A Touch of Magic

by Annabel Chase

  “Why are you crying?”

  I blinked and glanced around the room. My bedroom.

  Gareth hovered beside me like a mother hen.

  I squinted. “Gareth, is that you?”

  “Well, I’m not blond, angelic, and over six feet tall—so, yes.”

  I sat up against the headboard. “Is it nighttime?” Outside my window, the sky appeared an inky black.

  “Aye,” Gareth said. “I heard an odd noise coming from in here so I came to investigate. Turns out you have a weird cry.”

  “I do not,” I objected hotly.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Gareth said. “You also make an ugly crying face. It’s perfectly normal.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I do not make an ugly crying face. You take that back, or I’ll exorcise you right out of this house.”

  Gareth flashed a devilish grin. “You also have an amusing outraged expression, like that one.”

  I drew my knees to my chest. “Gareth, you’re in my room in the middle of the night because you heard me crying. Is the best way to handle the situation really to insult me?”

  His shoulders sagged. “Fine. I suppose you have a valid point.” He floated to a seated position on the bed. “Was it a nightmare about Elsa? Did you think Daniel was lost to you all over again?”

  “No, nothing like that. I was in the old barn at my grandparents’ house…” I suddenly remembered the letters and reached for my pocket. No such luck. My pajama bottoms didn’t even have pockets.

  “And you realized that you forgot your keys?” Gareth attempted to finish for me.

  “You’re hilarious in the middle of the night,” I said. “You should really take your show on the road.”

  “If only I could,” Gareth said with a regretful sigh. “I’m working on it.”

  “When’s your next training session with Lyra?” I asked.

  “Two days,” Gareth replied. “When’s your next training session with Lady Weatherby?”

  “Tomorrow.” I quickly glanced out the window and the faintly glowing sky. “Today.”

  “Best get a bit more rest then,” he said gently. “You need to be on your game for the head of the coven.”

  “Two heads of the coven,” I corrected him. “I think Agnes will be joining us again.”

  “That’s good, though, isn’t it? You like Agnes.”

  “I do. She’s not everyone’s idea of a good teacher,”—or a good witch or a good mother—“but she’s smart and seems to understand what I need in order to master these new skills.”

  “That’s the best kind of teacher, I think,” Gareth said.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So don’t get off topic,” Gareth urged. “What was the dream?”

  I realized I wasn’t ready to share the dreams or memories—whatever they were—until I knew for certain what I was dealing with.

  “I was in my grandparents’ old barn,” I said.

  “So you mentioned.”

  “That’s it,” I said.

  “If that’s it, then why were you crying?” he asked.

  “Because it makes me sad to think of my childhood.”

  “Aye,” Gareth said softly. “And me as well.”

  Something a centuries-old Scottish vampire and I had in common.

  The next afternoon was a leisurely one as I sat on the sofa with my legs across Daniel’s lap. He read a book of poetry while I reviewed the Lumberland paperwork, specifically the contract between Milton Braun and Marcel Griffith.

  "Anything good in there?” Daniel asked.

  I scanned the fifth provision. "Nothing yet. It seems fair and straightforward. Not too much of the legalese I sometimes saw in human world contracts." Those contracts were the worst. The average person would have no clue how to interpret the provisions. It was essential to understand any contract you signed.

  "Would you like me to read you a little bit of poetry, instead?" Daniel asked, tickling the bottom of my feet. I snatched my feet away from him, tucking them under my butt. "Stop it. You know that's my Achilles' heel."

  He laughed. “That’s not your heel, silly. It's the bottom of your foot. Do I need to give you an anatomy lesson? Because I might enjoy it.”

  I smiled. "It's really your lame sense of humor that got your halo removed, isn't it? All this talk about womanizing and bad behavior is just a myth."

  "You might be on to me, Hart. I probably should have asked up front. Are lame jokes a deal breaker?"

  I hugged him tightly. "Not for me, but they might be for Gareth."

