Wedding Bells And Magic Spells Box Set

by A. R. Winters

  “Let’s go!”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “Can it hold off until tomorrow? I know for a fact Nora is working today. I think we’ll have much better luck with Priscilla.”

  Sarah let out a frustrated sigh.

  Kiwi mimicked her.

  “We’ll go tomorrow. Promise.”

  Chapter 7

  I spent a miserable afternoon wondering if I had brought a killer to Sequoia Bay, and if I had, if my business would ever be able to recover.

  “Idea!" squawked Kiwi.

  “Oh? What's that?" My head barely lifted, and my body remained slumped as I stayed seated in the armchair I had dropped myself into after everyone else had left.

  "Magic! Ghosts!" said Kiwi excitedly, hopping up and down on top of the bookcase. “Speak to Carrie!”

  I poked my head up, just a little bit. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Well, there was one good reason.

  "Do you mean you think we should try and summon the spirit of Carrie, and just ask her what happened to her?"

  "Yep!" He fluttered up into the air, bounced his head off the ceiling, and dropped back down on top of the bookcase.

  It was an idea, and it would have been a good one, if it weren’t for one thing.

  “Do you remember what happened last time?”

  As unlikely as it may seem, the death of Carrie was not the only one that I had been around. Not long ago, an old man, Fletcher Davenport, had died and I'd attempted to summon his spirit in order to find out what happened to him. It had gone about as well as expected: disastrously.

  “Ghosts and cheese puffs," said Kiwi, leaving his beak wide open like he was smiling.

  "Yes, I guess that about sums it up." There had indeed been ghosts, and where Kiwi was involved there were always cheese puffs. Using my hands, I pushed myself up in the chair, and slowly rose to my feet.

  “But in case you forgot, I swore never to summon spirits again after that ordeal.”

  Kiwi gave a dismissive shriek. He had a lot less respect for telling the truth and abiding by vows than I did. Then again, so did most of the people I knew.

  "Who cares? Do it. Do it."

  I grinned at his enthusiasm, and it seemed to be a little bit contagious.

  “Do you really think I should?”

  Kiwi’s loud screech was all the answer I needed. It was worth a shot.

  "Wait here, I'll go and get the stuff."

  "Wolfsbane," said Kiwi in a low tone.

  "Don't worry, I still have some left over. There's no need for us to go back to see Hazel Crane again," I told him. The last time we had tried to summon a spirit, we needed Wolfsbane to complete the spell. The only problem was that the only place to get Wolfsbane around here was from the dark witch, Hazel Crane. A person neither of us wanted to see more of than we had to.

  "Wait here," I said needlessly. There was no chance Kiwi was going to help get the spell ready—he didn't have the limbs or the will. He was more of a watcher than a doer.

  A few minutes later, I had gathered all the ingredients I needed from my supplies upstairs and behind the counter. I had a small circular disk of charcoal burning in the bottom of a small cauldron, which hung from a chain I held in my hands. Atop the burning disc was the mixture of herbs, including the rare Wolfsbane, and they were rapidly filling my shop with an aromatic but eye-stinging smoke.

  I opened my mouth to begin chanting the magic words. But I didn't.

  I couldn’t.

  "Hurry up, do it!" said Kiwi.

  "I can't," I said with a sigh. I could open my mouth to talk normally, but as soon as I tried to say the magic words of the summoning spell, my vocal cords froze up completely.

  "Why?"

  "Because of the vow! After the last time I made that vow to never summon spirits again, and, well, the world of magic is making sure I don't break that vow."

  “Cancel it!" demanded Kiwi. “Cancel the vow.”

  I placed my cauldron on the counter. "I don't think I can, at least not on my own. It was a magical vow I made and I can’t just cancel it. I mean, literally, I can’t cancel it.”

  Kiwi gave a frustrated squawk. “There's no way?"

  “Well, there might be one way. If I got the assistance of a powerful dark witch, I may be able to overcome the magical binding restriction I placed on myself. But there’s only one witch we know like that."

  Kiwi rapidly shook his head from side to side immediately dismissing what I had said. "No, no, no."

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew you'd say that. But Hazel Crane is the only hope I have of beating the magical bonds I’ve placed on myself."

  “I can’t go with you,” he announced.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” I asked with a grin.

  “Busy, busy, busy!” he said.

  Before I could ask him to clarify, he’d hopped off the bookshelf to the floor, half-flapping and half-jumping out the side door that opened to our apartment stairwell.

  “Scaredy parrot,” I muttered to myself.

  It looked like Hazel Crane was only going to get to enjoy the company of one Whitmore when I managed to work up the nerve to get myself over there.

  “I heard that!” came a loud screech from upstairs.

  Chapter 8

  I parked my car on the side of the road near the path that led to Hazel Crane’s little house in the woods. As soon as I started walking, I regretted not making Kiwi tag along. He had insisted that there was no point in him coming along, and he had very important things to do at home. Important things like watching reality television or police procedurals, no doubt.

  Hazel Crane lived in a little cottage in the woods. I had visited her a couple of times before and had hoped I wouldn’t ever be back again. But unfortunately, I needed her help.

