by Cindy Stark
THE FIFTH CURSE
Teas & Temptations Mysteries
Book Five
By Cindy Stark
www.cindystark.com
The Fifth Curse © 2018 C. Nielsen
Cover Design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Inspire Creative Services
All rights reserved
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Welcome to Stonebridge, Massachusetts
Welcome to Stonebridge, a small town in Massachusetts where the label “witch” is just as dangerous now as it was in 1692. From a distance, most would say the folks in Stonebridge are about the friendliest around. But a dark and disturbing history is the backbone that continues to haunt citizens of this quaint town where many have secrets they never intend to reveal.
Visit www.cindystark.com for more titles and release information. Sign up for Cindy’s newsletter to ensure you’re always hearing the latest happenings.
DISCLAIMER:
All spells in this book are purely fictional and for fun.
Not intended for actual use.
Prologue
The air in the musty barn was still thick from the heat of the previous day, but Clarabelle barely paid it any mind as she tugged the cow’s udders and squirted milk into the dull silver pail. The sounds of the liquid repeatedly hitting metal lulled her into a sense of tranquility, and her thoughts drifted to the handsome Cal Hooton.
Tall and strong. Blond hair that looked soft enough to make her yearn to touch it. Fiery blue eyes that sent her senses reeling.
Best yet, he liked her.
Clarabelle sensed that every time she found herself near him in town and at church. Whether she caught him staring at her or not, she knew he watched her constantly.
She like that.
A sob from behind her broke her reverie, and she jerked around. Her quick movements brought an unhappy moo from the cow.
Eliza approached with quick footsteps, and Clarabelle stood. Tears streaked her reddened cheeks, and anguish poured from her soul.
Familiar panic struck deep in Clarabelle’s heart. “Eliza! What is it?”
Her friend threw her arms around Clarabelle’s waist and buried her face against her shoulder as she broke and wept.
Clarabelle held her tight and stroked her long blond hair. “Hush. It’s okay. Try to calm yourself so you can tell me what happened.”
Eliza cried for several more moments before she regained some semblance of control. “It’s Emma. They took her.”
Clarabelle’s heart lurched into her throat. “No.”
Emma and Eliza had been married within weeks of each other and had struck up a friendship. Clarabelle had spoken to her only a few times, but she liked the warm and sensitive redhead. “They accused her of witchcraft?”
Eliza nodded as more tears flooded her eyes.
“But she’s not even a witch.”
Her friend clamped a hand over her mouth to cover a sob.
Stonebridge had gone nine months without an incident. Without any unfounded accusations. Without any horrific deaths.
Clarabelle had begun to believe they might have a chance at a future.
Now this.
“Is she still alive?”
Eliza rapidly blinked her wet lashes. “Yes. We must do something, Clarabelle. We must.”
They couldn’t though. Not without exposing themselves. Once a person had been cast under that dark shadow, nothing could save them.
“There isn’t anything we can do, Eliza.”
“A curse. Another curse. Something that’s worse than their fear of witches.”
Eliza’s words stunned her. She had always been the cautious one and the most forgiving out of the four of them. To hear her speak vengeance now only proved how far the town had pushed her. All of them.
“Something that will distract them and give Emma a chance,” Eliza continued. “Something that will burn hot enough to make them fear for their lives so that they’ll forget about her long enough to save her.”
Clarabelle wasn’t sure it would help, but she couldn’t deny Eliza and her friend the chance. “Something like…scorching summer heat? Make it too hot for anyone to be out in the sun? If it’s too hot for man or beast, perchance, they’ll wait to carry out their sentence.”
Eliza’s expression brightened, and she sniffed. “Yes. That may help.”
Clarabelle glanced about the dim barn and her unfinished chores. “I will need some time before I can slip away. It’s best if we attempt this on our own and not involve Lily or Scarlet. I fear they’ve been under much scrutiny as of late.”
Eliza nodded quickly. “There isn’t time to gather anyway. I am confident we can manage this on our own.”
Clarabelle agreed. The last few years had forced them to hone their skills, and she was certain she and Eliza had enough power between them.
“Meet me beneath the bridge in an hour. Bring a small amount of blessed water and a tiny cauldron if you can manage.”
Eliza nodded repeatedly. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”
She gave Clarabelle a swift hug. “I’ll see you soon, sister.”
****
Clarabelle’s heart pounded like gigantic booms of thunder as she gathered a handful of dried summer grass, twigs, and branches and then made her way down the river’s embankment. Rocks and dirt slid beneath her and tumbled into the water.
Eliza was already waiting, huddled beneath the structure. Her tears had dried and been replaced by a look of fierce determination. “Did you sneak away without trouble?”
Clarabelle nodded. “But I can’t be gone long.”
