty different varieties here,” she said.

  I balked. “There are twenty different varieties of one berry?”

  This time she smiled. “More than that. I only grow twenty here. Some varieties are newer than others. My family started with Heartland and Jubilee years ago and expanded from there.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” I said.

  “It is. We pick the berries by hand.”

  My brow lifted. “You don’t even use magic?”

  Daffodil laughed. “Of course we use magic. We’re not complete heathens.”

  “Do you distribute locally?” I asked, remembering Tanya’s mention of the farmer’s market.

  “We serve all the paranormal towns in the southeastern United States,” she said proudly. “But I get the feeling you didn’t come here to talk to me about my berries.” She fanned herself with her hat. “Where are my manners? Can I get you a refreshment? Come sit on the porch where it’s cooler.”

  I followed her onto the welcoming porch and sat in one of the red rocking chairs.

  “How about a burstberry lemonade?” she asked. She dropped her hat on the porch and wiped her brow.

  “Sounds great.”

  Daffodil disappeared into the house and returned a minute later with two glasses. I took a curious sip. I had no idea what to expect.

  “This is delicious,” I said.

  “Thank you. It’s a family recipe passed down from generation to generation.” She sat in the adjacent rocking chair. “Now I know why you look familiar. I saw you at the last coven meeting. You’re the Rose witch.”

  “Ember.”

  “And how are you finding life in Starry Hollow so far, Ember?”

  “Never a dull moment,” I admitted.

  She began to rock gently and sipped her drink. “I understand you have a daughter.”

  “Yes, Marley. She’s ten.”

  Daffodil lit up. “How exciting. She’ll come into her magic next year.”

  “Hopefully. She’s very excited. Do you have any children?”

  Her expression clouded over. “Afraid not. Would have loved a few witches and wizards running rampant around the farm, but our wondrous goddess had other plans.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.” She gave me a sad smile. “The absence of a wizard in my life was a major part of the problem.”

  “That blows.”

  “You lost a husband, if I recall correctly. That blows, too.”

  I nodded. “An accident. He was a truck driver.”

  “A shame. Your parents. Your husband. All gone. So much tragedy in the world. Makes you wonder why we bother.”

  “Bother with what?”

  She shrugged. “Anything at all. Some days it’s not worth putting on your cloak.”

  “Did you know my parents?”

  “I did, as a matter of fact.” She sucked down the remainder of her drink and set the empty glass on the floorboard beside the chair. “Wonderful people. Deserved better.”

  “I find that a lot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That people deserve better than they get,” I said.

  “You’re far too young for that attitude. So, how can I help you, Ember? I imagine you didn’t come here to discuss the world’s ills, as pleasurable as that is.”

  “I’m writing an article for Vox Populi about some recent activities in town.”

  She frowned. “What kind of activities?”

  “People’s worst fears coming true,” I said.

  “Why would I know anything about that?”

  I hesitated. “I understand one of your worst fears came true recently. I’d like to know whether it’s related.”

  Daffodil’s lips formed a thin line. “I take it you mean Miss Tiddlywinks.”

  Her cat was named Miss Tiddlywinks? “Your familiar,” I said. “I’ve been told she met a tragic end.”

  Daffodil’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Indeed, she did. I’m still recovering, not that I’ll ever fully recover from it. She was my world. My closest companion.”

  “Would you mind telling me what happened, if it’s not too difficult?”

  Daffodil struggled to speak. “We…we were out in the field like normal. Miss T always accompanied me on my daily chores. We had the best chats.” She paused, remembering.

  “Your familiar spoke to you?” I asked.

  “Telepathically,” she said. “Do you have a familiar yet, Ember?”

  “No. I have a dog. A Yorkshire terrier.” And PP3 was definitely not my familiar. There were some days I wasn’t even sure he recognized me.

  “A dog,” she repeated. “How interesting. Does he speak to you?”

  “Only through the power of whining and barking.”

  “I hope one day you’ll be as lucky as me,” Daffodil said. “Miss T put all other familiars to shame.”

  “Was she ill?” I asked.

  “No. In some ways, that may have been better.” She cleared her throat. “We were out in the field and I noticed three birds of prey flying overhead.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  She shook her white head. “Not really. We get a lot of small rodents in the fields that attract them. We had one incident a few years ago where a bird chased Miss T, but she managed to escape into the house.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. “But not this time?”

  Daffodil closed her eyes in an effort to collect herself. “It was so unexpected. I don’t know why they came for her, especially when I was present. I didn’t have my wand handy, not that there was time to react. It all happened so quickly.”

  “One of the birds took her?” I asked.

  Daffodil nodded, fighting tears. “Picked her up in its beak by the scruff of her neck and flew off with the other two birds flanking it.” Her hand flew to cover her mouth as she began to sob.

  “I’m really sorry, Daffodil,” I said. “That’s awful. Did you ever find her?”

  She nodded. “I buried her on the farm. Then I began keeping my wand on me at all times. Last week the birds made another appearance. I killed all three of them, then I cooked them and ate them.”

