Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  “Carl, you ain’t gonna believe this,” he shook his head.

  “What?” his partner peered over his shoulder. “Polly Franklin? We’ve been looking all over the state for her. This case was about to go to the cold files,” Carl gasped.

  Neither officer had noticed the garden yet, so Chalice decided to take matters into his own hands. He slipped out from his hiding spot in the bushes and went to the garden. Though he considered it beneath him, he sat next to the hole that Winslow had dug, and started meowing loudly.

  “Go away kitty,” Carl growled, not bothering to look at Chalice, which infuriated the cat to no end.

  It wasn’t bad enough that he had to actually meow for the benefit of the humans, but now he was being ignored? The outraged feline kicked it up a notch and yowled for all he was worth.

  “What is that cat’s problem?” Bud frowned, turning toward the sound. “Hey, what’s that next to him?” he rose and started toward the garden.

  “A flower?” Carl guessed sarcastically.

  “Nope,” Bud replied, gazing down at the hole, where just the tips of Polly’s desiccated fingers showed. “A body.”

  8

  After calling for backup and a coroner, Bud and Carl forced their way into the house, searching every room, looking for clues, and had come up dry. They were about ready to give up, when Bud discovered a door that they had somehow missed in the investigation of the kitchen.

  “Wonder where this goes,” he mused, using a gloved hand to turn the knob.

  “Great, it’s a basement,” Carl complained. “Basements in old houses like this are usually nasty.”

  Bud gave him a look and flipped on the light, heading down the worn wooden stairs. Carl wasn’t wrong. The basement smelled musty, and had more than its share of cobwebs and dust, but there was a particular item in there that caught their attention.

  “What on earth is that?” Carl frowned, knocking on the vampire’s sleeping pod with his nightstick.

  The sleek titanium pod was dark grey, and looked like a giant multivitamin.

  “Looks suspicious to me,” Bud remarked, standing back a bit.

  “I gotta know what’s in there,” Carl replied, taking out his pocket knife.

  He opened the blade, and tried to slip it in the seam of the pod. He grunted and strained, until finally, the blade snapped.

  “What’s this thing made of?” he grumbled, scanning the basement for a better tool. “Ah, there we go,” he smiled grimly, heading for a metal pry bar that hung from a shelf.

  “This thing could be evidence,” Bud pointed out. “We should leave it alone.”

  “Don’t you want to know what’s in there?” Carl challenged him.

  “Nope. I can go my whole life without knowing what’s in there,” Bud backed away as Carl tried to get the business side of the pry bar into the seam on the pod.

  “They’re taking forever,” Winslow complained, impatient for the police to expose the vampire to the light.

  “If the bloodsucker can hear them, he’s too smart for them, but I’m betting that they can’t get into his pod,” Chalice guessed. “Time to take your potion and get in there,” he directed.

  Winslow’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

  “But what if it wears off?” she worried.

  “You can’t worry about that now. You have other magic at your disposal if that happens. Use it. You can do this. It may well be your last chance. Remember, this is for Polly,” Chalice counseled.

  “Oh geez,” Winslow nodded, unscrewing the cap from the little bottle. “Here we go.”

  She downed the potion, which was quite pleasant tasting, for a change, and waited for it to kick in.

  “There!” Chalice exclaimed. “You’re invisible. Now go help them,” he commanded.

  “I’m on it,” he heard Winslow’s voice from far away, and grimaced.

  She could die in there. She could also be responsible for the deaths of two humans. Or…she could succeed. With everything in him, Chalice wanted her to succeed.

  “You really shouldn’t do that,” Bud warned his partner, who had been trying to slip the blade of the pry bar into the pod.

  “I bet it’s drugs in there. That’s probably why they killed her,” Carl guessed, ignoring his partner’s warnings.

  Winslow watched the two of them and rolled her eyes. Pods like this didn’t have locks on the outside, they had them on the inside. The cop could try for a month of Sundays and he’d never get the pod open. Still invisible, she placed her hands to her temples and closed her eyes, visualizing the locks.

