Table of Contents
Dear Reader,
Chapter OneRowl!
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
Also by Tonya KappesOlivia Davis Paranormal Mystery SeriesSPLITSVILLE.COMCOLOR ME LOVE (novella)COLOR...
Copyright
Tonya Kappes
Spies and Spells
Spies and Spells Mystery Series
Book One
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my newest series! I’m so excited to bring Spies and Spells to you. I know that you are going to fall in love with Maggie Park and Mick Jasper. They are a lot of fun to write and I’m sure you are going to love reading their adventures.
I want to thank everyone of you for taking the time out of your busy day to read Spies and Spells and help out a struggling author! I truly appreciate all of your help when I need a name or a special witchy gift or even titles of places! Every time I need help and turn to you on my Facebook page, facebook.com/authortonyakappes, I know you will come through!
This book is dedicated to you all! Thank you for your continued support and spreading the word about my novels. It allows me to keep writing and bringing more adventures for you pleasure.
XO~
Tonya Kappes
Charming southern reads.
Chapter One
Rowl! The soft, pink paw tapped my nose a couple of times before the old cat gave me the ole one-two punch. His midnight fur helped him blend in with the unlit room.
“Stop, Riule,” I groaned, batting my mom’s familiar feline away from me and jerked the pillow over my head. “Tell her I’m up.” My voice muffled from underneath the pillow.
Rowl! The damn cat took a couple of more swipes at my hands gripping the pillow across my face.
I took the pillow off my face and sucked in a deep breath when I heard the paws of Riule’s feet dance across my bedroom hardwood floors and out the door. Outside, the early morning breeze caused the leaves on the tree beyond my window to move around, directing the sun’s rays to trickle through my blinds and dancing along my ceiling. It was a habitual morning dance between the two, which let me know I was going to be late for work if I didn’t get my lazy hinny out of bed.
Same shit. Day in, day out. I got up, got ready, went to work, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed. Sometimes that routine included a social visit with Lilith, my sister, but definitely not a regular basis, as she too had the same schedule as me. Only she got up a couple hours earlier to go to work. Lilith worked the early shift at The Brew, our family diner that was only open for breakfast and lunch.
At twenty-eight, I still hadn’t found my life’s journey. No. We, my family, did not call it our ambition in life. In fact, we didn’t grow up like mortal children, going to school and figuring out that we wanted to be: a teacher, doctor, lawyer or whatever. We had what was called the Witchy Hour. It was the hour on which we stumbled into our life’s journey.
There wasn’t much I could say about the Witchy Hour, because I had not had mine, therefore, I got up every morning and worked at the diner. Clearing dishes, taking orders and delivering food could not be my journey. I knew it in my soul.
My family was witches. Modern day, every day, normal looking kind of people. Only witches. Witches who made sure we blended into the area where we lived.
Historic Old Louisville, Kentucky, on Belgravia Court to be exact. The area was a very artsy area where a lot of hipsters hung out in the local eateries and bars.
The city was not too big or too small, allowing us to more easily fit in. And so, at age twenty-eight, I worked in our family’s dinner, The Brew, until I was hit with my life’s journey.
I had heard, as well as seen, witches in their journey. Take my mother, for instance, who Lilith and I still lived with along with my Great Auntie Meme along with all of our familiars. Yes, witches did have familiars. Only mine happened to be my car, Vinnie. Riule, the ornery cat, happens to be my mother’s, who, by the way, was doing her dirty work this morning. Gilbert, the macaw, was Lilith’s familiar and Ms. Kitty, an owl, was Auntie’s.
I was the only one with a non-animal familiar, which spoke volumes to how I had led my life. I had been on a mission to find my life’s journey. My job. And get out from underneath my family’s home.
At times I had even wondered if Mom or Auntie Meme had put a spell on me so I would not find my journey, and so they’d have to keep me here. On Belgravia Court.
I pushed back my long black hair away from my eyes, peeling a few strands away from my cheek where it had been glued from nighttime drool, something I wasn’t proud of, and pushed the quilt off me. If I didn’t make some sort of movement, the one-hundred-year-old historic home wouldn’t creak from under my feet and Riule would be sent back up to see what I was up to. Then smugly running back downstairs to Mom, giving her the lowdown on my laziness. They didn’t realize that if I had my life’s journey, I would be happy to get up every morning and go do it, just like Mom and Auntie Meme.
“What to wear?” I asked.
Growls and barks were coming from outside my front bedroom window. I made my way over and pulled back the curtain to see what all of the ruckus was about, hoping Riule hadn’t gotten Mrs. Hubbard’s yappy dog all stirred up.
Mrs. Hubbard was the old lady who lived in the house across from us. She bent over her flower boxes that were sitting on the brick ledge of her front porch fussing with her plastic Patagonia flower she had wired together with bread ties. She had one end of the plastic bouquet while King, the yappy Yorkie, had the other end in his mouth. King looked like he was playing. Mrs. Hubbard looked like she was not. The two played tug-of-war until King won out, rushing off the porch and under her row of hedges that lined the front of her home.
