The Curse of Crescent Road

by Jessica Lancaster

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for picking up a copy of ‘The Curse of Crescent Road’. We follow Evanora Lavender, the helpful witch from the Crystal Café series as she begins her own journey. I knew once I wrote ‘A Slice of Revenge’, book three in the Crystal Café cozy mystery series, there was going to be a spin-off series.

  Now that Evanora is a retired investigator, she’ll have plenty more stories to come.

  Please leave a review and share with fellow cozy lovers.

  Witchy kisses,

  Jessica

  P.S. I have a newsletter – sign up for new releases and advances copies!

  NEXT BOOK

  You’ve finished THE CURSE OF CRESCENT ROAD? There’s another on the horizon. Get ready for the next instalment of the Midnight Witch cozy mystery series!

  THE SECRET OF KINGSWAY HOUSE

  BLURB

  Not everything is as it seems. When Nora is invited to the Kingsway Manor, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. What do you do when a guest dies at the dinner table? Point the finger at the witch.

  The weird and wonderful inhabitants of Cottonwood aren’t all smiley faces. There’s a price on Nora’s head, but who put it there?

  Coming Soon

  Follow Jessica Lancaster’s Amazon Page to find out when the next instalment goes live!

  The Crystal Café Cozy Mystery Series

  If you haven’t yet taken a trip to Gwen Waterhouse and the coven in Cowan Bay. Here’s your chance! Below you’ll find a blurb and the first two chapters of the first book in the Crystal Café Cozy Mystery series.

  A PINCH OF DEATH

  BLURB

  A PINCH OF DEATH

  Gwen Waterhouse, owner of the Crystal Café, had never expected to be at the centre of a murder investigation when a witch from her coven is found dead. With finicky Detective Hodge pressing everyone for information and a new village doctor settling in, Gwen must discover who the murderer is before they strike again and leave more dead witches in their wake.

  A cozy mystery set in a small English seaside village, featuring a café-owning amateur female sleuth and her cat. Written in British English. No swearing, gore, or graphic scenes.

  OUT NOW

  FIRST TWO CHAPTERS

  CHAPTER 1

  Aries (21st March – 20th April)

  You have the power to take control. You might not know it yet, Aries, but the only person holding you back is yourself. If you’ve been putting off something because it scares you, now is the time to take charge and take a chance.

  Let’s start with the facts shall we, I’m Gwendolyn Waterhouse but Gwen for short, and I’m one of five witches in Cowan Bay. I don’t want you getting all in a tizzy about witches, we’re harmless really. We’re not old crones with warts on our noses or fattening kids up with cakes, even though I do own a café that’s known to widen the waist a little.

  On the outskirts of my small Cornish village is where I live alone in a large three-bedroom cottage. Technically I live with my cat, August, a short-hair black Bombay, and he’s a handful, much more than my son who moved to London.

  “Gwen! Gwen!” August called, scratching at the bathroom door.

  I rinsed the toothpaste from my mouth with water and wiped my face dry with a hand towel. “I’m coming, keep your claws in.”

  My morning shower was a place of contemplation, a place usually full of solace, but there was very little I could do when my every thought was spent worrying for my son, Joseph who I let leave the nest a week ago.

  I tugged my fluffy pink nightgown around myself as I left the en-suite bathroom.

  “Why were you taking so long?” August greeted me, rubbing his side up against my leg. “I’m hungry.”

  At least August still relied on me, he had to, unless he could fix himself up a potion for opposable thumbs. “I’ll feed you in a second.” I looked across at the double bed, only one side had been slept in, another reminder of the fact I was alone, but it wasn’t new, I’d been divorced coming up six years now.

  “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten and fed me.” August’s voice was that of a young man, not quite deep and with an air of sarcasm.

  I made my way down the stairs to the front door where letters laid on the mat. It was the beginning of a new month, so of course that meant I’d be receiving plenty of bills for both my house and the café I owned.

