by J L Collins
After promising Aunt Bedelia that I’d make my appearance in Spell Haven soon enough, I wasn't exactly sure of what to do with Fiona-Leigh over the weekend. I didn’t want to cave so easily and give her what she wanted while she seemed so hell-bent on making a more permanent move to Spell Haven, but I knew I wasn't comfortable letting her stay here at home on her own yet, either. Luckily for me, I had a little plucky blonde and unknowing ally.
Complete with her usual gray beanie and ripped up jeans and skateboard, Marina Peterson had knocked on our door after school earlier, making my job a heck of a lot easier. She’d come over and asked if Fiona-Leigh was allowed to come stay the night at her place, dropping a not-so-subtle hint by admitting that her Uncle Sully would drive them there.
Of course, at the mention of his name I had to look away. My face had been redder than Fi’s hair. Both of them begged and pleaded with me to say yes, though this time I was totally willing to give in.
"I suppose so,” I’d said, making it sound as if they’d won a lengthy argument. “Just make sure you check with Sully to see if he can give you a ride there—I don’t want you two to just assume he will."
I’d thrown my purse over my shoulder, searching my pockets for my keys when Fiona-Leigh had looked at me funny.
"Where are you going?"
After a rain cloud in the middle of our kitchen table, a floating bed and a hair brush that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be three times too big or three times too small, I had figured she could do with one normal weekend with her best friend for starters. I didn’t need to mention checking out the magic leak at the other end of the spectrum… yet.
"Just out. We need some groceries and I was thinking about maybe going to the bookstore."
Her freckled nose had crinkled. "The bookstore? For what? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly go there unless I dragged you along with me.”
"Hey, I read! Sometimes,” I had added with a hint of indignation.
Once they’d had their laughs at my expense, I shooed them out and ended up collapsing into the chair, rubbing at my temples.
Out of the corner of my eye, a furry black something scurried across the room causing me to jump. Maybe it would be a good time to work on my detection skills. Clearly, I need to.
"Oisín? Is that you?"
He gracefully leapt up on the arm of the chair, leveling his yellow-eyed gaze at me. "Were you expecting someone else? I know your secret love’s head looks as though a black poodle were sitting atop it and all, but I doubt you confused me for him.”
I rolled my eyes. "Sorry . . . I’ve just never see you move that fast. What's got you in a rush?"
"I thought I'd give chase to a mouse I heard scurrying around in the kitchen," he said with a smug grin, showcasing the pointy ends of his teeth. "I could certainly do with a fresh meal, after all."
"Ugh, a mouse? You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, dropping my head into my hand. “You know, for someone who spent a long time being a powerful Witch, you really have taken a shining to the feline life. Hairballs and all.”
He inspected a lone claw that slipped out of his dark paw. “And most other people pay for their pest control.”
He had a good point.
“Just make sure it's outside of the house before you do anything crazy. I really don't want to see any animal entrails lying around the kitchen. Again."
Oisín simply turned his head, licking at his silky fur coat. "If you insist."
He jumped down and I drummed my fingers along the edge of the chair, still debating when I wanted to bring up the possible magic leak here in the Human Realm to my uncle. Something needed to be done about it, of that much I was certain.
The long drive to the gateway that led into the Other Realm was a quiet one with no one sitting shotgun next to me. I made it all the way up past the Tennessee state line, a few miles in before pulling off the side of narrow road that cut between the forest. I ended up at the particular bent tree that brought back some not-so-kind memories, and walked half a mile into the woods with my phone in hand, before coming across the familiar rickety, abandoned cabin. On the backside of it held the only gateway between the Human Realm and the Other Realm within hundreds of miles of me. My poor brand-new Selkie-skin boots were caked with mud and my hair was frizzy and damp from all of the mist in the woods by the time I slumped against the moldy wood. The gateway’s blast of shimmering energy hummed as I entered it.