  “Open sesame,” she whispered, and miraculously, the pod sprung open.

  Bud cried out, and backpedaled so quickly that he fell, landing with a loud whump on his backside. Carl jumped back too, but was too astonished at what he saw to even breathe, much less cry out. The hipster vampire sat straight up with a roar, eyes red and blazing, and the cops froze.

  Winslow dove for the nearest basement window, and just as the vampire sprang from his pod, she thrust open the thick, dust-encrusted curtain, letting in the sunlight. The vampire howled as the rays struck his face, and, too injured to shift into bat form, he ran for the stairs. Bud and Carl were hot on his heels, followed by Winslow. The vampire flung open the basement door, and the light in the sun-brightened kitchen fried him on the spot. He screamed in agony, before falling to the floor, his body disappearing into a human-shaped pile of ash.

  “We’re just gonna call this murder an accidental death,” Carl whispered, white as a sheet.

  “I told you it was haunted,” Bud shouted, sprinting for the front door.

  “You did it,” Chalice said quietly, watching the two cops trying to make sense of what they’d just seen.

  “I did it,” Winslow nodded, though he couldn’t see her.

  “Now, let’s get out of here before your potion wears off,” Chalice led the way to the door that Bud had left open after his hasty exit.

  “Guess I passed that potion test,” Winslow grinned an invisible grin.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Chalice advised, secretly pleased.

  * * *

  The End

  Want more great stories from Summer Prescott? Look her up at: www.summerprescottbooks.com

  Indie Warren is a reluctant but powerful witch on a mission. When the animal familiars of Charming Springs lose their mystical magic, they also lose their ability to speak. Will Indie and her feathered friend Goldie help them find their voices? Or will this hush magic keep them silent forever?

  1

  “There’s no crueler fate than living in a world without a beautiful fall.” I stared down at my pitiful excuse for a pumpkin spice latte, pouting. “I’m pretty sure that’s a quote somewhere, and if it isn’t, then it should be.”

  Wind pricked at the few inches of my exposed face, only proving my point. Winter was nice and all, but I was a firm believer that it should stay in its lane. Living in a town cursed with eternal winter has a way of making you a little cranky when the seasons change.

  Goldie, who was most definitely not listening to me wax poetic, flapped her huge white wings to shake off the snowflakes that were lazily making their way down from the sky. She waved at a St. Bernard in a toboggan as he shuffled past us to the sidewalk.

  “I’m truly surprised he doesn’t have icicles permanently frozen to his snout, as much as he drools,” she whispered behind a wing.

  Standing outside of the town’s well-known hangout spot for its familiars wasn’t my usual idea of fun, but I owed Goldie for takeout delivery. Not to mention, she’d been hinting around about me meeting her familiar friends for a while now. I’d figured I would take her up on her offer my next day off from the newspaper.

  If there were ever a place for animal friend time, it was at The Coop, featuring more talking creatures than you could shake a stick at. Situated between two colorful row houses, its greenhouse setup was perfect for all of the chatty creatures of Charming Springs who wanted to ke
ep warm.

  “I wouldn’t gossip about a dog that’s specifically trained to listen well,” I said, pushing a damp lock of blue hair away from my eyes. I really, really needed a haircut.

  She shrugged. “Good point. I think the smell of whatever that is inside your cup is making me irritable. You should chuck it.”

  I rolled my eyes, though she wasn’t exactly wrong.

  “You know what’s better than that gross vegetable milk drink?” she asked, not bothering to give me time to answer, “I call it a squirffle. It’s like eating a chocolate truffle, but instead, it’s a squirrel stuffed full of acorns. Way better, in my humble opinion,” Goldie said, fluffing her white feathers. “Though hunting them has been so boring lately. I’m over blending in all the time—it’s just too easy.”

  “Mmhm. Humble opinion, indeed. I feel like that was both a complaint and a brag. And I’ll have you know that pumpkins are actually fruits.”