Mrs. Hubbard stood five foot with grey hair that hung down past her ears, parted to the left side, with side bangs. Mrs. Hubbard was never without her pearl earrings, pearl necklace and a cardigan. She must’ve had stock in pleated black slacks because it was the only color, or style, of pants she ever wore. Today her choice of cardigan happened to be hot pink, making her crazy stand out even more.
As though she knew I was watching her, she looked up and gave a slight wave. I waved back, but not quick enough to pull back and avoid her gesture to have me open my window.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hubbard.” I tried to be as pleasant as I could at seven in the morning. I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “How are you?”
Ruf, ruf, ruf. King had emerged from the hedges and went from attacking the flowers to attacking the air and space between the two of us. I glared at the scrawny, wiry spit fire wondering if I could just send him up in flames, right there in front of Mrs. Hubbard. No one on Belgravia Court liked the yappy dog.
“Fair to middlin’. Fair to middlin’,” she repeated shaking her head and pointing at the fake garden. “I’m trying to bring home the blue.” Her eyes slid over to the front of our home where Mom took a lot of pride in her landscape and gardening.
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The blue Mrs. Hubbard referred to was the annual Historic Old Louisville Hidden Treasure Garden Tour that was taken very seriously by the residents on Belgravia Court. Mrs. Hubbard being one of them. Little did they know Mom was a witch and her specialty was all things earth. She was kind of like Mother Nature, only in witch form and she also grew the best herbs for potions, which Auntie Meme liked to use on customers at The Brew.
“I need another bread tie. It looks like the coons got my flowers. I’m going to give those coons a knuckle sandwich,” Mrs. Hubbard said in a silvery tone. She shook her thin fist in the air.
I smiled. Mrs. Hubbard was the queen of what I called southernisms. Most of the time I didn’t even understand what she was talking about. I wanted to tell her she wasn’t going to bring home the blue with plastic flowers but there was no telling her that unless I wanted a good cussing.
“You know.” She squinted up at my window. “I’ve never seen y’all have any sort of rodents over there.” Her brows furrowed. “What’s your secret?”
And there she went.
Mrs. Hubbard was nosy and she and Auntie Meme had had a few words right there in the courtyard in front of everyone. Auntie Meme told her to mind her own business, only her exact words were my business isn’t your business and unless you’re my panties don’t be up my ass.
Mrs. Hubbard was as mad as a wet hen but it didn’t stop her from still being nosy.
“There’s no secret.” There was. Auntie Meme put a rodent spell on Mrs. Hubbard’s house sending every rodent on Belgravia Court over there. The Orkin man was a fixture over there.
Susie Brown, our other neighbor and Belgravia Court’s neighborhood watch president, even started a rumor that Mrs. Hubbard and the Orkin man were having a fling. Only we knew the truth and we never gave into gossip. In fact, the women loved to meet up in the courtyard on Saturday nights with their fancy cocktails and catch up on the gossip on Belgravia Court. The Park family—my family—were always a topic of interest because we spent much of our time to ourselves. Well, not Auntie Meme. She spent a lot of time looking out the front window wondering what type of spell she could send Mrs. Hubbard’s way. When she’d get down to the nitty-gritty of a spell, Mom wouldn’t let her send it. Auntie Meme fussed that Mom let her make the spell, why not let her send it. Mom let Auntie Meme concoct the spells so she wouldn’t have to entertain my feisty auntie.
Still, the neighbors loved to gossip about us. Much was speculation, but still, they lived on speculation.
“I’m getting ready to go to work. I’ll see if we have any bread ties.” I politely waved, pushing the window back down. I pulled the cord of the blinds, zipping them up to the top of the window to let the sunlight fully in.
I stomped over to my closet for good measure in case Mom was listening and opened the dark wood door. Everything in the house was dark and old. It was one of the things that drew Mom and Auntie to the Historic Old Louisville. The small suburb within the city held many secrets, like our family. It was old, like our family, and held comfort for Mom.
From what Mom had told me and I had gathered, when we moved to Kentucky before I was born, the family started to become more and more engrained with mortals. We were a dying breed and it was fine with me since they never let me use the magic I held inside.
Don’t put a spell on that. Clean the dishes, not with a swipe of your finger. Use the laundry machines, not a wave of your hand.
But today I was going to be late and a wave of my hand might be what saved me from doing the dishes, the mortal way, in the diner.
Just like that, I raised my arm, twirling my wrist three times ending in a snap. And just like that, I was dressed in a black long-sleeved turtleneck, black skinny jeans, and a pair of cheetah print loafers. My long black hair neatly slicked back into a ponytail and minimal makeup was perfect for the home-cooked meals I’d be serving.
“Good morning.” I greeted my mom who was standing at the kitchen sink window picking some basil off the potted plant. I put my hands on both of her arms, giving her a little squeeze. “Thank you for sending in Riule,” my tone was sarcastic.
Riule was sitting underneath the kitchen table with his leg thrown up in the air looking like the cover model on Cat Fancy magazine, his tongue stopped in mid-lick as his eyes bore into mine stopping for a second and then returning to cleaning himself.
