Magic & Mayhem

by Annabel Chase

  “It’s not geometry,” Hazel said hotly. “Runecraft can be useful in coven life.”

  “Name one way.”

  She eyed me. “If I give you an advanced lesson, will you promise to keep it to yourself?”

  “I thought my aunt wanted me to be advanced.”

  “She does, but at the right pace.” Hazel twiddled her thumbs. “This is probably a mistake.”

  “Then you have to show me,” I said. “I’m an expert when it comes to mistakes.”

  “Fine,” Hazel huffed. She reached into her cloak pocket and retrieved a few items that looked like Scrabble tiles.

  “Let me guess. A high stakes game of Scrabble is in your future and you’re hedging your bets?” I asked. “Which letters do you have there? A ‘q’ and a ‘u’?”

  Hazel glared at me. “They’re carved with runes.” She held her palm open and I studied the shapes on the tiles. “I can use them for spells in a pinch, if I need to.”

  “If you drop your wand down a crack in the sidewalk?”

  “Or I’m disarmed,” Hazel said. “I have runes as a backup.”

  A knock at the door startled us both. I glanced over at PP3 snoring soundly on the sofa. Some watchdog.

  “Don’t your friends know your schedule?” Hazel huffed. “Oh wait. You don’t have any friends.”

  I opened the door. “Hey, Sheriff.”

  “It’s called a phone, Sheriff,” Hazel said. “No need to drop in, especially when we’re in the middle of an important lesson.”

  I squinted at Hazel. “You and I have different definitions of ‘important.’”

  “We’ve identified the elf,” the sheriff said, ignoring Hazel. “I’m heading over to talk to the family if you want to join me.”

  “What happened to dinner?” It didn’t have to be dinner. I would’ve done a full night of howling at the moon with the werewolf pack if it meant getting out of runecraft.

  “Another time.” The sheriff looked glum. “He was just a kid, Rose. Grover Maitland. Seventeen. A local high school student.”

  Oh no.

  “Is this about the body in the coffin sand sculpture?” Hazel queried. She seemed to realize what we were discussing.

  I nodded. “Marley and I were the ones who found him.”

  Hazel recoiled. “I didn’t know that. How awful.”

  “My aunt will want me to cover the murder for the paper,” I said. ”We need to keep the rumors from getting out of hand so it doesn’t spoil the competition.”

  Hazel clucked her tongue. “Florian finally gets to do something worthwhile and it ends in tragedy. Go figure.”

  “I hope this doesn’t put him off,” I said. “I haven’t seen him this engaged in a project since I met him.”

  “That’s because you haven’t seen him at Elixir with three fairies right before last call,” the sheriff said.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Trying to decide which one to bring home?”

  The sheriff snorted. “No, trying to decide how to fit all three sets of wings inside his tiny sports car.”

  Ah. No one could accuse my cousin of being an underachiever when it came to his romantic life.

  I turned to Hazel. “Sorry, but duty calls.”

  “And what about my duty as your teacher?” she demanded.

  “Dead elf trumps Scrabble tiles,” I said. “It says so right in the Big Book of Scribbles.”

  Hazel shook a finger at me. “Your next lesson will be twice as long to make up for this.”

  I smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  “You can thank me later,” the sheriff whispered, and escorted me out the door.

  “Do you think it’s possible someone tried to sabotage the competition to get back at Florian?” I asked, as we drove across town to the Maitlands’ house.

  The sheriff gave me a sharp look. “Get back at Florian for what?”

  “I don’t know. For being perfect?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I won’t rule anything out. Not until we have more information.”

  We pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story house. The front garden was well cared for, as evidenced by a variety of flowers and shrubs. An apple tree stood sentry on the side of the house. The red fruit was so bright on the branches that I was tempted to go and pick one.

  "Now, let me do the talking," Sheriff Nash advised. “This won’t be pleasant.”

  “Of course,” I said absently. I was so distracted by the apples, that I veered off the walkway and tripped over a ceramic garden gnome, kicking it down the path. “Ouch!”

  The sheriff turned around. “Rose?”

