Spell's Bells (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Annabel Chase

  "How do you know I’m from a different coven?" I asked.

  “We hear the local gossip. We’re not deaf.” She paused. “Well, I suppose some of us are.”

  Okay, so her powers of observation were not as shrewd as I thought.

  "Did you know I was the former head of the Spellbound coven?" Agnes pushed herself to a standing position and hobbled over to the kitchenette.

  “Yes,” I said. “Before Lady Weatherby."

  Agnes grunted. "Cindy Ruth," she muttered. "Never saw that one coming." She pulled two shot glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter. "You pour."

  "The bottle is for you," I said. "I don't need any." Not to mention that I had no idea what Fangtastic was. I got the sense that it was comparable to whiskey or tequila. The magical hard stuff.

  Agnes focused her attention fully on me for the first time. Her eyes glittered like onyx. "If I say you drink, you drink. Would you dare to question commands from Lady Weatherby?"

  I shuddered at the thought. "No, definitely not." I twisted off the lid and poured the clear liquid into the glasses.

  "For every answer I give you, we each do a shot," she told me.

  If I didn’t want to leave the care home wasted, then I needed to choose my questions carefully.

  "Set the bag of chocolates here," she said, tapping her grotesque fingernails on the countertop.

  I placed the bag as instructed. "What can you tell me about my coven?"

  "I don't know which one your coven is," she said. "But I knew straight away that you weren't one of ours."

  "How?"

  She lifted the shot glass to her lips and drained it. "Drink first."

  Damn. I had to be smarter about this. I tipped back the glass and felt the liquid pass down my throat. It was bitter on my tongue. The burn didn't begin until it reached my stomach. It was much stronger than anything I'd tasted in Spellbound so far.

  "You don't drink much, do you?" Agnes asked with a cackle. "I do miss it. Tell me, do you spend any time at the Horned Owl?"

  "I haven't been in town very long, but I've been there a few times. It's popular with the coven."

  "And who do you think started that trend?" She brought the bottle and the two glasses over to her small table and settled back in her chair. She motioned for me to sit opposite her.

  "How can you tell that I'm not from your coven?" I asked, seating myself in the empty chair.

  "While many of my senses have dulled with age, my sense of smell remains strong. You don’t smell like us, but I can tell that you’re a witch." She refilled the glasses and we drank again.

  "Do you know anything about a coven with owls as familiars? Or one where the witches can see ghosts?"

  Agnes held up two fingers. “Two questions yield two answers."

  I slumped in my chair. There was no way I was walking out of here on two feet. I hoped the floors were clean.

  “I’m not familiar with a coven that sees ghosts, but I do remember hearing about one with owls." She peered at me from beneath her wrinkled brow. "These are two of your abilities?"

  I nodded. "My familiar is an owl called Sedgwick. And I can see the ghost of a vampire. I live in his house now."

  "Have you seen any other ghosts?" she asked.

  "No, and Gareth and I are just figuring out what his limitations are. We thought he was limited to the house, but it turns out he can also go to his old office where I work."

  She waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not interested in the ghost. I am, however, interested in you." She began to shuffle the deck of cards in front of her. "Choose six cards from the deck. Turn them over in front of you."

  I selected six random cards and placed them face up in front of me. "Is this some kind of psychic reading?"

  "These are not tarot cards, if that's what you mean."

  At that moment, a man drifted into the room. I say drifted because his bottom half was like an apparition, whereas the top half was fully formed.

  "A visitor, Agnes? Tartarus must be freezing over about now."

  Agnes scowled in his direction. "Go away, Silas. I’m entertaining company and you were not invited."

  Silas came closer, ignoring her. "She's reading your cards?" He sounded surprised. "She must really like you."

  "You're not welcome here," Agnes said.

  He winked at her. "That's not what you said the other night. As I recall, you welcomed me very enthusiastically."

  I bit back a smile. So Agnes had a friendly side after all.

  "If I had my wand, you'd be a toad by now," she replied.