“It won’t be a good morning, good afternoon, or good night if you don’t get to work.” Mom’s eyes drew down on me. Her beautiful good looks caught me off guard. Her hair was long and black like mine. We had the same almond-shaped black eyes and oval face. She had high cheekbones like Lilith, while I had round ones that made me look younger than I really was. “Auntie Meme will work on a spell for you instead of Mrs. Hubbard.”
Many times Mom and I had been in public when people had mistaken her for my sister.
“And,” her eyes slid down to my toes and up to my head. Her eyes stared at me. She had crow’s feet—the only facial sign she was older than me. “It seems like you got ready awfully fast.” Her cool tone was filled with I know you used magic.
“Do we have any bread ties?” I grabbed the piece of wheat toast Mom had sitting on the counter. I closed my eyes and savored the first bite. She made the best buttered toast. There wasn’t a single grain left unbuttered. Mom made sure she spread the pat of butter to the edges, letting it seep in the warm toast.
“Mrs. Hubbard?” Mom picked a few more leaves from the window garden and bundled them with a piece of cord she had already precut.
“Yes,” I mumbled, stuffing the rest of the toast in my mouth.
“In the drawer.” Mom waved her hand in a circular motion before uncurling her long lean finger toward the junk drawer.
“In the drawer huh?” I questioned, pulling the junk drawer open knowing it was stuffed with pens, coupon circulars, and everything but bread ties. “Talk about magic.” I swiveled my eyes Mom’s way, questioning her little bit of magic. “And you accuse me of using magic.”
I grabbed a fistful of ties, kissed my mom on the cheek and headed out of the kitchen toward the front of the house.
“I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder and walked down the hallway, opening up the heavy wooden door to the courtyard.
Belgravia Court was an odd place to live. There were two rows of houses opposite each other with a grassy courtyard down the middle. The front of the houses faced the courtyard. Each side had its own sidewalk with gas carriage lanterns lighting the way. Along the backs of our homes was an alley with each home having a detached garage.
The houses were so close together, I couldn’t spit out my side bedroom window without hitting the neighbor’s house.
Belgravia Court was a close-knit community with everyone in everyone else’s business. Not the Parks. We tried to stay on the down-low as much as possible. Given our heritage and all.
“I found some.” I waved my fistful of bread ties in the air toward Mrs. Hubbard.
I glanced up at the sky. It was unseasonably cool for a June day in Kentucky.
Ruff, ruff, ruff. King charged me. I flicked my hand, sending a little jolt of don’t screw with me at him. Enough for him to feel it, but not enough to hurt him. I had to keep the ankle biter from sinking his sharp little daggers in me.
King yelped, running back under the bushes.
“He has that same reaction with your crazy aunt.” Mrs. Hubbard eased down her front steps and bent down to get her dog from the hedges. Her butt stuck straight up in the air, she dug her arms deeper into the bushes until she came out with a shaking King. “Oh stop that.” She snuggled him against her. “Maggie isn’t anything like the rest of ’em.”
“They aren’t so bad.” I glared at the dog, holding the ties out for her to take.
“Thank you, honey.” Mrs. Hubbard nodded her head to put them down on the step, glancing sideways at me. She walked back up her steps and put King in the house. She turned and said, “Tell me.” She went back to
the fake flowers, quickly tying some together before sticking them back in the planter boxes. “What was your mom doing up there on the balcony?”
I looked over at my house. The red three-story home was beautiful with the double porches on the front of the left side of the house. On the right were two large windows on each level. But the porches were really the charming feature. The first one was considered the front porch. Two dark grey pillars were built on the brick wall to the open porch leading up to the large wooden door with long skinny decorative windows on each side. Above the door was a stained glass window Auntie Meme had created herself. If you were to look closely, you’d see little images of our heritage.
Above the porch was another open porch with wrought iron railing. The doors leading into the house from the second porch were all glass. The room off the second porch was Mom’s room. Then the third floor was where Lilith and my rooms were located. We had the whole Jack and Jill bathroom thing going. It was cute when we were kids, not so much now.
“She was doing her morning yoga.” I smiled, lying.
Mom used the morning sun to welcome the day, sending a little prayer of protection for the family every morning. Normally she was careful of watchful eyes at four-thirty in the morning, and normally Mrs. Hubbard wasn’t up that early. Something told me today was going to be anything but normal.
Mrs. Hubbard harrumphed, not fully satisfied with my answer, but she didn’t balk at it either.
“I don’t have a horse in that race. But it seems to me she’d go to one of them fancy yoga studios.” Mrs. Hubbard eyed me, setting her jaw. We stood there for a second before she waved it off. She bent down and picked up a bouquet of plastic flowers. “No horse in that race.”
“It was good to see you.” I turned to go back to the house and grab my clutch and keys. “I’ve got to work.”
“Still working for Meme?” Mrs. Hubbard asked, shaking the bouquet at me.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a family business.” I strolled closer to my house, making more distance between me and Mrs. Hubbard. If I didn’t, she’d start asking questions I didn’t want to answer.
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