Broomsticks And Bones: A Spellbinder Bay Cozy Paranormal Mystery - Book Two (Spellbinder Bay Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series 2)

by Sam Short

  “I’d love to, Judith, but —”

  “Seriously?” said Judith. “You’re turning me down?” She paused. “Oh, wait. I see… somebody’s got a certain hot vampire coming over, hasn’t she? For wine, food and nibbles on the neck. Make sure you don’t let him nibble you too hard, Millie — those teeth could really hurt, and not the nice pain which makes you beg for more — I mean the bad pain, which makes you cry.”

  “You paint a… weird picture, Judith,” said Millie. “But no. George isn’t coming. There’s no nibbling of necks happening in my cottage tonight.”

  “Then what are you doing that’s more important than a bottle or two of wine?” asked Judith. “You solved two mysteries, Millie. That deserves a celebration.”

  Millie gazed at her familiar. “I’ve still got one more mystery to solve, Judith. A mystery Reuben is helping me with. We need some time alone.”

  “Oh,” said Judith. “Well, you make sure you tell me when you solve it. I’m intrigued.”

  “I will,” said Millie, ending the call. She smiled at Reuben. “What's wrong?" she asked, staring at the little cockatiel. His head bowed low, and his normally vivid red cheeks appearing duller than usual, he looked nervous as he perched on the table next to the spell book.

  "I'm scared," he said. "I'm scared of what will happen if the spell doesn't work. I’m scared of what will happen to you."

  Millie approached the table, and offered Reuben her hand. The little bird leapt onto her index finger and looked up at her face as she spoke in soft tones. "If the spell doesn't work, Reuben, I'll be disappointed. I'll be very disappointed, but I'll get over it with time — like everybody gets over disappointments in time. There's nothing to fear."

  "And you won't be… angry, with me?" said Reuben.

  Millie brought her finger close to her face, and gave the bird a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. "Reuben, you can be the most annoying… bird, in the world. You’re sometimes rude, you’re sometimes brash, but I could never be angry with you. Not really angry, anyway." Millie placed her hand on the spell book, and Reuben hopped off her finger. "Come on. Let's cast the spell — it will either work, or it won't work."

  Reuben puffed out his chest, his eyes gaining brightness. "Okay," he said. "I'll read from the book and you do as I say, how does that sound?"

  "It sounds like a plan," said Millie. She glanced down at the clothes she’d chosen to wear. A knee length burgundy skirt with a little gold detailing around the hem, a flower print button up blouse, and her smart black heels over a pair of tights. She looked at her familiar. "How do I look?" she said.

  "You look amazing, Millie," said Reuben. "If your mother does appear when we cast the spell, she’ll be proud of her daughter."

  Millie turned away as she wiped a tear from beneath her eye. "What’s first?" she said.

  Reuben studied the book. "As with every spell, you must introduce some of your own magic to the cauldron before you begin.”

  Approaching the cauldron, and peering into the green fluid which swirled and shimmered within it, Millie nodded. She gazed into the stone-rimmed pool as she inserted a hand in the warm liquid, her fingers tingling as she focused on allowing a little of her magic to trickle from her fingertips. "There," she said, removing her hand, her fingers already dry. "That part’s done."

  "Okay," said Reuben. "Now we need the unspoken words and a tear shed for the person who said them."

  Millie reached for the table, butterflies in her stomach as she picked up the envelope. "Are you sure the dry tear on the envelope counts?" she asked.

  "As sure as I can be," said Reuben. "As long as the ingredients are there, it shouldn't matter in what form they are presented to the cauldron." He looked up at Millie. "This is the hard part," he said. "You must burn the envelope, and allow the ashes to fall into the cauldron, being sure to picture your mother's face in your mind’s eye as you do it. Remember, when the letter has been burned — there's no going back. If the spell doesn't work, you'll never know what was written by your mother."

  "And the pearl of wisdom," said Millie, moistening her lips with her tongue, and taking a lit candle from one of the shelves set in the cavern wall. "When do I use that?"