Stepping into my home realm really was like stepping into an entirely new world. The air was warm, meaning the Fairies must have been in good spirits and leaves crunched underneath my soggy feet, signaling that the changing season was upon Spell Haven as well.
Truth be told, I definitely wouldn't have minded it if I could just magically appear here from the comfort of my own living room. But of course, that's not how magic works, at least not how it's supposed to work. Aunt Bee certainly had her way with getting her younger brother to let her take the only-for-emergencies Portal for a ride whenever she wanted, though.
I shoved my hands into my cloak pockets, trying to scrounge up some money as my stomach rumbled. How did I manage to forget lunch? All I pulled out was a five-dollar bill and some change, but here in Spell Haven that just wasn't going to cut it. Luckily for me, I happen to have pretty good connections…
The overhang of gray boulders that hid the gateway below it turned into a well-worn path that stretched out and led into the heart of Spell Haven. I walked along it, spotting the small cottages starting to crowd together more and more the closer I got to downtown. Wreaths of leaves and pine cones, pumpkins carved with silly faces and enchanted floating candles adorned practically every door and porch around me, giving the main road an airy Autumn feeling.
I imagined taking a picture here and showing it off to friends at work (not that it was even possible for my camera to work here). The younger girls in my office considered themselves as “basic" and would absolutely scream at the sight of Spell Haven in all its magical glory. With or without the pumpkin spice lattes.
The Apothecarium in town had been in my family for many generations, and in fact at one point even my own mother, Maureen Brady, had run it. Now it was entrusted to Aunt Bedelia, and even though I was several shops down from it, the heavy scent of herbs and spices permeated the air.
A worn, wooden sign simply reading “Apothecarium,” swayed in the breeze above my head as I stood outside the place. When my mother had worked here, there was a little bell that rang out over the door whenever someone entered, but Aunt Bedelia claimed to be weary of it and had taken it down. It was still odd even after all these years, not to hear it as I opened the door to the shop.
Inside was an entire other world. The shop had an old, dark look that was enough to make anyone second-guess themselves within it. Wire racks hung from the ceiling where bunches of lavender, marigold, yarrow, and rue were hanging upside-down to dry. Wicker baskets full of fresh witch hazel and mugwort, and several clay pots full of Smoke Petal plants lay on a sturdy wooden table underneath. There were shelves crowded with glass bottles and jars of different-colored liquids, and display cases here and there throughout the shop showing off fancy vials of powerful potions, their vapors wafting around them in many colors.
Rows of dusty old tomes with ancient Celtic and Latin written along their spines were tucked away in a large bookcase that took up half of one entire wall. A huge dragonhide-bound spell book sat on top of a wooden podium, open to a familiar recipe of Aunt Bedelia's. Lit candles with their flames flickering this way and that adorned practically every surface. Of course, it wouldn’t be the Apothecarium without the health and beauty aisle with its assortment of bars, lotions, potions, and enchanted items.
My personal favorite thing, however, was the wooden barrel by the front counter full of honey toffees and other delicious candies. When I was younger my father would sneak some home from the shop to me and my younger brother Tristan, whenever he would visit my mother.
&nbs
p; Aunt Bee was bent over a wooden crate full of small boxes, sorting through them and whispering to herself unaware of my presence, surprisingly.
I cleared my throat.
"Oh my, it's not every day someone sneaks up on me like this!" she chuckled as she looked up at me. "And where is the lovely Fiona-Leigh today?"
I bit my lip. "Actually . . . Fi’s staying over her friend’s house this weekend. I wanted to come here first myself. Remember how I told you she was in trouble? Hopefully I’m good enough company."
"Why of course," she said warmly, the crinkles around her eyes not showing an ounce of disappointment. "And what brings you here first? I figured you would want to stop by the manor house and check on your brother."
I shrugged, although my stomach growling as loud as possible was probably a dead giveaway. "I don't really have any way of procuring any food at the moment. I thought maybe if I stopped by here . . ."
