by Willow Mason
“You know,” Beezley said, tapping my foot with his paw. “Since you performed a body swap with no ill effects for Porangi, maybe one day you can do the same for me.”
“Once we find a miserable sod who deserves to be cast into the body of a dog forever,” Glynda said, overhearing. “Not that you deserved it, mind, but the coven can’t afford to do anything underhanded while the council still has its eyes on us.”
“It’s a deal,” I said, shaking Beezley’s paw to seal the contract. “We’ll keep an eye out for a prime target in any future cases.”
He ran down the beach, pounding into the surf, then jumping back. In the days since his alteration, Beezley had embraced his French bulldog form. Now the issue of a short life had been mitigated, his mind appeared at peace. Toss in the bone of hope for a body swap in the future, and his mood lightened to featherweight.
“Do you two mind?” Glynda grumbled as Harriet openly flirted with Porangi. “There’s an entire beach to explore, and it appears you need some alone time.”
Not one to let an opportunity get away, the pair jogged farther along the beach. Porangi caught Harriet around the waist when she stumbled, then left his arm there.
“Young love,” Glynda said with a hint of resentment. “Give me a pair of slippers and a sofa to myself any day.”
A trio of young broom riders swept past, ruffling my neat pageboy as they ventured too close. I jumped back and laughed as my shoe landed in a dip, leaving me whirling my arms for balance. “What I wouldn’t give to fly again.”
“Get enough votes for supreme and you can commandeer the town’s network to fly wherever you please.”
I sent a shocked expression Glynda’s way, turning her words over in my mind to make sure she’d actually said them.
“I doubt anyone would vote for me,” I finally said in a small voice. “Considering the year, I’ve had.”
“It’s precisely because of the year you’ve had that I recommend it.” Glynda scanned me from head to toe. “Not that you have to make your mind up this minute. The vote isn’t for another month. Plenty of time to canvas.”
“From excommunicated to supreme in six easy lessons,” I said in a light tone, mocking the very idea. “I think I’ll stick to investigations. They get me in enough trouble as it is.”
Glynda waved in recognition of the friends and colleagues we passed. Mrs Eggsby ran a few steps towards her with a ferocious scowl, no doubt at some wrongdoing, then stopped. She rubbed her forehead in confusion and returned to her earlier position.
“Another benefit of not being supreme any longer is I no longer get told everybody’s little gripes.” Glynda hooked her arm through mine and pointed far out, to the heads. “Is it my imagination or is that a little fishy heading our way?”
Waves along the horizon danced in formation and I smiled, gesturing to Beezley to come watch. His pudgy legs wouldn’t get him the best view, so I lifted him onto one shoulder, gripping on for dear life.
“Keep a lookout for the dolphins,” I yelled to be heard above the rush of waves crashing in the ocean. “They’re always my favourite.”
An orca, either roped in by Brianna’s magic or just playing, sprang out of the water, twisting its body, then dropping back into the waves, sending a plume three metres into the sky. A row of dolphins, as coordinated as synchronised swimmers, danced backwards on their tales, squeaking merrily.
“Look over there,” Beezley said, nearly unbalancing himself from his perch as he pointed an excited paw to the swimming dock. The water drew back on all sides, letting it lower, then a trio of elephant seals glided onto the slick surface, honking.
Brianna turned the seawater into a spectacular as good as any fireworks display. Drops flew and twisted, turned and dazzled as they caught the sun, stretching dozens of metres into the air.
A spume formed a complex arch across the harbour, the white tips so pretty they put flowers to shame. Seaweed turned into tinsel as the mermaid raised a gigantic seawater tree.
“When you told me about this, I had no idea,” Beezley said in a stunned voice, trying to peer in all directions at once.
“The mermaid parade is the best thing about Christmas,” I shouted, laughing joyously as the dolphins jumped into the air, one after the other, barking in happiness.
“Hey. The second-best thing,” Harriet said in a scolding tone as she walked up, hand-in-hand with Porangi. “You’re forgetting the joy on the littlest townsfolk’s faces when Santa hands out his handmade toys.”
Since Archie had joined the ranks of the dearly departed, Porangi had volunteered to take over his mantle. The gift-giving would commence later in the day, in Fernwood Gully’s town square. Humans and witches alike would gather to marvel at the delicate creations and rejoice in the happiness of the youngest generation.
“How about we call it first equal?” I suggested, earning a pleased smile. “Next year, we should schedule these on the same day again. There’s no reason to have them a week apart when we can explode the town with joy on a single fantabulous day.”
“Too much of a good thing.” Glynda’s tone was warning but her face was wreathed in a smile. “That’s the sort of decision a future supreme would be in charge of making.”
“Ooh.” Harriet clapped her hands. “Are you running?”
“I can’t believe you don’t think it’s the worst idea ever,” I said with a hint of exasperation. “This is crazy talk. The other witches would never support such a ludicrous notion.”
“They would.” Harriet wiggled her eyebrows. “If they ever want to take a volume of spells out of the library again. Oh, you could get me extra funding. Just in time, too, because there’s an old estate on the west coast that came on the market and the coven in charge doesn’t know the goldmine they’re sitting on.”
“A responsible librarian would inform them of that fact instead of trying to steal their heritage away from them.” I shook my head. “Didn’t you hear what the supernatural council said? We should aim to align ourselves positively with other covens, not set up as their enemies.”
“Spoken like a true leader,” Prue said, sidling into the edge of our group, Barnaby snaking around her legs in a figure eight. “If you’re becoming supreme, I need to have a chat with you about the empty spot in the third tier. We mightn’t always have been the best of friends, but I’m prepared to overlook past transgressions if you’re willing to recognise how my insights would benefit the team.”
“Not you, too.” I clutched Beezley tightly on my shoulder, using the distraction of his weight to alter my focus. “How about you stop supposing I’m going to run for the position until I announce the intention?”
“So, you are running,” Glynda said, poking me in the ribs. “It’s good to hear.”
I opened my mouth to deny I’d suggested anything of the sort, then sighed. They’d get the message when I didn’t put my name forward at the next coven meeting. If I kept my trap shut, the entire preposterous suggestion would just fade away.
“Oh, here comes the finale,” I squealed, a perfect distraction.
Brianna waved her arms as she balanced on her tail, sweeping a wide swathe of seawater into the air. With a seaweed brush, she painted in spume across the gleaming screen—nine more weeks of summer.
Beezley frowned and I could see him performing the quick calculation in his head. “So, the same amount of summer we always get?”
“Not the point, little dude,” Porangi said with a peaceful smile on his face. He leaned over to brush a light kiss on the side of Harriet’s cheek, making her blush a vibrant red. “Not the point at all.”
About the Author
Willow Mason is the author of Witchy Paranormal Cozy Mysteries.
She lives in a small town in New Zealand, far too close to the beach and fantastic walking trails to get nearly as much work done as she should. Until someone bestows magic powers on her, she’ll just keep hoping for the invention of self-cleaning dishes and self-washing clothes.
Also by Willow Mason
Selective Spells (Beezley and the Witch: Book One)
Vexatious Voodoo (Beezley and the Witch: Book Two)
