Magic & Malice

by Annabel Chase

  I looked at him agape. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”

  He grinned. “I thought it would be fun to see what happened.”

  “You’re a sadist.”

  “It doesn’t hurt him,” Wren said. “He feels the same. He just looks different to us.” He winked. “Plus, he can’t talk if he’s an instrument, right? A win-win.”

  “Let me have another go,” I said. This time, I made sure to focus my will and picture a turtle. “Incanto testudo graeca.”

  A sigh of relief escaped me when I saw the turtle reappear. “Excellent work, Ember,” Wren said. “Now the restoration spell.”

  “Can’t I leave him like this until it wears off?” I asked. “You said it wouldn’t be long.” I looked admiringly at my handiwork. “I’m envisioning all sorts of fun at Marley’s sleepover party.”

  “I’ll bet she’s excited about the big one-one,” Wren said. “I still remember the day my magic manifested. There’s nothing like it. If I could bottle that exhilaration and sell it, I’d be a billionaire.”

  “She’s anxious, to be honest,” I said. “She’s been looking forward to this day from the first moment she knew it was a possibility. Now that it’s so close, I think she might feel overwhelmed by the reality.”

  “I’d be happy to talk to her, if you like,” Wren said. “I’ve counseled a lot of young witches and wizards through the early stages of magic. It’s one of the reasons your aunt chose me to tutor you.”

  “You’re great, Wren, but I doubt that was the main reason,” I said.

  His brow knitted. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a handsome young wizard,” I said. “I have an aunt obsessed with marrying Roses off to desirable members of the coven.”

  He grinned. “Oh, I’m desirable, am I?”

  “According to Raoul,” I said. “Anyway, I have no doubt this was an attempt at a set-up.”

  He cocked his head. “Then how do you explain Marigold and Hazel?”

  “To make you look even more alluring,” I said with a laugh.

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint your aunt,” Wren said. “That’s one witch I’d never want to cross.”

  “Don’t worry, Wren,” I said. “You’re not the disappointment. That’s definitely me.” And Marley, too, if she failed to come into her magic. I couldn’t bear the thought. It was one thing for me to bear the brunt of Aunt Hyacinth’s displeasure, but I didn’t want Marley subjected to it as well.

  Wren gazed at the lighthouse in the distance. “To be perfectly honest, Ember, I wouldn’t want to date anyone in your family, no matter how adorable and charming.” He gave me a pointed look. “There’s too much expectation and ceremony over at Thornhold. It wouldn’t suit me.” He tucked his wand away. “If you ask me, the sheriff is perfect for you. He can handle your aunt and you with one squint of his eye.”

  I bristled. “No one handles me, thank you very much. I’m not a circus animal.”

  “That’s not how I meant it.” He peered past me. “Oh, your friend’s back.”

  Raoul looked down at his body. Can you see me now? I got tired of waving.

  “I can see you.”

  Good. I’m ready for you to make good on my pizza now.

  On one condition, I said.

  Raul gave me a suspicious look. What’s that?

  “That you let me glamour you again when you eat the pizza,” I said. “I want to see Marley’s face when she catches a turtle eating pizza at the table.”

  Raoul laughed. I’m totally in.

  Chapter Six

  “Remind me again why you need me to accompany you, miss?” Simon sat beside me in the passenger seat as I drove us to the Rollins-Mahoney estate.

  “Because you speak butlerese,” I said. “I’m going to interview Sampson under the guise of finishing my article on his former employer for the paper, but I’m really trying to figure out if he killed her.”

  “Oh, my. I see.”

  “The sheriff told me that Sampson was spotted at Charmed, I’m Sure last week,” I said. “The clerk said he bought a few items, so I’d like to see if I can get more details.”

  “What would the butler have to gain from killing his mistress?” Simon asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he was tired of being bossed around.”

  “That’s an essential part of the job, Miss Ember.”

  “You’re a professional,” I said. “Maybe Sampson got fed up. He certainly had access and opportunity, living in the house. He also cleaned everything up quickly after her death.”

