Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  Begonia leaned across the table. “He liked earthly pleasures too much. Refused to give up his vices.”

  “Did he have anything to do with the town’s curse?” I asked, remembering Juliet’s version of events.

  “Depends on who you ask,” Sophie said. “Some say he made the enchantress fall in love with him and then left her high and dry for his next conquest.”

  I hated to ask my next question, but I needed to know. “Is he still like that?”

  “I know there was some scandal with Mayor Knightsbridge’s daughter a while back,” Sophie said.

  Begonia slapped the table excitedly. “And there was a witch in our coven.”

  “Ginger’s older sister, Meg.”

  Begonia pressed her lips together. “That didn’t end well. Meg tried to curse him twenty ways to Sunday, but nothing worked. She was furious. I think she still is.”

  I thought about our trip to the pottery place and wondered how much of that was part of his ruse. Was he trying to lure me in?

  “He seems so sweet,” I said, taking a careful sip of my latte. I had a habit of scalding my tongue in the human world and tried not to make the same mistake here.

  “He’s very convincing,” Sophie said. “How do you think he manages to attract so many intelligent females in Spellbound? They all know better, yet they’ve fallen for him anyway.”

  “And what about Demetrius?” I asked. “Is he a player, too?”

  Begonia sighed. “I’ll play any game he wants.”

  “What’s stopping you?” I asked. “It’s not like he’s going to meet anyone from out of town.”

  Begonia smiled. “Except you.”

  Sophie sucked the foam off the top of her latte. “Don’t let Begonia’s dreamy expression fool you. Her list of potential conquests in town is longer than Santa’s naughty list.”

  “And how many on the list have you checked off so far?” I asked.

  Begonia stared into her enormous mug. “None,” she mumbled.

  “None?” I repeated, dumbfounded.

  Begonia’s pretty features twisted in a grimace. “What if I make a bad choice? We can’t escape a lapse in judgment here. Everyone in town will know and live long enough to never let you forget.”

  Despite the anti-anxiety boost, I felt my own anxiety creeping up on me. “So if I screw up Mumford’s case, no one in town will let me forget it?” Ever?

  Sophie gave me a comforting pat on the hand. “Don’t worry, Emma. You’re going to do well. The only one who thinks Mumford is guilty is Sheriff Hugo and that’s only because he caught him with the diamond.”

  “Sheriff Hugo thinks we’re all guilty of horrible crimes that we simply haven’t committed yet,” Begonia complained. “He blames everyone equally for the curse.”

  “Even those of us who weren’t born when the curse happened,” Sophie added.

  “It’s a shame he can’t see past the curse,” I said. “I’ve met so many nice residents already.” My conversation with Myra came flooding back to me. “Do you know anything about my neighbors?”

  “The Minors?” Sophie asked, and I nodded.

  “Why do you want to know about them?” Begonia asked.

  “I need to talk to them about Gareth,” I said. “And people seem to think they’re bad news.”

  Begonia swirled the remaining liquid around in her mug. “Not bad news exactly. Just a thorn in the side of the community. The grandmother is a real pill.”

  “Don’t get on her bad side,” Sophie warned. “And if you go, bring your wand.”

  Was there anyone’s bad side it was safe to get on in Spellbound? Probably not.

  “I’m going to see them in the morning before I meet with Mumford. I call it ripping the Band-Aid. The thing I want to do least in the day is the thing I do first.”

  “That’s very disciplined of you,” Begonia said. “I’m the opposite. I put unpleasant tasks off until the absolute last second.”

  “Good luck,” Sophie said uneasily. “Bring Sedgwick with you for support.”

  “Maybe.” Definitely not. Sedgwick’s acid tongue was sure to make things worse rather than better.

  “Rip that Band-Aid,” Begonia said enthusiastically, even though she had no clue what a Band-Aid was.

  I was prepared to rip it off bright and early tomorrow. I just hoped I didn’t draw blood.

