Lucky Charm (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Annabel Chase

  "She’s been promising me a lead role forever," she said. "I'm not getting any younger. I'm tired of waiting. She just can't seem to give up the limelight. And, of course, it's her playhouse. She can do whatever she likes."

  "Well, it sounds like you tried to speak with her about it. What happened?"

  I felt her anger simmering beneath the surface. She began to attack the ball of yarn with her knitting needles.

  "She said I still wasn't ready. That Valerie was too complex of a character for me. Can you believe it? I mean, I know I'm not a banshee, but I understand death and depression. I’m a freakin’ siren, for Poseidon’s sake.”

  Since I knew that sirens were responsible for luring men to a watery grave, I didn't disagree with her.

  "You must've been pretty angry," I said. "How did you handle it?"

  She jabbed a knitting needle into the yarn. "I put glue on the handle of her brush in her dressing room."

  An interesting choice for revenge. "So did her hand get stuck?"

  Marissa pouted. "No, because the spell took hold of her before she showed up in her dressing room for rehearsal. She hasn't touched her brush for days. The glue is probably too hard now."

  "But with Maeve in youth mode, doesn't that leave the role of Valerie to you?"

  Marissa lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh my gosh. I hadn't thought of that. You’re totally right. I can play Valerie now. Rehearsals have been put on hold, but I think I’ll summon everyone to the playhouse." She reached over and hugged me. "Emma, you are a genius."

  Not really, since I’d believed Marissa was responsible. Now I was pretty confident the siren was not our culprit.

  "Are you sure you’re making a sock?" she asked, eyeing the monstrosity in my lap.

  "I was thinking of making a sweater for my cat instead."

  She looked unconvinced. "Why does your cat need a sweater? Doesn't it have a fur coat?"

  “You would think," I said. "Magpie is a special case."

  "Do you think he would wear a sweater? I imagine the cat might be resistant to clothing."

  Magpie was resistant to everything. "It's the thought that counts." The thought that I might be able to use the sweater to smother Magpie the next time he tried to bite my ankle.

  “I wish I was as good at witchcraft as you are at knitting,” I said. It would save everyone around me a world of hurt.

  “People like you and I are the lucky ones in this town,” Marissa said. “You don’t need to be good at magic when you have charm. People are just as likely to bend to your will when you show them kindness instead of a wand.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Britta said. “You can break every dish in someone’s house and get them to bend to your will. It worked for me.”

  “Britta, remember why you’re here,” Marissa said.

  Britta nodded, strips of blond hair falling in front of her face. “I’m channeling my rage into something productive.”

  Proudly, she held up her positive creation. With its obnoxious colors and confusing pattern, it was the angriest looking sweater I’d ever seen.

  “That’s wonderful,” I choked out. “Who’s it for?”

  “Astrid. A peace offering.”

  “A peace…” I began. “Oh, the dishes you broke belong to her, I take it.”

  Britta nodded. “In my defense, they were butt ugly dishes.”

  I suddenly had second thoughts about inviting her to my house. I didn’t want broken dishes or a sweater from Britta. In either case, Gareth might find a way to come back from the dead and kill her.

  “So what do you think, Emma?” Marissa asked. “Is knitting for you?”

  Now that I’d ruled out Marissa as a suspect, there was no need to struggle with the oversized chopsticks anymore.

  I dropped the needles into my lap and sighed. “To be honest, knitting stresses me out.”

  Britta let out a loud whoop and broke a knitting needle over her thigh. “Thank the stars somebody said it. I don’t like it either. Holding one of these suckers makes me want to stake the nearest vampire.”

  Marissa’s jaw dropped open. “Britta! What about your sweater?”

  Britta tossed the mess of yarn onto Marissa’s lap. “A token of my appreciation for your patience with me.” She grinned at me. “I’m outta here. Let’s go, new witch.”