  "That goes in last," said Reuben, reading from the page before him. "You should hold it over your heart while the letter burns, and when the last of the ashes from the envelope fall into the cauldron, you should drop the pearl in and say the words 'I choose to not hear your last words. I demand that you come forth and speak them from your mouth.'"

  "And then?" said Millie.

  "We'll see," said Reuben.

  Taking a deep breath, and fighting the rising anxiety in her throat, Millie stared at the envelope. Placing one of the worn corners against the edge of the candle's flame, she swallowed hard as a curling finger of smoke rose to the rough rock of the cavern ceiling.

  As the envelope began to burn, Millie placed the candleholder on the edge of the cauldron and placed her left hand flat against her chest, the pearl of wisdom pressing into the flesh of her breast.

  As black ash fluttered from the envelope and spiralled into the glowing contents of the cauldron, Millie pictured the smiling face of her mother. She pictured her gentle brown eyes and her long dark hair. She pictured the small mole on her forehead above her left eye, and she pictured the slight bend in her nose — not as prominent as Millie's, but a family feature all the same.

  As the flames ate the final piece of the envelope, beginning to burn Millie's fingers, she began to imagine she could even smell her mother. The sweet cinnamon scent of her favourite shampoo, and the fruity tang on her breath from the pear drops she’d always seemed to have a bag of in her handbag.

  No longer able to bear the pain of the flames on her flesh, Millie released the tiny portion of blackened paper which remained between her finger and thumb, watching as it landed gently in the cauldron, and was sucked beneath the surface.

  "The pearl," whispered Reuben. "Drop the pearl in, and say the words."

  Moving her hand from her chest, Millie gazed at the tiny blue pearl which shone in her hand. Her fingers trembling, she held it above the cauldron, and said the words slowly and clearly as she allowed the pearl to drop from her hand, watching it land with a gentle splash in the magical fluid. "I choose not to hear your last words. I demand that you come forth and speak them from your mouth."

  Her mouth as dry as the stone which her right hand gripped, Millie steadied herself against the edge of the cauldron, her heartbeat filling her head, and her legs no longer hers.

  The green liquid in the cauldron shimmered and shone, and a bright light darted from left to right in the very depths of the magic. She bit her lip, and looked at Reuben for support.

  "I don't know, Millie," said the little bird. "I don't know how long it should take. The book doesn't say."

  Taking a step back from the cauldron, Millie spun slowly on the spot, searching the shadows of the cavern for the familiar shape of her mother. There was nothing there. There was nobody there — only she and Reuben, and the lingering stench of the smoke caused by the fire which had destroyed her mother's final letter to her.

  She closed her eyes, and waited. She waited for longer than she knew was sensible. If the magic was going to work, it would have worked by now. She closed her eyes tighter, and waited some more, the warm trickle of tears on her cheeks. She flinched as something touched her shoulder, but took a deep breath when she realised it was Reuben, landing.

  "I'm sorry," said the cockatiel. "I'm really sorry, Millie. I don't think it worked."

  Millie opened her eyes, and nodded. "Not to worry," she said, turning her back on the cauldron and climbing the stairs, a sickness rolling in her stomach. "Come on, Reuben. I'm tired. I want to go to bed. And tomorrow morning I’m going to go and see Henry. He knows who my father is. He can tell me. I need to know.”

  Halfway up the steps, Millie stalled for a moment, lifting a hand to her face and touching her cheek.

>   “What’s wrong?” said Reuben.

  Looking to the left, Millie gave her head a gentle shake. “Nothing,” she said. “I thought I felt something on my cheek. That’s all.”

  Chapter 24

  The entrance hall of Spellbinder Hall was the busiest Millie had ever seen it. A crowd of young children laughed and jostled with one another as they were ushered up the stairs by Florence – the first ghost Millie had met when she’d moved to the bay, and Timothy, the short man who Millie had seen turn into a giant of a werewolf, during a fight on the beach, hurried across the floor, carrying a pile of thick books.