  Chapter Nine

  The first thing I noticed about the harpies’ house was the widow's walk at the top. I’d never seen a house with a widow's walk that wasn't within view of the sea. Otherwise, what was the point?

  Hesitantly, I walked up the steps to the front porch. There was a huge brass knocker on the door in the shape of a bird with breasts. I gripped it awkwardly and banged away.

  The door opened and my body tensed. The only thing I knew about harpies was what I had read as a child. They were hideous bird women that carried evildoers off to Tartarus. As far as I was concerned, I'd already been carried off to Spellbound and I wasn't looking to be in transit again anytime soon.

  "You must be Emma." The woman who answered the door looked to be about thirty-five years old and she wasn't remotely hideous. In fact, she was downright beautiful.

  "Yes, I am. I’ve moved in to Gareth’s old house next door.” Emphasis on old.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Calliope. Would you like to come in?"

  "That would be nice. Thank you."

  She opened the door wider and stepped back to allow me passage. The inside of the house was stuffed to the gills with things. Everywhere I looked there seem to be knickknacks. Decorative plates lined the walls. Dolls with button eyes and vacant expressions stared at me from shelves above. It reminded me of every old person's house I'd ever been in combined.

  "This way," Calliope said. "We were just about to sit down for tea in the sunroom. Would you care to join us?"

  "Yes, please."

  Tea was an understatement. I stepped into the sunroom to see a large round table piled with finger sandwiches and cookies. A silver pot of tea sat on a tray with several teacups ready and waiting. There were five other women seated in the room, each one beautiful in her own way. Even the eldest, as wrinkled as she was, exuded a strange kind of beauty. It was hard to imagine these women as hideous birds.

  Birds.

  The presence of the widow's walk began to make more sense to me.

  "Well, look what Gareth’s repulsive cat dragged in," the eldest woman said.

  Warmth spread to my cheeks. "I'm afraid Magpie didn't bring me here," I said. And I took offense to being called repulsive on his behalf.

  "It’s an expression," the older woman snapped. "I didn't intend for you to take it literally."

  "I think you’re just meant to say ‘look what the cat dragged in.’ When you add ‘Gareth’s’ and ‘repulsive’ to it, it changes the meaning."

  The five women stared at me. That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

  The eldest woman pressed her pruned lips together. “So what brings you here besides a desire to be the smartest person in the room?”

  Calliope shot a death glare at the old woman. "Grandmother, please. Why don't we make Emma feel more comfortable? She is our new neighbor, after all."

  Another woman stood and moved toward the teapot. "Would you like a cup of tea, Emma?" She stopped and turned to face me. "We've been terribly rude. We should introduce ourselves, especially since we all know who you are."

  Calliope pointed to the woman at the teapot. "This is my mother, Marisol. And that's my grandmother, Octavia. My Aunt Phoebe isn’t here at the moment.”

  “Pissing away money at the Shamrock Casino again,” Octavia muttered.

  "Nice to meet you," I said, ignoring the remark.

  "And the other two are my sisters, Darcy and Freya,” Calliope continued. “I’m the middle child."

  Darcy bristled. "Why do you always feel the need to say that?"

  Calliope rolled her eyes. "Because it's true."


  Darcy ground her teeth. "You're just trying to rub in the fact that I'm older than you.

  "I think it's obvious without me mentioning it," Calliope said. I saw the hint of a smile on her lips.

  Marisol poured me a cup of tea. "Milk and sugar?"

  "Yes to both, please."

  Marisol studied me. "How much sugar?"

  The way she was looking at me, I got the sense that this was a test. How much sugar would be acceptable here? One teaspoon? Two? I didn't want to make a mistake during my very first visit. Heaven knew I'd made enough of those in Spellbound already.

  "Just one, please."

  Marisol smiled and I sighed inwardly with relief. One seemed to be the right answer.

  She handed me the cup of tea and Calliope offered me a plate of cookies.

  "They’re all homemade," Calliope said. "We love to bake in this house."

  "Thank you," I said. The cookies looked delicious. I didn't recognize a single type, but that didn't stop me from selecting two. I was afraid of a lot of things, but unfamiliar cookies weren’t one of them.