  Chapter 7

  “So knitting was a dead end?” Gareth asked. He stood behind me as I prepared dinner, ready to offer what he deemed ‘constructive criticism’ and what I deemed ‘annoying.’

  “In more ways than one,” I said. “I don’t know how people do it. The needles, the yarn, the attention to detail.” I gesticulated wildly.

  “Take a deep breath and settle down,” Gareth replied calmly. “Focus on the bigger issue. What did you learn?”

  I took a moment to slow my heart rate. “I learned that Astrid’s sister is a complete nut and Marissa is not the spell caster.”

  “I didn’t think she was. She loves performing. I don’t think she’d risk a prison sentence for a single role.”

  “You should have seen the parking lot, though,” I said. “People seem to be getting out of hand, knowing that the council is out of commission.”

  Gareth reached for the knife, desperate to re-chop the carrots that I’d set aside. He hated when I sliced them crooked. He hated it even more when his hand ghosted right through the handle of the knife.

  “We don't want Spellbound descending into lawlessness,” he said. “Residents will only get more daring the longer the spell continues unabated. Someone needs to get to the bottom of this."

  "I'm only one person," I said impatiently. "I'm doing the best I can."

  Gareth shot me a sympathetic look. "I didn't mean you, Emma. No one expects you to solve this problem on your own. There are plenty of others to help."

  I shook off the perceived criticism. I knew that came from years of living under the thumb of a tough grandmother.

  “Yes, there are plenty of helpers,” I said, eating my dinner at the kitchen counter. I’d made a habit of eating most meals here when I was without a living dinner companion. “No one likes seeing the council this way.”

  “Have you checked in the library for books of spells?" he asked. "If the dwarf can find the Endless Sleep spell in a library book, then perhaps you can find a way to reverse the youth spell."

  "That's a good idea," I said. "What about the covens’ grimoires?” When I met with the town librarian, she'd mentioned to me that each witch in the coven possessed a grimoire upon graduation from the academy, a book of spells. Maybe one of the more advanced witches had a grimoire that would be helpful.

  “You should ask your kindly professor,” Gareth said. “I’m sure someone keeps track of all the coven inventory.”

  “Good idea,” I said. "He's probably the best person to ask about grimoires anyway.” He was, after all, Lady Weatherby's second-in-command.

  “Magpie spent a lot of time on the living room windowsill today,” Gareth said. “I think he was keeping an eye out for company.”

  “In a hopeful way?” I asked.

  Gareth nodded. “I think you should invite another cat over soon.”

  “When this whole mess is over, I promise I will.” I hesitated. “Octavia complained to me about shifters on their property ignoring the ordinances. Don’t you think it’s odd that the shifters were willing to break the law on the harpies’ property, but not on ours?”

  “Maybe thanks to your past good deeds, someone has set clear boundaries for the pack,” Gareth said. “You know they like to operate differently from the rest of town.”

  I did help solve the murder of Alex’s fiancée and he was a rising star of the pack. Still…

  I regarded Gareth carefully. "Do you know something? Did you have the property warded?"

  His expression remained blank. "I had nothing to do with it."

  “Nothing to do with it implies something was done.” I reached for his arm, but my hand went rig
ht through him. Apparitional advantage. "Gareth, if you know something, you have to tell me."

  "I wouldn't feel right. It was clearly meant to be a secret."

  Someone warded my property without telling me. Who would do that?

  “Can you at least tell me what the ward does?” I asked.

  He exhaled. “It’s a protective ward. Keeps out undesirables. Anyone with intent to damage the property or harm you.”

  There was only one resident in Spellbound who cared enough about me to do a thing like that.

  “Was it Daniel?”

  Gareth pretended to zip his lip. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

  “You’re already in the grave.”

  “True, but I’m not a snitch.”

  “Sedgwick,” I called. If my familiar knew the truth, he’d tell me. That was our bond.

  Think again, came Sedgwick’s reply. Our bond means you feed me and I read your mind when you don’t want me to.

  That’s not a bond. That’s an invasion of privacy.

