“If dazzling means scary in this world, then sure,” I muttered, reluctantly turning my attention back to my assignment.
“I heard you were at the Lighthouse for lunch with Sheriff Nash,” Hazel said. She stood over me as I worked, and I tried not to be distracted by her peppermint breath.
“I think there’s a troll under a bridge that still hasn’t heard about my lunch with the sheriff,” I said. “Maybe you should run along and tell him.”
“He’s the young, attractive sheriff and you’re the long-lost Rose. It’s only natural that tongues are wagging.”
“So it’s not that I’m young and attractive?” I queried.
Hazel pretended to study the runes. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”
I harrumphed like an old man. “The views from the Lighthouse are amazing,” I said. “Have you ever been?”
“So, was it a date?” she asked, ignoring my question.
“No, it was lunch.” I glanced up at her. “Are we drawing runes today or just gossiping?”
“It’s not gossip when it’s about yourself,” she replied primly.
“Yes, but it’s fodder for gossip for you.”
Hazel huffed and folded her arms. “I’m not a gossip.” She stopped. “Fine. Not a huge gossip, but your aunt requested that I poke around.”
Her answer surprised me. “Why?”
She tapped the paper for me to continue. “I don’t know, but if Hyacinth Rose-Muldoon asks me to do something, I do it.”
“Why is that?” I asked. “She’s not the head of the coven.” That title belonged to the High Priestess, Iris Sandstone.
“She’s on the Council of Elders,” Hazel said. “Plus, she’s a Rose.”
“So am I,” I said. “That doesn’t stop you from bossing me around.”
“Your aunt is probably the most powerful witch in Starry Hollow,” Hazel said. “You’re fortunate that she feels so protective of you. She isn’t always so magnanimous.”
“Do you know anything about her relationship with my father?” I asked.
Hazel pressed her lips together, debating how to answer. “What would you like to know?”
I shrugged. “Anything, really. I know next to nothing since he never even told me he had a sister.”
Hazel’s gaze lowered. “Yes, I think that fact hurts your aunt greatly.”
“I guess he felt like he was protecting me,” I said. From what, I had no idea. Sunday dinner etiquette?
Hazel pulled up a chair. “Your father was a stubborn wizard. He and your aunt were close as children, but butted heads as they grew older, especially when your grandmother died.”
My grandmother. So many family members I never knew.
“What was she like?” I’d never had the luxury of knowing any grandparents. I’d thought Marley would be luckier, but her paternal grandparents had been mortified by my out-of-wedlock pregnancy and wanted nothing to do with Karl or us after we told them the news.
“Much like Hyacinth,” Hazel said. “Formidable. A good match for your grandfather. He served on the Council of Elders before your aunt. There’s always been a Rose on the council.”
“Why did my dad butt heads with Aunt Hyacinth?”
“Those two disagreed about the color of the sky. When he announced his engagement to your mother, Hyacinth was furious that he circumvented the family.”
“But she was a member of the same coven,” I said. “Isn’t that the only thing that matters?”
Hazel inhaled slowly. “Most of the time, but your father was the patriarch of the Rose family at that point. His marriage became a family matter, not an individual choice.”
Sheesh. Marriage approval? It was like medieval times in Starry Hollow.
“No wonder Florian rebels,” I said. “He’s the patriarch now. You’d think my aunt would have learned not to push her will onto stubborn Rose men.”
Hazel laughed. “Plenty of stubborn Rose women, too.” She gave me a pointed look.
“It feels very last century to be worried about ‘appropriate’ marriages,” I said.
“Get used to it,” Hazel said. “No one’s overly concerned with my marital prospects, mind you, but I’m not a Rose.”
“What? There’s no Mister-of-Runecraft?”
“No, there’s not.” She swatted my leg. “Not that I’d complain if he waltzed into my life.”
“Why don’t you waltz into his?” I hesitated. “Don’t tell me feminism hasn’t hit the paranormal world yet.”
