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

by Annabel Chase

  The old crone cackled softly. "It keeps out the riffraff." She gave me a pointed look. "The fact that you've already made it this far suggests that you are not one of them."

  Despite the bubbling cauldron and the smoke pouring out of the chimney, the cottage itself was damp and chilly. I suddenly wished I had brought my cardigan, no matter how uptight it allegedly made me look. I tried my best not to shiver so that Raisa didn't sense my fear.

  "Would you care for a drink?" she asked. "I have a few live mice for your owl. I like to be prepared."

  Thank you. Sedgwick perched on a nearby post. That would be divine.

  You’re never that polite with me, I said accusingly.

  I averted my gaze while Raisa pulled the live mice out of a nearby jar. Why she was saving mice in a jar, I had no idea, nor did I want to know. Whatever coven she was in, I was glad I wasn't a member of it.

  Sedgwick gulped down the two mice like they were candy.

  "I understand you have come looking for answers," Raisa said. "But first let me ask you, were you sent here or have you come of your own free will?"

  It felt like a trick question, for which the wrong answer would result in Raisa sucking the marrow from my bones and adding me to her fence.

  "I went to see Agnes in the care home," I said, deciding honesty was the best policy. "She knew that I was looking for information on my coven, so she directed me to you." I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “So I guess, technically, that means I was sent here."

  Her lips spread into a wicked smile and for the first time I noticed her teeth. They were not human teeth in any way, shape, or form. They clacked together and I realized in horror that they were made of iron. Spell’s bells! What on earth did a witch do with iron teeth? The bones outside took on a whole new meaning.

  "What about you, Emma? May I call you Emma?"

  "Yes," I stammered. "That's fine."

  "You seem cold," Raisa said. "I have just the drink for you. Warms you from the inside out."

  Somehow, that idea was not comforting. I didn't want to be a rude guest and decline, however. That seemed like a worse option.

  Raisa hobbled over to her cauldron and lifted the huge ladle. She took a tin cup from the shelf and poured some of the bubbling liquid inside. Although I detected no odor, I was still afraid to taste it. The liquid was orange and unappealing, like drinking carrot porridge.

  "Trust me, my dear,” Raisa said. "You want to drink this."

  I was too afraid to say no. I brought the steaming liquid to my lips and took a tentative sip. To my surprise, it tasted like orange Hi-C, one of my favorite childhood drinks. Despite the bubbles and steam, the liquid was cool as it passed my lips and slid down my throat. Only when it hit my stomach did I feel the warmth.

  "Thank you," I said. "It's nice."

  "Tell me how you are getting on in Spellbound," Raisa said. Now that I was aware of her iron teeth, I heard the constant click as her mouth opened and closed. The sound was unnerving.

  "It's been quite an adjustment," I admitted. "But I have met some wonderful friends and that’s made a huge difference."

  She gave me a sly look. "Yes. Your friends. You mean that scoundrel, the angel."

  "Not just Daniel. Other witches in the academy. Lucy, the fairy who works for Mayor Knightsbridge. My roommate…" I said.

  "The dead vampire," she finished for me. "How is that for you? I take it you'd never seen a ghost before. Not in the human world."

  So she knew that, too. Was she reading my mind or did she have that special way of knowing things like Lady Weatherby?

  "Gareth has been a welcome addition to my life," I said truthfully. "He can be a pain sometimes, but the pros far outweigh the cons." I took another sip of the brew. “Agnes suggested that you were never the head of the coven here, but the way she said it suggested there was a story there. Care to tell me about it?" My question seemed both brave and stupid at the same time.

  The bony witch studied me carefully. "Why would I be the head of a coven that wasn't mine?" She hobbled over to the wooden chair beside the fireplace and rested her frail body. "I'm sure she told you that I was alone here, the sole witch from my coven."

  "How did that even happen? Were you already living here on your own? Had you separated from your coven?"

  "I was only passing through Ridge Valley when the curse took hold. I had no plans to settle here. Funny that, plans have a way of changing in the blink of an eye. Seems to me you've learned that yourself."