  You take what you can get.

  “Fine. I’m going out now. Try not to let some mysterious figure redecorate my bedroom while I’m gone.”

  “Where are you off to?” Gareth asked.

  “The Spellbound Care Home.”

  “You should be careful,” he said. “You spend any more time there and they’ll mistake you for a resident.”

  “I’ve got more than a few wrinkles to go,” I said.

  “What kind of mischief will Agnes be up to this evening?” Gareth asked.

  “I’m not going to see Agnes specifically,” I said. “There’s an artist there tonight who was unhappy with the council and I’d like to talk to him after he’s done finger painting with pudding or making macaroni art.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lachlan.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I know Lachlan. Do go and enjoy some of his artwork. Let me know how it goes.”

  Once again, he seemed to know something that I didn’t.

  “Anything I need to know?” I asked.

  Gareth smiled, showing his fangs. “All in good time.”

  I drove over to the Spellbound Care Home in time for Lachlan’s art class. I pictured twenty elderly residents, paintbrushes in hands, trying to replicate bland landscapes and too-bright sunsets. Imagine my surprise when I entered the cafeteria and saw a huge canvas stretched out in the middle of the room with Agnes standing in the middle of it, stark naked.

  I screeched to a halt and averted my gaze. “Holy Shar Pei. What’s happening here?"

  The pixie beside me giggled. "Nude body painting," she replied. "That's what Lachlan is famous for. Some of the residents have been begging for him to come. When his art project fell through with the town council, he finally said yes."

  I watched as the incubus dipped his brush in gold paint and began to cover her saggy breasts with it.

  "There. Are. No. Words," I said. "Is he going to paint a pastoral scene on her? I don't understand."

  "Agnes specifically requested a gold body,” the pixie replied. “But usually he prefers to let inspiration strike."

  It was hard to imagine inspiration striking the incubus when standing in front of a body completely at the mercy of gravity. Even her wrinkles had wrinkles.

  To my horror, Agnes caught sight of me and waved me over.

  "You must remain still, Agnes," Lachlan said, in a tone highly suggestive of artistic temperament.

  In the group of onlookers, I noticed a woman with a camera slung over her shoulders. Based on her chiseled cheekbones and sleek headscarf, I was going to go out on a limb and say this was Althea's sister, Miranda. She smiled when she saw me.

  "You must be Emma Hart," she said, coming toward me. "I've heard so much about you from my sister."

  "Miranda, right?"

  She winked. “Eldest and wisest Gorgon."

  "Did the care home hire you to take pictures today?" I asked.

  "No, I work with Lachlan fairly often. Whenever he has an event or a custom piece, he calls me to take photos for posterity."

  "I guess because he uses paint on people, it doesn't last."

  "Exactly," she replied. "Once they get a bath or shower, the art is gone. That's what makes it so special."

  Special. That was one word for it. I watched Agnes giggle as the paint bristles tickled under her arm. She was as giddy as a schoolgirl. It was equally charming and alarming.

  "Do you happen to know anything about Lachlan's request to the council?" I asked. If they worked together a lot, he may have told her about the rejection.

  She shushed me. "Don't even bring it up in front of him, especially now when he’s working. He was very upset."

  "How upset?"

  Miranda lowered her voice. "He has a bit of a temper, you see. Part of his artistic nature. He was obsessed with his idea for a live show in the town square. He couldn't believe the council would reject it. To him, it's art in its purest form.”

  "But to the council, it was obscene?"

  She pressed her lips together. "Not obscene necessarily. They just didn't want a bunch of naked residents in the town square. They didn't want to incite a riot."

  The gentle sound of hissing reminded me of what was underneath her headscarf. Miranda's eyes rolled upward. “Pipe down, ladies. No one is talking to you."

  I wondered if her relationship with her snakes was similar to my relationship with Sedgwick. Thank goodness the owl was not attached to my head. It was bad enough to have him flying over it.

