by Morgana Best
ExSpelled
(The Kitchen Witch, Book 5)
Copyright © 2016 by Morgana Best.
All Rights Reserved.
License Notes.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy from your favorite ebook retailer. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The personal names have been invented by the author, and any likeness to the name of any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book may contain references to specific commercial products, process or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and/or trade names of products, which are trademarks or registered trademarks and/or trade names, and these are property of their respective owners. Morgana Best or her associates, have no association with any specific commercial products, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise, specific brand-name products and / or trade names of products.
By this act
And words of rhyme
Trouble not
These books of mine
With these words I now thee render
Candle burn and bad return
3 Times stronger to its sender.
(Ancient Celtic)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Connect with Morgana
Next Book in this Series
Other Books by Morgana Best
About Morgana Best
Chapter 1
I shook the rain from my umbrella and left it in an ancient porcelain umbrella stand just inside the front door of Ruprecht’s store, Glinda’s. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to shake the rain from my clothes. It was a miserable wet day in Bayberry Creek, and I was drenched from head to toe. Anyone would have thought it was winter and not summer. Even Glinda’s had taken on an uncustomary dismal atmosphere.
“It’s wild out there tonight,” my best friend and employee, Thyme, said by way of greeting.
I nodded, wiped the rain from my eyes, and followed her through the maze of antique furniture to Ruprecht’s apartment directly behind his store.
I could tell something was going on as soon I walked into the kitchen and saw Ruprecht, his granddaughter, Mint, and Camino sitting around the large wooden table. “This is an intervention,” Camino announced happily.
I must have looked shocked, because Ruprecht hurried to correct her. “No, of course it’s not, Amelia!” His eyebrows shot skyward. “It’s a surprise.” He pushed a golden envelope across the table to me and gestured to me to sit down.
I did so and picked up the envelope. “A golden ticket! Am I going to Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory?” I had an insane desire to giggle. It must have been the stress of the last week.
Ruprecht smiled. “Open it.”
I opened the envelope, and there indeed was a ticket, but it wasn’t to a chocolate factory—it had the words, Paradise Island Cooking School emblazoned in bold black writing across the top of a photograph of a tropical island.
“After everything you’ve been through with that man trying to murder you the other day, we all got together and decided to send you away to a remote island,” Camino said excitedly.
I frowned. Mercifully, Ruprecht interrupted her. “It’s not a punishment or anything like that, quite the contrary. You’ve been working long hours, a man just tried to kill you, and you’ve had to contend with your house. I mean, how many other people can say they have a living house?”
“Not many,” I answered truthfully. “The house is like a weird housemate, but at least it protects me.”
Everyone nodded and Thyme patted my arm. “Now, you know how your cooking’s been improving, and we’ve explained to you that it’s because you’re just starting to use your powers as a witch?” It was my turn to nod. Thyme pressed on. “We all thought you should get away and have a nice vacation, so we’re sending you to a lovely cooking school on a tropical island, all expenses paid.”
Nice vacation. Cooking school. Wasn’t that a contradiction in terms? I tried to process the information. “So you’re sending me to a cooking school on a tropical island?” I did my best to look excited as I said it.
Ruprecht beamed. “Yes! A whole week, with luxury accommodation on a beautiful tropical island in the Pacific Ocean. To be precise, it’s in the Whitsundays, off the coast of Queensland. You’ll have peace and quiet and solitude, for a whole week.”
“And cooking lessons?” I asked.
Everybody smiled and nodded.
I bit my lip. “Their insurance premiums will go up.”
Ruprecht handed me a cup of tea. I hadn’t even seen him leave the table. “Amelia, you exaggerate. You haven’t set a kitchen on fire with your baking, since, um, when?”
“Not for a month,” Thyme responded cheerfully.
I did not share their confidence. I was the world’s worst cook. I had set rooms on fire, sent people to the hospital with food poisoning, and my cupcakes had even cracked concrete on more than one occasion. However, my poor baking ability was strangely linked with my (not poor) abilities as a witch. The fact that I had recently started to embrace those abilities had encouraged everyone—everyone, that is, except me. I finally found my voice. “I can’t shut the shop for a week,” I protested feebly.
“Nonsense!” Thyme said. “Business is picking up, and it would make sound business sense if you could learn to produce cupcakes to keep up with the higher turnover. So just take a week off and relax, and learn to cook. Mint can replace you at the store.”
And so it was decided. I was to be replaced by Mint and shipped off to a secluded island in the middle of nowhere—or in the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Queensland, to be precise—an island which, knowing my luck, was probably populated by cannibals and surrounded by sharks.
I looked up to see Thyme eyeing me speculatively. “Unless, of course, you want to stay in town because you’ll miss someone?”
