Witches in Wonderland

by Lauren Quick

  “Do you know what this means?” Vivi asked when Pepper had finished talking.

  Pepper was wide-eyed and a little dazed. The whites of her eyes were currently a vibrant shade of pink. “That I made a Ghost Potion.”

  “You did it. It’s a true breakthrough in potion conjuring and communication. It’s a huge accomplishment. Not to mention you have a fabulous entry for the potion-brewing contest.” A wave of excitement washed over her. “You could win!”

  “I can’t believe the potion works. It really works. I’m still in shock a little.”

  “Your eyes have lightened some. They’re almost back to normal.”

  “I should write that down. It looks like the potion lasts for about an hour. From the time it truly activated until I came back inside,” Pepper said.

  “That’s good to know.”

  Rumor squawked from the back gate. He’d arrived with a note from Serafina. “She’s available to meet with you tonight at Haven Academy. I think you should take the rest of the day off and relax before you go and meet with her,” Vivi said, reading the parchment.

  “Thanks, Vivi. You’re the best boss.” Pepper gave her a hug and grabbed her purse before heading out.

  “You’re a pretty great employee. When you see Serafina, tell her everything. She can help. Hey, give me a second to get something upstairs before you go.”

  “Sure,” Pepper said, hopping up on the stool to wait.

  Vivi charged up the back steps that led to her apartment two at a time. Once inside she raced to her bedroom, pulled the large cardboard box from under her bed, and slipped the leather jacket out, throwing it over her arm, and heading back downstairs. The aunties made her take it home with her. And, yes, Vivi knew they were up to something. Loving, kind manipulation was threaded through the fabric of their beings. They wanted her to experiment with the jacket. And Vivi had to admit she wanted to, too.

  Back in the shop, she draped the jacket onto the work table and went back out front. Pepper wrinkled her nose. “Did you get a shipment of fresh cloves or nutmeg? Smells strong.”

  “No. Just an old clothing artifact I was given from the aunties. It’s been stored in a box for years and obviously needs a little airing out.”

  Pepper jumped to her feet and waved to Vivi as she left the shop. “Wish me luck.”

  Vivi motioned to Pepper’s sunglasses and her assistant lowered them over her eyes, which were a pale shade of pink. With some time to investigate, hopefully Vivi would get some answers from that jacket. It had stories it needed to tell. She could feel it.

  13

  Clover stared up at the smooth white ceiling of her bedroom. The house was quiet, peaceful energy radiating throughout. The sound of birds chirping filtered through the open window. A light breeze blew the gauzy curtains in a lazy arc. The aunties were still sound asleep or at least she hoped. Climbing out of bed, Clover padded into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and slipped into a comfortable long skirt and T-shirt. She eased downstairs, past the closed guest room doors, and into the kitchen where, with a flick of her wand, got a copper kettle boiling. It was a strong-brewed coffee kind of morning.

  Clover sipped her coffee and made a round of the first floor, inspecting the controlled chaos of her aunties’ nesting habits. They’d immediately made themselves at home, draping shawls and loose articles of clothing on the backs of the sofa and chairs, leaving shoes under the coffee table, and placing an interesting-looking leather-bound book with a dark red cover on the chair in her office. Clover gripped her mug and eyed the curious book. The aunties had been so tired last night after they unpacked, she couldn’t imagine one of them staying up reading. She reached out to inspect the book, fingers poised over the embossed cover, but a rustling sound emanated from the kitchen, pulling her away.

  Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Derek smiled brightly at her. “How are the house guests?” he asked.

  “Good. I think. They arrived late last night and we had an interesting conversation and encounter with a family heirloom they brought with them. Then we all went to bed. I have a feeling the two of them will be a handful.”

  “Three Mayhems under one roof sounds like a recipe for excitement,” Derek said. “I couldn’t wait to come to work this morning and meet them.”

  Clover eyed a pink bakery box on the counter, her stomach practically leaping with excitement. “I see you came bearing gifts.”

