Curse the Day (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  “And how did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “She drowned,” I said. It suddenly occurred to me, sitting in the middle of the classroom, why I may have been discouraged from spending time near bodies of water. Of course, one could argue it was a self-fulfilling prophecy—that if no one taught me to swim, I’d be more likely to drown. In any case, water made me anxious and it wasn’t far-fetched to think my mother’s death played a role in fueling my negative feelings.

  “Murder?” he asked softly.

  “No,” I replied, aghast. “It was ruled accidental.”

  He tapped the end of his wand against the table in an absent-minded gesture. “You do realize that witches cannot swim, Miss Hart.”

  “Like physically can’t swim?”

  He nodded. “Anyone who knows anything about witches knows that much.”

  “Spell’s bells,” Begonia cried. “Maybe your mother was murdered.”

  “Or maybe she didn’t know she was a witch,” I said. Otherwise, she would have told me. Left me a clue of some kind. At the very least, she would have confided in my father. They loved each other. She would have trusted him.

  “And your father,” Professor Holmes continued. “What do you know of him? I understand he was called Barron Hart.”

  “Yes. He was a history teacher.”

  “Not his profession,” Professor Holmes said. “The man himself. What was he like?”

  “I don’t think he was a wizard, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It isn’t. We know he wasn’t one of us.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged helplessly. “He did his best after my mother died. I remember difficult days. Days he gave up and laid on the couch.” Those were the days I made us breakfast and learned how to brew coffee. I was only seven. It amazed me now, to think about what I was capable of at such a young age.

  “And then he died as well,” Professor Holmes said.

  “Yes.” I could feel the girls staring at me. I guess they hadn’t been privy to the details. “It was a car accident. The roads were icy and he hit a tree.” My throat tightened. I didn’t often talk about the past. My grandparents didn’t like to speak of it, so I’d learned to keep the memories at a safe distance.

  Professor Holmes considered me. “We’re glad to have you, Miss Hart. Now is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

  “Like what?”

  “About being a witch, of course. This is Basic Skills class, after all.” He rubbed his hands together. “Owls, broomsticks, pointy black hats. You ask the question and I will endeavor to answer it.”

  Naturally, my mind went completely blank. “Are there any foods I should avoid? Do witches have allergies or an intolerance of any kind?”

  “Ah, good question. No tomatoes.”

  Tomatoes? “That’s it?”

  “Go easy on the dairy.”

  I heard murmurs of assent around me.

  “I love a treat at Icebergs,” Laurel said, “but I can only have the small cone.”

  Sophie’s hand flew to her stomach. “I can’t have any. It makes me nauseous.”

  Suddenly my own experiences with milk and butter made sense. “Will I really use a cauldron?”

  “Oh, indeed,” he said. “We’ll do a little cauldron work in this very class, in fact.”

  “I’m not a very good cook,” I admitted. “Does that mean I’m not going to do well with a cauldron?”

  “Nonsense,” Professor Holmes said. “A cauldron is entirely different from a pot on a stovetop. You mustn’t think of it that way.”

  It was nice to feel encouraged for a change. Lady Weatherby’s stern expression tended to undermine any ounce of confidence I dared to feel.

  “Can witches and wizards get married?” I asked. I had no idea where that question came from.

  “Yes, although many choose not to.”

  “Why?”

  He blinked. “Because we live such long lives, of course. It’s difficult to think about tethering oneself to another for such an extended period of time. Almost unnatural.”

  “You don’t think love is everlasting?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say that.” He frowned. “Although I suppose that is the implication.”

  “Are you married?” I asked.

  “No, no.”

  “Lady Weatherby?”

  “Gray ghosts, no!” He chuckled. “Not to suggest she isn’t a very attractive lady, of course.”

  “She just scares half the males of Spellbound to death,” Laurel whispered.

  “Only half?” Professor Holmes said, smiling.

  “What about children?” I asked.

