Magic & Mystery (Starry Hollow Witches Book 2)

by Annabel Chase

I felt a rush of sympathy for both of them. "Why do you think he agreed to the transformation spell if he knew he didn't love you?"

  Artemis wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I don’t think he knew the truth. I think he believed at the time that he loved me, but it wasn’t real. He would have realized it after the fact. But, by then, it would have been too late. I imagine that was the outcome my parents expected."

  "They must've felt guilty about Cedric becoming a frog for the rest of his life," I said.

  Artemis managed a smile. "You didn't know my parents, darling. Trust me, they felt that he got what he deserved."

  Sheriff Nash cleared his throat. "Some folks say that about you, Miss Haverford. That you turned him into a frog as revenge for not loving you. Naturally, having these eligible men in town turned into frogs is reminiscent of your history."

  Her gaze dropped to Clementine in her lap. "I understand, Sheriff. But I have no interest in revenge on these men or on anyone else, for that matter. I made my peace with what happened a long time ago. That’s the reason I became a matchmaker. I wanted to do better for others than I managed to do for myself."

  Artemis inclined her head. "Are you finished with your tea, my dear? I should very much like to read your leaves."

  I balked. "My tea leaves? Is that a witch thing?”

  “No, it’s an art form handed down from generation to generation,” she replied, and held out her hand. "Your cup, please."

  I handed over my cup and watched as she swirled the cup three times in a counterclockwise direction before draining the liquid onto her saucer. She peered into the cup and shifted around the remaining contents, staring intently.

  "Is this part of the matchmaking service?" I asked. "Do you use tea leaves to help you find partners for your clients?"

  "Sometimes," Artemis said. "It depends." She continued to fixate on the leaves. “Very interesting symbols. Not that I am the least bit surprised."

  I leaned forward and peered into the cup, where I saw only brown globs. “They look like dirty clouds.”

  Sheriff Nash laughed. “That makes sense. The Ancient Celts used clouds to tell the future.”

  “And the past and present, too,” Artemis added.

  “The most interesting shapes I ever saw in the clouds were a dolphin and a chicken,” I said.

  “Our stories are everywhere if we choose to see them,” Artemis said. She bowed her head and studied the tea leaves again. “A broom.”

  “Well, that’s easy,” I said. “I rode one recently.”

  “It’s not a literal interpretation,” Artemis said. “A broom signifies a change in your life.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No kidding.”

  Artemis clapped her hands. “Ah, a daisy. Delightful.”

  “No rose, huh?” I queried. Aunt Hyacinth would be so disappointed.

  “A daisy means happiness in love, darling, so I suppose you won’t need my services after all.” She peered at the contents again and frowned.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Did the petals fall off?” That would be just my luck.

  “Armor,” Artemis said. “It means you’ll face difficulties and dangers.” She looked up and smiled. “But that you will face them with courage.”

  Courage was cool, but I wasn’t so excited by the ‘difficulties and dangers’ part.

  “How difficult and dangerous are we talking?” I asked. “Like death and destruction, or trying to snag the last cookie on bingo night at the senior citizens complex?”

  Artemis pressed her wrinkled lips together. “Hard to say. The leaves don’t give details. They’re not a road map, darling.”

  “What about the sheriff?” I asked, nodding toward him. “Can you read his?”

  Sheriff Nash waved us off. “No, no. I like my future unknown. It’s more fun that way.”

  “As you wish, Sheriff,” Artemis said.

  “You’d think with Jefferson around, the house wouldn’t be so dark and musty,” I said. “Maybe he can help you with the cleaning or run a load of laundry once in a while.”

  Sheriff Nash shot me a horrified look.

  "What?" I asked. "We’re supposed to pretend? This house is like an abandoned museum and she's dressed like the bride of Frankenstein. I’m shocked that anyone would come out here to deliver pizza, let alone find a soulmate.”

  Sheriff Nash buried his face in his hands. “Stars and stones, Rose. I think I know the real reason you came to Starry Hollow. You were deemed too obnoxious for New Jersey.”

