A Wedding to Die For- Wedding Bells and Magic Spells

by A. R. Winters

  Blood rushed to my ears.

  That was easy for her to say. She hadn’t had to grow up with only, well, herself, as a parent. She may not have missed Dad’s presence, but I certainly had.

  Mom was a lot of things, but the perfect mother was not one of them.

  “I guess I need to think about the flowers some more,” I said, loud enough for both Mom and Mrs. Foxglove to hear, though not really caring which, if either, did. “I’ll phone in an order later.”

  The door was swinging closed behind me and I was out on the street.

  But it didn’t stop me from hearing Mom’s final comment.

  “Easily worked up, isn’t she? And she didn’t even know him! I was the one who had to raise a child all on my own…”

  I didn’t stop to listen to any more. It was always her, her, her.

  There was only one way to deal with that.

  Chapter 13

  Feeling drained and forlorn, I dropped into the antique armchair that sat in the corner of the living room in my apartment.

  "Hello, Aria!" screeched Kiwi.

  "Hey.”

  He hopped up on the coffee table and cocked his head first to the right, and then to the left as if examining me from a variety of different angles.

  "What's wrong?"

  I slowly blew out all the air in my lungs before answering, trying to get rid of the frustration I felt. "Mom."

  He bobbed his head up and down in a nod. There wasn't much more explanation necessary.

  "Fancy some ice cream?" I asked.

  He shrugged his wings in a noncommittal gesture. It wasn't his favorite, but I figured he needed a bit of diversity in his diet.

  Actually, that was a lie. I just didn't want to eat the entire carton of ice cream by myself, which is what I knew would happen if I didn't get some assistance.

  I pushed myself up again and walked over to the kitchen. My limbs heavy and my head woozy, the dozen-step trek felt like a serious undertaking. But unstoppable force of nature that I am, I managed the ten yard walk from my armchair to the kitchen.

  I pulled open the freezer door to reveal an ice cube tray and a single one-pint ice cream carton.

  This was no ordinary ice cream though, none of that supermarket muck. This was some heavy duty stuff for dealing with heavy duty emotions.

  I pulled it out of the freezer and removed the lid to reveal the purple-blue contents. Made with heavy cream, fresh cane sugar, and flavored with my own semi-magical essence of lavender, it ticked all the right boxes: highly calorific, delicious, and thanks to the effect of the lavender, calming.

  I pulled out a small bowl from one of the kitchen cupboards and dished out two spoonfuls for Kiwi. I kept the rest of the carton to myself.

  "Here you go, little buddy," I said when I returned to the living room. "Half and half."

  He gave a snickering laugh followed by a screech.

  "Half?" he asked.

  "Well, my half is a bit bigger," I admitted.

  He laughed again. I knew he wouldn't mind because the amount I'd given him was already larger than the size of his little parrot stomach. He couldn't eat more if he wanted to.

  "What did you learn?" he asked me.

  "That my mother's never going to change. She's insufferable as ever," I said, before spooning a large mound of lavender ice cream into my mouth. The fatty sweetness did the trick, immediately boosting my mood, followed by the finishing notes of the calming lavender.

  It was basically medicine.

  Cool, delicious, soothing medicine.

  Kiwi bobbed his head up and down a few times into the bowl, snaking some of the dessert up with his tongue, and hooking up more with the bottom part of his beak.

  "Cold!" he screeched out.

  I giggled. He did that every time. He never learned. Or maybe he did, and he just did it to amuse me. Usually when I was driving a pint of ice cream into my body, I needed some cheering up.

  "Yep, sure is."

  "Did you learn anything else?" he asked when he'd recovered from the initial shock of the cold.

  I sighed. "I don't know, maybe. There was something, but I don't know how useful any of it will be though."

  Kiwi dipped his head again and came up with a violet dollop on the end of his beak. He shook his wings and head in a shiver and I laughed again.

  “Mom was wearing a new necklace," I continued. "A diamond necklace. She said Donovan gave it to her."

  "Ooh. How much do mayors earn?" asked my perceptive familiar.