  Lachlan continued to work methodically over Agnes's body. I noticed Silas watching from the edge of the canvas, a naughty grin plastered across his face. I could only imagine the hijinks the genie and the old witch would get up to later. I ripped the thought from my mind. My dinner hadn't yet digested and I didn't want to tempt fate.

  “Does Lachlan dabble in magic at all?" I asked. As an incubus, his main focus was sexual expression. Vampires fed on blood, whereas Lachlan fed on sexual energy.

  "I've never seen him use magic," Miranda said, and then hesitated. "That's not true actually. I've seen him use magic in a few of his exhibits. It adds flair to the artwork."

  He should've used magic to paint Agnes. He was going to have to burn those brushes now.

  "Were you with him when he heard the news about the council’s veto?" I asked.

  She nodded. "We were preparing for a different show. I haven't seen him that furious in a long time. I ended up with red paint on my headscarf." She touched the top of her head. "The girls were not happy. I can tell you that much."

  "So the kind of magic he used for exhibits--did it involve spells?"

  "More like fairy magic," she said. "Wandwork that added sparkles or illusions. Not your type of magic, if that's what you mean."

  It was exactly what I meant. "Thanks, Miranda. That's really helpful."

  Agnes seemed thrilled with her new golden body. I had to admit, his handiwork was impressive. She looked like she was wearing a gold bodysuit instead of paint.

  "Now I want you to paint an arrow here," Agnes said, pointing to her lower abdomen.

  "And what would you like it to say underneath?” Silas asked from the sidelines. "Open for business?"

  "Only in your dreams," she snapped.

  "Then I must have been dreaming a lot last night," he said with a smirk.

  I wanted the chance to speak with Lachlan while he was distracted. If he was involved in what happened to the town council, then I didn't want to give him a chance to formulate a story.

  When Lachlan stopped to rinse off his brushes, I took the opportunity to test the waters.

  “Impressive work, Lachlan,” I said.

  He regarded me with interest. “Thank you. I noticed you talking to Miranda. You’re obviously too young to be a resident here.”

  “I volunteer here on occasion.” I hesitated. “I think this would be an amazing project for the general population.”

  His expression clo
uded over. “So do I, but the council disagrees. A bunch of uptight troglodytes. I haven’t been able to go anywhere near the Great Hall for a week for fear of attacking it with a paintbrush.” His grip was so tight on the handle of the paintbrush that I worried he’d snap it in two.

  “Really?” I said. “You’ve avoided the whole building?”

  He gave a tense nod. “I need to renew my vehicle registration, but I’m waiting until my black mood passes. Who knows what I’ll do if I see Lord Gilder’s beady eyes on my way to the registrar’s office? I don’t trust myself.”

  “I think you made the right call,” I said. Based on his response and body language, I was confident he wasn’t our guy.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to move on to my next canvas,” he said, then paused abruptly to appraise me. “If you’re ever interested in working with me, I’d love to paint you.”

  I bet.

  “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” I lied.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” a familiar voice said.

  I turned to see Silas. “Because you’re nosy?”

  He grinned. “I trade in information in here. Puddings for gossip. You know how it goes.”

  I really didn’t, nor did I want to.

  “I assume you’re looking into the youth spell on the council,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t deny it. I know how you operate.”

  “I won’t deny it,” I said. “What can you tell me?”

  “You should speak to Wilhelm Triers,” Silas said. “He was my neighbor once upon a time and he was forever talking about something called chaos theory. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could shed light on the current situation.”

  Chaos theory. Well, the town certainly had seen its share of chaos lately. Wilhelm was probably worth a brief conversation.

  “Thanks, Silas,” I said, and lowered my voice. “I’ll make sure you get an extra pudding with tomorrow’s dinner. I have connections, you know.”

  The genie nudged me with his elbow. “I do know. I may be old, but I’m not a fool, Emma.”

  “I never thought otherwise,” I said.

  Chapter 8