by N. M. Howell
Murder Any Witch Way
Brimstone Bay Mysteries - Book 1
N.M. Howell
Edited by
Nikki Rose
To my family.
Thank you for always being my number one fans, no matter how much of a witch I may be.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
Copyright © 2016 Dungeon Media Corp.
All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Newsletter
About the Author
Also By N.M. Howell
Book 2 Sneak Peek
1
My heart raced, and the beads of sweat dripping down from my forehead stung my eyes. I was thankful for the ocean spray that cooled my skin under the late summer sun.
Politics… has anyone done anything scandalous lately? It’s small town Maine. Of course, not.
“… And then he showed up and was wearing green shoes. Green! Can you imagine?”
My chest was tight, but I pushed on. I tried to make a point of going running at least once a day. If nothing else, it helped me wind down after a stressful day at work. It was much nicer running around the boardwalk near the ocean than in the city streets, and it was a great excuse to get fresh air and to clear my head. I did my best thinking when I was running.
“… And to top it all off, he was wearing a multi-colored hat. Multi-colored! I mean seriously, what was he thinking?”
What about the economy? I wonder if there’s anything sinister happening at the local treasury. That would make a good piece for the paper.
“River, are you even listening to me?” Riley groaned in my ear. “Honestly, girl, I think all that salty sea air is getting to your head.”
“Yeah, sorry.” My voice was breathless as I ran. “I’m listening. Green shoes, colorful hat…”
I pushed forward, intent on maintaining my pace. The rising sun was bright in my eyes, and I had to squint to see ahead of me. It was well into September, and I was determined to enjoy the warm weather while I could before the dreary gray fall winter set in. It was still morning and the sun was casting long shadows on the ground as I ran around the windy boardwalk that wrapped around the bay behind my house. I glanced down at my shadow as I ran.
... shadow.
I halted in my tracks, bending over to use my knees as supports as I struggled to regain my breath.
“That's it! I’ve got it. Okay Riley, I gotta go.”
I pressed the little button to click off my headpiece before Riley had a chance to protest. I was going to pay for that later, but I had bigger things on my mind at the moment. Grinning, I picked up the pace again and veered off from the boardwalk to head home to shower quickly before going into work.
I couldn’t say Brimstone Bay was the most exciting place to live, but the town itself and its seaside landscape were certainly beautiful. As a witch, living in a small town definitely wasn’t ideal. At least in the big city, there were underground nightclubs - the kind of places that you could go to be yourself and hang out with others of your kind. But in small towns, which tend to be highly superstitious, it was an entirely different story. Many people across the United States still swore that witchcraft was something from fairy tales, but for those that did know about us, it was a highly-contested subject. People were either fascinated by us, or desperate to become our friends, learn our tricks, and witness our magic. Others, on the other hand, were downright terrified of us and would burn us at the stake if only they could. Back in New York, while I didn't flaunt what I was, I at least had a decent support group with others of my kind. Since moving to Brimstone Bay, I really needed to be more careful about concealing my identity.
I was lucky to find this place, actually, as I had no idea where I would end up after graduating from NYU with my journalism degree. I knew I would never get a job right away in any big city. I had to make a name for myself first as every young journalist does.
I slowed down as I approached the street that marked my new home. Number 21 Black Cat Lane. I know, I know! Of course, the witch would live on a street called Black Cat Lane. But, I promise you, it was entirely coincidental. At least, I thought it was.
After I had graduated, I spent a lot of time looking for jobs around the United States. There was a brand-new local newspaper opening its doors in Brimstone Bay that was willing to hire inexperienced journalists, and there was a shared house with a spare room available that I found on an online witch forum. There were a few of those witch forums on the internet that weren't available for any non-magical person to witness - requiring magic, of course, to access the sites.
Number 21 was a beautiful, Victorian, seaside mansion, complete with turret, bay windows, wraparound veranda, and creaky stairs. The 1859 house was stunning but looked like it hadn't been maintained in nearly 100 years. The purple and ivory paint was flaking, and some of the trim boards were falling apart, likely because the owner was nearly as old as the house. I had offered to help her fix it up a bit when I first moved in but was constantly brushed off with mutterings of “it’s not necessary” and “it’s fine the way it is.” The house was grand but just derelict enough not to garner any unwanted attention. The building itself was set back far from the street, offering enough privacy from onlookers that we didn’t need to be afraid of showing our magic when we were within our own house. The best part was that I lived with three other twenty-something-year-old witches.