  "And then the only way to return me to my princely form would be to kiss me." He puckered his lips and made a kissing sound. "I bet you'd like that."

  "I'm warning you, Silas. Get your genie butt out of here before I shove you inside the nearest lamp.” She gave him a pointed look. “And I won’t be rubbing it.”

  “Ouch.” He clutched his chest.

  I glanced at the cards in front of me. A werewolf, a vampire, a witch, an owl, the sun, and an angel.

  “Interesting,” Agnes murmured.

  Silas turned his attention to me. "No one ever comes to see Agnes. What brings you here?"

  "None of your business," Agnes snapped.

  He spotted the bottle of Fangtastic on the table. "You naughty girls. Am I going to have to report you?"

  "You know where the glasses are," Agnes said, her gaze pinned on the cards.

  Silas went to the cabinet and retrieved another shot glass. He drifted over to the table and poured himself a drink. “Salut.” He raised the glass to us before downing it.

  “Good stuff, isn’t it?” Agnes asked.

  "Proof that she likes me," he told me. "She guards alcohol the way a dragon guards treasure."

  “The girl brought me chocolates too, but you'd be a fool to think I’d share those with you."

  "Oh, I can think of a few things I do that might encourage you to share."

  I desperately wanted to cover my ears. If he started going into detail, I might have to cut my losses and run.

  The door pushed open and a dwarf floated in on a chair—more of a magic carpet than a wheelchair.

  "Estella," Silas said. "Join the party."

  Agnes rolled her eyes. "You like this, don't you? Three nubile women and you."

  Looking at the two elderly women, Agnes clearly had a different definition of nubile than I did.

  Estella's eyes widened at the sight of Fangtastic. “Hallelujah. I could really use a shot right now."

  "Go on," Silas urged softly. “We know you’re worried about Freddie."

  At the mention of Freddie, my ears perked up. I glanced at Estella. She looked very much like the dwarf in the glass coffin.

  Silas retrieved another glass and poured a drink for the elderly dwarf.

  "No amount of alcohol can dull the pain," Estella said.

  "Then why bother?” Agnes queried. The old witch clearly did not want to share.

  Estella swallowed the shot and handed the glass back to Silas. "Thank you. I really needed that."

  "Were you at the vigil?" I asked. I was pretty sure I would have noticed a dwarf in a magical wheelchair.

  Estella shook her head. "No, I'm not permitted to leave the premises."

  "Her heart is too weak," Silas explained. "She very much wanted to be there. A few of the healers had to restrain her."

  Estella sniffed. "Freddie is such a good boy. I can't imagine why anyone would do this to him."

  “When's the last time you saw him?" I asked.

  Estella looked thoughtful. "He came twice a week. The last time I saw him was a Wednesday. He came for his usual afternoon visit."

  "I loved hearing his stories about the dating scene," Silas said. "I wish speed dating had been around when I was younger."

  "Trust me, Silas. There's nothing speedy about you," Agnes said.

  Silas chuckled. "You always say you like it slow."

  Agnes unwrapped a bar of chocolate and
broke off a square before eating it.

  "Did you notice anything unusual about Freddie when he was here?" I asked. "Was he upset about anything?"

  "No," Estella replied. "He said he met someone recently and they had their first date planned for over the weekend. He seemed pleased."

  "Did he mention the name of his date?" I wondered if the sheriff had even bothered to speak with Freddie's mother.

  "He didn't tell me her name, but that's typical of Freddie. He doesn't want me asking about a girl every time he visits. He knows how much I want to meet my grandbabies before I die."

  Silas gently touched her shoulder. "Don't talk like that, Estella. Your heart may be weak, but your spirit is strong."

  “You know I’ve started to eat my pudding before my dinner?” Estella said. “Just in case I don’t make it to the end of the meal.”

  “You can’t think like that,” Silas said. “You have years ahead of you.”

  “Don't listen to a word he says, Estella," Agnes said. "He's just trying to get under your cloak."

  Silas smirked. "Worked on you."

  "Freddie did mention that she was a fairy,” Estella said.