I glared at her. Thyme had caught me kissing the magnificent Alder Vervain and hadn’t let me hear the end of it since. If only she knew I had kissed him more thoroughly since, sans an audience. Tingles ran through me at the thought. My mind drifted off into a pleasant daydream about Alder, when Camino’s voice snapped me back to reality.
“I bought you a onesie as a gift to take to the island,” she said, delighted.
I grimaced, but managed to turn it into the semblance of a smile. “Wonderful! Is it the bandicoot one you mentioned last week? Or a tiger snake? Maybe a funnel-web spider?”
Camino laughed. “Oh Amelia, I’ll miss your sense of humor when you’ve gone. No, it’s a fruit bat.”
“A bat
?” I squeaked. “That’s very kind of you. Bats carry the deadly Lyssavirus, don’t they?”
Camino nodded happily. “Yes, and the Hendra virus too, which is completely incurable.”
Mint waved a pamphlet at me in an obvious attempt to save the situation. “Amelia, you don’t need to worry. It’s a whole week of cooking lessons for beginners.” She pointed to the pamphlet. “It’s for people to learn how to cook using the domestic appliances that they’d have in their own home. There are classes on health and safety, and information on nutrition. The classes include all ingredients and recipes. You’ll be given all the recipe notes to bring home.” She smiled reassuringly as she handed me the pamphlet.
I read the concluding words: Just bring yourself, roll up your sleeves, and have fun. The minimum age is eight years.
Perhaps it was my level, after all. I regarded the photo of the island with renewed interest. It did look a tranquil setting with the turquoise sea and the brilliant white sand flanked by towering palm trees.
I took a deep breath and smiled. I might as well enjoy myself. “Thank you, I’ll do it! What could possibly go wrong?”
Chapter 2
Of course, I should have known not to say, ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ The last time I uttered those words was during a thunderstorm. I said those words as I turned on the TV which was promptly struck by lightning and exploded. I still had the burn marks on my arm, years later.
Still, there was no chance I would be struck by lightning today. The sky was clear and the waters were calm. I was on my way to Paradise Island in a boat, thankfully a large boat, and the island was only a two hour boat journey from the mainland. It was all quite civilized, not to mention safe. The on-board coffee was even good, and I was making the acquaintance of some of my fellow students. All in all, it was turning out to be a pleasant experience.
“I’ve been there before,” a woman announced proudly. She had previously introduced herself as Lisa Lewis. I wondered why a woman who had been to the cooking school before would need to return to take beginner cooking classes. Perhaps there were worse cooks in existence than I was, after all. That was encouraging. I studied the woman. I was never any good at guessing someone’s age, but she looked to be in her late thirties. The abundance of her make-up was exceeded only by the all-too-fake blackness of her hair, which contrasted rather unpleasantly with the inch of pale color along the roots. She was overly dressed for a boat ride, down to spiky high heels and a rather short skirt. I thought she would not look out of place standing on a street corner in a seedy area, but then I silently berated myself for my unkindness.
The tall, distinguished man sitting next to her spoke up. “I find this boat ride rather distasteful.” His accent was British and rather posh. He reminded me strongly of Benedict Cumberbatch, only older. He extended a hand to me. “Hello, I’m Benedict…”—he paused as I gasped—“Fletcher. What do you do?”
“What do I do?” I repeated stupidly. I thought he might have said, How do you do.
“Yes, as in, investments? Property? Mining?” he snapped.
I was taken aback by his tone. “Err, I have a cupcake store.”
Benedict’s response was to look out the porthole. As I had no suitable response, I did too, until my view was obscured by a well-dressed woman who walked over to Benedict and handed him some coffee. She leaned forward to shake my hand, rather a limp handshake. “Hello, I’m Laura Lindsey.” She looked at me with clear distaste.
“Have you been to the island before, as well?” I asked her. When she inclined her head slightly, I added, “I’m going for the Beginners’ Class. Surely you’re not doing the Beginners’ Class again like Lisa, or have I got the dates wrong?”
The two women looked at each other and smiled. Laura was the first to speak. “I always come to the island for a holiday to get away from my husband.” She threw back her head and laughed. “I mean, he likes me to take cooking classes, but truth be told, I’m only going for rest and relaxation. Of course, I don’t need to learn to cook, because we have staff for that. Every time I come, I repeat the Beginners’ Class, because it’s so much less effort.”
The other woman nodded in agreement. “I’ve heard it’s a small class,” I said, “so how many others are there?”
“I’ve heard they usually keep the classes to about eight,” Benedict said, turning his nose skyward. “I myself have never been to Paradise Island. I’m looking forward to the experience. I have, however, read about it, and I want to see if what I’ve read is accurate.”