  “If we didn’t have children, these fine young witches wouldn’t be with us now.”

  “Are all your fathers wizards?” I asked. “Is that how it works?”

  “No,” Professor Holmes said. “You only need one parent to get the gene. Witch or wizard, it matters not.”

  I debated whether to ask my next question. “What about mixed marriages? Say I wanted to marry a troll. Could we have children?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought Wayne Stone was your type,” he teased. “Nonetheless, interbreeding is possible.”

  Begonia nudged me gently in the ribs. “Any particular suitor in mind?”

  “Just thinking ahead,” I said vaguely.

  “All right then. Question time is over for today. Let’s get on with the lesson.” He winked at me. “But we can do this at the beginning of each Basic Skills class, Miss Hart, until you begin to feel more comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Professor Holmes. I appreciate it.”

  “Not at all. We’re your coven now and we look after our own, no matter what your origin is.”

  I wasn’t convinced that everyone in the coven felt the same way, but I appreciated the sentiment.

  “Now can anyone tell me the reason cauldrons are made from cast iron?”

  Millie’s hand shot into the air and I listened intently, trying to absorb every detail of my new life.

  I walked out of class between Millie and Sophie to see Daniel lingering outside. His moody expression brightened when he saw me.

  “Hello there. I was hoping I’d run into you,” he said.

  I could practically feel Millie and Sophie bursting with excitement next to me.

  “Do you have time for a walk?” he asked.

  “I do.” I said goodbye to the other girls and joined Daniel on the cobblestone. “Anywhere in mind?”

  “In fact, there is.” We crossed the road and walked a few blocks past Trinkets, the gift store, Broomstix, and a few other places before he stopped in front of The Mad Potter.

  “Would you like to go in?” he asked.

  “For what?"

  "I thought you'd like to choose a piece of pottery for your new house," he said. “Make it feel more like your own.”

  That was very sweet of him. "Yes, I would love to."

  There didn't seem to be anyone actually working in the pottery store. Everywhere I turned I saw clay pots, clay bowls, and clay jugs. None of them with decoration.

  "Does anyone work here?" I asked.

  Daniel chuckled. "I guess this is all new to you." He folded his arms expectantly. "What's your favorite color?"

  "Blue," I said. "A soft blue, though."

  "What about a complementary color?"

  I mulled it over. “Blue and yellow always look nice together."

  Daniel rubbed his hands together. "Then blue and yellow it is." He moved closer to the nearest clay pot. "Blue and yellow, please. Something with a little style."

  "No stripes," I added quickly. I wasn't a fan of stripes. Not in clothes because they made me look too wide and not on items because it reminded me of a circus tent and I hated the circus.

  I watched in amazement as paintbrushes swirled around the pot, dipping in and out of pods of paint.

  "It's magic," I whispered.

  "Of course it is," Daniel said. "What else?"

&n
bsp; As amazed as I was by the whole thing, part of me was still unsettled by the experience. No one seemed in control of anything. So much was left to magic. It just didn't jive with my lawyer brain.

  I continued to observe the magic pottery in action. Once the paint colors had been applied, the pot danced over to the heated kiln. Five minutes later, my pot was set on a shelf to cool.

  "How do we pay?" I asked Daniel.

  "The potter owes me one," Daniel said.

  I looked around the empty shop. "What potter?"

  Daniel patted me on the shoulder. "He doesn't need to be here in order for him to exist."

  I had to imagine there was quite a lot of crime in this town, considering no one was present in their shops. No wonder they needed a public defender so desperately.

  "Thank you, Daniel. I really appreciate it. This pot will definitely brighten my dark space."

  Daniel smiled. "Gareth was a particularly broody vampire. I think it had something to do with his job."

  "You mean the job I inherited?" That didn't make me feel good.

  Daniel seemed to realize his mistake. "I'm sure it will be different for you. You seem much more upbeat."