“Same for me.” Eliza slid a tiny iron cauldron from her basket. “I encountered John Henry Parrish on my way here.”
She widened her eyes as fear iced her veins. “While carrying the cauldron?”
Eliza released a shaky breath. “I feared he’d know what I had. But he and his wife spoke to me only a minute before wishing me a good day.”
Clarabelle closed her eyes for a brief, grateful moment. “Thank the Blessed Mother.”
“Yes,” Eliza agreed and nodded.
“Let’s hasten, then. No need to tempt fate twice in a day.”
Clarabelle stooped and arranged the twigs. In the center of them, she made a small bird’s nest from the dried grass. She stood long enough to remove the bundle she’d tucked into her bodice and opened it to reveal flint and steel along with several sprigs of mint.
She crouched and struck flint against steel, sending tiny sparks into the dried grass. “It would be nice to h
ave Scarlet around to help with this, though.”
Eliza chuckled. “She can be useful.”
When a small fire crackled and burned, Eliza set the cauldron on top.
“We only need a little water,” Clarabelle directed, and Eliza poured in enough to cover the bottom.
Clarabelle added mint leaves, stirring the air with their unmistakable scent. “These represent the cold which can also bite with a certain fierceness.”
Eliza nodded. “Good. I’m glad you thought of that. Fire will be the heat. Both can create havoc depending on the season.”
“Yes.”
The two sat in silence with only the crackling fire and the sounds of birds in the trees to disturb their peace while they waited for the proper time to commence their spell. Energy intensified as the water and mint began to boil, scenting the air with a crisp, fresh smell.
Clarabelle glanced across the cauldron to Eliza. “Are you ready?”
Eliza gave her an assured nod and held out both hands. “Let’s pray this works.”
She entwined her fingers with her friend’s, and power sizzled between them. They’d come a long way from the girls who’d watched the townsfolk murder their friend.
Clarabelle inhaled a deep breath and focused on the cauldron and its contents. “Cast the name of witch to endanger a soul, and it shall bring a penance to this town. Bring forth the bitter sting of a harsh winter or the burning sting of sun. Pain and suffering will be all around. This curse shall begin upon the full moon and continue henceforth until it no longer blooms. Save our sisters. Hear our plea. From here on out…”
She paused to nod at Eliza, so that they could finish the spell together. Before they could speak the final words, however, a bee circled around them and then dove straight into the pot.
They gazed at each other wide-eyed, and Clarabelle searched for what it could mean. Nothing came to mind.
After a moment, Eliza shrugged. Clarabelle repeated her gesture, and then they finished together. “So mote it be.”
They both stood. Clarabelle gathered her skirt and used it to protect her hand as she lifted the cauldron from the fire. “Let’s make haste.”
Eliza kicked dirt over the small fire, and Clarabelle emptied the cauldron’s contents into the river.
They waited long enough to allow the water to cool the heated pot. Then Eliza stowed it in her basket, and Clarabelle tucked the flint and steel back into her bodice.
Eliza wrapped her arms around Clarabelle in a fierce hug. “We should know by tonight if our curse worked.”
Clarabelle nodded.
But the fact was, Clarabelle didn’t need to wait. The heated pulse thrumming through her veins told her all she needed to know. “Blessed be, dear sister.”
“Blessed be, Clarabelle.”
Clarabelle waited until Eliza was out of sight before she climbed the embankment and hurried home to finish her chores.
Maybe this time, the townsfolk would learn.
One
Hazel Hardy glanced over the sparkling crystal containers filled with various spiked and regular iced teas. She smoothed the pristine white linen tablecloth they rested on and gave the pink roses and baby’s breath sitting in a nearby vase one last sniff.
Most of the people attending the wedding had already entered Stonebridge’s oldest church, and it was time for her to as well. The ceremony would begin in ten minutes.
The sun drew closer to evening, and she hurried from beneath the billowy white tent where caterers would serve food during the reception. Her heels wobbled as she crossed the church lawn toward the large rough-hewn wooden doors that had been propped open for the celebration.
Cooler air, scented by the passing of centuries, greeted her as she entered. Cheerful voices echoed from the chapel, along with bounteous happy emotions.
Today was one of those good days in a person’s life. She wished Peter could have abandoned his police chief duties and joined her.
As she entered the chapel, she gave an inward chuckle. Someone had finally tricked her into sitting on a church pew.
That was okay. She was glad to share the soon-to-be-wedded couple’s happiness.
Hazel searched for Margaret, Peter’s administrative assistant and one of her good friends, who had saved her a spot in the second to the last box of seats in the old church. Hazel opened the gate-like door to enter the enclosure and slipped onto the hard, wooden bench beside Margaret.
Her friend had chosen a champagne silk dress and matching hat with an enormous bow that was bigger than her head. Perfect attire if they’d been attending a royal wedding.
