All Spell Breaks Loose

by Annabel Chase

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Can’t go wrong with a guy with wings,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Daniel is pretty great,” I said. Or so everyone told me. It would be nice to remember.

  Althea elbowed me gently. “He’s not our culprit, is he?”

  I shook my head. “My gut says no and I always listen to my gut.”

  Ken gave us a quizzical look. “Culprit? Has there been another murder? Is the Applewhite name forever doomed to be associated with criminal activity?”

  “No, Mr. Applewhite,” I said. “Nothing like that. Please send a message to make an appointment with Dr. Hall. I really think she can help you.”

  He played the D-minor chord. “A little help would be nice. I’ve let this go on for far too long.”

  I left the Merry Way Apartments feeling sad, but also hopeful. The Applewhites needed magic back in their lives. I only hoped it wasn’t too late to revive them.

  Chapter 10

  I sat attentively in the classroom, trying to focus on the lesson. It was difficult to care about levitation spells when my life was in tatters. Professor Holmes was mid-lecture when a redhead marched into the classroom.

  “Professor, come quickly,” she said.

  The wizard glanced up quizzically. “What is it, Meg?”

  “Someone’s tried to break into the coven vault.”

  The professor stiffened. “The horn?”

  “It’s safe,” Meg replied. “The vault was warded to the hilt, so whoever tried to break in will have burned fingertips.”

  “Burned fingertips?” I repeated.

  “The ward was designed to stop a burglary,” Meg explained, “but also to help identify the burglar afterward. If we locate any suspects with burned fingertips, we’ll know we have the right paranormal.”

  “Like searching for the six-fingered man,” I said, and then laughed to myself. “Hey, I remember something.”

  “That was a Princess Bride reference, wasn’t it?” Laurel asked.

  “It was,” I said excitedly. “I love that movie.”

  “Lady Weatherby asked me to fetch you,” Meg said, in a tone that suggested he’d better comply.

  “Of course,” Professor Holmes. “Straight away.” He looked at us as an afterthought. “Millie, I’m sure you can instruct the others in this particular lesson.”

  “Yes, my mother’s shown me this one before,” Millie said. “I’ve practiced a hundred and one times.”

  My impression of Millie suggested that was entirely accurate.

  Professor Holmes hurried from the classroom with Meg. Once the door closed behind them, Laurel addressed the group.

  “We’re not really going to stay here and do spells, are we?” she asked.

  “We’re not?” I queried. I didn’t peg us as the rebellious sort.

  “Someone tried to steal the sacred unicorn horn,” Laurel said. “What if the attempted burglary is connected to the memory spell on you?”

  Begonia’s face brightened. “Yes, that makes sense. First, they wiped Emma’s Spellbound memories and now they’ve tried to steal the key ingredient.”

  Laurel nodded. “Logic suggests the two incidents are connected.”

  “So what do we do?” Millie asked. “Go eavesdrop in coven headquarters?”

  “I don’t think we should eavesdrop,” Laurel said. “I think we should demand to be included. We’ve proven our worth time and time again. They need to stop viewing us as remedial witches and start seeing us as the valuable assets we are.”

  “Three cheers for Laurel,” Begonia cried. “Seriously, though, you’re so right.”

  “I wish I had your confidence, Laurel,” Sophie said.

  “We need to go before they discuss all the good stuff,” Laurel said.

  We filed through the doorway and headed over to the coven headquarters. I followed the group, since I had no recollection of the headquarters’ location.

  Once we arrived, Millie didn’t wait for anyone to answer the door. She simply yanked it open and positioned herself in front of the key members of the coven, arms crossed. Lady Weatherby was in the middle of addressing the room when Millie interjected.

  “We’re here to help, but we need the details,” Millie announced.

  “And no holding back,” Laurel added, stepping beside Millie. “We think this attempted burglary is related to Emma’s memory loss. Someone wants to prevent us from breaking the curse.”

  Lady Weatherby coolly appraised us before speaking. “Yes, witches. We were just entertaining the same thought. Please sit down and we can discuss your ideas further.”

  Millie and Laurel seemed shocked by the ease with which they forced their way in. I guess they expected more resistance from the stern head of the coven.

  We took the available empty seats at the table, and Lady Weatherby continued the discussion. “The responsible party was smart enough to cover his or her tracks. There’s no trace of exit or entry.”

  “So we’re looking for a magic user?” Sophie asked.

  “Possibly,” Lady Weatherby replied. “Or someone with magical assistance.”

  “That really narrows it down,” Millie murmured.

  “How can we find someone with burned fingertips without an intensive manhunt?” I asked. “Is there a spell we could use?”

  Meg snapped her fingers. “That’s it! We could do a version of a locator spell. It might not identify the paranormal, but it could narrow down the search area.”

  “How would we do a spell like that without an object that belonged to the burglar?” Laurel asked. “Do we have a strand of hair or anything useful?”

  Meg frowned. “No. Nothing. Whoever did this left the area clean of evidence.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to keep a lookout for burned fingertips,” I said. Not ideal, but better than nothing.

  A dark-haired witch knocked on the doorjamb. “Emma, I think Daniel is outside looking for you.”