  “I’m okay.” Although my big toe throbbed, the gnome got the raw end of the deal. Ceramic pieces scattered across the pavement. “Crap on a stick.” We were about to deliver devastating news. The last thing the family needed was a minotaur like me in their emotional china shop.

  "Can't take you anywhere, Rose," the sheriff said, shaking his head. He bent down and collected the pieces. "It should be easy enough to glue back together. They’ll have more on their minds than a broken piece of pottery.”

  I snatched the pieces from him. “These are tiny pieces. It'll never be the same."

  The front door opened and an older elf's head poked out. “Thank goodness, Sheriff. I guess you got our message about our son. He still hasn’t come home. We’re worried sick.”

  The sheriff straightened. “As a matter of fact, I have news about your son, Mrs. Maitland. May we come in?”

  Mrs. Maitland noticed the fragments in my hands and frowned. "Is that Jimmy?"

  Sweet baby gnome. The pottery had a name. My stomach turned. They lost their son and now they lost Jimmy, their beloved garden gnome, thanks to my clumsiness.

  "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Maitland," said. “I was so in awe of your apple tree that I didn't see the gnome. I tripped over him and he broke. I can glue him back together, or maybe there’s a spell someone could do…” I’d have to ask my cousins.

  Mrs. Maitland continued to stare at broken Jimmy. "Grover gave that to me for Mother's Day." Her eyes welled with tears.

  And now it would be the last present she ever received from him. I was beginning to regret accompanying the sheriff and I was sure he felt the same.

  "Everything all right out here, Dottie?" Her husband appeared behind her in the doorway. His expression shifted when he saw the sheriff. “Thank the gods. Any news, Sheriff?"

  "Maybe I should go," I mumbled.

  "Too late, Rose," Sheriff Nash said quietly. "You're here now. May as well make the best of it."

  We retreated into the house where Mrs. Maitland brought me a small bag to hold the pieces of Jimmy.

  “I’m truly sorry about this," I said. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll see if someone can magic it back together.”

  “Please have a seat,” Mr. Maitland said. He gestured to the living room, where the sheriff and I squished together on a small floral sofa. "Can I get you anything? We still have some tea biscuits that Dottie made at the weekend. I've got some ale or lime fizz."

  Sheriff Nash waved them off. "We're good, thanks. I need to talk to you about your son.”

  Instinctively, Mrs. Maitland reached for her husband’s hand. “Go on, Sheriff.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but his body was discovered on Balefire Beach, buried in one of the sand sculptures.” The sheriff made a noise at the back of his throat. “In the coffin.”

  Mrs. Maitland cried out and buried her face in her husband’s arm. Mr. Maitland gaped at us, shock coloring his narrow face.

  “I don’t understand,” Mr. Maitland stammered. “How?”

  “We don’t know yet,” the sheriff said. “We’ve only just identified him."

  Mrs. Maitland wiped the tears from her eyes. “Is there any chance he accidentally buried himself? I've heard horrible tales of children burying themselves in the sand for fun and then suffocating.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. "Is it possible that's what happened to Grover?"
>
  "It’s one possibility," the sheriff admitted. "But it would have been nearly impossible for him to cover himself with sand and attempt to re-create the vampire sculpture over top of him. Someone else had to be responsible for that. If he wasn't alone, then that suggests murder.”

  "Or, at the very least, criminal negligence," I said.

  The sheriff shot me a look of surprise.

  "What?” I said. “I sit next to Bentley in the office. He never shuts up."

  Mrs. Maitland brightened momentarily at the mention of Bentley's name. "You know Bentley?"

  I nodded. “We work together as reporters at Vox Populi.” Bentley was an elf and the brother I never wanted. We quickly developed a sibling rivalry at the office, competing for stories and vying for Alec’s attention.

  "Bentley used to live on this block," Mr. Maitland said. "His parents moved when he left for college."

  Mrs. Maitland squeezed her husband’s arm. "Grover was so young then.“

  "Was Grover the type of elf that would have buried himself for fun and then expected his friends to dig him out?" the sheriff asked.