  "Ah, fairies,” Silas said. “I once had an affair with the most beautiful fairy. It was a whirlwind romance. The kind that wasn't meant to last."

  The wistful expression on his face made me think of Daniel. I buried the feeling before Agnes sensed my weakness. Just because she couldn’t read minds didn’t mean she couldn’t read me.

  "Thank you, Estella. That's helpful information." Knowing the type of creature I was looking for narrowed the pool significantly. “A fairy shouldn't be too difficult to spot at speed dating.” They were among the easiest residents to pinpoint.

  “Oh,” Estella said. “I don’t think he met this one at speed dating. I think she was through the matchmaker.”

  "You know, the girl is actually here to ask me questions. Not to converse with the likes of you two." Agnes slid the bottle closer to her and I realized that she was angling for more shots. She’d made her rules and she was sticking to them.

  "Come along, Estella," Silas said, pretending to pout. "If you want us, we’ll be in the cafeteria."

  "It'll be a cold day in Tartarus before I want you again," Agnes said.

  Silas glided over to kiss her forehead before leaving. "I'll see you tonight."

  “Ten o'clock," she snapped. "Don't be late."

  I waited until Estella and Silas left the room to ask the question that had been burning my brain. I was just tipsy enough to ask. “Agnes, if he is incorporeal from the waist down, how do you…?"

  She wiggled her gray eyebrows. "You'd be surprised what a genie is capable of." She poured two more drinks. "That counts as an answer, by the way."

  I groaned. "You need to answer my questions about the coven," I insisted. "General questions shouldn't count."

  Agnes shrugged. "Then you should have specified that in the beginning." She tipped back her glass and sucked down the clear liquid.

  "Is there anyone else I might be able to speak with about covens besides you?" Maybe there was even someone else in the care home.

  “Have you gone to see Raisa?” the old woman asked.

  “Who’s Raisa?” I asked.

  She frowned. “So no one has mentioned her.” She clucked her tongue. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Raisa wanted to be forgotten. Now she is.”

  “Why would I want to see her?”

  “You came to see me because I’m old and remember things.” She threw back her head and cackled. “Well, Raisa is even older and, as far as I know, still in possession of an excellent memory. If you have questions, she’s your best chance to have them answered.”

  I hadn’t heard of Raisa. Then again, no one had mentioned Agnes either. “Where does she live?”

  “A cottage deep in the forest. If you travel north, you’ll see a path where the forest meets the base of the hills. The path will lead you to her.”

  “Is she a witch?”

  The old woman’s hand shook as she tucked a limp piece of hair behind her ear. “Oh, yes. Much older than me.”

  “Was she ever the head of the coven?” It was hard to imagine anyone other than the intimidating Lady Weatherby in charge of the Spellbound witches.

  Her lips curled into a cryptic smile. “You’ll have to ask her.” She poured more liquid into the glasses, spilling a few drops on the table and wiping them away with her fingers. I wasn’t surprised to see her tongue dart out to lick her fingertips.

  I drank again and watched with blurred vision as she poured the remainder of the bottle into the glasses. My head was spinning. There was no way I could drive Sigmund home. I’d have to call someone to collect me.

  "Excuse me," I said, burping. "I need the bathroom."

  “Be my guest," she said, and pointed to a door in the corner of the room.

  I stumbled my way to the door, tripping over the bed as I went. At this rate, I'd be sliding out the front door on my stomach. Agnes: one, Emma: zero.

  I gripped the handle on the door and tried to steady myself. My stomach churned and I realized I was about to lose my lunch. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and flipped up the lid just in time. Could there possibly be a week in Spellbound when I didn’t vomit? I remained on the floor for a few minutes, trying not to imagine the magical germs swirling around me right now. The mere thought would have me vomiting again.

  I dragged myself to the sink and rinsed my face and mouth before opening the door. The room was empty.

  "Agnes?" I called. No answer.

  I heard a commotion down the hall and instinctively reached for my wand, but it wasn't there.

  Uh oh.

