Broomsticks And Bones_A Spellbinder Bay Cozy Paranormal Mystery - Book Two

by Sam Short

  “There was only two of us when we named ourselves,” said Millie. “And when George joined us, he thought we should keep the name. He thinks it’s ironic. Or something.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think we should just change duo to trio.”

  “Wouldn’t work,” said Reuben. “You’d need to change the word dazzling to one beginning with the letter T.” He paused. “Wait. I’ve got a better idea. How about The Dazzling Duo and the tag along vampire who only became interested in pub quizzes when he discovered the witch he fancies partakes in the Monday night activity herself. It doesn’t exactly roll off the beak, but it’s an accurate representation of the situation.”

  With a low laugh, Millie threw the makeup brush at Reuben, who chortled and flew to the bedside table. “Then he’s a vampire with taste, if that is the case,” she said.

  Reuben fluffed up his plumage, and gazed at the envelope propped up against the lamp next to the bed. “Are you ever going to open it?” he asked.

  Butterflies bloomed in Millie’s stomach, as they did every time she thought of the letter. “Eventually,” she said. “Maybe, I mean.”

  Reuben cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you want to know what your mother had to say? Don’t you want to know who your father is? Henry said he still lives in Spellbinder Bay — it could be anyone.”

  “Don’t you whisper a word of that to anybody,” warned Millie. “Only me, you and Henry know about the letter. I want to keep it that way. Until I’ve come to terms with things.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t,” said Reuben. “My word is my honour… but if I was you — I’d open it. I’d want to know.”

  Millie slumped onto the bed, her unfinished ponytail falling free. “I spent my whole life thinking my conception had been because of a short-lived fling my mother had with a man she hardly knew. She told me that she couldn’t find my father to tell him she was pregnant. Then I find out that it was all a lie, and I find out it was a lie from a building masquerading as a man, who my mother called to her deathbed. I wish she’d told me, not some magical man building.”

  “Henry’s not a building, Millie,” said Reuben. “He’s the manifestation of the magic contained within Spellbinder Hall — the human face of the building, if you will. You must understand? It’s hardly genius level magic.”

  “And that’s all you got from what I just said?” asked Millie. “A debate on Henry Pinkerton’s status as a building or a man? Which I understand perfectly well, thank you very much.”

  “What do you want me to say?” said Reuben. “You tell me how upset you are about it on a weekly basis. It’s all very sad, but I wish you’d just open the letter. Prising open that envelope is the only way you’ll get closure.”

  Millie gazed at the ceiling. “You and Henry told me that my mother’s energy is contained within the walls of this cottage.”

  “In the coven cavern beneath the cottage, to be more precise,” said Reuben. “And to be even preciser, in the cauldron in the cavern, but yes, your mother’s energy, along with all the dead witches who have ever lived in this cottage, is contained within these walls.”

  “That’s why I won’t open the letter,” said Millie. “I can feel her presence here, and I…”

  Reuben hopped onto Millie’s chest, and gazed into her eyes, his head leaning to the left. “And you what?”

  Millie smiled. “I talk to her, Reuben. I ask her if she can hear me.”

  “Maybe she can,” said Reuben. “I don’t know how dead witch energy works. All I know is that I can feel Esmeralda’s energy here, too. It’s comforting, isn’t it? To feel the presence of somebody you cared for. And who cared for you.”

  Running a fingernail over the bird’s grey plumage, Millie smiled. “It is, Reuben,” she said. “I just wish she could answer me when I speak to her.”

  “What would you ask her?” said Reuben. “If she appeared in front of you right now.”

  Millie closed her eyes. “Before I asked her who my father was, I’d ask her if she regretted becoming pregnant with me. I’d ask her if I was conceived from love, or from… something else. I’d look into her eyes as she answered, and I’d know the truth. Her eyes always told the truth, even when she tried to tell me her illness wasn’t going to kill her. I can’t get honest answers like that from a letter, Reuben. All I can get is the name of a man who doesn’t even know he’s my father, and probably doesn’t want to be. Maybe the letter is best left unopened. Maybe it will cause less pain that way. Less pain for me, and less pain for the man who’s my father.”