“Look around you,” she said. “There are plenty of women in positions of power here. Anyway, I wouldn’t even know where to start.” She sighed. “I’m so busy with teaching and private lessons.”
“What do you do for fun?” I asked. With her chin-length red hair and freckles, I couldn’t imagine Hazel doing much beyond juggling balls and riding a unicycle.
“I play cards.”
“That’s it?”
“And I do country line dancing at the Shooting Star.”
I resisted the urge to gag. “Aren’t there nice men that do country line dancing?”
“None that I haven’t already banged.”
Yikes. So Hazel rode more than a unicycle, apparently. “No long-term prospects?”
“There’s one…” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. Now stop distracting me with personal questions and get back to work.”
A knock on the door sent PP3 into a barking frenzy and my pen went flying across the table.
“Pipe down,” I said sharply. “It’s only the sheriff.”
“The sheriff again?” Hazel asked.
I opened the door to greet Sheriff Nash. In his tight jeans and sheriff’s hat, he oozed masculinity all over my front step. Inwardly, I warned my body not to betray me. I didn’t want the sheriff to know how my stomach dipped at the sight of him. Although he wasn’t a mind reader like Alec, he only needed to be a face reader to figure out what I was thinking right now. I wasn’t exactly the most adept person at hiding my emotions.
“You okay, Rose?” he asked, with that infuriating lopsided grin of his.
“Of course,” I said quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He tilted his head. “You look like you haven’t had a meal for days and a big, juicy steak just got slapped on a plate in front of you.”
Oops. I adjusted my expression, imagining I was sucking lemons. That should do the trick.
"So you’re a detective now, too?" Hazel queried, tucking the Big Book of Scribbles into her bag.
Oh, terrific. Now the sheriff was showing up at the cottage in front of Hazel. More fodder for gossip.
"I'm a reporter chasing a story,” I said. “Aunt Hyacinth’s orders." I hoped that invoking my aunt’s name would stop the inquisition.
She narrowed her eyes. “Where’s he taking you?" Or maybe not.
"To see Artemis Haverford," the sheriff said.
“Artemis?” she gasped. “Spell’s bells. Why would you take her there?”
“It’s work related,” I said.
Hazel appeared skeptical. “Work related? You mean you’re going to use her services? I doubt your aunt would approve of Artemis doing the matchmaking for a Rose.” She moved to stand between the sheriff and me. “Why in Nature’s name are you the one taking her?”
I gave an exasperated sigh. "The sheriff doesn’t care whether I find love, Hazel.”
“Now, Rose. Don’t you believe that for one minute,” he replied smoothly. “I’m greatly interested in your love life.” He paused. “It has the potential to provide hours of entertainment for me.”
I shot him a dirty look. “We’re investigating the bachelor frog epidemic,” I told Hazel.
Her expression clouded over. "Of course. Florian. It's no wonder she has the paper working on it as well.” She turned to look at me. "Mind yourself at Haverford House, Ember. Artemis is an old witch not to be trifled with. You rub her the wrong way, and you’ll end up in one of her stews.” She hesitated. “She might not
even bother to turn you into a frog first.”
I gulped. “Thanks for the warning."
I tried to ignore the concern reflected in her crazy clown eyes as she brushed past the sheriff and headed down the walkway.
Chapter 7
I joined Sheriff Nash in the car and he immediately noticed my pensive mood.
"That time of the month, Rose?" he asked, pulling out of the driveway.
I glanced quickly at him, horrified. "What? No. Why would you say that?"
He chuckled. "I thought nothing was off-limits with you. I believe you’re the one who brought it up when we first met."
He was right. The first time I met him was at the station, where Deputy Bolan had driven me to discuss the death of Fleur Montbatten. I had run my mouth in my usual fashion and said more than I probably should have.
"So, what's eating you?" he asked.
I stared out the window as we passed by Thornhold. “Is there any reason to be nervous about meeting Artemis Haverford?"
Understanding crossed his features. “Is this because of what Hazel said?"