  Daniel was here?

  “Thanks, Beatrice,” Sophie said. “You go. We’ll let you know if we come up with anything else.”

  I left the coven headquarters and found the angel lingering on the cobblestone.

  “Hi, stranger,” I joked.

  Daniel’s turquoise eyes lit up when he saw me. “There you are. Is everything okay?”

  “Someone tried to steal the unicorn horn, but they didn’t manage it. Beatrice said you’re looking for me?”

  “I wanted to try something else to trigger your memories. Come on. Let’s go this way.” He offered his hand and I took it.

  We crossed the road and walked a few blocks past Trinkets, which I assumed was a gift shop.

  “Broomstix,” I said, as we passed another shop window. “That’s a cute name.”

  “Best broom shop in town,” Daniel said.

  “Is that where we’re going?” I asked.

  “No. It’s somewhere else,” he replied.

  He stopped in front of a place called The Mad Potter. “Ta-da!”

  I stared blankly at the storefront. “What am I supposed to remember?”

  His face fell. “Let’s go inside. Maybe that will help.”

  The shop appeared to be empty. There were unfinished pieces of pottery everywhere I turned.

  “Do I make pottery?” I asked. Although I didn’t have a hobby like that in the human world, who knew in Spellbound?

  Daniel chuckled. “No. You just have opinions about it.”

  I examined the contents of the room. “Did we buy something in this shop?”

  “My first gift to you,” he said. “I bought it for you here. It sits on the mantel in your house.”

  I was disappointed that I couldn’t remember. “I’ll look at it when I get home.”

  Daniel stood beside a clay pot. “A soft blue and yellow, please. No stripes.”

  “Good call,” I said. “I hate stripes.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I remember. They remind you of the circus and you hate the ci
rcus.”

  “I told you that?”

  “You’ve told me lots of things,” he said. “I do my best to remember the details.”

  Paintbrushes dipped in and out of pods of paint and swirled around the pot like a magic tornado.

  “So cool,” I said. “But no one’s in control. What happens if the paint spills and starts flying everywhere? Who cleans up the mess?”

  Daniel pulled me in for a hug. “Stars and stones, I love that sensible brain of yours.”

  I watched with interest as the pot slid into the heated kiln and then moved to a shelf to cool.

  "Thank you, Daniel. Now my old pot will have a friend.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Bookends, like us.”

  I thought about all the magic I’d witnessed recently. “How did I ever get used to all this? It’s such a stark contrast to my life in the human world.”

  “You adjusted amazingly well,” Daniel said. “I think a part of you must’ve always known you weren’t entirely human. Destined for a different life.”

  “Like Belle?” I queried. I thought of her song about shaking loose from her provincial life.

  “Who’s Belle?” Daniel asked.

  “Beauty and the Beast,” I said.

  “Right,” he replied. “You sing songs from that movie. I’ve never seen it, though.”

  “I sing?” I must have really been in love with Daniel if I was willing to sing in front of him. I could barely carry a tune.

  “Mostly in the shower,” Daniel said. “Gareth just loves it.”

  I cast a sidelong glance at him. “I detect a note of sarcasm. Do angels do sarcasm?”

  He took my hands in his. “We’re just like humans.” He paused for a beat and smirked. “Only better.”

  “Ha!” I bumped him with my hip.

  We took the cooled pot and left the shop.

  That night resulted in a fitful night’s sleep and strange dreams that I didn’t understand.

  Walls made of smooth stone surrounded me. Dampness clung to the air and I shivered from the chill. A woman danced around a fire in the middle of the empty space. She chucked herbs and plant leaves into the flames with abandon. Each time an object broke through the fiery barrier, colorful sparks flew in all directions. As she worked, she spoke in a language I didn’t recognize. An incantation of some sort. Should I know her? Did my memory loss extend to my dreams?

  Her golden hair shone in the light of the fire. When I saw her eyes, I flinched. They were stark white—no pupils and no irises. Was she blind? She didn’t appear to see me. Then again, this was a dream, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was a memory. In my current state, it could be either.

  She continued to dance like no one was watching because—well, no one should have been. As far as I could tell, there was no way in or out of this space. My heart began to pound and beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Was this some kind of mini-Spellbound where we were trapped together?

  I focused on the strange woman, searching for answers in the details of her appearance.

  The woman turned toward me, cackling wildly with malice dancing in her eyes. An intense fear shot through me. As her mouth cracked apart to speak, the ground opened beneath her and appeared to swallow her whole. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My body jolted and my heart stopped as I was plunged into darkness once again.

  It felt like teleportation, not that I had any experience with that phenomenon. Now I stood in the middle of the forest, a full moon glowing above my head. This place seemed eerily familiar.

  “Have I been here before?” I asked aloud. No one answered.

  Instead of stones, tall trees surrounded me. Again, there appeared to be no way out. I opened my hands and stared at my palms. I was supposed to be a powerful sorceress. Maybe there was something I could do. My fingers itched with power. I could feel it, streaming through my body. How did I access it?

  I tried to focus on the magical energy. Bend it to my will.

  My will!