She threw me a knowing look. "That maybe you would procure some food? But of course, dear. I’m just going over my latest shipment, absolutely famished myself." Her heavy cloak billowed out behind her as she stood up and snapped her fingers. A plate covered in small tea sandwiches suddenly hovered above her open hand. "Will this do?"
I smiled. "Yes, I think it will."
I could smell the fresh bread and arugula from across the room, and with the simple wave of her other hand, my aunt sent two sandwiches floating my way.
"It's my latest recipe, actually. The bread, that is. Usually I like something a little sweeter but this time I decided to go with savory. What do you think?" she asked, gesturing for me to take a bite.
I held out my hand and grabbed both small sandwiches, taking a bite of the first one. I closed my eyes as the flavors hit my tongue all at once. Who needs a cheeseburger when you have one of Aunt Bee’s ‘Witch-wiches?’ It’s really such a shame that the Human Realm doesn't have such delicious food. Well, with the exception of bacon. I do love some bacon.
I sat down at a small round table in the back of the shop, thoroughly enjoying my food as Aunt Bee welcomed someone I couldn’t see over the health and beauty aisle. Their voice though, I definitely recognized.
“Beddy! How ya doin’?” the familiar deep voice rasped.
“Never better, Denbigh. How about yourself?” Aunt Bee replied, smiling down at what I knew to be a short, pudgy Hobgoblin who ran one of the local cafes.
Denbigh finally came into view as he waddled over closer to the front counter, slapping something down on top of it. He shook his head, his huge, hairy ears twitching. “I wish I could say the same. Remember how I was having that issue with the warts on my nose before?”
I suddenly felt like this was not a conversation I wanted to be privy to…
To her credit, Aunt Bee didn’t even flinch. “Indeed.”
Denbigh slid what looked like an empty jar closer to her. “I’m not dealing with warts on my nose anymore.”
“I’m delighted to hear the good news, Denbigh.”
But he simply shook his head. “No, no. They’re not on my nose anymore because they’ve spread elsewhere. Now I’m having to deal with them on my—”
I skidded backwards, accidentally knocking into the bookshelf, sending a shower of thick dust to coat both me and the floor in my haste to get out of earshot. Both Aunt Bee and Denbigh started, Denbigh’s bulging and watery eyes opened even wider as he clutched at his chest.
I winced, waving at the two of them. “Sorry, I uh, must have tripped.”
“My stars, Gwennie, you scared the toadstools outta me! How long ya been standin’ there?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Just popping in from the back,” I said, carefully pushing the empty bowl out of sight. “How’s the cafe doing?”
This was a pretty loaded topic considering Denbigh’s absolute favorite thing to do was gossip, followed only by complaining about running his cafe. I never understood all of his griping though since everyone loved the place—no one else in town had better coffee or snacks. Enchanted or not.
He let out a dramatic sigh just as I figured he would, leaning against the front counter. “Same ol’ as ever. Business is doing well enough, but I’m looking to expand the menu a bit to appeal to some . . . Different tastes. Not everyone is as excited at the prospects, though.” Was it my imagination, or was he throwing some serious shade in Aunt Bee’s direction?
Already prepared to diffuse whatever he might have been referring to, my aunt chuckled. “Is that really why you came in here, Denbigh darling? To talk business? Or did you need some help with your other problems?” She took the empty jar in her hand and whirled around the counter and down the health and beauty aisle. Denbigh grumbled as he followed her, leaving me to clean up after myself.
Once Denbigh was satisfied with whatever Aunt Bee was selling him, he said his goodbyes and hobbled out of the shop.
“Well. That was certainly eye-opening. I had no idea Hobgoblins had so many skin issues,” I said, doing my best not to look as revolted as I felt.
“Yes, unfortunately their race does have much to deal with in the area of body afflictions. It has something to do with the rough texture and their preference not to bathe often.”
“Yikes,” I muttered.