"She seemed…concerned. I mean, this witch is just a matchmaker, right?” A matchmaker that plenty of Starry Hollow residents seemed to visit. How scary could she be?
If Haverford House was any indication, then Artemis was, potentially, very scary indeed. The house was located on the outskirts of town in a secluded wooded area. We drove down a long dirt lane flanked by enormous live oaks. Shards of light filtered through the trees, making me momentarily dizzy.
The red brick front of the house was perfectly symmetrical with two large windows on either side of the portico and three same-sized windows on the second floor. I noticed a widow’s walk on the rooftop. Moss and ivy had taken over the façade and a large weeping willow caressed the left side of the house. The wrought iron fence had seen better days. The rusty gate hung askew, begging to be fixed. When I stepped out of the car, an icy wind rushed through me and I shivered.
"People really come here to find a husband or wife?" I suddenly saw the appeal of online dating.
"When you have a reputation as good as Artemis, people are willing to overlook the… ambience," the sheriff said.
"Have you ever paid her a visit?" I asked, as we walked up the pathway to the door.
His brow lifted. "Why? Do I seem like someone who needs the help of a professional?"
I shrugged. "Well, you told me there was no Mrs. Sheriff, and you seemed a little sad about it. I thought maybe you'd exhausted all avenues before giving up."
His brow shot up further, if that was even possible. "Who says I've given up?"
"Oh, so you keep your hair extra scruffy in the hope of attracting the right mate? And you wear your shirts wrinkled hoping that some lovely lady with keen ironing skills will notice and take pity on you?” I nodded sagely. "I see your strategy now."
He bumped me gently with his elbow. "Hey, if we’re going to pick on each other, then I have a few pointers for you."
At that moment, the front door opened and the conversation came to a screeching halt.
Artemis Haverford stood before us, wearing a white lace dress yellowed by age. Her bone-white hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her wrinkled skin reminded me of a Bloodhound.
"My, my. Sheriff Granger Nash on my doorstep. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She turned her attention to me. “And you must let me know if you’re ever interested in my services, Miss Rose. I would be only too delighted to find you the perfect match."
"You know who I am?" I asked.
The old witch smiled and I caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth. "Course I do, darling. You're the spitting image of your mother."
The sheriff and I exchanged looks.
She stepped to the side. "Do come in. Jefferson will make us a pot of tea.”
The wooden floorboards creaked as we followed her into a room that reminded me of Thornhold’s parlor. All the windows were covered in heavy drapery so that no sunlight filtered through. The only light emanated from a candlelit chandelier above our heads that was covered in cobwebs.
Artemis sat in a wingback chair, the upholstery riddled with holes. Sheriff Nash and I sat on the settee across from her and I ignored the escaped stuffing that tickled the backs of my knees. Everything in the room was timeworn, from the furniture to the dusty artwork on the walls. I wondered whether she suffered from environment-induced asthma.
A black cat hobbled into the room, looking as ancient and mangy as its owner. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least to see the cat with a walking stick.
"Come here now, Clementine," Artemis urged. The cat missed on the first jump, but tried again and was rewarded with a warm lap. She eyed us suspiciously before curling up in a ball.
“How sweet,” I said. Marley would be all over her.
"Clementine is my familiar," Artemis said. "She has been my constant companion for as long as I can remember."
"My daughter loves cats," I said.
Artemis smiled, flashing those rotten teeth again. “That's the sign of a good witch right there. How about you, Miss Rose? Where do you stand on cats?"
"I try not to stand on them at all," I joked. "It seems to upset them."
Sheriff Nash bit back a laugh. Artemis, on the other hand, showed no signs of possessing a sense of humor.
"I have a dog," I said, my smile fading. "A nine-year-old Yorkie called Prescott Peabody III.”
“A big name for such a little dog," Artemis said. Clementine opened one eye and peered at me as if to say, she means a stupid name. "I suppose you’re here about the influx of frogs."
“You understand why we needed to come and see you," the sheriff said.