  Simon stiffened, appearing to take my suggestion as a personal affront to butlers everywhere. “He was merely doing his job. I doubt he stopped to consider the implications.”

  I gave him a pointed look. “Or he was destroying evidence and making it look as though he was just doing his job. Use your Jedi power and see if you can sense anything.”

  “My what, miss?”

  I blew a raspberry. “Forget it.”

  Simon gazed out the window. “It feels strange to sit on this side of a car. A different view all together.”

  “I guess it is.” I fixed him with a hard stare. “You’re not going to tell Aunt Hyacinth that I’ve butler-knapped you, are you? You and I both know she’ll have an opinion.”

  “I informed her that I had an appointment with the healer, miss,” Simon said.

  My jaw dropped. “You lied for me? Simon, whatever next?”

  “A white lie, miss,” Simon said. “No harm shall come of it.”

  “It shouldn’t hurt her feelings for you to accompany her niece on an important mission,” I said. “After all, the article is for her paper.”

  “I understand, miss,” he said, “but you know how your aunt can be.”

  Oh, I did. No explanation required. “Well, I appreciate you sticking your neck out for me.”

  “You’ve done that much and more for me, miss. I’m only happy to return the favor.”

  I parked in the long driveway and Simon and I walked up to the front door. He instinctively moved to open the door for me but caught himself in time. Instead, he rang the doorbell. A moment later, Sampson opened the door. He still wore his uniform. Part of me expected him to appear in a jogging suit and an earring, or something completely un-butlerlike.

  “Good day, miss.” He bowed slightly.

  “Hey there, Sampson,” I said. “This is my friend, Simon. We were hoping to interview you for the article I’m writing about Hattie.”

  He frowned. “You don’t have sufficient material already?”

  “Now that she’s dead, I figure those around her might be more willing to speak up,” I said. “She was such an imposing figure during her lifetime.”

  Sampson strangled a laugh. “Indeed. Please come in.”

  We stepped inside the foyer and I noticed that the chandelier was back in its original place and full of sparkle. I pointed upward.

  “Who had the chandelier fixed?” I asked.

  “I did, miss,” Sampson said. “I’m still responsible for keeping the house in order, whether there’s a gap in ownership or not.”

  I glanced at Simon, who gave me a quick nod to confirm. We followed him into the formal living room. Everything appeared exactly as it had when I’d been here for the party. Not a tasteful knickknack out of place.

  “You’re doing an excellent job of maintaining this place,” I said.

  “To be fair, miss, I have far fewer tasks now that my mistress is no longer with us. It’s no trouble to complete my daily tasks and have time left for myself.”

  “Do you happen to know which family member inherits the house?”

  “Ella, miss. Her great-niece.”

  That came as a surprise. “Do you plan to stay on after Ella moves in?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he said, his round head bobbing up and down. “I look forward to serving the young miss. She’ll be a breath of fresh air.” He clamped his mouth shut, realizing how it sounded. “I only me
an that I haven’t served a young paranormal in quite a long time.”

  “I understand,” Simon said, and I wondered how old Aunt Hyacinth was when she took control of Thornhold.

  “Forgive my manners,” Sampson said. “I admit to being slightly off kilter ever since…” He faltered. “Can I offer you any refreshments?”

  “None for me, thanks,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a peek at the mead cellar. Maybe snap a few pictures for the article.”

  Sampson blinked. “The mead cellar? Why, miss?”

  “Because it’s such an interesting aspect of the story,” I said. “A private cellar of fizzlewick mead that no one was allowed to touch except the owner? And that seems to be what was used to kill her.”

  Sampson looked uneasy. “My mistress always had a strange obsession with keeping the mead to herself. I never understood it myself. Then again, it wasn’t my job to understand. Only attend.”

  “You have one of the keys, right?” I asked.

  Sampson nodded and fished a small set from his right jacket pocket. “These are the special keys. My mistress had one to the cellar as well, though she never used it. She wore it on a chain around her neck.”