  Crystal Café had been mine for ten years, it started off as a hobby, baking cakes and helping people in the community, adding a little extra zhush to improve and alleviate people’s health and well-being. I hired a cook, Ralph, and a waitress, Abi, but my best friend in the entire world, and funnily enough, not a witch, Rosie also worked there. It was a real team effort.

  For breakfast, I was getting the waffle iron hot. Whipping up a nice batter to start the day. It would often make several waffles, but I was only one woman, and at the most, I could stomach two waffles soaked in strawberry syrup and whipped cream.

  The kitchen was a large box room with a window out onto the rear garden and beyond that the large rolling hills. I had a lovely bright and spacious conservatory built onto the back of the house a few years back, it was my go-to breakfast nook of peace.

  Before finishing my waffles with some chopped strawberries, I placed a fresh bowl of water and a tray of cat food out for August. “It’s tuna,” I said, tapping the side of the dish with the fork.

  I carried my food and coffee into the conservatory to eat. It was only 7:43 A.M. and the morning sky had already blossomed into a light blue. A perfect way to spend the morning. I pulled the letters from the pocket of my dressing gown and threw them across the coffee table. “I’ll get to you later,” I said, snuggling the lip of the cup to my mouth and embracing the hold caffeine had over my body.

  Sipping coffee and eating the strawberry topped waffles, I realised strawberry season was coming to an end. I loved to use strawberries in my cakes, one of my signature dishes to tide over the village was a strawberry cheesecake. I wouldn’t say I was the best baker, but I’d won the village bake off three years in a row and it had nothing to do with magic; it’s against the witch’s code to use magic on humans without their consent.

  Everything I knew about magic and witchcraft came from my mother, and her mother, and their mothers before them. At the age of sixteen, I started writing everything into a book, a book of shadows. My book was inside a cupboard, locked with both a little magic and a key. Every morning before work I’d take the book with me, and every evening I’d put it back. Everything was written inside it, from recipes, to spells, potions, and an abundance of other information.

  It was a pity I’d never be able to teach my son. He knew, of course, everyone in the village knew, but he would never be able to continue the craft in the family line. I knew it annoyed him, but for selfish reasons.

  I’m a clairsentient witch, someone who can feel the emotional state of people, often in flickers of pictures from the past. That was my natural gift, but not every witch has them, and also one of the reasons why my marriage broke down.

  A sharp snapping breath took me back. I knew Peter was cheating before he even knew. I guess when you’re touching people you feel them, you know what they’re feeling, and when they stop feeling for you and start feeling for someone else, it’s not healthy. I’m not saying this happened over night, I didn’t pack his bags and kiss fourteen years of marriage away, in fact, I never even told him what I’d felt until I knew he’d cheated.

  My plate smashed on the floor as I tried placing it in the sink. Too busy lost in thought, I carelessly missed the mark.

  “What’s gotten into you?” August asked, jumping on the kitchen counter, his gorgeous yellow eyes glowing at me.

  “I’m thinking,” I said.

  He stepped with caution on the counters. “Joseph will be back when he needs his clothes washing.”

  “This place just feels so big now,” I said in a huff. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?” I gru
mbled as I gathered a brush and dustpan to sweep away the broken plate.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m a housecat, you’re not downgrading, I like my space,” August chuckled. “And he’ll come back, the boy’s only been gone a week.”

  I chuckled. “Says the cat who never goes outside.”

  “Why would I leave?”

  “Fresh air?” I knelt slightly, picking the larger pieces of plate to throw away.

  “I’m not a savage living to eat mice in the garden.” He stuck his tongue out and swotted a paw on the counter.

  A hum broke from my throat as I pinched my eyes to a squint and stared at him. “You’re a witch’s cat, and that means you need to be useful.” I emptied the broken plate into the bin. “I guess it means you’re not out causing mayhem or getting the other cats pregnant, the last thing I need is someone footing me with a bill because I didn’t have you neutered.”