  The hard way. "So you were sort of like me? You were in the wrong place at the wrong time?” I polished off the rest of my drink and set the tin cup on a nearby butcher's block.

  "We are similar in many ways," she said with an air of mystery. "How did it feel to learn that you were a witch?"

  "It was a shock. I can say that much. I never had any indication that I was different."

  "Tell me about your owl," she said. Her haggard face softened and I caught a glimpse of the witch she once was.

  "I met Sedgwick at Paws and Claws," I began.

  She flicked a dismissive finger. "Not him. Tell me about Huey."

  My eyes widened. How could she possibly know about Huey?

  "He was my stuffed animal when I was little. I took him everywhere with me."

  "Your mother gave him to you." It was more of a statement than a question.

  I nodded and felt the tears brimming in my eyes. Any mention of my mother brought the threat of tears. "It was the last present she gave me before she died."

  "She drowned," Raisa said. "A tragic ending for a witch. It is the worst kind of death."

  Gee, thanks for that. I always wanted to imagine my mother dying in agony.

  "I don't know whether she knew she was a witch," I said. "I don't have any memories that suggest she knew. And my father certainly never mentioned anything."

  "Humans have a funny way of dealing with things they don't understand. Denial, suppression, lashing out." She shook her head. "It was inevitable that you would end up here."

  Inevitable?

  “Did you know that your owl can see and hear your vampire ghost?"

  I shot a suspicious look in Sedgwick's direction. "Are you sure?" I was certain that I was the only one who could communicate with Gareth.

  Raisa smiled. "He is your familiar. He has a strong connection to you and that includes absorbing some of your abilities."

  "Were you planning to keep this a secret forever?" I asked Sedgwick.

  The owl turned his head one hundred and eighty degrees away from me. The less competent you think I am, the less you will ask me to do.

  As annoyed as I wanted to be, I understood his logic. When I was younger, I used to pretend that I was terrible at dusting so that I didn't have to do it. I would deliberately leave layers of dust on tabletops so that my grandmother wouldn't assign me that particular chore. I could load a dishwasher like nobody's business, but I hated dusting. I was so grateful for Fiona's fairy cleaning service. The Magic Touch made my life much easier, especially given Gareth’s old house. It attracted cobwebs like Daniel attracted women.

  "We’ll have to share this news with Gareth," I said. "It wouldn't be fair to keep it from him." Especially when they were home alone so often. Who knew what Gareth got up to when I wasn't there? He'd be embarrassed to learn that Sedgwick had witnessed it all.

  "What about his cat?" I asked. Magpie wasn't anyone's familiar, but he didn't strike me as an ordinary cat.

  Raisa licked her lips. "The cat’s connection to the vampire is strong enough to pierce the veil. Vampires don’t have familiars, but the cat is as close as he could possibly get to one."

  "So which coven are you a member of?" I asked.

  "None," she said. “I’d already been shunned when I arrived here. Sometimes separation is for the best."

  “Agnes seemed to think you might be able to tell me something about my coven," I said. "So far, I can communicate with Gareth and I have an owl as my familiar. Those seem to
be the biggest differences between the witches here and me. Oh, and I’m pretty handy with the non-rhyming spells.“

  Raisa nodded sagely. "There will be more. As time unfolds, you will discover them." Her gaze drifted to my feet. "You also prefer your feet on the ground. Not necessarily the trait of a witch."

  Was she speaking metaphorically? Or was she referring to my fear of heights?

  "Do you think my anxiety is connected to my coven?" It seemed unlikely. The idea of an entire coven of anxious witches seemed more like the premise of a half-hour comedy.

  "I could not say for certain," she said. "And what of your birthmark? Have you ever considered that it could be a clue?"

  Birthmark? "I don't have a birthmark."

  She smiled and heaved a sigh. "Something else for you to discover then. I'll leave that to you."

  “Why do you want to be forgotten?" I asked. I wasn't sure what made me ask the question. Part of me was afraid she'd use those iron teeth to tear my flesh from my limbs in response.

  "I'm not like you, Emma Hart. I never wanted to belong to anyone or anything. Solitude suits me."