A floating tray entered the room with a teapot and three teacups. It drifted down to the sideboard with expert precision.
"Oh, my aunt uses magic like that to serve guests," I said. "She rings little silver bells. She keeps them everywhere in the house." Even in the bathroom for toilet paper emergencies.
I watched as the tea was poured evenly into the cups.
"While I do use magic quite often, this is entirely Jefferson's doing." She glanced at the empty air. "Isn't that right, Jefferson?"
A shiver ran down my spine and I instinctively clutched the sheriff's hand on the settee.
“Um, Miss Haverford. Where exactly is Jefferson?"
She tittered softly. "Why, he's a ghost, of course. He lives in Haverford House with me. He died here under most unfortunate circumstances about a century ago."
I gulped. "What kind of unfortunate circumstances?"
Artemis glanced again at the empty air. "Do you mind if I tell the story, Jefferson?"
A cup of tea sailed into my hand and I balanced it carefully, not wanting to drip the dark liquid onto the light fabric of the settee. Even though nothing was in good shape, I had no desire to contribute to its demise.
"Jefferson was a young man who lived in the house, a nephew of one of my ancestors,” Artemis said. “He liked his drink, as many young men do. He was on the roof one day, drinking with friends and showing off the fabulous view to a certain young lady who’d caught his interest. You can see the ocean from the widow’s walk. The fool lost his balance and fell from the rooftop, impaling himself on the wrought iron fence below." She took a dainty sip of tea. "He has been part of the house ever since."
"Can you see him?" I asked.
Artemis shook her head. "No, but I sense him acutely. And he is quite adept at moving objects around. He has been my faithful manservant since I was a young witch in this house."
I politely sipped my tea. I was still processing the fact that a ghost had just served it to me.
Artemis set down her teacup and ran her bony fingers through the black fur of her familiar. "Now, on to business, shall we?"
"You said you understood why we’d come to see you," I said. "Is it because you knew that two of the affected men had been to see you recently?"
"There’s a bit more to it than tha
t," she replied. "The sheriff knows. I suspect that’s the real reason he decided to pay me a visit."
The sheriff drained his teacup and set the empty cup aside. "There is a somewhat famous story about Miss Haverford here in Starry Hollow."
"You mean the fact that she’s a matchmaker?" I queried.
"No, darling," Artemis said. "It's the reason I became a matchmaker. That's the story." She leaned back in her chair and I noticed the faraway look in her eyes. "I dabbled in transformation spells as a girl. Ever since I got my first wand at eleven years old, I wanted to be an expert in the field. I practiced all the time and had gained quite a reputation by the time I turned eighteen. That's when I met Cedric."
"Cedric Farley was a satyr,” Sheriff Nash said. “Part man, part goat.”
"Oh, yes," Artemis said. "My family hated the fact that I had fallen hard for a satyr. They wanted me to marry within the coven, of course.” She smiled at me. "I'm sure you can relate, darling." She heaved a sigh. "Anyway, I was determined to marry him. My mother said that if we could prove it was true love, then they would give us their blessing. Satyrs tend to have a reputation, you understand. They have an eye for the ladies. Because I dabbled so readily in transformation spells, it seemed only natural that I would turn him into a frog."
My brow creased. "Why a frog?"
"You know the old story, don't you? The kiss of true love turns the frog into a prince," Artemis said. "I was so confident. I changed him into a frog, fully expecting to be able to turn him back with a single kiss.”
"So what went wrong?" I asked.
The old witch hesitated and I caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. "While it was true love for me, it turned out that it wasn't true love for him, after all. I couldn't turn him back into a satyr no matter how much I loved him…because he didn't love me in return."
I gaped at her. "So he was stuck as a frog forever?"
She nodded grimly. "I kept him with me for a while, but he was clearly unhappy. One day, I brought him into the woods and set him free. I like to think that he met another frog that made him happy. I never saw him again."
Magic & Mystery: Starry Hollow Witches, Book 2 Page 7
