Hexes and Holly: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery Holiday Anthology

by Tegan Maher

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she was saying, “but I need to buy some time to get out of here, and we both know you’ll call the police the second I walk out that door.”

  I tried to pull my wrists apart, but she’d done a fine job with the knot.

  She wasn’t a ghost, I knew that much, but how in the world she had come back from the dead was making my head spin.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I said. “You’re a victim. Someone tried to kill you and it wasn’t me.”

  She chuckled softly, and I felt her give a final tug on the rope around my ankles. “You haven't figured it out yet, have you?” she moved around so that I could see her looking down at me.

  “No, I figured it out. At least, I started to before you knocked me out.”

  “Oh, did you now?” her expression was even more smug than usual. “I highly doubt that.” She turned away from me and began filling the backpack with the items I’d lay out on the table.

  “Fake IDs, stacks of cash, a Romeo and Juliette spell to make you appear dead for a time. It wasn’t that hard to figure out that you were planning to skip town. The question is why. Is it because you embezzled a million dollars or because the bookies have started making their threats a lot more serious?”

  She glared at me as she zipped up the backpack. “You don’t know anything about me. Those are just rumors.”

  “Are they? I don’t know I talked to a guy who was pretty convincing.”

  She stopped and narrowed her eyes at me, but the fear was impossible to mask. “When did you speak to Tony Shark?”

  I didn’t know who Tony Shark was, but that wasn’t really important.

  “Right after you supposedly died,” I said.

  “Tony is nothing more than a two-bit criminal in an overpriced suit.”

  “That may very well be, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he lied now does it?”

  She lifted the backpack and swung it over her shoulder.

  I needed to get her talking if only just to stall her until Matt arrived. She’d used some kind of spell on the bindings around my hands and legs, and it would be difficult to break without knowing what sort of emotion she’d been feeling when she cast it. Her intention was easy enough to figure out, but her emotion was just as important. It had infused the energy of her spell and it was what gave the spell its power.

  I’d wracked my brain to come up with possibilities, but they had all failed.

  “You might be one of those naïve shmucks that wants to see the good in everyone, but I’m not that stupid.” She smirked. “That’s the difference between witches like me and you. I’ve figured out the secret and you’re stuck living in some fantasy world where people are good and true and good always prevails over evil.”

  She let out a wry laugh and began inching toward the door.

  “What’s the secret, then?” I asked.

  “The secret is simple, really. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is self-serving. Even men like Kaiser French who throw their money at every charity in town. Deep down, he’s only doing it for the recognition it brings him. You think he really cares about stray familiars and the handicap accessible trails at the park? Please.” She rolled her eyes.

  “So you started taking his money because he was donating to organizations, and you didn’t feel that it was with genuine intentions?”

  She shrugged a single shoulder. “Basically. I mean, that and he has more money than he knows what to do with. No one needs that much money.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt. “Besides, he likes to donate, doesn’t he? Consider me one of his charity cases then.”

  “Hmm… are you sure it’s not because you’re just selfish so you can’t see the good in others? Or maybe you were angry that he was funding the group organized to dismantle the minotaur fighting scene.”

  That warranted an eyebrow lift from her. “Why would I care about that?”

  “Well, don’t gambling addicts always tell themselves that they’ll make back the money they owe from a big win?”

  “I’m not a gambling addict.”

  “I think gambling addicts tell themselves that too,” I said dryly.

  Victoria narrowed her eyes at me and took steps backward toward the door, and I decided that I had to give breaking the spell one more shot before she was out the door and scot-free.

  I focused on my magic and just as I’d pulled in enough to make my attempt, the crunching of gravel out front brought my plan to a screeching halt. I hoped with every fiber of my being that it was Matt and not Dr. Hyde, and my heart pounded in my chest as I waited to find out.

  Victoria scrambled to hide beneath the view of the windows and crept toward the door. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the light glinted off of the long silver blade in her hand, and I realized that she was wielding a knife.

  In that moment, I didn’t want anyone coming through that door without a full tank of magic and, preferably, a gun.

  “She’s got a knife!” I shouted as loud as I possibly could. “Victoria! She’s not dead and she has a weapon!”

  She rounded on me, her shushing nearly as loud as my yelling. However, if she thought I’d stop to save my own skin and not whoever was standing on the other side of the door, then she had another think coming.

  “Victoria is alive, and she has a knife!” I screamed so loud that it caused me to choke, and I found myself struggling through a coughing fit, desperately trying to yell out another warning.

  Victoria rushed to the door, holding the knife at her back, and waited.

  The doorknob began to slowly turn, and she looked back at me with a smug, malicious grin, but then the knob stopped. A second later it began to jiggle, first gently and then with considerable force. I had no idea who or what was on the other side, but I had a feeling I’d prefer it to Victoria.

  She had a quizzical look on her face as she turned away from me and moved closer to the door, placing her own hand on the knob. She readied her knife high above her head and I managed to eke out a strangled scream of protest.