  I walked the path at a brisk pace, not wanting to hang around in the woods. I planned to spend as little time as possible with Hazel, and in the creepy woods around her house. Perhaps because of the way the trees blocked out the light, or perhaps because of the dampness of the ground underfoot, it always felt much cooler in these woods than it had even a few yards away on the road.

  I followed the winding path through the woods for several minutes, idly wondering how Hazel could stand to spend the nights out here in such a lonely place. As I approached the house, I heard a loud hissing and glanced around warily. I knew what the sound was, so I was not nearly as freaked out as the first time I’d been here, but it was still disconcerting. Hazel had a number of black cats, all of which disliked visitors. I quickly located this one, lying on top of a branch that overhung the path, peering down at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Good kitty,” I said up toward the tree. It hissed back at me in response so I decided to just hurry along. I caught several other pairs of shiny cats’ eyes peering out at me from the trees as I hurried by, but they remained silent and this was somehow worse than the hissing.

  The cottage, when I arrived, had a cheery column of smoke pouring out of the chimney into the gray skies above. It looked almost as though the gray skies were caused by her smoke. I wouldn’t put it past her.

  Hazel Crane’s house looked like a gingerbread cottage would, if you painted the whole thing white and let crimson roses grow up the sides. Just outside were several string lines which she used to hang up herbs to dry them, but today they were bare, with nothing hanging from them.

  The front door did not have a doorbell, but there was a brass monkey head door-knocker. Just as I was about to lift it to announce my presence with a bang, a voice called from inside. “Come!”

  Was that for me? Did she know I was here? I supposed she must.

  With a tentative push, I tried the door. It swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.

  “Hello?”

  Hazel Crane must have been just inside, standing immediately to the side of the door out of view, because in a flash she sidestepped in front of me, her unwrinkle
d face immediately uncomfortably close to mine.

  “Hello again, Aria Whitmore. Come in.” Without waiting for my response, she spun around and made her way across the room with slow steps to an antique sofa and matching armchair. Despite her slow pace, she moved with surprising swiftness, and the contrast made me blink my eyes and shake my head in dizziness.

  I followed her into the home which I remembered well. It was decorated with stuffed animal heads on the wall as well as the various accoutrements of magic, including what looked like a fairytale witch’s broom propped up in the corner. She indicated for me to sit in a dark red velvet armchair, while she stood in front of the sofa.

  Sinking down into the chair, I felt surprisingly weary after the short walk through the woods. I expected Hazel to sit down. She didn’t. She stood above me looking down with an unreadable expression on her tanned face. She brushed a lock of her flame red hair away from her eyes she continued to stare. I supposed she was waiting for me to say something.

  “I came here because I was wondering whether you could help me with something,” I said trying to get comfortable in the faded velvet chair but failing. Her staring down at me didn’t help.

  “I know that, Aria Whitmore.”

  “Err, do you?”

  “Of course,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows at me. “You’re hardly likely to be here for chitchat, or, I don’t know, invite me to a party, are you?”

  She was right. Hazel Crane was not someone I would drop in on for a purely social call. The only reason I would ever come to see her was that I wanted her to help me with something. My last two visits had been to get some Wolfsbane from her to summon a spirit. Now I was back and this time too, I wanted help talking with the dead.

  “Do you remember last time I was here? You gave me some Wolfsbane so I could summon a spirit.”

  “I remember everything, Aria Whitmore.”

  “Yes, of course.” I wasn’t sure whether she literally meant she remembered everything—every second of every single day, but I wouldn’t put it past her. “Well, after that I vowed never to summon spirits again.”

  “Probably wise.” She leaned over me. “For you.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant to indicate by saying for you, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of asking. “The thing is, I actually do need to summon a spirit again.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  “No, of course. But I made a vow, a magic vow, and now I’m blocked when I try to summon the spirit.”

  “It sounds like the vow worked then.”

  “Well, yes.” I wrung my hands together. “But I need to cancel it. I need to speak to a spirit. That girl who was murdered in my shop—I need to talk to her.”

  Hazel began to laugh, a rich, melodious chuckle that sounded warm but sent a chill down my spine.

  “Go on.” She took one hand off her hip and indicated for me to speak. “Say the words of summoning. You do know the words, don’t you?”

  “But I didn’t do any of the other stuff. I didn’t bring my cauldron, and there’s no smoke, or circle or—”

  “Doesn’t matter. A strong enough witch wouldn’t need all that anyway. Just try and say the words. Let me see what happens.”

  I opened my mouth to begin the incantation. I remembered them well enough, but nothing happened. It was like there was a disconnect between my brain and my mouth. The words were in my head, but they simply would not come out of my mouth.

  “Well, it’s obvious what the problem is.”

  “Is it?”

  Hazel nodded. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Didn’t you feel it? When you tried to say the words, you were blocked, but that was because you didn’t actually want to say them. When you made that vow, you really meant it. Just because it would make life easier for you now to summon that spirit doesn’t mean you actually want to do it. You cannot overcome yourself.”