  "Exactly."

  "Exactly? What’s exactly?"

  "That’s exactly what I was thinking. Donovan's always been the big man about town, but I don't recall him spending so much on gaudy baubles in the past. It's like he's come into some money all of a sudden."

  "Maybe he murdered Fletcher and emptied his wallet!" said Kiwi with a shriek.

  "Maybe. But remember Fletcher didn't have any money. That's why his property was going to be seized. He hadn't paid his taxes."

  Kiwi let out a sound that was probably supposed to sound like hmm. But since his vocal chords didn't quite work like that, it came out more like the whistle of a particularly thoughtful steam train.

  I said, "If he came into money due to the death of Fletcher Davenport, it's more likely that he got some kind of kickback from that property developer."

  Kiwi bobbled his head in agreement. "Why'd he give your mother that necklace?"

  "Good question. You tell me—you're a man."

  He screeched. "I'm a parrot!"

  I laughed. "Is there a difference?"

  He shrugged his wings and joined me laughing. The ice cream seemed to be doing the trick. I spooned down another mouthful.

  "Maybe he really likes your Mom. Or maybe he really likes..."

  "Likes what?"

  "Maybe he likes how she looks. With him. Politicians have to look good, and maybe he thinks having your mother on his arm is perfect for his image."

  "Ooh. Maybe. That would make more sense than him actually liking her."

  Kiwi giggled.

  "I wish I understood men," I said with a sigh. "Magic, weddings, business, women... I'm okay with all of that. But men? I'll never figure them out."

  Kiwi answered with a sympathetic caw. One of the things I liked about him was that he didn't try to patronize me.

  I spooned down more ice cream. The carton was half gone already.

  "Your mother didn't tell you anything else?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing useful. She claims not to know about the developer or what's going on with Fletcher's property and the auction. We're at a dead end there for now."

  "So what next?"

  I pondered the question. We were still no closer to solving the mystery of who killed Fletcher and saving my business. The most compelling lead we had so far was the ghost in the basement of the Cypress Estate, but the spirit hadn't been able to communicate with us.

  "Hold on," I said. "I think I have an idea."

  He bobbed his head in acknowledgment and then ducked it back down again into his bowl.

  "Wait here a minute..." I said, and went downstairs to my shop to retrieve something from the top shelf of the bookcase. A few moments later, I was back with a book in hand.

  "What's that?" asked Kiwi when I returned.

  I grinned at him. "It's my Book of Shadows."

  "Book of shadows? Just go outside when the sun's out. There's a whole world of them..."

  I rolled my eyes at him. "That's not what it means. It’s a kind of spell book. Now let me have a look..."

  "Is there a spell in there that will help?" he asked.

  "It depends what's in here."

  Kiwi peered at me curiously. "Depends what's in there? How long have you had the book?"

  "Oh... twenty years, I suppose.”

  He let out a mocking half-shriek. "And you don't know what's in it?"

  I laughed as I realized what the confusion was. I'd never actually explained anything about this par
ticular book to Kiwi.

  "This book... well, let's just say, it's not fixed. Its contents can change, depending on... I don't know, the weather, my mood, the season, the time of day..."

  Kiwi hopped up and down a couple of times. "Sounds like a stupid book. Books are for storing knowledge. It sounds like that book just does what it wants. Maybe it stores—maybe it doesn't."

  "Well, you're not wrong. It can be a bit awkward. But it's still a very useful and powerful book. I've got a good feeling about it today."

  Kiwi gave another one of his steam-train-like noises in response, while I began to flick through the book.

  "I'm looking for a particular spell. A Summoning of the Departed. If I use that, I might be able to bring Fletcher out of the spiritual plane into our one. Instead of a vague, dim light, we'll be able to hear him speak."

  "Oh, good. Why didn't we do that in the first place, instead of going all the way to the house?"

  "We're not going to be able to use it here," I said. "We'll have to go back to the spirit."

  "To the house?”

  I nodded.

  "To the basement?”

