Contents
Murder At The Coven
Disclaimer
Special Offer!
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Contact Nancy McG
One More Thing
A BLUEBELL KNOPPS COZY MYSTERY
Book 3:
Murder At The Coven
By
Nancy McGovern
Rights & Disclaimer
This is entirely a work of fiction. All people, places and events contained have been completely fabricated by the author. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are completely coincidental.
Murder At The Coven Copyright © 2016 Nancy McGovern
http://www.Facebook.com/AuthorNancyMcG
All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any manner or used in any way without advanced written permission by the author.
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Dedication
This book is for my friend, J.T. Dawson. I know you will be back and better than ever! We’ll be waiting…
Chapter 1
An Unlikely Dream
Everyone has quirks. Everyone thinks they’re the only ones to have them.
If you asked Bluebell what her quirks were, the answer would be readily apparent - her hair. Neon blue hair was part of her, as much as the freckles on the underside of her arms, or the small crescent scar hiding behind her knee. But she had a few quirks that were so much a part of her, she never thought about them. Like, for example, the fact that she never remembered her dreams.
Every night, she’d have the most vivid, colorful dreams a person could have, and next morning, she would have forgotten every detail, except for a vague blur that lingered in her mind the few minutes after she woke up. She took it for granted, really. Who really bothers to decipher dreams when real life is complicated enough?
But this night was different.
She’d gone to bed early because she was feeling a bit feverish. She’d fallen asleep halfway through a thick paperback book, and cuddled it to her as she slept. Everything around her felt so cozy. She was in her childhood room, wrapped up in a quilt her grandmother had sewn for her, dressed in her favorite purple pajamas with a pattern of golden pineapples all over them.
The next thing she knew, she was transported. She was in a fine ballroom filled with a large crowd. The party was in full swing. In one corner, three men dressed as fish played music with saxophones and trumpets. Lights danced in the air around them, and a crowd cheered and clapped in front of them. In another corner, famous actress Angelina Dubois leaned against a wall, as a man with a martini glass in his hand and a straw tucked behind his ear tried to flirt with her. Somewhere else, a fat man with a viking-type beard was juggling plates, while a whip-thin woman with cats-eye glasses and a 1950s style dress was scolding him, pointing to a broken plate on the ground.
Everyone at the party was dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns, and to her horror, Bluebell realized that she was still in her purple pajamas. Every eye seemed to turn towards her, and fix on her. She felt like sinking into the earth, melting with embarrassment. What a horrible thing!
Then she remembered that it was just a dream, and instantly felt better, more confident. If it was just a dream, she could just think it, and she’d be in a ball gown too. She concentrated for a second, then looked down. Any luck?
Nope. Still purple pajamas with golden pineapples. Honestly… even in dreams she was a bad witch! She really needed to find a tutor soon. Ever since Steve Talzer’s death, Mathilda, her original teacher, had not contacted her at all. Bluebell had tried reading from whatever books she found, but she suspected that the ones available at human libraries tended to be either fake, or far too complex to properly use. So far, she’d succeeded in proper knowledge of only a few spells, one of which was removing stains from her clothes. At least the pajamas were clean, if a little gaudy.
As she was thinking this, a man approached her. He was tall, and broad, with ice blue eyes and a handlebar mustache. Despite his age, Bluebell would have found him rather handsome, were it not for his hair. Although he was quite nearly bald on the top of his head, he insisted on having long hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a purple tuxedo that seemed to be glittering all over, yet somehow, he made it look extremely manly.
“Ah, our newest initiate,” he said to her with a broad smile. “We’re very pleased to have you here! Welcome to our party!”
Deciding she was uninterested in this conversation, Bluebell opted instead to wander around the party, determined to have a good time in her dream. After all, if this was a lucid dream, she could do whatever she wanted! She could fly, she could…
“Excuse me,” he said sharply as she turned away. “I’m talking to you, miss!”
She turned back to him. “This is a good dream, but it’s my dream. I don’t want to waste time talking. I’d rather be… flying!” She flapped her arms, wondering if she would start flying, but nothing happened. Bother.
“This isn’t a dream,” he said, looking a little less annoyed. “Your name is Bluebell Knopps, and my name is Sutter Cutler. You’re a Phoenix.”
“I’m a witch,” she said. “I’m also a human. I’m certainly not a Phoenix.”
“I meant, you belong to the Phoenix Coven now,” Sutter said, irritation returning in his voice. “Welcome, young student. We are here to teach you.”
“Wait. So I’m not dreaming?” Bluebell asked. “I could have sworn I was.”
“No. You are not dreaming. You must pack your bags, leave wherever you are, and come to Phoenix Estate,” Sutter said, enunciating his words clearly as if he were speaking to an idiot.
A confused Bluebell shook her head.
“I am dreaming,” she said. “I have to be dreaming, and I’m somehow aware of it. It’s a good dream, though.”