  At first, when the door flew open, I’d assumed that she had done it, yanking it with full force to surprise whoever was on the other side. But once it hit her squarely in the face with a cringe-inducing crack, knocking her out cold, I realized I was wrong.

  Dr. Hyde stood on the other side of the threshold, staring down at Victoria. He glanced up at me and furrowed his brow. “Shay, why are you just laying around? You knew I was coming, didn’t you? And the victim… what’s she doing in here? This is highly unorthodox, Ms. Graves. Highly.”

  “Dr. Hyde,” I started, but I had no idea where to even go next.

  “Oh! Oh, no,” he held up his hands and backed away. “Shay, I’m so sorry, but it seems I’ve left my hearing aids in the car. Just one moment and I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared from view and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I was certain Victoria wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, but I had a feeling explaining the events of the night to Dr. Hyde would prove to be more difficult anyway.

  I heard a second crunching of gravel followed shortly after by the sound of Matt’s voice, and I knew that everything was going to be okay.

  Want to read more?

  You can find the Witches of Shadow Lane paranormal cozy mystery series HERE. A full list of books by Misty Bane can be found HERE.

  About Misty

  Misty Bane is a Pacific Northwest native currently living between the mountains and the beach with her husband, three children, and multiple furry family members.

  Follow Misty Bane online at:

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  Mintwood Christmas Paws

  Addison Creek

  Mintwood Christmas Paws

  By Addison Creek

  Lemmi is the Witch of Mintwood, and she’s used to dealing with ghost mysteries. As Christmas rolls around, though, she finds herself confronted with the most unusual of puzzles, one that threat
ens to destroy the very fabric of her life. Can Lemmi and the gang get to the bottom of what’s going on before it’s too late?

  1

  A few days before Christmas . . .

  Agent Paws stood on his apple crate and surveyed his handiwork. A special agent of the Special Ghost Cat Protection Services, he had single-handedly solved the case and saved Christmas. He was a delight, the toast of the town, and everybody loved him. He had figured out the plot of the Mintwood Carolers, who were intent on singing past their appointed time. He had leapt in and saved the day, as he had just mentioned.

  Every lady ghost cat now loved him, and one loved him particularly: beautiful Honolulu, wiggling her whiskers in his direction.

  “Paws?” I asked. “Paws? I think you’re dreaming.”

  My ghost cat, Paws, was asleep and twitching on his apple crate, which sat on the porch of my farmhouse, the home I had inherited from my grandmother. This year I had offered to get Paws a new crate, since the one he’d been using for years was rather old. He had spit and hissed at me and threatened to move out.

  One of my roommates, who didn’t get along with him, had suggested that that wouldn’t be so bad an outcome. But Paws was family, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Also, neither was his apple crate.

  My other roommate, whom Paws loved and adored beyond all words, had decorated the crate so that it was now covered in signs of the season. A good thing, because that was about as close to holiday cheer as my grumpy ghost cat intended to come.

  December was marching by in Mintwood. Of course, around the time of the holidays my small town in Maine had all sorts of lovely traditions. This year, though, the town council was rather in a tizzy because it had yet to snow.

  Mintwood Main Street had its own big Christmas tree in the center of town, on the green. Decorated and lit up every night, it was a true sign of the season. Every year the town council argued about which decorations to choose. One year, some members wanted this, another year, some members wanted that. But they always worked it out.

  Also on Main Street, the local coffee shop, the Daily Brew, featured weekly decorating classes and twenty-four days of Christmas cookies. Each day for the twenty-four days before Christmas, you could go into the Daily Brew and they’d be highlighting a new kind of cookie.

  The weekly decorating classes were for anyone who enjoyed baking, as well as for those who were baking-challenged but still wanted to take their neighbors cookies that they would nibble and enjoy. The classes were always sold out.

  There were other shops on Main Street, including the Twinkle Costume Shop, the art gallery, Mintwood Mucking, and the hardware store, which was owned by two lovely old ladies who were also amateur thieves. Each year the residents of Mintwood would vote secretly on which Main Street business had the best decorations. Most years my friend Liam’s costume shop won first prize, although heaven help any resident who told him so.

  This year, though, the icing on the sugar cookie would be if it actually snowed before Christmas.

  One evening, not long before Christmas, I was sitting on my front porch freezing, cradling a mug of hot apple cider. My housemate Greer had set a batch brewing on the stove, and when I’d come in she’d handed me a warm mug with a cinnamon stick and a few cloves stuck into it. She knew exactly how I liked my hot cider, and the farmhouse had never smelled better.

  Having noticed my ghost cat in a considerable amount of distress on the porch, I had brought my mug out there. Charlie, my other roommate, wasn’t home yet, but I figured she’d be home soon, and I’d be there to greet her.

  Because we lived out in the country, the air in the winter was often stoked with the smell of woodstoves burning. All in all, except for the short hours of daylight, it was my favorite time of year.

