Hexes & Hot Chocolate (A Stella Storm Cozy Witch Mystery Book 3)

by Amy Casey

  But was I going to let that fear get to me? Was I going to let it destabilise me?

  I’d pissed my pants once already since I’d got here. Didn’t fancy doing that again.

  I took a few deep breaths. Walked further into the woods, over to where the eyes were. I kept my invisibility activated and moved as lightly as I could. The sounds from the witchy funeral had drifted into the background. The smells of sweetness were stronger. The trees grew thicker, the darkness more intense.

  When I reached the spot where the eyes were, my heart raced.

  “You’ve got this,” I whispered to myself. “You’ve got them, Stella. You’ve…”

  When I stepped around the side of the tree, I saw there was nothing there.

  But then I heard the movement behind me.

  The growl.

  And when I looked around, I saw them.

  They were tall. Far, far taller than anyone I’d seen back in Goosridge.

  And although I liked tall men, well. This one was different.

  He was very hairy for one.

  His eyes were bright, but not a startling blue or dazzling green. They were yellow.

  The man let out a groan. He snarled, saliva drooling down the side of his face.

  His teeth were sharp.

  If I hadn’t peed myself already, I was probably well on my way.

  Because this wasn’t just any man.

  This was a werewolf.

  And he was throwing himself at me, claws first.

  Chapter 18

  Rule number one when a big scary werewolf is staring you down, lifting his claws and getting ready to slash you across your face?

  I don’t bloody well know, do I? I’m a witch who has spent a lifetime living in the normal world. What the hell am I supposed to know about any of this crap?

  The claws swung at me. I watched them like they were in slow motion, and in that fraction of a second imagined just what I’d look like if they made contact with my face. I wasn’t particularly vain. But I didn’t fancy returning to Goosridge with a Harry Potter scar on my forehead. That’d require a lot of explaining.

  So I found myself swinging back. I tried to keep my balance, tried to keep myself on my feet.

  But, typical me, I found myself on my backside.

  The werewolf was above me now. And his bright yellow eyes looked even angrier for missing me.

  Some of his smelly saliva dripped down onto me as he moved down, claws raised again.

  This time I raised my hands.

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  The werewolf stopped. And I dunno. Maybe if I’d actually said something to him or attempted to make some kind of bargain, he might’ve let me off the hook.

  But instead, the fear of death is a pretty strong thing.

  So I found myself slamming my foot against the werewolf’s leg—hard.

  He went to fall down. And I swung to the right, avoiding his collapsing body.

  He slammed beside me. And he landed on my left leg, heavily.

  I tried to move. Tried to drag myself away. But the werewolf was heavier than he looked. And he looked bloody heavy, to be honest.

  So I figured I had to try something different.

  I stretched out my hands. Said a few magic words. “Invalius strenghius!”

  And then I put all my efforts into lifting his body off me.

  He started to lift. Just a little more and I could be free of his weight. Just a little more focus…

  But then the werewolf stretched out a hand and slapped me right across the face, and his weight fell onto me once again.

  I went dizzy. Lay there, the taste of blood on my lips. I looked up at him, dazed, as he perched over me.

  “You shouldn’t have followed,” he said, his voice booming. “Should have just stayed where you were.”

  He pulled back a fist and went to swing it.

  I closed my eyes.

  Held my breath.

  And when his fist made contact, it wasn’t with me.

  It was with the ground.

  Because I’d teleported to the other side of him.

  I was standing over him.

  He yelped as his fist connected with the ground. Nursed it, screeching with pain—which was quite comical from such a big brute. “My hand! What’ve you done to my hand?”

  “It won’t be the last thing I do if you don’t co-operate,” I said.

  I lifted him up with the power of my mind in full flow now. Lifted him off the ground so he was hanging there, paralysed.

  “What are you doing in these woods?” I said.

  The werewolf struggled. I could see him getting smaller, see him losing his fur. And in the background, I could hear footsteps getting closer, too. Voices getting nearer.

  “Speak to me,” I said, wishing I had some damned truth serum on me. Where was that when you needed it?

  At least I could try something else.

  Looking into his mind.

  But then…

  “I was just—I was just looking at you. Always look at you lot when you’re doing your thing.”

  I frowned. “Wait. You were just looking at us? What do you mean?”

  The werewolf gasped, then shrugged his shoulders. “You witches. You have nice bodies. I was just looking, that’s all.”

  Before I could shift my disgust for what this werewolf had actually been doing, I heard a voice behind me. “Stella? Put him down, right this instant.”

  It was Sheriff Butcher. He was holding his hand out and looking at me like I was the attacker here.

  “He attacked me,” I said. “Tried to kill me.”

  Sheriff Butcher shook his head and sighed. “Oh, Bertie. What’re you like?”

  “Bertie?” I said. “I’m sorry but did you just sound vaguely sympathetic to this pervy beast just then?”

  “Hey,” Bertie said, his voice getting higher. “I’m not a beast.”

  “Technically you are,” I said.

  Sheriff Butcher was beside me then. He lifted a hand. And then I felt a rival pull against my magic.