  “You…ate them?”

  “Even their hearts,” she said, wearing a satisfied expression. “That’s called vanquishing an enemy.”

  I sat perfectly still, momentarily stunned into silence. I made a mental note never to mess with Daffodil. She was tougher than her name suggested.

  “How have you been coping since Miss T died?”

  “I was a wreck until I got my revenge,” she said. “I’ve felt a little better every day since then.”

  “I guess this was your worst nightmare come true,” I said. A definite motive for wanting others to experience the same heartbreak.

  Her answer surprised me. “No, it certainly wasn’t.”

  “Why not?” What could be worse?

  “Because my worst fear didn’t involve my familiar being carried off by a bird of prey,” she replied.

  “Did it involve the death of Miss T in any capacity?”

  She shook her head. “It was the opposite, in fact. If something happened to me before Miss T, I didn’t want her to be left alone. We had such a strong connection.” She hesitated. “I also had the irrational fear that she would eat off my face if no one discovered my body quickly enough.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said, inwardly cringing.

 
“I hated the thought of leaving her behind,” Daffodil said. “I had a recurring dream where she was alone in the farmhouse, crying for me. Not understanding where I’d gone. I never wanted her to think I abandoned her.”

  Observing Daffodil now, there was no way she was responsible for the nightmare curse. Her grief and pain were focused inward, not outward.

  “I doubt she would have thought that,” I said. “She knew how much you loved her.”

  She hugged herself. “I guess I don’t have to worry about that nightmare anymore.”

  Her comment sparked an idea. “You must know Montague. He’s a wizard—the one that lost his wife seven years ago.”

  Daffodil nodded vaguely. “Yes, of course. I haven’t seen him in years, though.”

  “No surprise there. He tends to stick to his house unless he’s…” I nearly said drunk. “Unless he’s in the mood to be social.”

  “Are you trying to set me up on a date? Because that broomstick has flown.”

  “Not a date,” I said. “Although I disagree that it’s too late for you. You’re in great shape and you clearly would like companionship.”

  “The farmhouse does get lonely sometimes,” she admitted.

  “Montague’s wife had a familiar called Libby. She’s very sweet. I think she’d be happier in a place like this. Montague’s been too caught up in his own grief to properly care for Libby. She needs love and affection.”

  Daffodil looked thoughtful. “Do you think he’d give her up? After all, it’s his last earthly connection to his wife.”

  “I think he feels guilty for not taking care of her, but also guilty because he thinks giving up Libby means giving up his wife. If you took in the cat, I think that might help Montague finally move on.”

  “I would be willing to meet Libby,” the older witch said. “I think we should see if we get along before I commit to a new roommate.”

  “I agree one hundred percent,” I said. “I’ll speak to Montague and see when might be a good time for you to stop by. I hope it works out.” It would be nice for something positive to come out of all this.

  “Thank you, Ember,” she said. “So do I.”

  Chapter 15

  Linnea finally convinced Wyatt to pay his brother a visit. She didn’t want to accompany him for fear that he’d read too much into it, so I agreed to go in her place and make sure Wyatt behaved himself.

  “Brother, what big teeth you have,” Wyatt said. He kneeled, peering through the cell door at the sequestered wolf.

  “You’re taunting him?” I asked. “Is that smart?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “No one ever accused me of being smart.” He fixed his attention on his brother. “How’re you holding up in there, Granger?”

  The wolf lowered his head.

  “I hate to say it, but I’m glad it’s you in there and not me,” Wyatt said. “Then again, we both know I love our true nature. My nightmare would be something else entirely.”

  The wolf cocked his head, as though interested to hear more.

  “Oh, you know perfectly well, brother,” Wyatt said. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes.” He heaved a sigh. “We both know it would be seeing Linnea in love with someone else.”

  I stood by in silence.

  “How long do you think he’ll be stuck like this?” Wyatt asked. “When will the blasted curse wear off?”

  “We don’t know,” I said. “It wore off quickly for the others. It’s weird that it’s lasting longer for Alec and your brother.”

  “They must’ve pissed off the wrong witch,” Wyatt said, turning back to the wolf. “Maybe a bad date, brother?”

  “I don’t think they pissed off anyone in particular,” I said. “It seems to be more random than that.” I didn’t bother scolding him for telling the pack it was my fault.

  “What’s the coven doing about this?” Wyatt asked, whirling on me. “This has to be the work of a witch or wizard.”

  My eyes widened. “Not necessarily. Besides, how would I know what the coven decides at the top level? I’m not exactly in charge.”

  “You’re a Rose,” he said simply.

  Deputy Bolan came into the room with a tray of raw meat. “Dinner for the sheriff.”

  Wyatt sniffed the food as it passed by. “Smells good.”

  My stomach turned at the sight of it. “Yummy.”

  The deputy used a pair of tongs to drop the slab of meat through the barred window. “Sorry about the lack of presentation, Sheriff.”