  I was the Witch of Mintwood, and I lived with my two best friends in the farmhouse I’d inherited from Evenlyn, my grandmother, the previous Witch of Mintwood. Also residing on the property was a light string’s worth of ghosts, the chief ghost, of course, being the one glaring at me from the crate, whom I had just woken up.

  Even as I was sitting on the creaky, rickety old porch, somewhere in the distance I heard carolers. Paws, who had a sixth sense for happiness, awoke with a start. With his eyes flared wide, and plenty of hissing and spitting, he dashed off the porch. Just as he disappeared, lights from a car came up the driveway, and there was Charlie Silver’s Volvo.

  Charlie was a reporter for the Mintwood Gazette, and she had been working late because there was only a skeleton crew on duty at the newspaper’s offices over the holidays. She got out of the car with a sigh and came up to me with a plate of cookies in her hands.

  “They were giving these out at the office. At the rate I’m going, I’ll need to start being rolled out of here. But they’re so good! Still not as good as Greer’s, though. Don’t let her think I thought so,” she said with a grin.

  Climbing up the steps, she sat down next to me and inhaled the aroma of hot cider, then uncovered the cookies so I could have one. “Where did Paws dash off to in such a rush?” she asked. Charlie was the roommate Paws adored, so it was in fact a little odd that he had taken off right when she’d gotten home.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “I have no idea. When I got home he was having a dream about being a special agent. I don’t think he likes the holidays very much.”

  Charlie chuckled. “That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen a cat so unimpressed with gifts and happiness as Paws has been lately,” she said.

  Just then the front door opened and Greer pushed her way out of it carrying two steaming mugs of hot cider. One she handed to Charlie, the other she kept for herself. She snagged a Christmas cookie, muttering something about how they probably weren’t as good as her own. Neither Charlie nor I argued with her, because of course she was right.

  My friends could see ghosts even though they weren’t witches, because I had given them special green jewelry that allowed it. The discovery that I was a witch and that ghosts existed had been a shock for both of them, but by now they more or less took it all for granted.

  Once the three of us were settled, Greer glanced at the empty crate. “Where’s the messenger of joy and light himself?” she asked.

  When I told her exactly what had taken place, Greer took a moment to respond. “It’s a pity, really. To be completely honest, it’s hard to tell when he is and isn’t in a good mood. But I’d say that even for him he’s been rather terse and foreboding lately.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Some people are like that over the holidays. It’s just not their time of year. Maybe it reminds him of something he’s lost,” she said.

  “Are he and Honolulu doing all right?” Greer asked sharply.

  We were all well aware that Honolulu was Paws’s girlfriend. A lovely ghost cat herself, she lived in Mintwood and shimmered everywhere. She also, inexplicably, seemed to utterly adore Paws.

  “As far as I know they’re doing just fine,” I said.

  “So it isn’t that, then,” Charlie mused.

  As an investigative reporter, Charlie would never give up the scent of a mystery until she had all the answers. That determination meant we’d paired well together over the years, because as the Witch of Mintwood I often had mysteries relating to ghosts to solve.

  But I was rather hoping to have a break this season. Even ghosts had to celebrate, and our ghost family here at the farmhouse, with the exception of Paws, had been doing just that.

  “We could always ask him what’s wrong,” I said.

  “Do you expect him to answer such a question?” Charlie asked. She sounded entirely unimpressed, as if she thought it was a terrible idea.

  To be fair to terrible ideas, mine might be worse. Paws probably didn’t even understand his own feelings, let alone have the ability to articulate them to us.

  “No, I think we’re going to have to figure out why he’s upset on our own. Then maybe we can bring the holiday cheer back for him,” said Charlie.

&n
bsp; I had been looking at my blond friend, but now I turned to glance at Greer. She of course didn’t like this idea, and had dropped her head into her hands.

  “This isn’t funny,” Charlie told her through gritted teeth.

  “Do I look like I think it’s funny?” Greer asked.

  “You look like you aren’t taking it seriously,” said Charlie.

  “That’s a different consideration entirely,” said Greer.

  Charlie stamped her foot. “We’re going to save the holiday season for him. There aren’t going to be any ifs, ands, or buts about it,” she said, as Greer opened her mouth, surely to object.

  “What if he doesn’t want us to?” Greer asked.

  Charlie just scowled. Then she stared up at the stars and shivered. For late December it wasn’t that cold, but that wasn’t saying much; it was still plenty cold. “I’m sure he’ll come around. I really can’t imagine it ending any other way,” she said.

  Greer coughed and stood up. “Of course you can’t. We’ll see, though. I think he’s bent on having a grumpy Christmas,” she said, and we all went inside.

  It was almost Christmas. If Paws was going to have a good Christmas, time was surely running out.

  2

  Bright and early the next morning I awoke with a start, not sure what had roused me out of a good sleep. But once I was awake I was eager for the day to begin. I tucked my wand into my sleeve as usual and went off to start the day.