  “Interesting choice of jewelry,” Simon murmured.

  That corresponded to what Fitz had told me. “And how often were you sent to the mead cellar?” I asked, as we followed him to a staircase. We started down the narrow, winding steps.

  “Once a year, miss. Always the morning of her birthday.”

  So if Sampson didn’t do it, whoever snuck in must have stolen the key and returned it before then, knowing that Sampson would go down there the morning of her birthday. “What time did you go down the morning of the party?”

  “Approximately nine-thirty,” he said.

  “And what time did Avonne join Hattie for breakfast?” I asked.

  “Eight-thirty,” Sampson said. “I made sure to have breakfast prepared for them in advance because I had other duties that morning with the party.”

  We arrived at the base of the staircase and Sampson unlocked an old, wooden door to the right. It creaked open and he turned on a single light bulb overhead. A few cobwebs caught my attention.

  “I guess she didn’t like you to clean in here,” I said.

  “No, she preferred to keep the door locked,” Sampson said. “It wasn’t my place to question household decisions, not when they were made by my employer.”

  “What about Fitzgerald?” I asked. “His man cave is down here. You don’t think he found a way into the stock at any point?” I didn’t mention the equipment I discovered in his place.

  Sampson laughed. “Oh, he tried in his younger years, but he was easily thwarted. Master Fitz is not as a clever as he likes to believe.”

  “You don’t think he’d be capable of pilfering a key and tampering with the mead?” I asked.

  “Not likely, miss. If no other reason than he’s far too lazy.” There didn’t seem to be any love lost between those two.

  “Where do you keep the key when you’re not in uniform?” Simon asked. A-ha! A butler question.

  “In the top drawer of my nightstand,” Sampson said.

  “Is it routinely locked?” Simon asked.

  “No, but then again, I’m the only one in my room. My quarters are quite private and I only spend time in there at the end of the day, after all my work is finished. The rest of the time, I carry the keys with me.”

  “Where’s your room located? I guess it’s not downstairs like in all those English movies,” I said.

  Simon and Sampson both blinked at me.

  “My room is at the southeast end of the house, miss,” Sampson said.

  “It seems like Hattie wasn’t exactly beloved by her family,” I said. Not that I planned to say as much in the article. It seemed especially cruel now that she’d been murdered.

  “My mistress had conflicts with everyone in the family,” Sampson admitted. “She seemed to thrive on the fear and power.” His expression soured. “I suppose I can say that now, although I still feel a sense of loyalty toward her. My true obligation, however, is to the house.”

  “Too right,” Simon said.

  “How about you?” I asked. “Did you have issues with Hattie?”

  Sampson hesitated. “Aside from years of thankless servitude, you mean?”

  “Did she leave anything to you in her will?” I asked. “Maybe not so thankless after all?”

  “I wouldn’t know, miss,” Sampson replied. “The reading hasn’t taken place yet.”

  “Has anyone seen the will yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet, miss,” the butler replied. “I only know about Miss Ella from other conversations.”

  “Who has a copy of the will?” I asked.

  “The family’s lawyer, Margery Robson. She’s on Wisteria Lane.”

  Now for the big question. “I understand you were seen in Charmed, I’m Sure the week before the murder,” I said.

  “I was,” Sampson replied smoothly, “and the sheriff is now in receipt of my purchases. No accelerant potions among them.”

  Oh. I hadn’t caught up with the sheriff on recent developments. I should probably compare notes.

  “Why did you clean up so quickly after Hattie’s death?” I asked. “You whisked away the glass she drank from like you had something to hide.” Okay, maybe the question was a little leading, but I wasn’t law enforcement.

  “Habit, miss,” Sampson said. “I always attended to my mistress first. I was also in shock.” He wrung his hands. “I believe I still am.”

  “You said everyone had conflicts with Hattie,” I reminded him. “Were there any more recent issues that you can recall? Any particularly nasty squabbles?”

  Sampson pursed his lips. “There was a rather heated argument with Master Stone about two weeks before the party.”