  Speaking of pumpkin… I still needed to find that old pumpkin pie recipe of Nan’s. I just couldn’t face the end of September without something warm and savory, full of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. Hopefully it was hidden away inside my camper somewhere, and not at her new apartment. Nan knew it by heart and certainly didn’t need it, while I on the other hand, could hardly remember to make the pie crust first.

  “Hey Goldie, baby. How’s it shaking?” A raccoon scampered up the sidewalk beside us, instantly pulling me from my food daze. His pair of tiny red gloves matched the red scarf perfectly. In any other instance, I would squeal from the utter cuteness, but I knew better in a town full of talking animals. They would sooner eat stale kibble than listen to my ridiculous baby talk.

  “Bandit, I see you’re modeling the latest by Knitty Nelly,” Goldie said, gesturing to the raccoon’s attire.

  I had no idea who Knitty Nelly was, but then again, Goldie knew everyone in town since it was her job as the town messenger.

  Bandit reared up on his hind legs and spun around with a flourish, wiggling his shoulders. “You bet. She’s really outdone herself this time. She told me she’d knit me the sweater to go with it, but she’s been pretty busy at home. If it wasn’t for me, that woman would never stop working,” he sighed. “The burden of being a familiar, I suppose. Hey, did they get that new heater in yet?”

  I had to admit, it was totally adorable seeing his little gloved thumb pointing toward The Coop.

  “I haven’t seen it but I know it’s supposed to be in this week sometime,” she said, peeking her head into the greenhouse.

  Bandit snorted, waving his hand. “That’s what they always say. Hey, Echo’s coming in for a landing!”

  I assumed he meant the large bat that was careening toward the front entrance.

  The bat hovered over our heads, blinking. “Hello, friends. I hope everyone is having a pleasant morning. Oh. I don’t think we’ve properly met.” She looked at me expectantly.

  I held up my barely-warm cup of basic witch. “I’m Indie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “She’s with me,” Goldie chirped.

  Echo nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Indie.”

  “Why don’t we take this party inside? You know, where it’s warm?” Bandit quipped.

  I had to duck, considering the child-size door to the place, but it wasn’t bad inside The Coop. Once you got used to the smell.

  Goldie flew to an open branch on the large hickory tree in the middle of the greenhouse. Echo followed, and Bandit scampered up to it, balancing along the thickness of a lower limb.

  We weren’t the only ones inside, but The Coop was pretty empty for it being morning time.

  A gray and white cat curled up at the base of the tree with a yawn, lifting its paw with a lazy wave at everyone else.

  “Tom, I’m surprised to see you up so early,” Goldie called down to him.

  Tom shrugged with a yowl. “I got into too much cream last night and was out early. Though I see I came in time to check out the neighbors.”

  Outside the front of The Coop, lights flickered on in the windows as people began opening up their shops along the street.

  I suppose it is a pretty decent place to do some people-watching.

  “We definitely have some interesting neighbors,” Bandit said, turning to me. “On one side there’s Old Man Hunley. He’s the street’s Mr. Fix-it. Oh, and his wife has twelve cats. Or was it thirteen?” He shook his head. “Rather annoying having all of those mundanes hanging around The Coop, honestly.”

  From the ground, Tom chuckled. “Speaking of interesting neighbors… Looks like Crazy Rachel is back from the market.” He nodded his furry chin toward something behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder and caught a figure in a black coat going up the steps of the bright purple row house to the right of us.

  “Don’t call her that. She’s sweet,” Echo said with a frown on her small face. “She brings over leftovers sometimes.”

  Tom yawned, inspecting a claw. “She has that whole crazy cat lady thing going on. And I know crazy cat ladies.”

  The woman pulled back her hood to reveal a mess of graying hair and a tired look on her face. She fished around inside her coat for keys, juggling them with something she had tucked underneath her arm.

  I frowned, trying to make out the fuzzy shape. “What’s that?”