  “Can’t I? Isn’t there some way I can cancel my promise just this once?”

  Hazel shook her head again. “No. Not without destroying who you are, Aria Whitmore.” She raised a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Would you like me to destroy who you are?”

  “No!”

  She lowered her hand back to her hip and laughed her cold yet melodious chuckle again. When she was done, she stared at me for a moment before speaking. “No, you’re going to have to find another way to figure out what happened to that poor girl.”

  “Do you know anything that could help me?” I asked. I didn’t want the trip here to be completely wasted.

  “No.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Have you considered looking into the girl’s fiancé? Most murders are committed by someone close to them. I heard he was out of town that night, but who’s to know if that is true? Perhaps he drove in, murdered her, and drove off again. Did you consider that?”

  I shook my head and wished I was standing up. Having Hazel standing right over me was very disconcerting. Then again, every moment with Hazel seemed to be disconcerting no matter the position I was in. “I don’t know anything about the fiancé. I didn’t even meet him.”

  “Come.”

  Hazel turned and walked over to a table upon which sat an ornate mirror. Her scrying mirror. She had shown me things in it before and I wasn’t eager to look at it again. Nonetheless, I got to my feet and followed Hazel. She sat down on a wooden chair in front of the mirror and patted the one next to it like you would for a cat. I sat down on the chair and glanced toward the mirror. If she started trying to show me my future, I planned to close my eyes and ignore it. Nothing good ever seems to come from looking into the future.

  “As I knew you were coming, I prepared a little something for you. Look.”

  “You’re not trying to show me my future again, are you?” I asked.

  “No, nothing as dull as that, Aria Whitmore.”

  She shifted her gaze to the mirror and I followed. There was a brief moment of swirling fog, before it cleared as she waved her hand over it. A scene at a hotel bar was revealed to us, our view focused on a youngish man holding a glass with an amber liquid in it, his face red, smiling, and from his gesticulations it looked like he was speaking loudly to the other men around him. We couldn’t hear anything, but we could see quite clearly.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Fred. Carrie’s fiancé. He’s in a hotel at Yellow Axe in Washington state, some cabin high up in the mountains.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Some work event. I didn’t look into it. Don’t care.”

  I smirked. Of course she didn’t care.

  “Why is he still there? Why didn’t he come back?” I asked with a frown

  “Oh, you can’t see it, but outside they are completely snowed in. A sudden blizzard occurred the morning after Carrie was murdered. Terribly unusual for so early in the fall. The municipal services weren’t prepared at all. He’s been stuck there ever since. He couldn’t leave if he tried.”

  “Did he?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Hazel didn’t couch how she felt about things much at all. If she wasn’t interested in something you soon knew it.

  “I wish there was a way I could go and speak to him.”

  Hazel arched her eyebrows at me and pursed her lips.

  “Do you really want to go there?”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the wooden chair. There are ways to travel great distances in a short amount of time, like airplanes and helicopters. But us witches have other ways, well, sometimes. A witch can travel a great distance in a short amount of time—a kind of teleportation if you will—but you really need to know where you’re going. If not, you could end up, well, anywhere—a mile below where I was sitting right then for example. If you didn’t know precisely where you were going, there was a good chance it would end in disaster. More than a few witches had disappeared over the years, presumably ending up in the ocean or perhaps
between the Earth and the moon or somewhere else just as inhospitable to human life. As I had never been to Yellow Axe, I couldn’t just magic myself over there.

  “Ye-es,” I finally answered.

  “You’re in luck,” said Hazel with a wicked grin.

  Well, that made me nervous. “How’s that?”

  Hazel extended her left arm, held out her hand, and opened it to reveal a small stone. I recognized it immediately. It was one of a pair of lodestones, inextricably linked to each other.

  “Is that…”

  “Candy? No.”

  “That isn’t what I was going to say. I know what it is. Is its partner in Yellow Axe?”

  She smiled a crooked smile at me. “Of course it is. Wouldn’t be much use otherwise, would it? I shall give it to you. Just make sure you set one in your own house before you leave so that you can return.” I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Did she think I was an idiot? Best not to ask that out loud—I probably wouldn’t like the answer. “What will I owe you?”

  “Oh. I’ll think of something. I’ll let you know after you’re back.”

  Great.

  I was going to be in the debt of Hazel Crane.

  With more than a little regret, I held out my hand to take the lodestone from Hazel, and put myself in her debt. Again.

  But if it helped me figure out who killed Carrie, then perhaps I could save my business and my reputation.

  “Thank you,” I said. I blinked. Hazel wasn’t in front of me anymore and I hadn’t heard or seen her move. I twisted my head and saw she was already standing by the front door, holding it open.

  “Goodbye, Aria Whitmore.”

  I hurried to my feet and rushed out the door.

  “Goodbye!”

  I clutched the stone tight against my chest as I hurried back to my car, ignoring the hissing cats and dark woods with all the focus I could muster. Kiwi and I now had a mission to complete before we wrung out what information we could from Priscilla.

  It was going to be another long day.

  Chapter 9