  He gave Millie a smile. “Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t stop to chat. It’s lesson change over time, and if the kids see the teachers talking in the hallway…”

  “It sets a bad example,” finished Millie.

  “It does, indeed,” said Timothy, heading for an open doorway next to a suit of armour.

  Millie jumped as a hand brushed her shoulder. “Miss Thorn?” said a soft voice from behind her. “May I speak with you?”

  “Peter? Graham?” said Millie, turning to find the two men standing behind her.

  “Erm, hello,” said Graham Spalding. “I’m sorry about all that Mister Anon stuff, and the way in which I spoke to you on several occasions.”

  “I’m also sorry,” said Peter Simmons, dressed in a long white lab coat. “And I’m absolutely horrified about what I did to you while under the influence of that demon. I tried to stop myself, but I had no control. I can remember everything that terrible creature forced me to do, though. Including attempting to murder you. How is your poor throat, Miss Thorn?”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” said Millie. “A little blob of a special balm, and it soon stopped hurting.” She looked Peter up and down. “You seem… different than the last time I saw you, Peter — before you were possessed, I mean.”

  “You mean I no longer give people the impression that Graham had recruited a village simpleton to be his sidekick?” said Peter, glancing at Graham, who looked away. “The demon may have been evil, Miss Thorn, but its presence amongst the neurons of my brain seems to have fixed the damage done to me by a simple kitchen accessory used to transform bread into toast.”

  “A toaster,” said Millie.

  “Quite,” said Peter. “It was an unfortunate accident to which I succumbed, however, it was extremely convenient for Graham, who took advantage of my decreased intellect and sought to turn me into his alien hunting lackey.” He looked down his nose at Graham. “You used me for my lab and my equipment. I remember everything, Graham. Everything.”

  Graham’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, Peter, but everything has turned out for the best, hasn’t it?”

  Peter straightened his back and smiled at Millie. “It has indeed,” he said. “Henry Pinkerton has informed Graham and I of all the intricacies of your wonderful paranormal community, and he’s given both Graham and I jobs. The most wonderful jobs!”

  “Oh?” said Millie. “What sort of jobs?”

  “We’ve been tasked with attempting to work out ways of strengthening the gateway into The Chaos,” said Peter. “We’re fully aware that it is your magic which provides the gate’s stability, Miss Thorn, but Henry was open to exploring the concept of combining science with magic, to see if we can prevent any future incidents of creatures passing through the gate into this world. It’s my dream job! I’ve always been convinced that other dimensions exist, and now I get the chance to study a gateway to one of them!”

  “And we’re science teachers,” said Graham, shuffling from foot to foot. “Here in Spellbinder Hall.”

  “Teaching a wonderful group of paranormal children,” said Peter. “I’ve never been happier.”

  Millie gave the two men a sincere smile. “I’m happy for you both,” she said. “But I must be going, I have an appointment with Henry.”

  “He’s a remarkable person, Miss Thorn,” said Peter. “And the children in this equally remarkable school are lucky to have him as an influence. He’s a great help to them.”

  “He is,” said Millie, heading for the staircase. “And now I need him to be a great help to me, too.”

  “Millie, welcome,” said Henry Pinkerton, standing up behind the long desk as Millie stepped into his office. The pleasant aromas of leather, old books and furniture polish hung in the air, and the floorboards creaked as Millie made her way to the armchair which Henry offered her, next to the fireplace.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” said Millie. “I know you’re busy.”

  “I’m never too busy to offer you my time. You’ve done more for this town in your short time here, than many people do in a lifetime,” said Henry, sitting in the armchair opposite her, the cracked leather upholstery creaking as he crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. “That’s three murders you’ve solved now! You deserve all the time I can possibly offer you. How may I be of help to you?”

  Millie took a deep breath. “It’s about the letter from my mother,” she said. “The one she gave to you.”

  Henry removed his glasses and polished the lenses with a crisp white handkerchief he took from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “What about it? I trust you’ve read it?”

  “Not quite,” said Millie.