  Each one of the familiars groaned.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Crazy Rachel carries that stupid stuffed squirrel everywhere. She talks to it, too—I’ve heard her do it,” Tom said.

  I squinted, taking in the fluffy tail before Rachel went inside her house. “Stuffed squirrel? Like a stuffed animal?”

  Goldie shook her head, her golden eyes flashing. “No. Like a dead squirrel that’s been stuffed. First of all, rude. Second of all, it’s aggravating because it always makes me crave a snack.”

  “Exactly. Wait. Maybe not the snack part…” Tom said.

  I winced. I could see the familiars being a little uneasy with someone who carried around what amounted to a mummified corpse of another animal. And well, Goldie thought anything small and furry was a piece of pie, so that came as no surprise.

  The subject of weird witches and wizards in town carried on for a while, until Goldie told everyone we were leaving. Without mentioning it to me, of course.

  “All right, all right. I’m coming,” I told her, telling everyone else goodbye. “You’re so impatient sometimes, I swear.”

  She waited until I was outside to squawk at me. “Sorry, I was growing tired of the gossip. Don’t look at me like that. Even I have to draw the line somewhere. Anyway, I meant to ask you how the lessons have been going. Ash was doing his usual nagging, asking me if I’d heard anything.”

  I bit my lip. If Ash wanted to know about how well my magic lessons were turning out, why couldn’t he just ask me himself? You’d think that as frustratingly nosy as he was, he would have no problem inquiring.

  I shrugged, leaning closer to her in hopes that I could whisper softly enough. “Fatima thinks I have a really good feel for my fire magic now. I think it’s probably the easiest for me, but I’m getting there with water magic, too.”

  “I’m just waiting for the day you get that air magic down. Don’t think I forgot about your hush magic on Byers Hill!”

  “Shh! Let’s keep it down, all right? I don’t need all of Charming Springs to find out about me,” I hissed.

  By my ‘hush magic,’ she meant the fact that I had to keep quiet about my ability to wield all four of the elemental magics, unlike any other witch or wizard in town. If the Special Council were to find out about it… we weren’t exactly sure how well they’d take it.

  Goldie didn’t have time to say much else before a striking black falcon dove from the low clouds above and landed right on the other side of her.

  She preened her feathers and squawked. “Maverick! I thought you were busy running errands for Mathias?”

  His deep voice seemed to fit his stature. “I was, but I�
��m finished now. You wanted to meet me here, right?”

  If an owl could blush, I was sure she would have.

  “Yes, I did. I thought maybe we could go catch some breakfast together?” she said, tilting her head to one side.

  He nodded. “I am pretty famished. Should we try the woods southeast of the lake?”

  “The perfect spot for field mice. Good thinking!” She turned her head in her eerie way, nearly looking backwards at me. “I’ll see you later, Indie.”

  I chuckled. “Okay. Go enjoy your meal. I’ll just…go home.”

  They took off together, leaving me wondering how in the world an owl had better luck with dating than I ever did.

  2

  I laid back on my lumpy mattress the next morning, studying the small orb of water floating over me. If I lost the connection of magic, I’d be soaked instantly. But I sailed the fist-sized bubble back into the glass of water on my nightstand and smiled.

  Being a witch was never something I aspired to growing up, but now that it was my reality, I had to admit it was pretty amazing. Even though it meant that I was stuck in Charming Springs for the foreseeable future…

  I pushed aside the depressing thoughts and concentrated on my next exercise—the candle flame.

  Truth be told, fire was probably the easiest element for me to control. Surprising, I know. There was just something about it that made it almost too easy to grasp, as if the fire was luring me in. Not to mention there was the sheer shock value of playing with fire when all of your life you were told not to.

  When you lived in a camper though, getting too pyro-happy wasn’t the smartest idea.

  I hopped up and went into the kitchen area, ready. The black candle I’d been working with flickered to life as I flipped my lighter back, exposing the flame to the wick.