  "I don't mind being alone," I said. I’d spent my adult years alone until now. Granted, having so many nice people around me in Spellbound was a welcome change.

  "I think you know what I mean," Raisa said. She hauled herself to her delicate feet. "I believe your time is up. I have enjoyed our conversation. It’s been so long since I had a visitor.”

  “Before I go," I said, "I know there are other people in town who can communicate with ghosts." Like Maeve McCullen. "What about seers? Is there anyone here who can see the future?"

  "No one here can tell you the answers you seek, my dear," she replied. "There is one seer in town who may be able to offer you some guidance, however limited. Her name is Kassandra. Spelled with a K.” She rolled her eyes and I strangled a scream when one of her eyeballs popped out of the socket.

  Cool as a cucumber, she scooped the eyeball off the floor and stuck it back in place.

  “Thank you, Raisa,” I stammered. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me." I glanced at the empty tin cup. "Just out of curiosity, what was the brew?" I half expected it to be poison.

  "It's called Pure of Heart," she replied with an uneven cackle.

  "So it was magic?" Nothing seemed to happen.

  "You passed the test," she said. "Had you not been pure of heart, you'd be dead by now. Your skin melted and a pile of bones on the floor. Fodder for my fence."

  My saliva stuck in my throat. "Good to know," I squeaked. "If you ever get bored of isolation, please feel free to stop by my house. Sedgwick and I would welcome you."

  Speak for yourself, he said.

  "Oh, my child," she said. "Thank you."

  She dragged herself to the door and opened it. "Be sure to be out of the forest by sundown. You won't want to meet the night creatures here. Trust me on that."

  If the witch with iron teeth and a bone fence was telling me I didn't want to meet the night creatures, then I definitely didn't want to meet the night creatures.

  Sedgwick and I left the cottage and my pace quickened once we left the yard.

  Well, that was interesting, Sedgwick said, hovering above me.

  I glanced upward. “To the right, please." I paused. “Are you sure interesting is the word you mean?”

  He shifted to the right above me. Okay, fine. She was terrifying.

  "Thank goodness. I was afraid it was just me."

  We made it out of the forest before sundown, much to my relief. As I crossed over Hawthorne Drive, I saw a familiar cloaked figure riding a magic bicycle. I touched the window of the car and the pane of glass disappeared.

  "Professor Holmes," I called.

  He cast a sidelong glance at me. "Emma," he said warmly. "Where have you come from? It's rather desolate in that direction."

  "I went to see Raisa. Agnes had suggested that I go see her to ask about my coven."

  “Ah, yes,” he said. "The old cottage with the bones. Creepy place, isn’t it?”

  "She wasn't as scary as I thought she'd be," I said. Then I laughed. "Okay, who am I kidding? She was downright terrifying. I was afraid at any moment those iron teeth would go to town on me. I was wondering if I should've left a trail of breadcrumbs, but Sedgwick probably would've eaten them."

  Professor Holmes gave me an odd look. "You…conversed with her?"

  "Oh, I know. She likes her solitude. She didn't seem to mind an unexpected visitor. I mean, most people hate the drop in, but I guess when you're alone three hundred and sixty-four days a year, you tend to overlook manners."

  Professor Holmes cleared his throat. "Emma, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Raisa died last year."

  I burst into laughter. "No, we just came from her." I glanced skyward at Sedgwick. "Didn't we?" Not that Professor Holmes could hear the owl’s answer.

  "She wanted to be forgotten, so in her parting letter she requested a quiet burial on the grounds of the cottage. I attended the burial personally. I’m not surprised that Agnes didn't know. She's been in the care home for many years now."

  A slow chill started at the nape of my neck and crept to every fiber of my being. "But she could touch things. Move things." Her eyeball popped out!

  "I shall report the matter to Lady Weatherby," he said. "You can trust our discretion." He rode off, leaving Sedgwick and I in the dust.

  Well, that was unexpected, Sedgwick said.

  "I'll have to break the news to Gareth," I said. "He isn't the only ghost in my life anymore." I can't say I was excited by the prospect.