  "The reason I'm here is to ask about the calendar," I said. "Myra over at the church mentioned that you create a calendar as a fundraiser."

  Darcy perked up. "That's me. Are you interested in helping? Because I can always use another set of hands." She looked around the room pointedly. "It seems I do everything around here."

  I felt like I was stepping into a minefield. I nibbled on a cookie to give myself strength. "Actually, I came to ask about your disagreement with Gareth."

  Darcy's eyes glittered with suppressed anger. "Disagreement? Is Myra spreading lies about me again? That meddling gnome is unbelievable."

  "No, no.” I had no intention of fanning the flames of another dispute. “I went to speak to her about her own disagreement with Gareth, and she mentioned that he was unhappy with the way the calendar was being handled this year. I thought I would come and get your side of the situation."

  Darcy stood and approached me at the table. “Of course. Every year I organize this calendar as a fundraiser. We include all types of men, as long as they’re easy on the eyes."

  From her position in the easy chair, Octavia snorted. "And just plain easy."

  Darcy glared at her grandmother. "Last year, a few residents complained. The healthy display of fur and fangs put off a certain segment of buyers.”

  “The frigid ones,” Octavia said.

  “This year I decided to airbrush them out.”

  “Fur and fangs are a problem here?" I couldn't imagine how, given the nature of the town.

  Octavia slapped her knee. "Apparently a little fur and fangs are too much for some in this town to handle. Got them all riled up. I suppose they were worried they might get humped by a werewolf on their way to the market."

  "Grandmother!" the three younger harpies yelled in unison.

  "So Gareth was upset about vampires’ fangs being airbrushed out?” I asked.

  "Yes," Darcy replied. "We generally had a good relationship, and I think he expected me to change it back when he asked.” She tipped up her chin. “But I refused. After all, it’s my project.”

  “Maybe if you spent less time on all these projects,” Octavia said, “you’d have more time to land one of the men in your calendar. I have no intention of living with the lot of you for eternity.”

  “I can think of several ways to solve that problem,” Darcy snapped.

  "So Gareth was the angry one?" I asked, trying to stay on topic. Myra had made it sound as though Darcy was the injured party. Although she seemed a little bitchy, she didn't actually seem angry about the calendar. And why should she be? She didn’t have to change anything.

  "It wasn't just Gareth," she said. "There were a few objections lodged against the calendar. To be honest, sales are down so far compared with this time last year."

  “Because sex sells," Octavia said. "Everybody knows that."

  "Even in the human world," I agreed.

  “She kept the untouched pictures for us to enjoy,” Freya said. “You should see Mr. October with that strategically placed ear of corn.” She ran her tongue over her top lip. “Yummy.”

  “You should go out with him,” Octavia urged. “Then one of you might actually get out of this house.”

  “He’s a werewolf,” Marisol said. “The only place Freya would be going with him is…”

  Darcy covered her ears. “Thank you for your contribution, Mother.”

  “It’s too bad Daniel refused to participate again,” Calliope said. “You’d probably have to do another print run.”

  “Oh, please,” Octavia said. “Half the females in this town have seen him naked.”

  “Yes, but that was ages ago,” Calliope reminded her.

  “Daniel Starr?” I asked. “The angel?”

  “Fallen angel,” Darcy corrected me. She looked me up and down. “That’s right. He’s the reason you’re here, isn’t he?”

  I shrank back. “Not like that. I thought I was helping him…” I hesitated, unwilling to tell them more. Not this gossipy bunch. “It was just a big misunderstanding.”

  “I’d love to have a big misunderstanding with Daniel. He’s dreamy,” Freya said. “If he came calling, I’d happily leave this house.”

  “Then let’s make it happen,” Octavia said. “I’d even offer a dowry.”

  “Grandmother, no one has dowries anymore,” Calliope said.

  “I guess that explains why I have a house full of harpies,” she griped.