  August jumped from the counter. “No way.” He ran off.

  I’d had August for fifteen years, ever since he was a kitten, before him I had another cat, a ginger mackerel tabby called Freya, but a car ran her over; one of the reasons August didn’t want to leave the house.

  As it was officially the start of autumn it meant I could get back to my autumn wardrobe. I wore a green chiffon batwing blouse and pair of brown flared trousers. They complimented my shoulder-length blonde hair just right. I threw a dusting off cappuccino eyeshadow in the upper crease of my eyelid and a touch of burgundy matte lipstick.

  In the mirror I adjusted the pentagram amulet necklace around my neck, stroking at the different types of crystals embedded on the spokes.

  “Okay, August, I’m leaving soon,” I called.

  My book of shadows was kept in the kitchen, the only cupboard door with a key to access. It was a heavy book with dark blue accents on the spine and a dirty gold cover.

  “August,” I called once more as I approached the front door.

  On the hanger by the door I grabbed my leather bag and pulled out some keys.

  August appeared at the top of the stairs scratching at the bannister.

  “Don’t do that; I’ll get the catnip.”

  The one thing about catnip and August was its ability to mellow him and inhibit him from speaking. I rarely used the stuff, but I did have a nice stock of it.

  “When will you be back?” he moaned.

  “Later,” I replied. “Don’t make a mess, and remember—”

  He let out a long-winded sigh. “Only meow if someone comes to the door.”

  A smile pinched at my cheeks. “Exactly.” August had a tendency to forget he was a cat, especially when people might stop by from the village and knock on the door. “No more instances like the last one. I don’t want to tell Mrs. Foster from the newsagents she was hallucinating—again.”

  I owned and drove a red Honda Civic, and I had for almost four years now. It was perfect to get me around the village and do the weekly shop.

  Cowan Bay was a fishing village covered in large white brick terraced housing, they were dotted around in clumps of flat land, often in layers up the hills. The drive from my house was peaceful, there were only two other houses on this route, one of them belonging to my dear friend Marissa, and the second had been unoccupied until recently, but as I passed, I’d noticed a van in the driveway.

  It was 9:13 A.M. when I found myself parking outside the café. It had opened thirteen minutes ago, but I took an extra moment to look out onto the bay. There was a giant stretch of wooden harbour petering off into the sea with boats gently bashing around in the gentle sea waves. I didn’t have any so-called sea legs, but I recall my mother telling me my father did.

  Seagulls ran amok over the bay, their incessant squawking was one of the reasons I decided not to live closer, mixed in with the strong smell of salt water in the sea air and with winds that could knock an old lady over, I preferred to be in the comfort of my home surrounded by land.

  I carried my book of shadows on one arm and my large handbag in the nook of my elbow of the other. I admired the sign outside, the large white script lettering of Crystal Café, and on the interior window a matching sign made out of a blue neon light. The bell above the door chimed it’s tiny ding as I entered.

  Two elderly women, Margery and Ethel sat at their regular table beside the window with the sign. They were both at least in their eighties, and found my café made for quite the place to spend their free time.

  “Morning,” they both said.

  “Morning you two,” I replied. “Having the usual?”

  Margery pushed her wire-thin frame glasses up on her face. She was a larger woman who had one hand constantly resting on a walking stick. “Ralph’s cooking us up some eggs, the new doctor said I need to increase my protein intake.”

  “New doctor?” I asked.

  Ethel slapped her lips together. “Oh yes. He’s quite the handsome devil, but—but—but he said I have to stop eating battered fish.” Her eyes grew wider. “I—I—I almost gave him a whack around the lughole, talking to me like that, I’m pushing eighty-three, if I want some fish and chips, well, I’ll bloody have it.”