The stone fireplace tucked away in the corner of the room roared to life, flames unfurling and sending off showers of sparks. In the midst of the fire was a rolled-up piece of parchment, sealed in wax with the familiar Shadow Hand emblem of an iron-forged handshake with stars encircling it. I waited for the flames to disappear before grabbing the roll myself.
“Looks like you got a fire message.”
Aunt Bedelia wiped her hands on her apron. “A fire message, hm? From whom, darling?”
“Uncle Gardner if I had to guess,” I said, handing it to her.
She slid a long nail underneath to break the seal and adjusted her glasses to read over it. “Huh.”
“What does it say?”
“You were right—it’s Gard. He wants me to come over to his office straight away.”
Without thinking, I pulled the paper from her hands and read the careful handwriting, frowning. “Why does he sound so urgent?” My anxious mind was already racing with possibilities—a parent’s super power, supposedly.
But she just waved me off. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing terribly important. After all, we both know my brother likes to make dragons out of newts.”
4
Death in the Library
“Sure. No need to worry,” I hissed under my breath as Aunt Bedelia and I walked inside the MARC headquarters. Nearly every person was wearing the same look of apprehension, some people speaking in hushed whispers to their co-workers over the tops of cubicles, while a small group of officials were briskly walking up ahead. Something was definitely wrong.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that even Aunt Bedelia was frowning. The elevator ride up to my uncle’s office felt like it took twice as long—as if we’d taken the steps instead. I had no idea what was going on, but the anxiety of not knowing was making my heart race the closer we got to his office.
The heavy wooden doors opened automatically before either of us had a chance to knock, letting us inside my uncle’s large and pristine office. He was up pacing around as he pulled his midnight blue traveling cloak around his shoulders. For a moment, I wondered if his beard had even more gray in it than the last time I’d seen him.
“Going somewhere?” Aunt Bedelia asked, quietly shutting the doors behind us.
The look on Uncle Gardner’s face said that this was no time for idle chit-chat. Fastening his cloak, he ran his hand over the gold dragon’s head that topped his ebony cane. “I am. And I’m glad to see you took my urgent request seriously. We have much to discuss. Gwendolyn, I hadn’t realized you were here.”
He said this all very quickly, brushing past us and summoning the doors open. Sometimes I wondered how easily magic must come to the Sirens among us—those like my Aunt Bedelia and Uncle Gardne
r who simply had to concentrate to utilize their powers when the rest of us had to draw ours from a magical amplifier. I pushed those thoughts aside and caught up with him.
“Sir, would you mind telling us what’s going on?”
He stopped short, looking over at me and Aunt Bedelia behind us. “I apologize. I—I’ve been so busy trying to keep everyone else from panicking that I haven’t had much time to really address this with anyone.” He sighed, leaning his weight lightly on the cane. “No more than half an hour ago, I received an urgent message from the Athenaeum of the Unseen. It’s Rourke. He’s . . . dead.”
Aunt Bedelia let out a gasp, clutching at her chest, her dark blue eyes wide. “No.”
The thrumming going on in my own chest ached. Struggling to find the right words, I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “But how? How is that even possible?” Surely there had to be a mistake. A breach inside the Athenaeum was nearly impossible, but the death of Spell Haven’s Keeper of the Pages was even more so.
“I’m on my way over there now to find out. Zoya, the head librarian aside from Rourke of course, she’s the one who sent the fire message to me. She is an absolute wreck as you can imagine. And now you two know about as much as I do.”
“We’ll come with you then,” I replied, putting my arm around Aunt Bedelia’s thin shoulders. “Right?”
She nodded, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her shawl. “Yes, of course. I think it’s safe to say that not only do we have cause for alarm, but oh my stars . . . that poor, poor man.”
Uncle Gardner looked over at his older sister, very obviously weighing the pros and cons of letting someone as emotionally prone as she was to come along with him to a possible murder scene. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be my first. I’d seen a couple of them myself when I was attending the Danann House of Magical Mastery to become a Shadow Hand like my uncle. In Spell Haven, Shadow Hands are always the first responders when there’s been a death.