  “We’re putting Bertie down now, okay?” he said.

  “But he—”

  “He was doing what comes natural to his kind. But there’s no need for violence. Isn’t that right, Bertie?”

  When I looked back at Bertie, I saw he was nothing like he had been before, anymore. He was shorter. Less buff. And his clothes were baggy and torn.

  He was just a normal man.

  I let go of my magic grip, no longer feeling threatened. And I looked at him lying there, all confused. “Oh heck,” he said. “What’ve I gone and done this time? And my shirt. My favourite shirt.”

  I watched as Sheriff Butcher went over to him, helped him to his feet.

  But there was something else that had caught my eye.

  Something that had grasped my attention.

  Something that wasn’t going to let go.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Sheriff Butcher stopped. As too did Bertie. Both of them looked at me with confusion.

  “Stella?” Sheriff Butcher said. “What is it?”

  I walked up to them. Over to Bertie. And then I reached for his shirt. For that thing on his shirt. The clump.

  “Hey,” Bertie said, as I pulled it away. “What’s your problem?”

  I lifted up the clump of hair and realised it wasn’t just hair at all.

  It was fur.

  And then I saw the way Sheriff Butcher’s eyes widened, right on cue, as if he understood.

  “I think it’s about time we took Dirty Bertie here in and asked a few questions about his whereabouts on the night Curtis Mudthorpe was murdered,” I said. “Don’t you, Sheriff?”

  Chapter 19

  There wasn’t anywhere I wanted to be more than the police station right now.

  Alas, I was just an amateur sleuth. My temporary move to Nightthistle hadn’t suddenly granted me the powers of a detective. I had to play by the law, whether I liked it or not. />
  And when Bertie the Were was in for questioning because a clump of fur was found at the scene of Curtis’ murder—not to mention the fact that Bertie was acting so irrationally?

  Yeah. That was a solid reason to want to be down at the station right now.

  I was in the dining room at my family home. Outside, I could hear the rain lashing down heavily. It was grey outside, and it was far greyer in here.

  My family was still being awkward with me because of what’d gone down at Curtis’ funeral. Aunt Hilda hadn’t even looked at me since we got back. Neither had Tara or Becky. But then again both of those two tried their damnedest to avoid me anyway, so nothing had really changed there.

  Alas, it fell on Thomas’ shoulders to try and salvage relations between me and the family once again.

  I tucked into my soup, which was made of some kind of shark, weirdly enough. It tasted good. But again, my appetite was spent. I was too focused on the case. And too caught up in the adrenaline of everything that’d happened, everything that’d been going on, to really focus.

  And I didn’t think things would be changing anytime soon.

  “It was rotten,” Thomas said. “What you did earlier.”

  I looked up at him. He’d finished his soup and was leaning back, staring across the table at me.

  I sighed. “Thomas. I saw someone in the woods. I couldn’t just let them go. And especially now, when they tried to attack me. And the fact I found the clump of fur in the bathroom where Curtis was killed. Are you saying you’d rather I’d just ignored that?”

  “I’m saying you could’ve handled it a lot more sensitively.”

  “And how do you suggest I should’ve done that?”

  “By respecting our traditions, for one.”

  I could hear his voice cracking, like he was really struggling to maintain his cool. He was always so calm, always so measured. But right now, he didn’t seem the figure of peace he’d always come across as in the past.

  “I sense I’ve got another grilling heading my way,” I said.

  Thomas sighed. “I don’t want to make enemies of you, Stella. None of us do.”

  “Then understand why I felt awkward too,” I said, standing up from the table. “You invite me to this funeral without telling me anything about it. You say I’ll get along just fine. You expect me to strip off like the rest of your wacky crew like it’s normal? Expect me to start dancing around with all the old folks with their little todgers out? And you think it’s just me who is in the wrong, here?”

  Thomas was silent. I sensed I’d hit a touchy spot with that. And screw it, so be it if I had. He deserved to hear it. I was sick of being pinned up like I was some kind of villain here when really all I was doing was trying to help.

  “I mean, do you like naked dancing?”

  “I—I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “Just the whole dancing nude with old people thing. It’s weird.”

  “It’s not weird.”

  “It’s definitely weird.”

  “Okay, it’s a bit weird.”

  A silence. Nothing said, not for a few seconds.

  “I didn’t have to come here,” I said. “I didn’t have to honour your brother’s word. I could’ve just stayed at home living my nice cushy life, but I didn’t. You know why? Because I care. Because I wanted to help. But I dunno. Maybe I’ll just head home after all.”

  I turned away and walked over to the door. Honestly, I was getting sick of this place already. I wanted the luxuries of home again. I didn’t want to deal with this crap. I didn’t have to. They’d got the werewolf. Surely now things were over.

  But when I reached the door, I noticed someone standing there.

  It was Tara.

  She looked at me with that usual glare on her face, which to be honest, I would love to just punch.

  But there was something else in her eyes, too.

  Something… familiar.

  “Can I get past?” I said. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t leave,” she said.