  “That’s a pretty high bar,” I said.

  Artemis laughed gently. “I take no offense. To be honest, I haven't had a breath of air as fresh as her in over fifty years.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he said.

  “See?” I told him, pointing to myself. “Fresh air.”

  "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help with the frog situation,” Artemis said. "I do take pride in serving the community when I’m able."

  "You just keep doing what you're doing, Artemis,” the sheriff said. "That's contribution enough."

  "You're welcome back anytime, either one of you,” Artemis said. "If you decide you’d like to pursue a match, I'm happy to help."

  "I might just take you up on that," I said.

  The sheriff glanced at me in disbelief. “She saw a daisy, Rose. What’s the rush?”

  I shrugged. “No rush. Maybe that’s how I find happiness in love. The tea leaves don’t actually say I don’t get help.”

  “Good luck with your investigation,” Artemis said, and closed the door behind us.

  The second we were out of earshot, Sheriff Nash shot me an inquisitive look. “Are you really considering her services?"

  “Great balls of sweet baby Elvis, no," I said. "But as soon as I have a spare couple of hours, I'm going back there with a cleaning crew and a glam squad. It's high time Artemis Haverford finds a match of her own."

  Chapter 8

  Marley insisted on being a good cousin and paying Florian a visit after school. Apparently, she’d started a unit on pond life in science class and was convinced that Florian was going to die if we kept him in the glass container for too long.

  Simon guided us to the parlor, where Florian’s enclosure was set on a sideboard in front of the window.

  “At least he has a view,” I said.

  “Yes, his mother was quite insistent on it,” Simon said, before retreating to another room. I wondered whether he was heeding the call of a silent silver bell.

  "I feel horrible," Marley said. "He looks so unhappy in there.” She tapped on the glass and waved to him. The frog simply stared back at her.

  "I don't think he feels happiness or unhappiness right now," I said. "He's a frog."

  Marley cast me a sidelong glance. "You don't think frogs feel emotions?"

  I shrugged. "Don't think so. I guess we can ask him when he's turned back into a wizard."

  "That's optimistic," Marley said. "If no one figures out who’s doing this, Florian might be stuck as a frog forever."

  I immediately thought of Cedric, the unfortunate satyr, and my stomach twisted. "No one's going to let that happen," I said. "You forget your Aunt Hyacinth is cracking the whip on this case."

  Marley leaned her elbows on the sideboard, resting her chin on her knuckles. “Can't we just take him out for a little while so he can get fresh air? A frog doesn’t belong trapped in a glass container."

  "I don't know, Marley," I said. "I think he's safer in here."

  "We’ll just let him stretch his legs and catch a few flies,” she insisted. “You're always encouraging me to get outside and take my nose out of a book. Here's your big chance."

  Whoa. Marley was playing the Mom card against me. Clever girl.

  "Fine," I relented. "We’ll take him out for half an hour. But you have to keep him in your pocket. I'm not touching any mucous coating.”

  Marley eagerly retrieved Florian from the glass enclosure. She stroked his green head with her thumb. "D
on't worry, Florian. We’ll take good care of you." She placed the frog carefully in her pocket.

  "Let's go, before someone catches us," I said. The last thing I needed was to be on Aunt Hyacinth’s bad side. She’d probably turn me into a fly just for spite.

  We snuck out of the main house and made our way toward the woods that bordered the estate.

  "There's a pond back here," Marley said. "I saw it when I took PP3 for a walk the other day.”

  "Now that you mention him, he’s due to go out," I said. "Why don't I get him and meet you at the pond?”

  Marley's eyes shone with excitement. "You’d let me take Florian on my own?"

  "Of course." Any time Marley showed a shred of independence, I was all over it like the sheriff on cracklewhip chowder.

  "Once you walk past the gate," Marley instructed, “walk about twenty feet and then go left. There's a path there that leads to the pond."