  The wolf sniffed the meat before turning away. He dropped down onto his belly and rested his head on his front paws.

  “That’s odd,” Wyatt said. He shot the deputy a quizzical look. “Why isn’t he eating?”

  Deputy Bolan shrugged. “He’s been eating less and less. That’s why we brought in the big guns today. I guess he’s gotten depressed and lost his appetite.”

  Wyatt pondered this. “Granger, lose his appetite? That’d be a first.” He watched his brother carefully through the window. “Hey buddy, you need your strength, especially to sustain your wolf form for so long. You need to eat, brother.”

  I kneeled beside Wyatt and peered inside. The wolf’s eyes were closed. “Sheriff, can you hear me?”

  No response. His ears didn’t even perk up like they usually did in response to my voice.

  I turned back to the others. “I think he might be sick.”

  The deputy squished in between us. “You might be right, Ember.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call the healer’s office and get Cephas in here.”

  “He’s a druid,” Wyatt told me. “One of the healers in town.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  The deputy tucked away his phone. “Cephas is on the way.”

  “What about Alec?” I asked. “Has he shown any signs of illness?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. You’re welcome to check on him.”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see Alec, not when he’d specifically asked me to stay away. I felt compelled to follow his orders. Highly unusual for me. Then again, I didn’t normally take orders from someone with teeth for weapons.

  “I’ll leave it to you,” I said. “I’d like to see what the healer can do for Sheriff Nash.”

  Wyatt wiggled his eyebrows. “Fond of my brother, are you? I think the feeling is mutual.”

  I glared at Wyatt. “I’m nothing more than a concerned citizen.”

  Wyatt studied me. “Yes. I see the concern written all over that pretty face. Your mother’s face, I imagine. You don’t have the look of a Rose.”

  I bristled. “Yes, yes. So I’ve been told.”

  It didn’t take long for the druid to arrive. He was a stout man with a shining bald head. He wore a brown cloak and shoes that resembled moccasins.

  “Cephas, thank you for coming so quickly,” the deputy said.

  The druid looked at me with surprise. “The Rose girl?”

  I nodded.

  “Welcome home,” he said, and hurried past me to the sealed door. “You’ll need to let me in, Deputy Bolan. I can’t heal anyone from the other side of a door. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

  “Yes, of course.” The deputy unlocked the door and opened it wide enough for the healer to slip through, not that there was any chance of the wolf escaping. He appeared far too weak and disinterested.

  Three faces pressed together, trying to watch the druid at work. I’d never seen a healer in action, so I watched with as much fascination as genuine concern. First, he waved his hands over the wolf without touching him. Then he began muttering an incantation as he pressed his palms against the wolf’s back.

  “What’s the diagnosis?” Wyatt asked. “Is he going to live?”

  “He’s been lupine too long,” the druid said, running his hands through the wolf’s fur. “His body is having trouble coping. His system is breaking down.”

  “What can we do?” I asked.

  “I’m doing it now,” Cephas said, concentrating
on the sheriff. “This should do the trick. Now, please be quiet and let me work.”

  We quieted and observed the druid as he continued to chant and run his hands over the wolf’s body. I didn’t understand the words, although I recognized them as different from the language of the witches.

  The thick coat of the wolf receded and the four-legged body contorted, producing the sheriff’s human form in the fetal position on the floor. He shivered and I ran to fetch a jacket I’d seen hanging on a hook.

  I returned quickly and handed the jacket to Cephas. “Is he going to be okay?”

  The druid covered the sheriff’s naked body. “Yes, I believe so.” He glanced at the deputy. “We should move him somewhere more comfortable now.”

  “On it,” Deputy Bolan replied.

  “What about Alec?” I inquired.

  Cephas bowed his head. “I don’t see how I can help him. I’d need to get close enough to touch him.”

  There had to be a way. We couldn’t heal the sheriff but leave Alec to rot. “What if the deputy tranquilizes him? Then you can go in and try to heal him.”

  Deputy Bolan reappeared with two trolls holding a stretcher between them. They lifted the sheriff onto the stretcher and carted him out of the cell.

  “Where will you take him?” I asked.

  “There’s a bed upstairs,” the deputy said. “He can recuperate there until he’s well enough to go home.”

  Cephas stood and dusted off his hands. “Can you assist in making the vampire unconscious?”

  The leprechaun smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

  I accompanied the druid and the deputy to Alec’s adjacent cell. Deputy Bolan produced the same tranquilizer gun the sheriff had used to subdue Alec in the newspaper office.

  “How are you going to get an accurate shot through that narrow slit?” I asked.

  The deputy gave a disappointed shake of his head. “O ye of little faith. I’m trained for this sort of thing.”

  “To shoot prisoners in their cells?” I asked, incredulous.

  Deputy Bolan rolled his beady eyes. “I meant difficult shots.” He tapped on the door and pulled over a step stool so that he could peer through the slit. “Hello, Alec.”

  “Deputy,” came Alec’s cordial voice.