  "Good thing I'm not dating Gareth, then," Daniel said.

  At the mention of his name, Gareth floated into the room. "Is he going to be here all day? Doesn't he have a home of his own to go to?"

  I gave Gareth reproachful look. "Just because you’re Scottish and miserable doesn't mean everyone else has to be."

  Daniel followed my gaze. "Is Gareth complaining about me again?"

  I patted Daniel's thigh. "No, don't worry. He's only being sulky because he didn't manage to materialize in Markos's office yet. He misses the minotaur's butt."

  Daniel pretended to look hurt. "And what's wrong with my butt?"

  I kissed his cheek. "Nothing at all."

  Gareth made a gagging noise. "Now you've given me an idea. I think I will try to materialize in Markos's office again today.”

  “Because that's not at all creepy," I said.

  Gareth shrugged. "It's better than his house."

  Fair enough.

  "Maybe the Angel of Death will be gone by the time I get back," Gareth said.

  I scowled at my vampire ghost roommate. "You'd better get used to his presence, you know."

  Gareth whipped his cloak around him in a dramatic gesture. "Never," he cried and disappeared.

  "Drama Queen," I muttered. I returned my attention to the contract. “I think it’s sweet that Milton wanted to carve out a small piece of Lumberland for Jana.”

  Daniel laughed. “Carve out a piece of Lumberland? Your jokes are as lame as mine.”

  “I wasn’t making a joke,” I said and smiled. “But I see your point.”

  “It’s unusual, right?” Daniel asked. “Maybe it’s tied to Milton’s death?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Jana gets nothing different as a result of Milton’s death. She still gets quarterly payments from Marcel.” I scanned the rest of the contract. “Like I said, everything else appears straightforward. Warranties and representations. Dispute resolution. Reversionary rights…” I stopped reading when I realized the last page was missing. “Oh no. I only have the title of the provision and I’m missing the rest of the contract.”

  “So just the signatures?” Daniel asked.

  I shrugged. “The rest of the reversionary rights provision and at least one or two more. No waiver is usually here somewhere. Other than that, it all looks to be in order.”

  “It all looks to be boring,” Daniel said, glancing over my shoulder at the contract.

  “Financial records are worse,” I said. “I didn’t see anything amiss there, either. The business is doing well, just like Marcel said. No sour grapes about buying a lemon.”

  “That’s too much fruit in one sentence,” Daniel commented. “If you’re finished playing detective, do you want to play doctor?”

  “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t.” I kissed his shoulder tenderly. “I’m presenting my special spell to Lady Weatherby tomorrow and I still need to add the finishing touches.” And now I needed to ask Marcel for the missing page of the contract, too.

  “Will you share it with me when it’s finished?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I replied. “When it’s perfect.”

  “Then I will leave you to perfect it,” he said, giving my thigh a quick squeeze. “Gareth will be pleased to have me gone by the time he gets back.”

  “He doesn’t mind, really,” I said. “He just likes to fuss.”

  Daniel gave me a knowing look. �
�You’re more than welcome to spend time at my house.”

  “I know and I will,” I said, lowering my gaze.

  “But let me guess—you don’t want to abandon the motley crew in this house.”

  “They need me,” I said. “Magpie can’t eat without my help.”

  “Gareth can move objects now,” Daniel pointed out. “He can feed his…cat. And Sedgwick hunts his own food.”

  “They still need me,” I insisted.

  Daniel held up his hands. “I’m not arguing. It’s not like I’m asking you to move out of here. All I’m saying is that it would be nice if we could spend more time at my house where we have more privacy.”

  I grabbed his hands and pulled myself to my feet. “Privacy sounds divine.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips. The tiny thrill I felt never seemed to get old.

  “Good luck with your special spell,” he said. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “You’ll probably hear the screams of frustration all the way from your place,” I said.

  “You’ll do well. I’ll be cheering you on from a safe distance.” He held me against his chest and I immediately calmed. Who needed an anti-anxiety potion when Daniel was around?