  I gave her a thumbs up and trotted toward the cottage. The dog was waiting by the door, as though he knew I was on the way. I grabbed his leash and hooked it to his collar before heading back out. Secretly, I was glad that Marley had suggested an outdoor excursion. I’d discovered that the mixture of salty and fresh air that Starry Hollow provided gave me renewed energy. I felt the way I did after a productive day—energized and positive. This little trip to the pond wasn't just for Florian's sake, it was for all of us.

  Halfway there, the dog stopped to pee, and I took a moment to admire the grounds of the estate. Some days I still had to pinch myself. I couldn't believe that I lived here now. My life in New Jersey seemed so far away. I wondered whether Hilda Santiago had found a repo replacement for me. I still felt guilty for leaving her in the lurch, but I didn't really have a choice. When a trio of coven cousins show up in your apartment via a magical wormhole and kick the bad guy’s derrière, you follow their orders. I knew in my heart that Hilda would understand.

  I passed the gate and walked the required twenty feet until I saw the path. PP3 seemed to stop and sniff every single leaf and berry that we passed. He took ‘leisurely stroll’ to a whole new level. By the time we made it to the pond, Florian was hopping around on lily pads like a kid in a bouncy castle.

  Marley gave me a triumphant look. "See? This was a great idea. He loves it."

  "He'll probably never want to speak of it again, once he's turned back into a wizard," I said.

  "It doesn't matter," Marley said. “We’re giving him a little bit of happiness now while he’s stuck as a frog, and that’s what’s important.”

  I was inclined to agree. I’d want someone to pay attention to me if I were in his shoes…or his frog legs.

  After losing interest in a stick, PP3 caught sight of Florian skirting the edge of the pond and began to bark. He tugged on the leash, straining to be set free.

  "No," I said firmly. "No frog." We didn't need PP3 to mistake Florian for prey. Despite the Yorkie’s age, he still liked to chase things.

  Florian hopped to a lily pad in the middle of the pond and stared at us.

  "I think PP3 upset him," Marley said. "He doesn't want to hop anymore."

  "He's probably afraid to get too close to the dog," I said. Not that I blamed him. The Yorkie was small but fierce. He definitely had a Napoleon complex.

  The frog hopped again and PP3 began to bark wildly.

  "No bark,” I said. The Yorkie ignored me and continued to focus on the frog.

  "Mom,” Marley gasped. “Florian is hopping away to the other side of the pond.”

  Sure enough, Florian was making his away across the lily pads to the opposite side of the pond. Marley began to run along the perimeter, calling his name.

  “Marley, you have to catch him,” I said. I worked quickly to tie PP3’s leash around the base of a tree so that I could help Marley go after our wayward cousin.

  Marley made it around the pond just as Florian hopped onto land and disappeared between two bushes.

  “Mom, use magic,” Marley called.

  I waved my hands in the air helplessly. “What kind of magic will stop a frog from hopping away?”

  Marley didn’t know either. Together, we scoured the area, searching for signs of Florian.

  “This is very, very bad,” Marley said. When she looked up at me, I saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll find him.” I retrieved PP3 and walked him around the area to sniff for Florian. After an hour, I told Marley it was time to call it quits.

  “This is all my fault,” Marley said, sniffling.

  I put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You were doing a nice thing for Florian. He chose to hop away and hide. Don’t worry.” I kissed her forehead. “We’ll figure something out.”

  When we edged around the pond to head back to the cottage, there were three frogs on lily pads.

  Marley gasped. “Mom, do you think one of them is Florian?”

  “It’s possible.” But I had no earthly idea. “We need to take one of them with us no matter what.” We had to put a frog—any frog—back in the glass enclosure before Aunt Hyacinth noticed Florian was missing.

  Marley studied the three frogs, her nose scrunching. “They all look the same.”

  “That’s racist,” I said. “Now pick one.”

  Marley reached for the frog on the closest lily pad and managed to snag it before it could hop away. She stuffed it into her pocket, its legs flailing wildly.

  “Let’s go,” I said hurriedly.

  I waited outside the house with PP3, while Marley crept inside to deliver the frog to the glass enclosure.

  “Did anyone see you?” I asked, when she emerged outside.