  “Of course. I’m no fool. I want to get on the aunties’ good side.” Derek lifted the lid and scooted it temptingly toward Clover. “I didn’t know what everyone liked so I got a little bit of everything. Raspberry and sweet cheese coffee cake, cinnamon-glazed bear claws, chocolate cake donuts, and apple caramel muffins.”

  Clover inhaled the sweet fragrant smells. “Now that’s what I call aromatherapy.” She sunk her teeth into a hunk of coffee cake. “Delicious,” she mumbled.

  “I’ve arrived just in time,” Elsie said, sauntering into the kitchen, wearing a long silk robe, her hair pinned up on her head in a jumble of curls.

  Henrietta was right on her heels and nudged past her sister to get a peek into the box. “I love a wizard who brings treats. You must be Derek. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Nice to finally meet you both,” he said and extended his hand, but Henrietta shook off the handshake and embraced him in a hug.

  “Clover’s the only one of our nieces who writes to us on a regular basis, which is no surprise. She told us all about her fabulous assistant.” Elsie clutched a huge bear claw in her hand and attempted not to get glaze on Derek’s shirt when she, too, reeled him in for a hug.

  The witches helped themselves to the pastry and settled around the table while Derek poured a round of coffee.

  “Clover dear, how are things going in the romance department?” Elsie asked. “Such a successful and pretty witch like you shouldn’t be living alone in a big house like this. You need to fill it up with grandnieces and nephews.” She devoured half the bear claw in one ravenous bite.

  Clover swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Good,” she said, shoving a wedge of coffee cake into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge.

  “Better than good,” Derek said, taking a seat. “Her boyfriend, Bradley Adams, is mad about her. He’s a brewer and his business has been booming ever since he expanded with a line called Wicked Apple Cider. He really knows what he’s doing and simply adores Clover. Fingers crossed. He’s the one.”

  Clover’s eyes widened and she kicked Derek under the table.

  “Ouch.” His gaze met hers. “One of us had to say it,” he said, pulling a hunk off his muffin and shoving it into his mouth with a mischievous grin.

  “Thank you, Derek. It was just what we wanted to hear,” Henrietta said. “We can’t wait to meet him. In fact, Elsie and I were talking, and we’ve decided it would be great fun to throw a little party here at the house.”

  “A party!” Clover yelped.

  Henrietta’s eyes danced. “You don’t mind indulging your aunties, do you? It won’t be a big affair and we promise not to embarrass you too much in front of your friends. We want to spend some time getting reacquainted with our nieces. Make up for lost time.”

  “We’ll do all the work. Well, maybe not all of the work, but you and your sisters will be the guests of honor.” Elsie smiled and sipped her drink.

  “What kind of party?” Clover asked, but she could hardly say no, especially since they seemed genuinely excited.

  “A tea party!” they said in unison.

  Henrietta’s smile was infectious. “Won’t that be fun? We need to get planning and send out the invitations right away. Derek, Clover brags about how organized you are, so that will be your job.”

  “No problem,” he said, with an eager salute. The aunties were smart to recruit him. Derek loved this kind of thing.
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  “When?” Clover asked, mind racing. “And how many witches and wizards are you planning on inviting?”

  “Tomorrow,” Elsie said.

  “Tomorrow!” Clover blurted. “Isn’t that a little soon?”

  “Not at all. It’s called spontaneity, dear. You should try it sometime.” Henrietta raised her finger in the air, and with a quick twitch, she flung a donut out of the box and into her hand.

  Derek’s brow rose at her use of magical force. “Anything else I can do just let me know. I love parties. And the house and grounds are perfect for a tea party.”

  Elsie beamed. “Now we just need Clover’s approval. It is your house now and we don’t want to overstep.”