  “Have I mentioned lately how lucky we are to have found each other?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Only a couple of hundred times.”

  I kissed him again. “Go now before I change my mind.”

  He pressed his forehead against mine. “Maybe I want you to change your mind.”

  I summoned my will and placed my hands against his chest. “Another time.”

  “Some enchantress you are,” he said with a wink and darted for the front door.

  “I’m a sorceress!” I called and heard him laugh as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter 17

  I tried my best, but I couldn’t focus on my spell when there was a missing page of the contract. Gareth’s OCD was rubbing off on me. I decided to drive Sigmund over to Lumberland and grab the paper from Marcel. Even though it was after hours, I knew he’d likely be there.

  There was no one in the office when I arrived, so I decided to check the other two buildings. I started with the one on the left since I had been in that one before and I was pretty sure it was empty. The door was unlocked, so I slipped inside, leaving the door ajar behind me. It was only slightly different from the last time I was here. The tables and chairs were folded neatly against the wall and the leftover signposts were in a pile on the floor. The signs themselves were no longer here, probably taken to the recycling center. I noticed a set of boxes on the far side of the room that wasn’t here before. Marcel's attempt to reclaim the warehouse, presumably.

  As I was about to leave, the door swung open and the centaur appeared, his nostrils flaring in a way that reminded me of Sheriff Hugo. He didn’t appear as surprised to see me as I would’ve expected.

  "Marcel," I said. "Just the centaur I was looking for."

  He studied me. "Miss Hart? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I came to see if I could get the last page of the sale contract,” I explained. “It was missing from the papers you gave us.”

  “Was it?” he said. “How odd.”

  “I know. I was just about to finish up, but the contract ended abruptly.” I shrugged.

  “Well, it’s only the final page,” he said dismissively. “Signatures and such.”

  “Still, I need to see it, if only to check the box to say I did.”

  He eyed me carefully. “You’re very thorough.”

  “A personality flaw, I admit.”

  “I don’t have the last page,” Marcel said. “It’s been missing for months.”

  Something in his tone suggested that he was lying. “And you don’t have a copy?”

  He shook his head.

  A piece of the puzzle clicked into place in my mind. There was a reason the last page was missing and I was fairly certain I knew what it was.

  "It must've really bothered you when Milton realized he was going to lose the election," I said.

  Marcel sniffed. "Of course it upset me. I was one of his biggest supporters. I knew he'd make the necessary changes in Spellbound."

  "And the bonus was that he wouldn't want to buy Lumberland back from you, isn't that right? He couldn't exercise the reversion clause in the contract."

  He lifted a hairy brow. "You know about the reversion clause?"

  "Newsflash, Marcel. I was a lawyer in the human world. I looked at contracts on a regular basis."

  His hooves pounded on the warehouse floor as he paced the width of the room. It was clear that he was deciding how to play this with me. Not a quick thinker, this one.

  "I've done a lot with this company in the last year," Marcel said. "It would've been a shame to hand the reins back to Milton."

  "But the contract provided for that," I said. “I bet you would have been compensated handsomely for any increase in profits in the last year."

  Marcel snorted. "It wasn't about compensation. I've put my heart and soul into this company for the past year. And for what? So that Milton could get bored with his altruism and come back to steal it away from me?"

  I kept a careful distance from the centaur. "But he wouldn’t have been stealing it back from you. It was specifically written into the contract. If you didn't like the possibility, then you didn't have to agree to it. You could have negotiated a different provision."

  The centaur threw up his hands. "Who reads the small print? It never occurred to me that Milton would actually want Lumberland back. He seemed so set on spending his retired life in public service."

  "And when you realized that he was going to lose the election and want to reclaim Lumberland, you snapped," I said.

  Marcel trotted closer to me, a menacing gleam in his eye. "I went to wish him good luck right before the speeches," he told me. "He looked calm and serene. I assumed it was because he felt confident in his speech, so I asked him."