  Excitement rose within me. Yes, I needed to focus my will to use magic. Power surged through me, like I was drawing it from the earth beneath my feet. Suddenly, a cold, bony hand gripped mine and I jumped.

  “Need a little help, dearie?” a voice said.

  I tried to pull my hand away, but she kept a firm grip on me, unwilling to let go.

  “Who are you?” I asked. It was the same woman from the stone wall, but she looked different now. Older. More importantly, familiar.

  The air around us crackled and then a blinding white light exploded from within me. Our hands parted. As I flew to the ground, I cried out her name.

  “Raisa!”

  Chapter 11

  Are you sure this is the place? I tilted my head skyward and regarded Sedgwick.

  Afraid so, he replied. And I do mean afraid.

  No kidding. The boneyard cottage looked like it should have been featured on an episode of Hoarders, Creepy Edition. There were enough bones here to craft a skeleton army.

  But you say we’re friends? I asked.

  She doesn’t come over for poker night, but you get along.

  In other words, she won’t cook me in her stew?

  No promises, Sedgwick replied and flew over the treetops, out of sight.

  I gathered my courage and approached the front door. Before I could knock, the hinge creaked and the door swung open.

  “A visitor,” an aging voice said. “What a lovely surprise.”

  I eyed the old witch cautiously. “You’re Raisa.”

  Her wrinkled brow gained a few new lines. “Who else would I be?”

  “Can I come in?”

  She stepped away from the door and gestured me forward. “You’re always welcome here, dearie. You know that.”

  “So I understand you’re a ghost, but you’re corporeal,” I said. And kinda unattractive. Phew. I was glad Sedgwick prepared me for this visit. With her emaciated skin and balding head, Raisa was frightening enough to give me nightmares. Technically, I guess she had given me a nightmare…or at least starred in one.

  Raisa zigzagged her finger in front of my face. “You’re under some kind of spell. What happened?”

  “I drank a potion at my bachelorette party.” I paused. “Do you know I’m getting married?” If we were friendly but not friends, maybe I hadn’t invited her. I didn’t want to be impolite and mention the wedding.

  Raisa cackled softly. “I’m well aware. I think the plankton at the bottom of Swan Lake know about your pending nuptials.”

  “The potion caused some memory loss,” I said. “We don’t know who was behind it or why.”

  Raisa cocked her head. “Which memories are missing?”

  “It varies,” I said. “I remember my pre-Spellbound life. Sometimes I get a flash of recognition or remember a name, like yours. I remember all my pop culture references, but those came from my time in the human world.” Thank goodness for small favors.

  Raisa waddled over to her cauldron on her thin, crooked legs. Steam hovered around the mouth of the cauldron, though I smelled nothing.

  “And you think I can help you regain your memories before the wedding?” she inquired.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Although that would be great if you could.” I cleared my throat. “I had a weird dream last night and you were in it.”

  She stared into the cauldron as she stirred the contents. “How odd.”

  “When I told Gareth about the dream, he said I’ve had ones like it before, except this is the first time you were in it.”

  “Interesting,” Raisa murmured. “Perhaps it’s your memory’s way of leaking information.”

  I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling cold. “It could be, but it felt…important.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about the dream, dearie?” She grabbed a jar from the nearby shelf and shook the purple herbs into the bubbling cauldron.

  I relayed the details that I could remember.

  “I don’t suppose you could be per
suaded that it was only a dream and meant nothing?” Raisa asked.

  “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here,” I replied. “I’m not psychic, but I do have intuition and my spidey sense is tingling like crazy right now. That dream is significant.”

  “Spidey sense?”

  “Human world reference,” I said. “Too recent for you.”

  “Of course.” Raisa returned the jar to the shelf and retrieved another jar with live slugs. She cast two into the pit of the cauldron and stirred again.

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  “A protection spell,” Raisa replied.

  “For you?” I asked. What good was a protection spell for a dead witch?

  “No, dearie.” She met my inquisitive gaze. “For you.”

  I froze. “You think I need one?”

  “You’re the one with all the problems. Don’t you think it’s a good idea? You can’t rely on that owl of yours. What will he do? Poop on your attacker?”

  Fair point. “I don’t need to drink that, do I?” Live slugs? No, thank you.

  “No, I can make it work without ingestion. I was quite an accomplished witch in my day.”

  “Accomplished enough to bring back my memories?” I asked, only half joking.

  “No can do,” she replied, and brought over a steaming bottle of the liquid from the cauldron. She set it in front of me.

  “How will this protect me?” I asked.

  “No more harm will come to you while the spell is activated,” she assured me.

  That sounded good to me.

  “Take this home and bathe in it,” Raisa instructed.

  I balked. “I’m sorry. Did you say bathe? As in wash my body with live slug juice?”

  “Do you want protection or not?”

  I cast a sidelong glance at the dead witch. “You’re not a prankster, are you?” No, Gareth had mentioned a witch called Agnes. She was the prankster.

  “Your situation is no laughing matter, dearie,” Raisa said. “I only wish I could do more.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Would it be wrong to say I wish you could, too?”

  “We all wish for what we cannot have,” Raisa said. “Such is life.” She offered a weak smile. “And death, too, for some of us.”