  My eyebrows knitted together as I nodded my head and hummed in concern. “I’m sure he’s just looking out for you.” I noticed they both still had their morning coffees, so the advice the new doctor was giving clearly fell on deaf ears. I left them and headed to the serving counter where Ralph stood with his back to me as he fried eggs on the hot plate. “Fried?” I asked.

  He turned. “Oh, Gwen.”

  “I thought they’d be poached or boiled,” I said as a smile touched my face. I glanced back to the two women at their table.

  “I said that,” he laughed, scratching at his bald head, “but they don’t take orders from anyone.”

  “Well, if they ask for cake, make sure it’s the sugar-free one, I’m not having them blame us if they end up in hospital with a hypo.”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  The café had several tables and chairs, enough to accommodate fifteen people. Most would only come in for a to-go cup of coffee and a cake, but we had our regulars who would stop by for breakfast and early lunch.

  This was also the place where I could conduct my own witchy business. I had a backroom with PRIVATE in large white lettering across the centre of the black back door. Pitch black filled the room completely, there were no windows for natural light and nothing came from beneath the door either. I flicked the light switch, quickly closing the door behind me.

  This room was used to give readings; stocked with crystals, tarot cards, runes, an assortment of herbs and other ingredients. It was only a box room, and each wall filled out with shelving units. At the centre of the room was a small circle table dressed in a thin purple cloth and on top of that a pedestal for my book of shadows.

  A knock came at the door as I settled into a chair at the table.

  The door swung open and in barged Allegra, a plump woman with a thick head of frizzy black and grey hair. She wore layered clothes, already one to sense the seasons change, an array of dark colours over her body, a complete clash to her milky white skin.

  “Morning,” she said, taking a deep breath as she heaved herself across the threshold of the door. “Figured I’d pop in.” She slammed the door shut. Allegra was the eldest coven witch, and in a circle when we cast she was also the representation of spirit. I represented air.

  I jumped from my seat. “Morning,” I greeted with a hug.

  “Bless the Goddess, I’ve been watching the café for almost thirty minutes.”

  “Oh.” I pulled away. “What’s wrong?” I offered her a seat at the table.

  “The coming full moon ceremony has stirred something in my waters,” she said as she fanned herself with the back of her hand. “I’ve been keeping tabs on all the coven.”

  We both sat as Allegra offered me her hand across the table. I stared for a moment before accepting it. Immediately, the knot of stress in her stomach clenched, it was true, her
waters were stirring and not in a pleasant way. “If you want I can fix you up a tea, straighten you right out.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve already had a spot of calming tea, but I can’t shake it, and I can’t see anything either, there’s a block.” She removed her hand from my touch. “Well, maybe it’s just nerves, you know how I get around the full moon, I’m just winding myself up, I can feel it.”

  I hummed. “I can feel you’re not completely certain.”

  Allegra tilted her head in agreement. “I got to talking with the others on the phone. Eva’s gone to pick up a large amethyst crystal geode today.”

  “We have those already.” I gestured a hand to the shelves complete with an assortment of crystals.

  She scoffed. “You can never have enough.”

  She was right, you could never have enough protection and energising crystals around. “And what did the others say?”

  “Well, Marissa is busy with clients all day, and Tana is on her way back from Scotland, neither of them have felt anything strange, so maybe it’s just me.” She sighed heavily, brushing a hand through her knotted frizzy hair. “And if Tana isn’t feeling it, I guess I’m overreacting.”

  “Maybe, but we should focus on Wednesday’s ceremony and have that out of the way.”

  The full moon ceremony is done each month without fail, it’s also tied in with a protection spell. The five of us coven witches gather to light candles and create a circle, we say two invocations, one to our goddess and the second to the moon. It’s common practice of many witches when they’re casting protection spells. There’s even a large tea made which is blessed and drank between the five of us.

  Allegra’s knees knocked, shaking the table. “I can’t let it go,” she said, standing.

  Straightening out the fabric across the table, I stared up at her. “You really shouldn’t worry yourself, besides we have everything we need for the ceremony.”