  "And what did he say?"

  A low growl escaped his lips. "He said he was sure he was going to lose. That Lucy and Hugo gave speeches that resonated with the citizens. That his would fall on deaf ears."

  "And that upset you?"

  Marcel shook his head. "No, it wasn't until I asked him why he looked so calm about it that he said the words that irked me." Marcel drew a steadying breath. "He said it didn't matter if he lost, because he already knew what his next move would be. He said his lawyer would be in touch about exercising the reversion provision to buy back Lumberland. And then he laughed." The centaur stomped a hoof on the concrete floor. "He laughed! He was calm and serene because he had already moved on to Plan B, which involved taking away my plan A. He gave no thought to my feelings on the subject. It was just business to him."

  I really felt for Marcel. Lumberland had become a symbol of his independence. Even more than that, Milton had threatened to take away his dream. No wonder Marcel responded so violently. I remembered how I felt when my dream of being with Daniel seemed impossible, thanks to Elsa’s treachery. Although I hadn’t been violent toward her, I could certainly understand the impulse.

  "In fairness, Marcel,” I said softly, “he probably thought it was just business to you."

  "If he hadn't laughed…" Marcel’s ears flicked. "I grabbed the nearest sign on the ground. I didn't even stop to think. I just plunged the end of the post straight into his heart." Marcel paused, remembering the moment. A shadow passed across his features. “He died instantly. I panicked and disappeared back into the crowd."

  That was why we’d seen centaur prints near the body. They hadn’t belonged to Hugo after all. They’d belonged to Marcel Griffith.

  "Milton was one of the good ones," I said. "I bet if you had tried to relay your feelings to him, he might have been able to work out an arrangement that would have suited both of you. Milton only wanted Lumberland so that he could continue to fund his good works. It sounds like you would have supported that to some degree."


  "But he didn't consider that option, either," Marcel shouted. "He just was going to steal it back without any regard for me."

  I wasn't getting through to Marcel. He was too emotional on the subject. I could see his anger flaring and I didn't want to be the object of it. If I didn't get out of here soon, I was going to be in trouble. If Hugo was any indication, angry centaurs and I didn’t mix well.

  "How did you figure out it was me?" Marcel asked.

  “I didn’t until I got here,” I said. "But, as always, a confession seals the deal."

  Marcel glared at me. "Yes, but it's not an official confession, is it? No one has heard it, except you."

  An uneasy feeling swept over me. "That may be true, but the sheriff is on the way." A necessary lie.

  Marcel glanced over his shoulder at the empty parking lot. "Is that so? I wonder what's taking her so long. It could be the large tree that dropped in the road on the way to Lumberland." He chuckled. "Not sure how that happened, really. My workers are usually more careful."

  I swallowed hard. So Marcel knew somehow that I was alone here. He’d blocked the road so that the sheriff would have to arrive on foot, giving him enough time to dispose of me and make his escape. Escape where, I had no idea. A fleeing suspect would never get far in Spellbound.

  "Foolish, foolish witch," he said slowly, dragging out each syllable.

  I focused my will and threw out my hands toward him. "Not a witch, Marcel," I said, feeling the spark of energy at my fingertips. "A sorceress."

  The signposts went hurtling toward him, and, for a brief moment, I was concerned that the pointy ends would stake him to death. Poetic justice, but still. The wooden pieces shot into the air and landed in a square around him. They didn't simply land willy-nilly, either. They linked together to form a cage complete with the top high enough to fit a centaur's head.

  "What are you doing?" he screamed.

  "What does it look like? I'm keeping you contained until Astrid arrives to arrest you properly."

  He thrashed and rattled the wooden bars, but they were too sturdy to budge.

  “I’m a centaur,” he cried. “These wooden stakes can’t hold me.”

  I twisted my fingers as though turning an invisible lock. “They can with my protective spell.”