  “Only Simon, and I told him I’d taken Florian for a walk.”

  Phew.

  “How can we tell we’ve got the right frog?” she asked. “The only way to know whether it’s Florian is if he turns back into himself when the curse is broken.”

  “I imagine the spell will break no matter where he is,” I said. “So if he’s in the woods, he’ll turn back into Florian there.” At least, I hoped so.

  “Shouldn’t we look for him tomorrow?” she asked, as we walked back to the cottage.

  “We don’t know that it’s not him in the house,” I said. “We’d have to collect all the frogs around the pond and wait to see which one turns out to be Florian.” And that plan seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  Marley wiped a tear from her cheek. “Can we have chicken nuggets for dinner tonight?”

  Ah, the breaded food group—a ten-year-old’s comfort food.

  “Absolutely,” I said, and held her hand all the way home.

  After possibly losing Florian to the call of the wild, I decided I needed a night out. I remembered Aster’s mention of the Whitethorn and convinced Linnea to join me.

  The Whitethorn was straight out of Lord of the Rings. I half expected a hobbit to come stumbling out after one too many pints. The white building had a thatched roof and a rounded wooden door.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” I said to Linnea.

  “Are you kidding?” She smiled brightly. “Do you know how infrequently I leave the inn? Thank you for giving me a legitimate excuse to make myself presentable.” Presentable was an understatement. The Rose-Muldoon siblings were all stunning—Linnea could turn heads wearing a potato sack.

  “I’m glad Bryn and Hudson are willing to entertain Marley at the inn,” I said.

  Linnea laughed. “I have a feeling Marley will be the one babysitting them by bedtime. They argue nonstop.”

  I followed Linnea through the door of the pub and noticed the wide wooden planks beneath our feet as we approached the bar. They looked old and well worn. The interior was dark, with wooden beams that stretched across the low ceiling. Behind the bar was a man in a yellow jacket, a black pirate’s hat, and, of course, an eye patch.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “Captain Yellowjacket is here to attend to all your spirituous needs.”r />
  “Thanks, Duncan,” Linnea said.

  He cleared his throat loudly. “It’s Captain Yellowjacket, remember?”

  Linnea turned to me. “Duncan claims to be a direct descendant of Captain Blackfang, the famous vampire pirate.”

  “Not as impressive as being the descendant of the One True Witch,” Captain Yellowjacket said. “But it’s my claim to fame.”

  A red and blue parrot appeared seemingly from nowhere to land on the bartender’s shoulder.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “This is your faithful companion, Polly?”

  The parrot cocked its head. “The name’s Bittersteel.”

  “That sounds more like a sword than a parrot,” I said.

  “If you want to see something long and dangerous,” the parrot squawked, “I’d be happy to show you.”

  Crap on a stick. A smutty parrot?

  “Stop being such a dirty birdie,” Captain Yellowjacket chastised him, and I caught a glimpse of the bartender’s fangs. Yep, definitely a vampire pirate. “I don’t want you scaring off new customers.”

  “I think it’s your putrid breath that usually does that,” the parrot said.

  “What can I get you to drink, love?” Captain Yellowjacket asked.

  Linnea rested her forearms on the counter. “A damson sparkle, please. Straight up.”

  “How about you, luscious lips?” Bittersteel squawked.

  Luscious lips? That was a new one for me. “I’ll have an ale. Whatever’s on tap.”

  “She’s easy,” Captain Yellowjacket said. “I like that in a customer.”

  “And I like that in a woman,” Bittersteel added.

  I groaned. “You’re a parrot. The only thing you like in a woman is the crackers in her handbag.”

  Captain Yellowjacket roared with laughter. “She’s got you there, Bittersteel.” He fixed Linnea’s drink first before pulling my pint.

  “So, I heard this place is old and magical with gold in the basement,” I said, accepting the glass. “Is any of it actually true?”

  “Oh, it’s the history of the Whitethorn you’re after?” Captain Yellowjacket appeared pleased.

  “You love telling this story, don’t you?” I asked.