  I hugged the wall as I attempted to make my way down the corridor. I was in no condition to wrestle with a wily old witch, but I had no choice. I rounded the corner in time to see her using my wand to wrap toilet paper around the assistant healers’ station. It didn't help that the assistant healers were actually seated there while it was happening.

  "Agnes," one of the assistant healers cried. "Please stop. We do not want to be mummies."

  Agnes waved my wand menacingly. "I told you before. You will call me Lady Sparkles."

  Lady Sparkles? Spell’s bells, she was out of control. I watched as she ran up the side of the wall and onto the ceiling. She crouched above our heads like a creepy demon, cackling with glee.

  I raced down the corridor and confronted her. "Agnes," I shouted.

  “She’s Lady Sparkles,” one of the assistant healers hissed.

  I cleared my throat and adopted my firmest tone. "Lady Sparkles. Hand over Tiffany.”

  Agnes turned her attention to me. “Who in the hell is Tiffany?”

  “My wand.”

  “What kind of weirdo witch names her wand?”

  “No one bats an eye at wings or horns, but I’m a nutball for naming my wand?” Why did everyone think it was so strange to name inanimate objects? This was a town of paranormals, for crying out loud.

  “You'll have to get Tiffany from me, won't you?" She dangled the wand from her place on the ceiling, taunting me.

  For once, I appreciated Lady Weatherby's regal aura. I couldn't imagine her tormenting me like this. Her methods of torture were very, very different.

  "Lady Sparkles, get down here this instant and give me back my wand or I will report you to the coven." Now there was a real threat.

  The old witch dropped to the floor and landed on her feet. She'd learned something from her familiar over the years. I wondered where the cat was now, probably long dead.

  "If you want this wand, you need to take it," Agnes said. She whirled around and pointed the wand at the assistant healers. "Stop bringing me juice in the morning. I have told you a hundred times, I detest juice."

  The two women wrapped in toilet paper nodded vigorously.

  "No more juice,” came a muffled voice.

  "These women take care of you," I said. "Show som
e compassion."

  "I'd rather show my sense of fun," Agnes said. "It's much more interesting." She bounded down the hall with the energy of a fifteen-year-old. How could this be the feeble old woman I met an hour ago?

  As if reading my mind, one of the assistant healers said to me, “It’s your wand. It's feeding her magical energy. You need to stop her."

  "How? She has my wand." Then I remembered something I learned from Lady Weatherby. The wand wasn't always necessary to perform a spell. Could I possibly use a spell on Agnes without my wand? I had to try.

  I ventured down the hall, feeling dizzier with each step I took.

  "Lady Sparkles," I called. "You’re going to regret making a mess of the place where you live."

  I made it to the cafeteria in time to see Agnes turn an entire table of elderly residents into frogs. They began hopping every which way, over the table and onto the plates. This was a disaster. I watched as she turned the next table into snakes. The remaining residents screamed and did their best to run out of the room. The problem was, of course, that most of them were relatively immobile. The centaur with the walker didn't stand a chance. He morphed into a snake and coiled around the leg of the metal frame, too frightened to slither.

  I faced Agnes and focused my will on her. I kept my eyes open and extended my arms. “Why must she be so much trouble/Put this old witch in a bubble.”

  A flexible force field appeared around Agnes. She pushed around the soft edges to no avail. “Let me out.”

  “No. Not until you reverse the spells you’ve done.”

  Agnes glared at me. “I can’t use magic inside the bubble.”

  “Yes, you can. Do it now.”

  She grunted in frustration before turning her attention to the reptiles and amphibians in the cafeteria. Although I couldn’t hear the reversal spell, I saw the evidence of it as residents returned to their proper forms. When the last toad disappeared, I focused my will again.

  “Tiffany,” I called. “To me.”

  My wand slipped out of Agnes’s grip, bursting the bubble in the process. It shot across the room and into my outstretched hand.

  Agnes stared at me, gobsmacked. “How did you do that?”

  I had no idea. “Weirdo witches have all sorts of powers you don’t understand.”