  “You’re still not aware who your father is?” said Henry, replacing his glasses and fiddling with his cufflinks. “I thought as much.”

  Millie shook her head. “No,” she said. “And something happened to the letter… I… well, I burnt it.”

  “It was hard to come to terms with what may have been inside?” said Henry. “I can understand that.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Millie. “I didn’t burn it to destroy it. I burnt it to cast a spell. A spell which was supposed to make it possible for me to speak to my mother.”

  Henry frowned. “It sounds like it was a powerful spell you tried to cast, Millie. Powerful spells are impressive when they work, but tend to fail more often than their simpler counterparts,” he said.

  “Yes, well, this one failed,” said Millie. She dropped her eyes. “And now I have no letter from my mother.”

  Henry gave a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, Millie,” he said, “but you’re aware that I know who your father is. I can’t tell you every word your mother wrote in that letter, but I can help you discover where you came from. Would you like to know who your father is, Millie? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yes, and no,” said Millie. “I was hoping there would be other ways of speaking to my mother.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  “Is there no way at all that my mother could become a ghost?” said Millie.

  Henry sighed. “You know that’s not possible, Millie. Witches can never become ghosts; their energy works in different ways than a human’s energy does. Not all humans become ghosts either, Millie. Tom Temples didn’t, or Jill Harris’s mother -- at least they haven’t yet. Some ghosts take their time before they make an appearance.” He smiled at Millie. “But your mother won’t become a ghost, Millie, although her energy will always be tied to the cottage you live in. The cottage that she once lived in.”

  “I knew that,” said Millie, her heart heavy. “But I just wanted to make absolutely sure before I asked you to tell me who my father is, Henry. I wanted to hear it from my mother, but that’s not going to happen.”

  Henry leaned forward in his seat. “Would you like me to tell you, Millie? Do you want to know who your father is?”

  Millie shifted her weight. “When you told me you knew who he was, you told me he lived in Spellbinder Bay. Is that still the case? Is he still here?”

  “Very much so,” said Henry.

  “Do you think he’d be happy to discover he has a daughter he didn’t know about?” said Millie.

  “I can’t answer that, Millie,” said Henry. “It wouldn’t be fair on him, or you.”

  Millie closed her eyes, and wrapped her fingers around the seat’s armrests. �
�Okay, Henry,” she said. “I’m ready. Tell me who my father is. Please.”

  Henry remained silent for a few moments, and Millie kept her eyes shut, hoping the words would be more easily digestible if she couldn’t see Henry’s mouth moving. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “Millie Thorn,” he said. “Your father is —”

  “Don’t you dare, Henry Pinkerton!”

  Hearing Henry gasp, Millie held her breath, a heaviness building behind her eyes as tears threatened to spill. That voice. It couldn’t be.

  “Hello, Millie,” said the soft female voice. “Hello, my darling. Open your eyes.”

  Tears ran freely as Millie tentatively opened her eyes. With her vision blurred, she stared at the woman standing alongside her. Taking long ragged gasps of air, Millie sobbed as she attempted to smile. “Is it you?” she gasped. “Is it really you?”

  The woman smiled, her brown eyes as warm as Millie had remembered them. “Yes,” she said. “It’s really me.”

  Chapter 25

  Henry stood up. “Josephine! How wonderful to see you, but how did you—”

  The woman raised a hand. “Would you leave us alone, Henry?” she said. “Please?”

  With a wide smile, Henry hurried towards the door. “Of course! My office is yours for as long as you need it.”

  When the door had closed behind Henry, Millie gazed up at the smiling woman, her cheeks wet with tears and her breathing beginning to steady. “Mum?” she said. “Mum?”

  “Oh, Millie,” said her mother, her face appearing to shift in and out of focus. “Your spell worked! I’ve been trying for so long to reach you. Ever since you moved into Windy-dune Cottage! I’ve heard every word you’ve spoken to me, and I’ve seen every tear you’ve cried for me. I tried so hard to touch you, to speak to you, but I couldn’t reach across the divide between my world and yours.”