  "They play practical jokes on each other,” Mr. Maitland said. “Steal each other's garden gnomes, that sort of thing. Nothing ever got out of hand. They’re good kids.”

  I glanced at the bag at my feet. "Not this garden gnome?”

  "As a matter fact, it was," Mr. Maitland said. "They each bought one for their mothers for Mother's Day. Later on, they went around kidnapping each other's and taking pictures of them in odd places. It was hilarious."

  A single tear streamed down Mrs. Maitland’s cheek and she didn’t bother to wipe this one away. "It's one of the reasons I'm so fond of Jimmy. It reminds me of such fun times. Grover is…was a great joy to us.”

  The front door swung open and a young elf came in, no older than twelve, dragging a backpack on the floor behind her.

  "Cindy, I told you before to pick up your backpack when you walk,” Mr. Maitland said. "This is our daughter, Cindy."

  Cindy studied us with interest. "Are you here about my brother? Do you know what happened to him? He didn’t come home last night.”

  "That's what we’re trying to find out," I said. Cindy was only about two years older than Marley and I felt immediately protective of her.

  "Cindy, we have some terrible news," her father said.

  "We should get out of your way," the sheriff said, rising to his feet. I followed his lead. "I'll be in touch. Please contact me if you think of anything, anything at all."

  Cindy stared at us and I knew tonight was going to be a difficult night in the Maitland household. I didn't want to witness a young girl's life changing forever. I'd already been through it myself and then again with Marley. Those experiences were more than enough. If I ever saw Cindy again, I’d recognize her by the haunted look in her round eyes.

  Once we were outside, the sheriff touched the bag in my hand. "Take the gnome to your aunt. If anyone can fix it, she can."

  "I feel awful," I said. "Those apples were blinding, though. Did you see them?” I had a whole new appreciation for Snow White's willingness to eat the apple brought by the ugly, old witch. I mean, I’d always thought it showed a certain level of stupidity on her part, but now I totally understood.

  As we drove toward Rose Cottage, the sheriff kept a firm grip on the wheel, careful not to make eye contact with me. “I hate this part of the job,” he finally said. "I think I'll head to the Wishing Well. Any interest in joining me in lieu of dinner?”

  I got the distinct impression that he didn’t want to be alone. Since Marley was already set up for the evening with our household brownie, Mrs. Babcock, I had no legitimate reason to refuse.

  "Sure," I said. "Only one drink for me, though. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow."

  The sheriff managed a smirk. "If there's one thing I’ve learned about you, Rose, it's that one drink is never enough."

  Chapter 4

  Half an hour later, we sat at the bar in the Wishing Well.

  “You make me sound like an alcoholic,” I complained.

  Sheriff Nash gestured to the half-empty cocktail in front of me. “How many is that again? Refresh my memory.”

  I pulled the drink closer to me, shielding it from his view. “It’s only number two.”

  “Which is more than one, the number of drinks you claimed you’d have.” The sheriff signaled to the bartender for another ale. “I’m not judging you, Rose. I just think you should have better self-awareness.”

  “I’m self-aware,” I said indignantly. I was self-aware enough to recognize the werewolf was sitting dangerously close to me. I jerked my knee away so it was no longer touching his.

  “The Maitlands should be drinking with us,” Sheriff Nash said. “They need it more than we do.” He buried his scruffy face in his hands. “I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

  My fingers gripped my cocktail glass. “I can.” Marley and I were no strangers to loss.

  He gave me his full attention and I caught the look of mortification that flashed in his brown eyes. “Great Goddess of the Moon, I’m sorry, Rose. Of course you can.”

  “It wasn’t murder, though, and it’s certainly not the same as losing a child,” I said softly. The mere whiff of potentially losing Marley was enough to send me into cardiac arrest. “But loss is loss.”

  He dragged a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Your parents and a husband. Don’t underplay it, Rose. That’s definitely up there.”

  I polished off my second drink and slid the empty glass toward the bartender. “They won’t ever get over it, but they’ll find a way to keep going. Eventually.”