  Reuben ran the edge of his beak along Millie’s finger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For trying to persuade you to open the letter. I don’t think things through sometimes. It’s my weakness. I won’t mention it again. I promise. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Millie. “You haven’t upset me. But I could do with your help?”

  “Anything,” said Reuben.

  “My red heels or my new comfy biker boots?”

  “With jeans?”

  Millie nodded. “And a white t-shirt.”

  “The biker boots,” said Reuben. “The bloodsucker will love them, seeing as he rides a motorbike.”

  “I’m not dressing for George,” said Millie. “I’m dressing for me. Maybe I’ll wear the heels.”

  George winked. “Nice boots!” he said. “Hoping for a ride with me, were you?”

  Millie tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “In your dreams,” she laughed. “I put them on without thinking. They’re comfy. That’s my only reasoning behind wearing them!”

  Her blonde hair bunched high on her head, Judith pushed a pint of beer across the circular table top towards Millie. “You’re a drink behind us. George and I have been googling capital cities. There’s always one of those in the quiz.”

  George put his phone in his pocket and shuffled along the upholstered bench, which formed a semi-circle around the small table. “Venezuela — Caracas. Sit down and drink your beer,” he said. “The quiz begins in fifteen minutes. You always do better after a pint.”

  Sitting down next to George, Millie brought the glass of froth topped amber liquid to her nose, and took a sniff. “Vampire’s Vengeance?” she said.

  Judith shook her head. “No. This is a new beer from the not so world famous Fur and Fangs microbrewery — it’s called The Wandering Witch. It’s nice. Very malty. Try it.”

  Millie gazed around the pub as she took a sip of the potent liquid. The pub owners, Stan — a werewolf, and his vampire wife, Mary, couldn’t have made the pub more traditionally British if they’d tried. A place where paranormal folk mingled with normal people — the latter oblivious to the fact that they shared their little town with all manner of species — the Fur and Fangs harked back to a time in which Millie sometimes wished she had lived.

  From the tall open hearth stone fireplace, decorated with horse brasses and old military badges, to the solid oak bar, behind which hung a row of pewter tankards — each belonging to one of the locals who took their real ale more seriously than the average customer, the pub oozed community spirit.

  With no televisions interfering with the friendly hum of conversation, The Fur and Fangs was a pleasant place to spend some time, and Millie licked her lips appreciatively as she swallowed her beer. “Very nice,” she said. “It’s got a fruity tang to it.”

  “That’s good to know,” said a deep voice from her side. “That’s the sort of response I was hoping for. I’m glad you like it.”

  Millie smiled up at Stan, who held a full pint in his hand, his thick beard dotted with beer foam. “You’ve done a great job,” she said. “It’s really tasty.”

  “I hope you’ve got room for one more,” said Stan, placing the fresh glass in front of Millie. “This is a gift from the gentleman at the table next to the window over there. He wanted to buy you a drink, and I took the liberty of choosing another Wandering Witch. He didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends, so he aske
d me to bring it over. He told me you’d know why he bought it for you. He said it was a thank you.”

  George picked up a cardboard beer coaster, and tore at the edges. “She’s got a male admirer, huh?” he said, surveying the room. “Which one was it, Stan?”

  “The elderly chap at the small table,” said Stan, making his way back towards the bar. “The one with the big smile on his face.”

  George dropped the coaster, and grinned. “An elderly admirer? How lovely.”

  Millie looked across the room, and waved. “He’s not an admirer,” she said. “He’s just a nice guy who I promised to keep a secret for.”

  “What secret?” said Judith.

  “The clue is in your question,” smiled Millie. “It’s a secret.” She stood up. “I’m going to go and say thank you to him.”

  “The quiz is starting soon,” said George. “Hurry. We have a good chance of winning this week. Two of the Spellbinder Starlets have gone down with food poisoning, so the rest of the team have pulled out of the quiz, too. They tried to blame it on the nursing home kitchen, but I went out for a drink last night with one of the nurses who work there, and she told me that some of the residents have been bringing in kebabs from that horrible greasy place on Harbour Street.”