  My antennae lifted. “Avonne’s husband?”

  “Yes, I don’t know the details, unfortunately. I was in the parlor room at the time and they were in the adjoining room—Hattie’s office. The raised voices got my attention. Hattie was demanding that he come clean, or something of that nature.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  Sampson’s gaze dropped to the floor. “That I don’t know. She and Master Stone often discussed his business because it was a safe topic.”

  I frowned. “Safe in what way?”

  “Unlikely to end in an argument,” Sampson said. “So many of my mistress’s discussions ended up in arguments and Stone is an imposing figure. I think he intimidated her, though she’d never have admitted it. She was too proud.”

  “So she wanted to stay on his good side?”

  “Typically, yes,” Sampson said. “I know she made a particular effort. She bought him special shirts with the family colors. Praised his keen business sense. Tried to appeal to his self-made pride.”

  “Except the day they argued, apparently,” I said. “What is Stone’s business?”

  “He owns Divine Beverage Distributors,” Sampson replied. “It’s a regional company, I believe, which is why Master Stone travels often for work. Very successful.”

  “Like Sterling,” I murmured to Simon.

  “My mistress was visibly shaken when Master Stone left that day,” Sampson said, “but I would never have asked about it. That’s not my role.”

  “Quite right,” Simon said.

  I glanced at Simon. “If Aunt Hyacinth were obviously upset about something, you wouldn’t talk to her about it?”

  “No, miss,” Simon said firmly. “I would bring her a fizzlewick martini.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Naturally.”

  “My role was to pretend I saw nothing,” Sampson said. “I couldn’t even acknowledge it with a cocktail or my mistress would lose her temper.”

  “She sounds seriously unpleasant,” I said. “Why do the horrible ones live to be two hundred?”

  “And who knows how much longer she would have carried on if not for this
murderous interference?” Sampson remarked.

  “How fortunate for you,” I said.

  “No, miss,” Sampson replied. “How fortunate for everyone.”

  Dinner at Thornhold took on extra meaning for me in light of Hattie’s birthday party. I looked around the table at my family and wondered whether they harbored the same ill will toward Aunt Hyacinth that the Rollins-Mahoney clan seemed to feel toward Hattie. I didn’t think so, and, yet, there were striking similarities. Tonight, the role of Ember Rose at Hattie’s party was being played by none other than Alec Hale. My aunt had invited Alec and Holly, but, interestingly, Alec had darkened Thornhold’s doorstep without her.

  “I appreciate everyone coming midweek to dine together,” Aunt Hyacinth said, standing at the head of the table. “In light of Marley’s special day this weekend, I thought it best to preserve Sunday for her first taste of magic. I expect to see her riding her unicorn around the estate and brandishing her first wand like a proper witch.”

  Marley’s broad smile said it all. The eager anticipation rolled off her in waves.

  “I guess I’ve been doing it all wrong then,” I murmured. “I don’t have a unicorn.”

  “Plenty of others wouldn’t object to being ridden by you,” Florian whispered. “Including the vampire across the table.”

  I kicked my cousin’s shin without looking at him and heard a high-pitched yelp beside me. “He has vampire hearing, you nitwit,” I hissed. I’d already taken great pains to shield my thoughts from him. He didn’t need to know how delicious he looked in his finely tailored blue suit. Well, let’s face it—he already knew. I just wasn’t going to confirm it.

  “This evening, I’d like us all to go around the table and name something we’re grateful for,” my aunt said.

  I balked. “Is this Starry Hollow Thanksgiving or something?”

  “What’s Thanksgiving?” Hudson asked.

  “An American holiday in the human world,” Marley said. “It started as a harvest festival, when the Native Americans feasted with the Pilgrims—the English settlers. It was a day of giving thanks for their many blessings.”

  “Better than being feasted on,” Hudson said with a laugh.

  “That sounds lovely, Marley,” Aunt Hyacinth said. “I think we could all do with a bit of counting our blessings, which is why I decided to entertain the idea at dinner.”