The sun was finally rising higher, and the rest of my housemates would likely be waking up soon. I stretched as I walked towards the back of the house to use the rear doorway, hoping that I could sneak in and prevent having to chat with anyone before rushing into work. I didn’t have time to deal with any distractions just then. I really just needed to get into the office while the ideas were fresh in my head.
“Hi, Mrs. Brody,” I said as I passed our old, pint-size landlady who was busy bustling about in her basement apartment on the other side of the large window. She casually waved her hand at me without looking up, apparently preoccupied with whatever she was working on inside. I quietly opened the back door and tiptoed up the stairs to the bathroom to have a quick shower. As I was towel-drying my hair after getting dressed, I could hear footsteps coming from the floor above me, and I quickly threw the towel on the floor, grabbed my jacket, and tiptoed back down the stairs and out of the house before being seen by any of my housemates. I adored my housemates dearly, but I had no time for socialization at that moment.
I grabbed my bike, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and took off towards the main street of o
ur sleepy little town to catch my boss as early as I could before she got busy with any of the other new journalists.
The warm morning air dried my hair as I rode, resulting in a thick, tousled mess of chocolate-brown curls when I finally arrived downtown. No matter what I did to my hair, it never seemed to cooperate. When I tried to curl it, it would fall flat. When I tried to straighten it, it would curl. It had a mind of its own and was determined to make me look like someone who just crawled out of a dumpster. I was resigned to accept it since I wasn’t one to be too concerned about my appearance. Mascara and lip balm were the extents of my makeup routine, to the dismay of the girls I lived with. I was more concerned about being taken seriously than fawned over for my looks, so sun-dried tangled hair and messily applied mascara was my go-to look for the day.
Downtown Brimstone Bay was beautiful. The main street was full of little shops and restaurants, antique stores and bookstores, and plenty of green space to hang around in outside. Not that there were many nice days on the East Coast here, as it rained a lot and the Atlantic Ocean seemed to love blowing in gray storms every other day.
The Brimstone Press was conveniently located above a small café, which was perfect because being a journalist and a coffee addict went hand-in-hand. I poked my head through the café door and shouted my regular order at Ryan, who was busy in the back room, and told him that I'd be right down in two minutes to grab it.
The door to our office was locked so I dug through my bag to find the key. I then raced up the stairs to our tiny work space to do some digging in our filing cabinet before JoAnn, our editor, arrived.
I must've spent a long time digging through the drawers, because there was a knock at the office door and Ryan came walking in with my Triple Americano, extra hot, black. Just how I liked it. He smiled and set it down on my desk and leaned against the door casually as he watched me rummage through the files that I had strewn across the floor.
“Thanks, Ryan,” I said without turning my head. I was determined to find what I was looking for before JoAnn arrived, and when I set my mind to a task, it was hard to pull me away.
“Sure,” he said to me. “What are you up to later?”
I really didn’t have time for him. “Girls night at home,” I lied.
“You know, an independent girl such as yourself should really get her own place,” he said conversationally. “Lots of nice little places in town.”
“Uh-huh.” I continued to look through the papers in front of me. Ryan had been trying to convince me to move out of the house since I first moved to Brimstone Bay. I got the impression that he didn’t like the girls very much.
He finally caught on that I wasn’t interested in chatting. “Ok, then. See you later?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
Sighing, Ryan turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. I heard talking outside the door as he walked down the stairs and I guessed JoAnn had finally arrived. I did my best to quickly gather all the papers up off the floor and put them in a messy pile on my desk as my editor walked in with two hot coffees.
“I see you've already got a coffee.” JoAnn yawned as she shuffled towards the desk.
“It’s a two-coffee kind of morning.” I eagerly reached for the extra coffee she had in her hand. JoAnn walked towards her desk, sat down, and then gave me a stern look. “Today will be a busy day. Just a heads up. We’ve got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. I need you to be on your A-game today."
Every day was a busy day at the office, given that the paper had only been around for a few weeks now and we were still trying to make a name for ourselves. JoAnn worked us extra hard, often expecting ten stories from each of us at a time, just to be sure that we didn't run out of fresh material for the paper. It was a weekly publication, but by the number of hours that we worked every day you would think that it was a daily report. I rolled my eyes with my back to her and took a big swig of the burning-hot coffee. God, it felt glorious.
When I turned back towards her, I noticed her eyeing the messy stack of papers I had on my desk and she raised her eyebrow quizzically like she so often liked to do.
"Oh, I just had an idea for a story. I wanted to get in early and prepare before you got here, but I'm not too sure I found what I was looking for."