  "Yep. Afraid so." I continued to flick through the book, searching for the spell.

  Kiwi shuddered with a flutter of feathers and shake of his head.

  "Aha!" I said and jumped to my feet.

  My familiar cocked his head at me.

  "Found it. Summoning the Departed."

  Kiwi slowly shook his head. "We might be better off waiting here, with the ice cream..."

  "Uh huh," I answered, not really listening as I scanned the spell entry.

  "...and cheese puffs. Much better we stay here, where it's safe and warm."

  "Eh? What? No," I said as I finished my cursory glance of the spell. "But we're not going back to Fletcher's either, at least not tonight."

  "Whew!" said Kiwi, wiping a wing over his little head with a dramatic flourish.

  "This spell isn't one I can just cast with a few magic words. It needs some reagents."

  “You mean ingredients?”

  “Spell ingredients.”

  "Sugar and sprinkles and cream and so on?" he asked with a cocked head.

  "No, we need something called Wolfsbane."

  "Little bananas?"

  "No, that's plantain. Would be nice if you could just grab a bundle of Wolfsbane from the store like plantains, though. Unfortunately, it’s rare. Really rare. "

  "Unobtainable?" he asked, hope in his voice.

  I shook my head.

  "Internet?"

  I shook my head again. “The stuff online is fake or too low quality for our purposes. No, we need to go and see the only person who's likely to have it around here, and hope to magic that she gives us some."

  Kiwi walked up and down the table a couple of times before replying.

  "That person... it's not..."

  I gave a sympathetic grimace.

  Kiwi shook his head. "No, no, I hate her!"

  Hate wasn't the word I would have chosen.

  Fear. He feared her.

  That was closer to the truth.

  Chapter 14

  We decided to wait until the next day before attempting to get the Wolfsbane. I may be brave, but I'm not brave enough to venture out to a dark magic witch's cottage in the woods in the dead of night. No way.

  "Are you sure we can't just order it online?" asked Kiwi resentfully, after we'd parked the car.

  "Even if we managed not to buy a fake, there’s no way it’s been treated correctly. No, the only way we're going to get quality Wolfsbane is from Hazel Crane herself."

  "Fine. But if she tries to magic me, I'm out of here. Flap, flap, bye."

  "You do that. But I'm confident if you try it, she'll turn you into a pebble and you'll drop straight back out of the sky again."

  Kiwi gave an angry screech but remained perched on my shoulder.

  I knew where Hazel Crane lived—Mother had pointed out the path that led to her cottage when I was young—but I'd never actually ventured up to her home. Few people had. And even fewer had gone on to talk about it. Zero, by my count.

  Hazel was renowned amongst the witches of Sequoia Bay as practicing the most dangerous of the dark magics. No happy water or plant spells for her—she was the kind who messed with chaotic magics and allegedly even demons.

  Demons.

  "Kiwi," I whispered, "pay attention. When Fletcher was killed, there was a demonic marking on the floor. Hazel is rumored to make deals with demons..."

  He squeezed my shoulder. Hard. "Black magic AND murder!" he squawked.

  "Shh!"

  It was just a thought. As far as I knew, Hazel had no connection to Fletcher Davenport, but all of our searching so far hadn't brought us very far. We were there for Wolfsbane, but if something else should come up...

  "Look out!" screeched Kiwi.

  My eyes shot up and my heart raced.

  Then I barked out a laugh. "It's just a corndoll!"

  Hanging from a tree just in front of us was a corndoll decorated with a scary-looking face; two large black eyes with red dots had been painted on, and its mouth was far too wide and cavernous for such a small thing.

  "It's too dangerous!" said Kiwi.

  "Nonsense," I told him, though I wasn't sure I believed it.

  Hazel Crane's house wasn’t accessible by road, which is why we'd parked on the curb and started trekking on foot. You needed to walk along a path through woods, which seemed to be far darker than they should have, but the air smelled fresh and birds could be heard singing in the distance.

  We walked along the path, which was decorated with several more of the corndolls as we progressed. Every step I took generated a loud crack or snap of twigs breaking. It seemed the path hadn't been cleared in some time.