  If she is truly a ghost, then maybe Gareth doesn’t need the help of a Grey sister after all, Sedgwick said. Maybe we could enlist the aid of Raisa.

  Given the choice between an eyeless, toothless woman and a witch with iron teeth and a bone fence, I knew which one I’d choose.

  “Hmm. I think I’ll leave the decision to Gareth.”

  Chapter 10

  My morning was devoted to preparing Thom’s testimony for trial. Although he was clear and consistent in his responses, I wanted him to practice toning down his anger. He wasn’t yelling or slamming his fist on the table. Rather, it was a quiet, simmering anger that I felt every time he spoke.

  “Do I really sound angry?” Thom asked, after a third attempt at answering my practice question. “I don’t hear it.”

  “I don’t hear it either. I feel it,” I said. “You have unexpressed emotions, I think, and it’s coming through in your testimony.”

  “Well, I should be angry, right?” He crossed his arms. “I mean, I’m on trial because my ex framed me. Doesn’t it make sense to be mad?”

  “No one likes an angry person,” I said. “It makes others uncomfortable. We don’t want the judge to have a negative impression of you.”

  He gnawed at his fingernails. “I’ve been doing a lot more work lately, trying to channel my…whatever. I even made a T-Rex skeleton out of wood. How cool is that?”

  I came out from behind the desk to sit beside him. “Thom, it’s perfectly okay to have feelings and express them. I think it’s great that you’re using carpentry to channel your emotions. It’s healthy.” At least that’s what Lady Weatherby’s psychology class taught me.

  “Then why do I sound angry now?” he asked. “It must not be helping.”

  “You’re still hurting,” I said. “You’re not over Lara and now you have to face her all over again because of the trial.” I gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Maybe when you give your answers, focus on the positive feelings you once had toward her. That might take the edge off.”

  He nodded, understanding. “She’ll be there, won’t she?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She’ll be testifying, too.”

  “I don’t want her to hear the hurt and anger in my voice,” he said firmly. “Let’s try it again.”

  I resumed my position behind the desk and did my best impression of the prosecuting attorney.


  “Now you sound angry,” Thom said, smiling.

  “I was going for pompous.”

  He scrutinized me. “Hmm. I think you’re going to have to work on that.”

  Thom laughed again and I felt his anger slowly dissipating. Working through emotions was more often a marathon than a sprint, but I knew he’d get there in the end. With any luck, we all would.

  Although I’d left the details of Mike’s confession at Sheriff Hugo’s office, I decided to follow up with Astrid, his Valkyrie deputy. I wanted to make sure that the sheriff was taking the confession seriously and not still considering Sophie as a suspect.

  Sedgwick flew my message to her, requesting a meeting at Perky’s that morning. Although I preferred the lattes at Brew-Ha-Ha, I was becoming familiar with the sheriff’s routine and knew he was less likely to turn up in Perky’s. The coffee shop was smaller and less popular than Brew-Ha-Ha, probably due to the location.

  Astrid was standing at the counter when I arrived, chatting with the barista. Tall, blond, and ready to wrestle you to the ground with one hand tied behind her back, she was hard to miss.

  “Got your message, Emma,” Astrid said. “That owl of yours is a real charmer, you know that?”

  I couldn’t tell whether she was being serious. As far as I was concerned, Sedgwick’s charm lay somewhere between curmudgeon and serial killer.

  “I got you a cinnamon latte,” she said, handing me a steaming mug. “I hope that’s okay.”

  A plain cinnamon latte? I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but all of my Spellbound lattes to date included a shot of a magical ingredient. A cinnamon latte was so…human.

  “Thank you,” I said, opting for politeness. “Do you already have a table?”

  Astrid nodded toward the small table in front of the window. Although I didn’t necessarily want to be on display, the cobblestone sidewalk in front of Perky’s wasn’t exactly a main thoroughfare.

  “I heard you were at the Shamrock Casino recently,” Astrid said, choosing the seat that faced the room. I suspected it was the deputy inside her that didn’t want her back to the room.