  "Well, it probably helps that I'm not a vampire."

  "The rest of the vampires in town are a lively bunch." He shot me a look. "Does that surprise you?"

  "No, what surprises me is that I am in a town full of vampires. And trolls. And an angel just bought me a pot."

  He chuckled again. "I guess it will take some getting used to."

  Once the pot had cooled, we left the shop and headed toward my new office.

  “How did things go with Mumford?” Daniel asked.

  “He wasn’t feeling well, but we’re meeting again as soon as he’s able. The judge is willing to extend the trial date. Althea is taking care of the paperwork. She’s very good.”

  “He’s an interesting character," Daniel said. "I do feel sorry for him, though. It's been tough on him. First being accused, and now losing his attorney right before the trial."

  "Do you think Gareth's murder has anything to do with the trial?" I asked.

  "What? You think the thief felt threatened by Gareth and killed him?” Daniel looked thoughtful. "I suppose it's possible. But given that we don't know who the murderer is and we have no suspects for the theft apart from Mumford, I think it will be tough to figure out."

  Things that were tough to figure out never stopped me from trying. I wasn't about to change just because my environment did. Mumford needed my help, and that was what I was good at in the human world. I was never very good at helping myself, so I made it my mission to be helpful in the lives of others.

  "So why don’t people seem to like Mumford?"

  “Because he’s a goblin. I think that's one of the reasons he became a suspect. Townsfolk don't tend to like goblins for historic reasons.”

  "That is so racist. You can't decide someone is a suspect purely on the basis that they're a goblin.” A statement I absolutely never made in the human world.

  “I think it was also the gemstone found in his pocket.”

  Right. There was that pesky bit of hard evidence.

  “To be fair, goblins are ill-tempered and known thieves. They have a long history of hoarding treasure.“

  “Like dragons,” I said.

  He laughed. “That’s a good one, Emma. Everybody knows there’s no such thing as dragons.”

  Seriously? Spellbound had a yeti but a dragon was out of the question? I smacked my forehead.

  “I guess it's time I take a closer look at the file,” I said, as we arrived in front of my office door. "Thank you, Daniel. For the pot. It was sweet of you.”

  "It was the least I can do," Daniel said. "I still feel responsible for you getting stuck here."

  “Please don’t blame yourself. You didn’t know I’d be able to see you.”

  “And I certainly never expected you to try and save me.” He gave me a wistful look and my heart melted.

  “Now that I’m here, at least I’ll be able to make myself useful,” I said. If I didn't stay busy, I would just start feeling sorry for myself. And that didn't benefit anybody, including me. "See you around, Daniel."

  Chapter 8

  After reading through Gareth’s case notes and talking with Althea, I decided to head over to the church and see if I could speak with Myra. If she knew about the petition Gareth was intending to file, maybe she got angry and decided to do something about it.

  Up close, the church was stunning.

  I’d always been interested in architecture in a superficial sense. There’d been a pretty church in the town where I grew up. Although my grandparents weren’t devout, we attended mass on special occasions like Easter and Christmas. I loved seeing the church decorated for Christmas with its display of candles and wreaths. I remembered asking them once if my mother’s parents had been Christian, and Gran had nearly bitten my head off. I never asked again.

  The Spellbound church was Romanesque, made of gray stone with rounded arches and one large tower.

  I passed through the entryway and the interior took my breath away. Angels carved from stone. Arched stained glass windows depicting stories from the Bible. Hand carved wooden pews. Religious or not, who wouldn’t want to spend time in here?

  I took my time walking down the aisle, trying to capture every detail in my mind. Weddings here had to be nothing short of magnificent. For a brief moment, I indulged in the fantasy that I was a bride walking down the aisle to my beloved. I hadn’t been the type of little girl who dreamed of a fancy wedding, but I was willing to cater to my inner princess every once in a blue moon.

  I was just hitting my stride when a small voice called out to me—

  “Can I help you?”