"Okay then, let's hear it." JoAnn picked up her cup, leaned back in her reclining chair with her feet up on the desk, and took a long sip of hot coffee. “What’ve you got?"
"Well, I was thinking. Nothing too exciting ever really seems to happen in this sleepy town. Why don't we make something happen?"
“I'm listening." She looked skeptical.
“Well.” I chose my words as cautiously as I could muster. “I heard the Shadow Festival is passing through Portland this week. Why don't we ask them if they’ll come through Brimstone Bay on their tour?"
I sat in my chair and sipped my coffee, watching JoAnn as she stared at me wide-eyed.
She laughed suddenly. “You actually think a town like Brimstone Bay would allow the Shadow Festival to come through?" She laughed again.
“No, think about it. Summer is almost over and before we know it, fall will be here. The Shadow Festival will get people excited for the Halloween season. If anything, it will bring money into the town and help all the local businesses. Besides, who doesn't love a little spooky fun?"
She continued to laugh and shake her head. “It's just not going to happen."
“It would make for a great story," I said. “There are only so many births, birthdays, and deaths that we can put in the paper before people start dying of boredom from what we’re writing."
“I agree, it would make for a great story. It would certainly liven up this sleepy town. But there's no way to get anyone here to agree to let the festival come through." JoAnn sat her coffee on the desk and opened her laptop to begin her day's work.
I chewed my lip, trying to think of ways that we could get past this hurdle. The Shadow Festival was a traveling fair that went from the West Coast to the East Coast and then back again each year, celebrating all things paranormal. Most people assumed it was just a show and took their kids there as a fun way to celebrate the beginning of the Halloween season. Sometimes, it was just a fun excuse to do something spooky in the off-season, depending on when they came through each town. They had all the typical treats like candied apples and caramel corn, but the real treat was seeing all the witches, werewolves, ghouls, and other paranormal creatures coming out in their full glory. They would be out and about and wouldn’t have to hide behind closed doors.
Of course, most people just thought that they were wearing costumes and were part of the show, but everyone from within the paranormal community knew otherwise. It was a fun way for us to get together, celebrate our heritage, and finally get to be ourselves in front of non-magical people. Not only was it fun and exciting, but it always drew a massive crowd and brought a lot of money into each city it traveled through. It was just the kind of thing that Brimstone Bay needed, both socially and economically.
“Well, if I can find a way to get approval from the mayor…” I eyed JoAnn, waiting to hear her response.
She glanced up at me from behind her laptop, raised her eyebrow again and made a mmhmm noise. “Well, you have my blessing, dear. Good luck with that.”
I grinned. What JoAnn didn't know was that our young new mayor had a bit of a crush on me, and I had a feeling that I could persuade him to allow the festival to come to town. Not only did he like me, but he had spent the better part of 20 years in Los Angeles and was familiar with the paranormal community. Mayor Scott confided in me that he had a number of friends that were witches back in the city. While I never admitted to being one myself to him, I suspected he knew anyway.
I finished the rest of my first coffee, grabbed the second, picked up my sweater and backpack, and bounded out the front door before JoAnn could protest.
2
With coffee in hand, I walked down the cobblestone m
ain street of town towards Mayor Scott’s office. As much as I complained about my job, I really enjoyed the normalcy of many of the tasks. It was nice not worrying about witch stuff all the time, and just enjoying the simple pleasures of being a girl. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved being a witch and had mad respect for my heritage, but sometimes it was just nice being normal. Pretending to be, anyway.
I came from a long line of witches, the Halloway Clan, and spent my earlier years with my dad and his family in Long Island City, New York. Everyone in the family was either a witch or was married to a witch or some other paranormal being. Our house was filled with magic daily. Flying coffee cups and magical pranks were the norm in my house; that was, until my dad died in a freak accident at work. I moved to Manhattan not long after the accident to get away from my family. The constant reminder of my dad was too painful for me to handle. I needed a break.
That was when I enrolled in the journalism program at NYU. The University had a paranormal club, which I occasionally visited just to fill the magical void I felt being away from my family for so long. I would also go out with some of the other club members to a few of the underground witch bars scattered around the city, but for the most part, I just focused on my studies.
In Brimstone Bay, my housemates and Mrs. Brody were my family. The house was always filled with magic, making it feel like my home back in New York. I got on well with the other girls in the house and truly enjoyed living there. None of them really had jobs, though, and it was difficult making them understand that I needed to spend a great deal of my time doing research and writing articles. Sometimes it was nice to just get out of the house and focus on my own work without the distraction of four witches. Apart from that, though, I enjoyed spending time at home.