  “Oh,” said Millie. “Sounds awful. Poor women, I hope they get better soon.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s this nurse, then? The one you went for a drink with?”

  George tapped the side of his nose, the glint in his hazel eyes matching the mischievousness of his smile. “You’ve got your secret. I’ve got mine.”

  “Fair enough,” said Millie, turning her back on the table and weaving a route through the crowd, towards the man near the window. She wasn’t jealous. Of course she wasn’t. Was she?

  “Tom,” she said with a smile, as she reached the table. “Thank you for the drink. I really appreciate it, but you wouldn’t have been interrupting anything if you’d brought it over to me yourself.”

  “I didn’t want to go ruining you young folk’s fun,” he smiled. “Are you three a team in the quiz? You, your boyfriend and the young blonde lady?”

  “What?” said Millie. “Yes. No!”

  Tom narrowed his eyes.

  “I mean, yes, we’re a team,” said Millie. “But, no… he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” said Tom. “The way he watched you when you walked over here gave me the wrong impression. I do apologise.”

  Millie glanced over her shoulder. George was busy studying Judith’s phone with her. Looking up more capital cities, no doubt. “No problem,” she said. “Anyway… how did your search go today? Did you find much more gold?”

  Tom’s face broke into a wide smile. “That’s why I’m in the pub on a Monday night!” he said. “I’m celebrating! I found a lot more, but the less I say about it in public, the better.” He leaned across the table, and lowered his voice. “The walls have ears.”

  “Oh, right, of course,” said Millie. “I won’t mention it again.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” said Tom, his voice still low. “There’s plenty of gold in that sand! I found a woman’s gold ring, too. I handed it in to the sergeant at the police station in case it was lost recently. I’ll get it back if it’s not claimed within a few months. He didn’t seem too interested, though, that sergeant — he just took the ring from me and scribbled a few notes on a sheet of paper.”

  “I’m sure he’ll take care of it,” said Millie. “I know Sergeant Spencer quite well. He’s busy with other matters at the moment — he’s taking a look at unsolved cases which occurred before he moved to the town, I’m sure he’ll get around to filing the ring away properly.”

  Tom sat back in his seat. “A busy man. I can accept that.” He took a sip of beer. “That little bird of yours didn’t follow you straight home, did he?”

  “Erm… no,” said Millie, heat rising in her cheeks. “He’s well trained, though… he always flies home eventually.”

  “I seem to recall having an interaction of some sort with him,” said Tom. “But when I try and remember, it all goes fuzzy…. must be the gold fever, hey?” He smiled. “Or my age.”

  Or the concealment spell, thought Millie, with a hidden sigh of relief. She smiled. “He probably squawked so much, he sent you mad,” she laughed. “He likes the sound of his own voice.”

  “Odd, though,” said Tom, staring into his pint. “When I try to recall the image of him, all I can think of doing is changing my old diesel car for a petrol version. They’re far better for the environment, you know? And the power difference is remarkable!”

  “Oh, right,” said Millie. “Well, thanks for the drink, Tom, but the quiz will be starting —”

  “Excuse me, Millie,” said a voice from behind her. “I’ve got an order for this table.”

  Millie stepped aside, and Mary placed a plate loaded with sandwiches on the table in front of Tom. “Chicken sandwiches,” she said.

  “With mayonnaise?” asked Tom.

  “Plenty of it,” said Mary, “just the way you asked for.”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” said Tom, when Mary had scurried back to the bar. “How does a man get to my age without trying mayonnaise in a chicken sandwich? I’ve had a terrible craving for it since I left the beach today. I’ve never so much as considered it as a sandwich option before… must be the salt air, hey? It makes a man hungry.”

  “Indeed,” said Millie, silently cursing Reuben. “Thanks again, Tom, but I must be going —”

  “Ah! There you are, Tom Temples!” boomed a voice, as the door slammed shut behind the man who’d burst into the pub. “Or should I say Tom Midas? The man with the golden touch?”