  When the bartender went to refill my glass, the sheriff motioned for him to stop. “She’s only drinking to keep me company. I think she’d like a water now.”

  I stiffened on my stool. “Don’t speak for me, Granger Nash.” I smiled at the bartender. “One more, please.”

  “It’s Sheriff Granger Nash to you,” the werewolf growled. “Another ale for me.”

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Wyatt Nash sauntered toward the bar. I’d been so focused on the sheriff, I hadn’t seen his brother come in. “How do you think Hyacinth Rose-Muldoon would react to seeing the two of you so cozy?”

  “We’re not cozy,” I said. “We’re commiserating.”

  “Tough day,” the sheriff added, and took a sip of his fresh ale.

  Wyatt plopped into the stool beside his brother. “I’ll have what he’s having. Put it on his tab.”

  Sheriff Nash grunted in response.

  “Is this about the dead body in the sand coffin?” Wyatt asked.

  The sheriff groaned. “You heard already?”

  “Damn straight,” Wyatt said. “That Thomas dude was devastated about his sculpture. Apparently, he’s down there now, trying to recreate for the competition.”

  “Didn’t Deputy Bolan close off the area as a crime scene?” I asked.

  “I think he was too busy being annoyed by you to remember.” Sheriff Nash heaved a sigh and passed his full ale to his brother. “No rest for the weary.”

  Wyatt winked. “Pretty sure it’s no rest for the wicked, but I’ll take care of your drink either way.”

  “Are you sure you want to head over there now?” I asked.

  “If Thomas is involved, then now is our best bet to get something out of him. Besides, he’s tampering with a crime scene.” The sheriff tossed money onto the counter and slid off the stool. “I can drop you home on the way.”

  I tipped back the rest of my cocktail. “And let you grill poor Thomas after a few ales? Not a chance.” I paused, contemplating the ‘few ales.’ “Do you want me to drive?”

  The sheriff laughed. “Werewolf metabolism, Rose. I’m fine. Comfortably numb, but fine.”

  I didn’t think comfortably numb was such a good thing, but I kept it to myself. Instead, I followed him back to his car. We sped back to Balefire Beach and found Thomas alone on
the beach, wearing a headlamp.

  “Nifty headgear you’ve got there,” Sheriff Nash said. “Did you wear that last night, too, when you buried Grover Maitland?”

  Thomas frowned. “I wasn’t here last night. I usually reserve use of the headlamp for midnight in my garden of good and evil.” He waited for a beat. “That was a joke.”

  “Oh,” I said, and forced a laugh. “I’m sorry about your sculpture, Thomas. I know how hard you worked on it.”

  The vampire glanced at his coffin. “I’m more upset about the body you found inside. There are dozens of sculptures out here. They could’ve used any one of them. Why did they choose mine?”

  “Do you think you were deliberately targeted?” I asked.

  Thomas tapped his index finger on his chin. “I don’t see why. It just seems like a lot of work when the killer could’ve simply tossed the body into the castle or dragged it into the maze.”

  “Maybe they were trying to buy time,” the sheriff said. “Hiding the body in your coffin meant that it might have stayed hidden for a full two weeks. Enough time for the killer to cover his or her tracks.”

  Thomas smoothed a section of sand on the coffin. “Because the competition ends in two weeks?”

  “That’s right,” the sheriff said. “The killer knew this and chose your coffin because it was the best place to hide the body in plain sight.”

  Thomas placed his hands flat on the coffin. “I wanted to create art and instead I created a nightmare for a family.”

  The sheriff’s expression turned grim. “Only if you killed him.”

  “Naturally, I didn’t kill him,” the vampire snapped. “I didn’t even know him.”

  “Not all murderers know their victims,” the sheriff said. “That’s a fact.”

  Thomas took a careful step back from the coffin. “It’s also a fact that I had nothing to do with this murder,” Thomas said. “I bury paranormals for a living. I know the grief it inspires.” He shook his head. “I’d never willingly inflict that pain on anyone.”

  Sheriff Nash studied the vampire for another moment before grunting. “We’ll be in touch, Enders. Don’t make any plans to leave town.”