Margaret clutched a small purse with one gloved hand and lifted the other to whisper. “Good. You’re here. They’re almost ready to start.”
Hazel smiled and nodded. “Just needed to make sure everything was perfect outside.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Hazel studied the guests and waited for the soft, melodic tune on the piano to switch to the Wedding March.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Stress and nerves often slowed down ladies on the brink of marriage, but Hazel knew patience would reward the guests with a beautiful bride.
She’d been thrilled when Fiona Hoffstetter had contacted her. She hadn’t known her personally, but Fiona’s reputation as the best wedding planner in the area preceded her.
Fiona had told her that, although she no longer lived in town, she’d always loved the old church. Stonebridge was the most beautiful, quaint town she knew, and she and her fiancé had grown up in the area.
Fiona had said she’d heard fantastic things about Hazel’s specialty teas and asked her to cater the drinks for her upcoming wedding. Coming from Fiona, a wedding planner herself, that was quite the compliment.
Hazel hadn’t thought about branching out into catering, but maybe she should.
A snicker from behind them caught Hazel’s attention, and she focused her senses in that direction.
“Can you imagine how much she’s freaking out right now?” one woman said. “She’s probably searching everywhere for her shoes.”
Hazel narrowed her gaze, wondering if she’d misunderstood.
“Who’s going to notice missing shoes?” another with a higher-pitched voice said. “Her veil is much more important.”
Hazel opened her eyes wide and blinked. They’d stolen or hidden the bride’s shoes and veil? She yearned to turn to see who could do such a cruel thing.
Margaret did exactly that. “Hush, Gwen. If you can’t be nice, you shouldn’t have come.”
The pianist pounded out the first dramatic notes in the Wedding March, bringing their conversation to a halt. Hazel stood as the flower girl dressed in soft pink tulle scattered peach-colored rose petals down the aisle.
Hazel used the pretense of watching for the bride to enter the chapel as an excuse to turn toward the doors, giving her a perfect view of the women behind her.
She recognized Margaret’s sister, Gwen, a voluptuous platinum blonde wearing a lime green dress with dramatic cleavage. She sat with two other twenty-something women. One with long black curls wore a fiery red dress, black gloves, and fantastic red shoes with three-inch heels. The other paled in comparison with light brown hair, dressed in baby blue, who also wore a hat, though not as elaborate as Margaret’s.
In Hazel’s mind, she couldn’t conjure a good enough reason why Gwen and the other two would choose to play a joke on the bride. A woman’s wedding day should be one of the most memorable in her life and already had enough anxiety to last for weeks.
Whispers in the crowd quieted as the veil-less bride stepped through the doors. Her flushed face carried obvious signs of stress, and she narrowed her gaze when she spotted the three women in the back row.
She knew.
As Fiona passed Hazel’s pew, she stumbled. A quick snort of laughter escaped the woman in red, and her friends giggled in response. The bride’s father placed a firm hand on Fiona’s waist to
steady her, and Hazel noticed her dress seemed a tad long.
Probably because of the lack of shoes.
Hazel caught sight of the nasty women’s faces as they shifted to follow the bride’s progress. They were all too focused on Fiona to notice Hazel’s perusal. She wondered if Margaret was aware of their underhanded tactics.
Fiona’s father kissed her cheek and handed her off to her beloved, a man named Arthur Wainswright.
“Wait until the itching starts,” one of the women said, and they all three giggled.
Seconds after the words reached Hazel’s ears, poor Fiona pretended to adjust the strap on her dress, but Hazel could see she’d used the action to cover her forearm rubbing across one of her breasts.
Hazel shook her head in complete disgust, wishing she could cast a small hex on the three women so they would know what humiliation felt like.
Hazel suffered empathetically through the entire ceremony, feeling every inch of Fiona’s discomfort and anxiety. When the priest announced them as husband and wife and Arthur leaned in for a kiss, Hazel turned, prepared to give the women a piece of her mind.
But they were gone.
Margaret huffed in disgust. “I cannot believe Gwen.”
Hazel absorbed some of Margaret’s embarrassment. “Sounds like the three of them played some nasty tricks on Fiona. Shoes? Veil? Something itchy?”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I should have known Gwen wouldn’t keep her promise to behave. Granted, she does have a right to be angry, but still.”
That piqued her curiosity. “Why is she angry with Fiona?”
Her friend widened her eyes. “You haven’t heard? Oh, my goodness. You’re probably the only person in Stonebridge who hasn’t.”
Now, she really had her. “Tell me. You know I love a juicy story.”
Margaret cast her gaze about them, but everyone seemed preoccupied on making their way to congratulate the newlyweds. “I shouldn’t spread gossip since she’s my sister, but if she’s going to act this way, no one is going to forget anyway.”