  Tom looked up at Millie.

  “I didn’t tell a soul!” said Millie. “I promise!”

  Chapter 3

  “I know you didn’t,” said Tom, turning to face the doorway. “You’ve got an honest face.”

  “Celebrating are you, Tom?” said the newly arrived man, his greying hair combed in a way which managed to conceal half of the fact that he was balding, but left the other half proudly reflecting the lights hanging from the pub ceiling. “Celebrating your gold coin find?”

  Tom looked at the contents of the table top. “Celebrating with a sandwich and a pint? That’s hardly pushing the boat out, is it?”

  “You usually have a half-pint!” spat the man, approaching the table and invading Millie’s personal space. “I’ve seen you in here before, sitting alone in the corner sipping your lady’s drink! They say the first sign of somebody coming into wealth is a change in their habits!”

  “What makes you think I’ve found gold coins, Eric?” said Tom. “And if it’s the one-pound-twenty price difference between a pint and a half, then that’s hardly evidence, is it?”

  Eric folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, his bushy eyebrows forming a snowy mono-brow. “I popped in to see Pawn Shop Pete tonight. I wanted him to look at the Roman coin I’d found, but Pete told me that a certain man visited him this evening asking for a rough valuation of the gold coins he’d found. When Pete informed this particular gentleman that he would be rich when he sold them, he left the shop with a spring in his step and a wobble in his buttocks — Pawn Shop Pete’s words, not mine!” He glanced at Millie, and gave a quick shake of his head. “Certainly not my words.”

  Millie smiled. “Why are you so angry?” she said. “So what if Tom has found gold? You should be happy for him. Not that I’m saying he has, of course.”

  “We detectorists are a close-knit bunch,” said Eric. “We like to keep each other informed about the forgotten treasures we discover beneath our little piece of England!”

  Tom laughed. “Surely you mean the detectorists in your little club are a close-knit bunch, Eric. The little club which is full to capacity, and definitely has no room for one more person — especially a beginner who owns a top of the range detector, which just so happens to be better than everyone else's in the club, giving him the cha
nce to outshine the veteran members and embarrass them with his superior finds!”

  Eric took a deep breath in, and puffed out his chest. “It was nothing to do with the fact that you had purchased a Garrett ATX Extreme Pulse Induction metal detector, Tom Temples! The club was full when you applied to join last week. The Spellbinder Sand Diggers was at full capacity, Tom! The committee had a meeting, and decided they couldn’t allow you to join due to overpopulation in the ranks, not because you own a machine which costs the same as a small used family car!” He glanced at Millie, and lowered his voice. “It is a good machine, though. I’ll say that much.”

  “Full to capacity? Committee meeting?” laughed Tom. “There’s only three of you in that club, you daft old sod!”

  Eric shuffled his feet, and looked at the floor. When he lifted his face, he was forcing a smile. “Tom Temples,” he said. “I’m here on behalf of The Spellbinder Sand Diggers. It would be my pleasure to offer you a place in our club! We’ve made space for one more member! Welcome aboard, old chap!”

  Millie spotted movement through the window behind Tom, the uppermost portion pushed open to allow a cooling breeze into the room.

  A checkered flat cap and a bright red baseball cap ducked out of sight as Millie smiled at their owners. “Are they with you, Eric?” she said. “It seems like they are.”

  Eric waved a frustrated hand at the window. “I told them to stay out of sight!”

  “Well, I’m glad the whole club is here,” said Tom, turning in his seat and rapping on the glass with his knuckles. “Hello?” he yelled, “are you there? We know you are!”

  The two caps appeared slowly, the flat one adorning the head of a pensionable aged gentlemen, and the baseball cap teetering on the skull of a younger man with curly black hair. They nodded in unison.

  “Can you hear me from out there?” demanded Tom.

  The two heads nodded once more. “Just about,” said the older man. “I’d appreciate it if you could speak up just a little, though. My ears aren’t as good as they once were. The doctor says it’s age related, but my wife insists some warm olive oil will sort it out.”