“It’s only a small island,” Laura said. “In fact, the cooking school is the only building on the island. There are no villages or other resorts, so it’s completely private. It’s far too small for a plane to land. Actually, it’s quite a tiny island. The passenger boat goes twice a week, so the others will already be there. I’d say Mandy will be there. Mandy Martin. She’s a regular. Mandy’s father founded the famous investment firm, Martins, you know?”
I didn’t know, but I nodded anyway. I was surprised that people took the Beginners’ Class more than once. Still, going by what Laura had said, they appeared to have reasons other than cooking for going to the island. And judging by the predatory way she was looking at Benedict, I was beginning to have a good idea of just what those reasons might be.
I sipped my coffee and once more stared out to sea. There was nothing but sea and the curvature of the earth—there was no sign of land whatsoever. While I found it pleasant and relaxing, I was more than a little apprehensive about the school. After all, my cooking had improved, but that wasn’t saying much. I would hate to be expelled from the cooking school and sent home in disgrace.
After another hour and a half, land came into view, much to my relief. I had become bored sitting there on the gently rocking boat. I considered myself lucky that I hadn’t been seasick. As the boat drew closer to the island, I could see that Laura had been right. It was indeed a tiny island. I had once visited Daydream Island which was also in the Whitsundays, and thought it was small, and this island was about the same size. The island was more or less flat at the front, but the back of it rose to a sharp, albeit low, peak. It was no doubt an extinct volcano. I hoped it stayed extinct for the term of my visit.
The boat pulled into the jetty at a jagged outcrop of rocks, not quite the sandy beach I was expecting. Lisa must have followed my gaze. “Don’t worry, Amelia. I know it doesn’t look very nice from here, but there’s a beautiful sandy beach in front of the building just over there.” She pointed to her left.
When I stepped onto dry land, or to be precise, the wooden jetty with steel rails, I nearly tripped over the suitcases that someone had deposited there. There was quite a long walkway in front of me, and in the middle of it stood a man next to a huge trolley on wheels. He abandoned his trolley and hurried over to us. “Laura, Lisa, lovely to see you again!” he said loudly, although his expression said otherwise. He reached for my hand and then Benedict’s, and shook each in turn vigorously. “You must be Amelia Spelled, and you must be Benedict Fletcher. Welcome to Paradise Island. I hope you enjoy your stay. Now please go ahead. The others are waiting, and I’ll bring up your suitcases. I’m Owen. I own Paradise Island with my wife, Abby. We’re all on first names here. Abby and I teach, along with our chef, Marcel.” With that, he reached for the nearest suitcase, while the rest of us started our walk along the long winding pathway.
When the pathway took a sharp turn to the left, I gasped with delight at the vista before me. Lush plantings and manicured lawns stretched out to the pristine white beach and sparkling turquoise sea. A breathtaking wooden building sat snugly amongst coconut and palm trees in an elevated position above the sea.
The humidity was more intense on land, but the sea breeze lessened the effect somewhat. I inhaled the salt air and smiled.
“That’s the Paradise Island Cooking School where we’ll be staying,” Laura said, somewhat unnecessarily.
I clasped my hands together. “It’s
beautiful!”
A woman was waiting for us on the vast deck. I looked past her at the tables with umbrellas that dotted the area in front of the beach. This was indeed paradise—I could stay here forever. The woman waited silently until we reached her, the scent of her elegant French perfume preceding her. She had a scowl on her face, which I thought very strange for someone running a business, but she smiled just before she spoke. “Welcome, all of you. You must be Amelia and Benedict.”
We confirmed that we were. She was the least friendly female I had met that day, although she was civil enough. I wondered if she had been a model in her youth. She was tall, elegantly dressed, and was laden down with what appeared to be expensive jewelry. “My husband will take your suitcases to your rooms now,” she said, followed by a further “Now, Owen!” to her unfortunate husband who was wheeling the trolley past us just at that moment.
“The maids won’t be returning until tomorrow, so the complimentary cleaning service and the complimentary same day wash and press service won’t be available until then. I hope this doesn’t cause anyone any inconvenience.” She gestured down the slope. “Feel free to use the pool at any time.”
We all turned to look at the pool, and the half-naked man standing there waved to us. Lisa and I waved back. I wasn’t looking at his six-pack, mind you. Truly.
“That’s only the pool boy,” Abby said derisively. “He cleans the pool.”
“Imagine that!” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Abby shot me a sharp look before continuing. “Let me show you all to your rooms, and then please meet me out here for refreshments as soon as you’ve cleaned up. You can meet the others, and then we’ll have our introductory cooking lesson.”
“What?” I shrieked. “So soon?”
Abby frowned. “The classes proper start tomorrow, but we always have a little introductory lesson on the first day so we can all get to know each other over cooking. It’s only something very simple, chocolate chip cookies.”