  I stopped, mid-wedding march and whirled around. A short, stout woman with a round face stood behind me.

  “Hello,” I said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m looking for Myra.”

  “You found her,” she said. Her white hair was thick and wavy and she wore a plain green dress with black, buckled loafers. Even without the conical hat, Myra was clearly a gnome.

  “I’m Emma Hart,” I said, and my voice echoed in the empty church.

  Myra quickly shushed me. “This is a place of worship. Not a playhouse.”

  I cleared my throat and spoke in a lower tone. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Gareth in private.”

  “Follow me.” She walked to the altar and took a left turn to a wooden stall. She opened the door and gestured for me to go inside.

  “But this is a confessional,” I objected. “I just want to talk to you about Gareth.”

  “It’s the most private place in the church,” Myra said.

  I relented, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. I sat on the bench and waited. Two seconds later, Myra appeared opposite me, yanking open the dark curtain to peer at me. Due to her short stature, I could only see her eyes and the top of her white head.

  “So I wanted to know…” I began, but Myra shushed me again.

  “That’s not how the confessional works.”

  “How would you know how a confessional works?” I shot back. “You don’t even have a real priest here.” Or maybe they did. Otherwise, how would they bless the water to make it holy?

  Myra’s wrinkled brow wrinkled even more. “Have you come to ask me questions or not?”

  I was beginning to understand why Gareth hadn’t filed the petition yet. “Yes, but…”

  “Then you need to say, ‘bless me, Myra, for I have sinned.’”

  “But I haven’t…”

  “Come now, dear. You’ve been living as a human in the prime of her youth. Sinning is to be expected.”

  I studied the top of her head. “You can’t send people to hell, can you?” I was fairly certain gnomes didn’t have the power of damnation.

  One white eyebrow lifted. “Why do you ask? Is there something you’ve done that might necessitate a visit downstairs
?”

  I reviewed a mental list of my imperfect behavior. “I’m already planning to get rid of Gareth’s cat, even though the house is huge and we can easily co-exist.”

  “No problem there. Cats are horrid creatures.”

  “I don’t know about the horrid part, but I couldn’t live with one.”

  “I couldn’t live without Bacardi,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. Is Bacardi your dog?”

  She gave me a look of utter disdain. “No, dear, the rum.”

  They had Bacardi in Spellbound? “How can you have human-made rum here?”

  “Oops.” Myra chuckled. “I think I’m confused. You’re the one meant to be confessing.”

  I thought more about my past transgressions. “When I was nine, I stole a handful of change from my grandfather’s swear jar.” I’d wanted to buy candy at the store because I was never allowed to have any at home. Gran was forever worrying about the state of my teeth.

  “Change, you say?” Myra asked. “Is that a lot of money in human terms?”

  “Not really,” I said. “But it wasn’t mine and I took it.” And I never told anyone until now.

  “Anything else?” Myra sounded unimpressed.

  I took a deep breath. “When I was sixteen, I really, really liked my best friend’s boyfriend.” I’d gone to bed every night, praying they’d break up. I’d even wished for a huge zit on her chin to put him off.

  “And?” Myra prompted.

  “And what?”

  “Did you try to seduce him?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Did you dress provocatively in the hopes of gaining his affection?” She stooped over the ledge and peered at my chest. “I see the potential for cleavage is there.”

  I laid a hand over my chest. “No, but I used to wear makeup when I knew I’d be seeing him.” I tended to look like a ghost without lipstick.

  She sat back down. “Did you at least kiss him?”

  My shoulders sagged. “No, nothing ever happened, but that’s not the point. I coveted him. Coveting is against the rules, isn’t it?” I’d need to brush up on my commandments if I intended to swing by this beautiful church now and again.

  “I suppose,” she huffed. “This confession is incredibly lame, I’ll have you know. You should hear the filth in this town. You’ll never fit in.”