  “Sure, sounds great. I can totally be spontaneous. I just need to do a little planning first,” Clover said. Truth be told, she hated spontaneity, but there was no arguing with the aunties. She got the feeling the aunties were totally concocting a little plan of their own. She just hadn’t figured out what that was yet. Then a chill drifted over Clover when she remembered Vivi’s vision about Jack Rabbit showing up at her house and was glad that she wouldn’t be alone. She doubted the wizard would show up with a house full of party guests unless he was stalking one of them. “Who exactly do you intend on inviting to this party?”

  “Close friends and family. It won’t be a big affair. We want to keep it intimate so that everyone can enjoy the company.” Henrietta polished off her donut.

  “We’ll have tea and sandwiches. And we have to play some games,” Elsie blurted. “Like witch’s croquet.”

  “I love games, but I’ve never played witch’s croquet before,” Derek said, scribbling notes on a napkin.

  Clover widened her eyes at him. “It’s a little dangerous. The aunties use floating balls that may or may not explode when hit with a mallet. And they fill the balls with potions or whipped cream or weird magical goo. Once at a garden party, I was hit when a shot ricocheted and broke two balls. I was drenched with a sleeping potion and a bacon-scented perfume potion. I woke up behind a hedge, getting a tongue bath from another guest’s poodle.”

  Elsie and Henrietta threw their heads back and cackled.

  Derek laughed. “This sounds even better than I imagined. It’s fun and a little risky.”

  Clover cleared the table. “Don’t say you haven’t been warned. Plus, they play to win, so I wouldn’t wear nice clothes if I were you.”

  “This is going to be a riot,” Derek said.

  Henrietta tweaked his chin. “Oh, honey. Just you wait. It’s going to be a blast.”

  “I hope so.” Clover stared at her aunties who just smiled innocently in return.

  On the surface, a tea party sounded like a fun and relaxing afternoon, except Clover had a bad feeling her aunties were doing a lot more than planning an innocent tea party. She had a feeling they were setting a trap and using the Mayhem sisters as bait to lure in Devlin Strange. The aunties were plotting. Clover could feel it down to her bones. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe it was the only way to find him.

  After breakfast was over and cleaned up, everyone started making plans for the party and getting the house and food ready. Henrietta and Elsie had Derek hustling around doing their bidding and if the hum on his lips and spring in his step said anything, it was that he loved every second of it. Once he’d finished writing and sending out the invitations, he left for Willow Realm with a long shopping list. The aunties were out in the garden levitating furniture around and decorating a twig and vine arbor they’d built. Elsie had covered it in flowers from Clover’s garden and the decorations were starting to take shape.

  Clover waved her wand around the first floor, attempting a half-hearted dusting spell. Dust motes shimmered in the stream of sunlight pouring into her office. The red leather-bound book one of her aunties had left on the chair caught her attention. What kind of book could possibly interest them? Neither one of them was a big reader. Many of the Mayhem witches, except for her, were active and outgoing, preferring to travel and see the world rather than read about it in a book.

  She ran a finger over the red cover. It had three small M’s embossed into the smooth leather. Was it a journal? Clover didn’t like to snoop, but one of her great-aunts had left the book in her office. Plus, it was only a book. It wasn’t like Clover was prying into something too personal that it couldn’t be left out on the chair. She plopped down and flipped it open, half hoping for a juicy memoir. The title page contained three words in heavy black ink—Mayhem Magical Manifest.

  Clover smirked. “Magical Manifest” sounded a little melodramatic. She ran a finger over the words and goosebumps flashed across her skin. What kind of manifest could her family have? Clover flipped through the pages with her thumb, revealing a flutter of blank pages. Strange. She rubbed her hand over the cream parchment and felt a tingle of magic. The book was enchanted. Then she got an idea and took the book to her desk. She picked up a quill pen and dipped it into ink.

  Let’s see how magical this manifest really is.

  Her pen scratched across the page. My name is Clover Mayhem. She paused, waiting for a response.