  I stopped. Sensed the desperation in her voice. “What?”

  “The werewolves and the witches have a pact that goes far, far deeper than the general peace treaty you heard about. It… it goes right back centuries. A promise. A promise after the last Great Mage and Were war that nothing is to happen between us.”

  “And? It looks like someone finally broke it. Your problem, not mine.”

  I tried to move past but Tara stopped me with some kind of invisible forcefield.

  “Um, excuse me, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me past, right this second.”

  “There has never been a werewolf attack on a witch or vice versa in centuries. And all of a sudden you’re telling me this werewolf, Bertie, who has no prior record, just launches himself at my brother, and then tries to kill you too? And not just that, but there’s… there’s all this trouble between vamps and our kind, too. It just doesn’t seem right to me.”

  I heard what Tara was saying. It did seem weird. And they really did seem to take their “pacts” seriously around these parts. “So what are you suggesting?”

  Tara swallowed a lump in her throat, really quite visibly. “I don’t know. Honestly, I can’t even pretend I understand.”

  She looked out of the window, down into the town.

  “But there’s something going on here. Something big. And I just hope we can get to the bottom of it before it swallows us whole.”

  I looked outside. Looked down into town. And although I couldn’t see it from here, I knew where it was. And I knew where I needed to go.

  The police station.

  “So you’ll stay?” Tara asked, uncharacteristic smile on her face.

  I sighed and nodded. “I guess I don’t really have a choice.”

  “Good,” she said, smile dropping. “At least I don’t have to pretend to like you anymore.”

  She walked out of the room and left me in there with Thomas.

  He looked at me and just shrugged. “Don’t let her get to you.”

  She wasn’t getting to me.

  I had more important matters at hand.

  Like sneaking into that police station.

  Chapter 20

  I know, I know. I’ve sneaked into police stations before—with varying degrees of success.

  But I’d be daft if I didn’t at least try and figure out what was going on in here so I could get a better read on the situation, right?

  I stood outside Nightthistle’s police station. If you’re thinking it’s probably a lot grander than Goosridge’s, then yeah, you’re right. For a place that prided itself on peace, the station was tall and sprawling. There were little fairies floating around its towering structure, guarding whatever was inside. Seemed like this was a prison, too. I wondered what sort of crimes people were inside for if Nightthistle really was a place of peace. Then I remembered how much the people of the town tried to convince themselves of how peaceful it was, and I wondered just how much truth there was to what they said after all.

  It was late and it was chilly. Usually when it was late and chilly, I’d be eating nachos and watching whatever crap was on TV. I won’t name said “crap” mostly because I’d hate to insult the producers of those programs. Rest assured, there were a lot of tabloid talk shows featuring angry journalists playing judge, jury and executioner against unwitting members of the public.

  I looked right up at this police station and I knew it would be a trickier ask to sneak inside than Goosridge’s was. Besides, I didn’t know the ins and outs of this place, either. Not to mention the fact that I was sure the guy on the desk would be a lot more on it than Donut-eating Dave.

  I had a lot of hurdles in my way. But I had something else, too.

  Belief.

  Belief that I could get inside here.

  And sure, I hadn’t exactly had it okay-ed by Thomas. And no doubt he’d have a go at me and say I should start trusting people more, things li
ke that.

  But then I’d trusted him when it came to Curtis’ funeral, and look where that left me.

  Almost naked.

  Almost dancing around a body bloody naked.

  So I was doing this on my own. Might backfire, sure. Might leave me embarrassed, probably.

  But I’d be damned if I didn’t give it a shot.

  Well. Probably more likely to be damned if I did give it a shot. Probably someone around here that dished “damns” out like sweets.

  But you get the picture.

  I cleared my throat as I headed towards the main door of the police station. Whatever had happened with Bertie, whatever agreement was in place between the Weres and the witches, Bertie had broken it whether he’d killed Curtis or not. He’d attacked me. Claimed it was because he was perving on us witches, which of course still bothered me.

  But what if something else was at play here?

  Where did the vampires come into all this?

  I reached the door of the police station when I felt something sizzle in front of me.

  I stepped back, almost instinctively. Because that sensation, it hadn’t been good.

  I tried to step forward again, and then I felt it.

  Hotter this time. Sharper.

  But no denying what it was.

  A forcefield.

  There was a bloody forcefield in front of the police station.

  “Of course there is.”

  I felt stupid, to be honest. I mean, I’d be a fool for expecting there not to be some kind of magic blocking the entry of passers-by. This place traded in magic, so of course there was going to be some of it guarding entry to the police station.

  I looked over my shoulders. A few figures in the distance, but they didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Good.

  Because what I was planning next probably broke a few magical laws.

  Well. It definitely broke a few magical laws.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said.

  Then right there and then, I invoked my weightlessness to the max of my abilities, as well as my invisibility, and I stepped beyond the forcefield.

  I felt tingling as I passed through it. Worried I might set some kind of alarm off. But I knew I wasn’t off the hook just yet, even though I was through. I had to keep my guard up.