A passing waiter wearing gloves studded with rhinestones stopped by them with a silver tray on which stood two champagne glasses. The liquid inside, however, did not look like champagne. It looked like the milky way in an ink black night sky.
“See? Details like that. This isn’t real life, it’s a dream,” Bluebell said.
“It’s real life, all right,” Sutter said, looking visibly annoyed. “As High Priest of the Phoenix Coven, I’ve had quite enough of your backchat. Silence.” He waved his hand.
She tried to say something, but found her lips did not move. The words came as gurgles that stayed trapped in her throat. Her hands clutched her lips, and then her throat, while her eyes grew wide with fear.
“That’s better,” Sutter said. “Now listen here. This is the 500th anniversary of our creation, and we cast a spell to find our next initiate. Do you realize how lucky you are? No coven in all of America is as fine as the Phoenix. Now you’re to meet us on the 17th, and stay the weekend. We will initiate you. If you pass, which I highly doubt, you may become a member of the most exclusive coven in—”
Bluebell mumbled somethin
g, and Sutter sighed. “What is it?” he asked, waving his hand and allowing her to speak.
“I thought covens were witches-only,” she said. “I didn’t know wizards could join.”
“A good coven should look at ability, not gender,” Sutter said, puffing up. “I’ve been fighting for wizard’s rights since I was a tot and—”
“Also, why would Angelina Dubois, Hollywood star, be in a coven?” Bluebell laughed. “No. This makes no sense. This is clearly a dream, see, I’ll prove it. If I pinch myself, I should wake up.”
“Wait, no, don’t…” Sutter moved to stop her, but she’d already done it. She’d pinched herself on the wrist, hard.
Instantly, the dream vanished in a puff of smoke, and Bluebell sat up in bed, blinking. What a weird dream! She gave a little laugh. The book she’d fallen asleep with tumbled on the floor. She flicked on the light, and picked it up. Of course it was a dream. She was reading The Great Gatsby and she’d dreamed about a large party. No coincidence there. She gave a laugh.
There was a knock on her window, and her laughter dissolved. She sat up straighter, clutching the quilt to her chest. A cat. A cat? Yes, a black cat sat on the windowsill, washing its whiskers and tapping against the glass. He gave her a bored look, and cocked his head.
For a moment, she sat frozen with fear. What was this? Cats weren’t supposed to do what this one had just done, were they? Despite her better judgement, she opened the window for him.
He leaped upon the hardwood floor, leaving multiple scratches on the surface. Bluebell groaned. “We just had that fitted last year,” she said.
The cat coughed, doubled over, and spat out a hairball. Then jumping on her bed, he fixed her with his gaze. In a deep voice that sounded strangely familiar, he said, “You’re an absolute fool, do you know that?”
Bluebell jumped again. Since becoming a witch, or rather, since finding out she was a witch a year ago, she’d had a lot of strange things happen to her. But this was the first time she’d been spoken to by an animal. A rather rude animal at that. Why did his voice sound so familiar anyway? She realized the reason - he sounded just like Sutter.
As if he’d read her mind, the cat said, “Well I am Sutter, you thundering cabbage. Now will you stop playing the fool and listen?”
“Uh… I’m all ears,” she said.
“I thought I’d do the decent thing and create an astral body projection to our party, and give you a surprise,” Sutter said. “But what did you go and do? Pretend it was a dream and pinch yourself! Honestly, spells cost money and time, you know. I can’t go wasting either on you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I really didn’t know.”
“Of course, you didn’t. You’re a shameful thing. A witch of 23, with no idea how to do the simplest of conjuring spells.”
“But… how did you transform into a cat so fast?” Bluebell asked. “For that matter, how did you manage to transport yourself from wherever you were to my house so fast?”
“I have not transformed into a cat, madame,” he said icily. “I have simply commandeered it’s body so that I may speak to you. An impossible task, speaking to you. You simply are not prepared to listen.”
“Oh. Right.” Bluebell nodded. “Although…”
“What is it?” he asked testily.
“Well, you could just have rung me on the telephone, couldn’t you? Since spells cost time, money and energy.”
He gave her a look of such contempt that she was sure it would shoot holes in the wall behind her. “I don’t care much for human inventions,” he said. “As witches and wizards we’re above all these nonsensical non-magical pursuits.”
“All right,” she said with a placating tone. “What are you here to tell me?”
He sighed. “Much as I now regret it, we at the Phoenix Coven decided to take a new member into our ranks this year. After much consultation of the stars, we have decided to take you as an initiate. You’re advised to visit us this weekend, and for heaven’s sake, wear something more decent than these ghastly pajamas!”
“They’re comfy,” Bluebell protested. “I could hardly be expected to know you were going to perform astral projections on me, could I?”
“You’ll receive a letter with the details,” the cat said, standing up and arching its back. “That is all. Good day.”
“Why not an email?” Bluebell asked. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me, you hate human technology even when it’s far superior to old-fashioned—”
The cat stalked around her bed, turned his head around to look at her, and raised a paw. Bluebell’s eyes widened. The paw was extended over the side table, balanced in the air over her favorite mug.