  Suddenly a phrase floated up to the surface of the page from the depths of the book. Hello, Clover Mayhem.

  Clover’s heart raced. She was right. The book was magical. Often books were enchanted with an amount of knowledge and a narrator who could respond to basic questions concerning the subject of the book, but she’d never seen one completely blank. Clover considered a question she wanted to ask the manifest. She decided to start with the basics.

  Where did you come from? Her quill hovered over the page.

  I was conjured and created by Alexander Mayhem.

  Interesting. Alexander was Rosemary’s father. The book was very old. Why did he create you?

  To record the history of the Mayhem family and the magical persuasions and teachings of the family through the ages.

  Clover furrowed her brow. I’ve never heard of such a record.

  But I have heard of you, Clover Mayhem. You are a word witch, a story spinner, and a witch of great illusionary magic.

  Excitement tingled through her. She was flattered, of course. The book’s magical narrator had a personality and was obviously very intelligent or at least Alexander was. The spellwork used to create such a book took advanced magical skills. How do you know who I am?

  Trust me. I know.

  Clover’s mind bubbled over with possible questions. She was less interested in how the book knew things and more in exactly what it knew about her family. There was one burning question on her mind. What plans do Elsie and Henrietta have with their tea party?

  How should I know?

  She rolled her eyes at the snarky response and her hand flew across the page as she scribbled her retort. You’re supposed to know about Mayhem magic.

  I know about the history of Mayhem magic, the past. You know, those events that have already taken place.

  What good is the past? I need to know what’s going to happen tomorrow at my house during a tea party? She tapped her quill, waiting for a response.

  Ask your sister, Vivian Mayhem. She’s the one who sees the future. Not me.

  She snorted. “I should have seen that one coming,” she said to the book and thought about how to reframe her question to access the book’s knowledge. Have Elsie and Henrietta ever used magic at a party or gathering to trap someone?

  Yes.

  What kind of magic and how?

  Their persuasions, of course. And they like to set magical traps. At Victoria’s fifteenth birthday party they trapped Uncle Edgar in a truth web after he waded through the gift pile, helping himself to the pick of presents, until he told them where he’d hidden them.

  That was interesting, but hardly dark dealings. A truth
web wasn’t going to lure Devlin Strange to the party. What kind of magic would the aunties use? Clover smirked, instantly knowing they’d use an heirloom and she knew exactly what to ask. Which Mayhem wizard owned a brown leather jacket infused with magic? She’d felt the magic when she’d slipped it on.

  Two Mayhems wear leather jackets regularly. One is Honora Mayhem and the other is Charles Atticus.

  A gasp flew from Clover’s lips. She leapt to her feet, heart racing. No one had uttered that name in a very long time and seeing it written on the page brought him back in a flash. Every so often his image floated to the surface of her mind. But she and her sisters rarely spoke about him. Never, really, and she didn’t know why. She didn’t remember him wearing the jacket. A chill washed over her entire body as she contemplated what the aunties had done and what it all meant. Why not just come right out and tell them? She grabbed the book, needing to know more.

  Are you sure the jacket was his? Clover scribbled on the page.

  The text floated to the surface without hesitation. All I know is that Charles Atticus wore a brown leather jacket that he spelled with all kinds of protective wards. He was always a little paranoid. He claimed he was just being prepared.

  The book was rambling on, but she needed to have a straight answer to the question burning in her heart and head. Who is Charles Atticus in relation to the Mayhems? Clover’s hands were shaking. She already knew exactly who he was, but she wanted to see the words on the book’s pages. Seeing it in print would make it more real to her, ground her.

  Charles Atticus is the father of Clover, Vivian, and Honora Mayhem.

  Clover exhaled the breath she’d been holding, closed the book, and dropped it to the chair. Her emotions churned in her stomach as a storm of confusion and memories collided. Why pretend the heirloom belonged to some obscure family member when the aunties knew all along the jacket belonged to their father? There was only one way to find out.