  “Speaking of misunderstandings,” Darcy said, snapping her fingers. “I heard that Gareth had a huge argument with his former fiancée in the middle of the bookstore.”

  Freya’s eyes grew round. “That’s right. Pandora told me all about it when I ran into her at the salon a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Gareth was engaged?” I asked. That was the first time anyone had mentioned a fiancée. Not even Althea had mentioned her.

  Darcy gave a dismissive wave. “They ended it last year. It was some kind of power play that did them in. She didn’t want to move into his house and he refused to move into hers.”

  “What was the fight in the bookstore about?” I asked.

  “No clue,” Darcy replied. “You’ll have to ask Alison. She’s usually in her music studio downtown.”

  “Lovely singing voice,” Octavia said. “Too bad none of you can carry a tune.”

  “We’re not sirens like her,” Calliope said. “We end up sounding like screeching birds.”

  “Like fingernails on a cauldron,” Octavia agreed.

  I set down my teacup and thanked them. “I’m sorry to have come here with so many questions on my first visit. It’s just that I’ve been spending so much time in Gareth’s house and his office, I feel like I owe it to him to solve his murder.”

  “You’re already doing more than that lazy, good-for-nothing centaur,” Octavia said. “Maybe you should take over his job, too.”

  “Grandmother, Sheriff Hugo is excellent,” Calliope said. “It’s not easy being the sheriff in a town of supernaturals.”

  “Says you,” Octavia sniffed.

  “Well, it was great to meet you all. Thanks for the tea and cookies.”

  “Come by anytime,” Calliope said and smiled warmly.

  “Yes, it’s always nice to have fresh meat,” Octavia said.

  My stomach knotted as I headed toward the front door. I really hoped that was a Spellbound idiom. With Octavia Minor, it was hard to tell.

  After a productive meeting with Mumford at the office, I decided to follow up on the tip from the harpies regarding Gareth’s former fiancée.

  Alison’s studio wasn’t hard to find. It was on a quiet side street behind the town square on the second floor of the building. She was finishing up with a student when I arrived. I sat on the folding chair outside the room and listened to the end of the lesson.

  Her voice was spine-tinglingly amazing. Listening to her hit those high notes, I could easi
ly imagine sailors plunging to their watery deaths in an effort to reach the source of that incredible sound. I’d noticed a piano in one of Gareth’s living rooms. He must have been a fan of music, too.

  The singing stopped and I heard the student ask a question about the next lesson. A moment later, a young elf appeared in the waiting area. She looked no older than ten, with the trademark pointy ears and adorable blond pigtails.

  “Hello,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “I don’t recognize you. Are you here for singing lessons?”

  “No,” I said honestly. “I’m here to speak to Alison.”

  “I’m Alison.” Her throaty voice took me by surprise. After hearing her sing, I was expecting someone with higher pitch.

  “Hi Alison. I’m…”

  “I know who you are,” she said abruptly. She shooed the elf out the door. “Make sure you practice. Don’t come next week with the same breathing mistakes or I’ll drown you in a bucket of lemon fizz.”

  My eyes widened until the young elf burst into laughter. “You’re so funny, Alison.”

  Alison broke into a smile and held the door open for the elf. “Say hi to your mom and dad.”

  “I will.”

  Alison turned to me. “So you’re living in Gareth’s house and you’ve taken over his job. Let me guess. You’re here to ask for my hand in marriage to make it a clean sweep.”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  She walked into her studio and I hurried after her.

  “Did you find something of mine in his house?” she asked. “I never did find my favorite pink cardigan. He swore up and down he didn’t have it.”

  “If I come across it, I’ll let you know.” I cleared my throat. She seemed nice, but intimidating—a more agreeable combination than Octavia who was both disagreeable and scared the crap out of me.

  Alison folded her arms and stared at me. “So why are you here?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know who’s responsible for the murder of your former fiancé?” I asked.

  “The sheriff said he’d tell me when he knew something.” Alison arched an eyebrow. “Do you know something?” I couldn’t tell whether she was interested because she was the culprit or because she cared.