  "Is she even still alive?" I asked Kiwi.

  "Hope not," he replied with a sniffy-like squawk.

  "I haven't seen her since..."

  "Since the incident,” finished Kiwi.

  Parrots never forget, apparently. Then again, it was an incident that was highly unforgettable.

  We had been sitting in the Black Cat Café, minding our own business, when Hazel entered. Kiwi had been sitting happily at our booth table, pecking away at a bowl of cheese puffs that Priscilla had treated him with as soon as we'd entered.

  Hazel had stopped at our table, briefly.

  She was a young-looking woman of about eighty years old. And when I say young-looking, I mean she looked to be about my age.

  Where my mother relied mostly on makeup and surgery with a dash of glamour magic to keep herself looking youthful, Hazel used much heavier magical makeup to keep herself truly youthful. Whereas with my mother it was a pretense, with Hazel it was the real deal—biologically, she was as young as me. Well, apart from the fact she was born a good half century before me.

  She stopped by our booth.

  "What is that?" she asked me, pointing at Kiwi.

  "It's a parrot," I'd replied, warily.

  "What's it eating?" she asked.

  "They're cheese puffs. A kind of snack.”

  She looked at me, she looked at Kiwi, and she looked back at me again.

  "You shouldn't feed them to him," she said.

  Kiwi had glared at her but remained silent—he never spoke intelligently to anyone but me.

  "Thanks for the tip," I'd replied.

  "Just a moment."

  Without asking for permission, or even any further conversation, she'd wiggled her youthful fingers over Kiwi's snack bowl and transformed the cheese puffs into a bowl of wriggling, skittering insects.

  Suddenly dozens of the little tiny beasts had started scurrying around the inside of the bowl, trying to creep up the sides but thankfully slipping back down each time onto the writhing mass below.

  Kiwi let out a screech that could be heard right across the restaurant and out onto the street.

  "You're welcome," said Hazel, before wandering off.

  N
eedless to say, Kiwi had not been pleased to be treated to his 'natural' diet, and nor had I. It completely put me off my meatloaf. We'd ended up dumping the contents of the bowl into a drain outside on the street, and ever since then Kiwi had been exceedingly wary of dark magic witches.

  "Just up here," I said, as if I knew.

  Kiwi chirped angrily.

  There were signs up ahead of the path widening into a clearing. As we approached, there was a sudden screech, and it wasn't from Kiwi.

  "What on Earth..."

  Another step forward revealed the source. An angry-looking black cat was glaring at us from its perch on an overhanging branch.

  "It's going to pounce!" said Kiwi.

  "Well if it does, I'll turn it into a frog," I said to reassure him.

  Actually, there was no way I could turn it into a frog while it was flying through the air, but Kiwi didn't need to know that. I was just going to assume that the animal wouldn't be stupid enough to pounce on a fully grown human and a parrot.

  I was right. The cat didn't pounce, but it did maintain a steady chorus of angry hisses as we passed underneath it toward the clearing.

  "Wow," I said, when we could finally see our destination.

  Kiwi yawned.

  Up ahead of us lay a fairytale cottage. The cozy-looking single-story home was painted white, with roses growing up the outside.

  "I bet there's gingerbread under that pretty white paint," I said.

  Kiwi didn't answer.

  To the right of the cottage was a series of twine lines set up between two rows of silver birch trees that stood ramrod-straight.

  "Look," I said, "herbs."

  From each of the lines there hung a series of a dozen or so bunches of herbs, plants, flowers, roots, and bunches of berries.

  The path to the front door curved around to pass right by the first of the lines, so I stopped to look closer.

  "Aha! Wolfsbane!" I said.

  Sure enough, the plant closest to us was the very one we'd come to find.

  "Let's take it and get out of here!" said Kiwi happily.

  I frowned. It was so close. I could touch it.

  I did touch it—just a light brush of my fingers. It was tied on with a neat little bow, with a hanging end which could so easily be pulled to release the prize we'd come to collect.