“Oh, no! Don’t!”
With a very catty smile, he batted his paw, and shoved the mug off the table.
“Ugh! That was my favorite mug!” Bluebell exclaimed, as it smashed on the floor.
The cat gave her another smug look. Then, in two leaps, he had disappeared out the window into the night, leaving Bluebell to clear up the mess.
*****
Chapter 2
Phoenix Coven
The taxi dropped Bluebell at the gates, leaving her to drag her suitcase up the large cobblestoned driveway. So this was the headquarters of the Phoenix Coven. It was a gothic mansion, with gargoyles sitting atop each spire, flamboyant tracery, and arches housing stained glass windows. The driveway itself led up to a large fountain that had a marble bird with its wings extended rising up from the waters.
Bluebell paused to admire the view, taking in the lush gardens, and the rows of cherry blossom trees planted along the driveway. Taking a deep breath, she squared herself up, and then rang the doorbell. Whatever she had expected, it was not this - the door was opened by a dripping wet man wearing swimming trunks. What a man, too. He was a head taller than Bluebell, and muscles rippled all over his tanned body. Water dripped from his neck to his chest, and Bluebell’s eyes followed the trail.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked.
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry. Am I in the right place?”
“Well, it isn’t a dream this time,” the man said with a grin. He looked her up and down with a twinkle in his eye. “Interesting. Grey slacks and a pinstriped shirt. Good, semi-formal clothes. Though I have to say I liked the purple pajamas better. Wherever did you buy those?”
“Made them myself,” she said, before she could help it. Then, she added, “I… am I at the right place? Also, how did you know about my pajamas?”
“I make it my business to know about a pretty girl’s pajamas.” He winked at her, and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Jokes aside, I was at the party when Sutter tried to show off by bringing you in through an astral body spell. You annoyed him so much when you didn’t act the way he thought you would. I like you for it.”
“I hope he’s not still annoyed,” Bluebell said nervously. “After all, he’s supposed to be my teacher.”
“Sutter has a bad memory, unless it comes to his spells. He won’t remember a thing, don’t worry.” He was still standing, leaning on the door, blocking her way. Bluebell waited patiently for him to move aside, and he remembered with a start that he was supposed to. With a cheery smile, he moved and waved her inside.
With a deep breath, she stepped in.
The interiors matched the house perfectly. The hallway was long and broad, with black and white checkered tiles, and twin mahogany spiral staircases at one end. Statues of Greek soldiers lined the walls, and classical art bordered with elaborate golden frames hung on the walls.
“My name is Ewan, in case you’re interested,” the man said. “I’m here for the ceremony too.”
“What ceremony?”
“So many questions,” Ewan said. “Is your name Mark? Because you should be called Question Mark.”
Bluebell laughed. Despite his leery behavior, she found Ewan harmless, and rather liked him. He reminded her quite a lot of her best friend, Nolan, in fact.
“For Shanti’s sake, Ewan. Cover up before you embarrass the newbie, will you?” a woman said as she descended one of the staircases. She entered rather like the heroine in one of the black and white movies Bluebell so loved to watch. All they could see at first were her legs, which were clad in an Aztec-print skirt, soon followed by the rest of her voluptuous body, and finally, her stunning face. Dark hair coiled around her shoulder, and green eyes made her face shine out in the gloom. But, like everyone else who had ever watched a movie starring Angelina Dubois, the thing Bluebell noted first was her lips. Plump and red, they feminized an otherwise hard rectangular face, giving her a sultry, seductive look.
She was a woman who was clearly used to being admired whenever she entered a room, and she fluffed her hair as she approached them. “Well,” she said, glancing at his lean tanned body. “You’ve been working out, Ewan.”
Ewan reacted like a puppy who’d been offered a treat. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging up a storm, Bluebell thought.
“So you’re the new initiate?” She looked at Bluebell now.
“You, you’re Angelina Dubois! Star of Tristan Meets Isolde and Fantastically Yours. You even did your stunts in that one, didn’t you? It was thrilling!” Bluebell exclaimed. “But I especially loved you in that animated movie Karate Panda. You voiced your character with such… such emotion. I can’t believe I’m meeting the Angelina Dubois.”
“Yes, I know who I am, thank you,” Angelina said. “The question is, Who. Are. You?” Her voice was smooth as velvet, though it hardened a bit as she addressed Bluebell.
“I’m… I’m Bluebell Knopps,” Bluebell said. “I’ve never been in a coven before. I don’t actually know how any of this works… but I never knew you were a witch. I mean, I love all your movies - big fan! I always thought you have a magical aura around you.”
“That’s just her looks,” Ewan said lazily. “Well, you can show her around, Angie, I’ll be off to get dressed.”
Murder At The Coven: A Witch Cozy Mystery (A Bluebell Knopps Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 1
