Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Betrayal
The Lily Singer Adventures Book 5
Lydia Sherrer
Chenoweth Press
To anyone who has ever struggled with a
relationship—believe me, it’s not just you
Contents
Cast of Characters
I. Episode 9
1. The Woes of Trying to Understand Men
2. The Devil Comes Calling
3. A New Wizard on the Block
4. No Greater Love
Epilogue
Interlude
The Price We Pay
II. Episode 10
1. The Things We Don't Say
2. Joint Investigations
3. The Greatest Enemy
4. A Sacrificial Spirit
Epilogue
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Identity
Afterword
Also by Lydia Sherrer:
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Cast of Characters
Main:
Lily Singer - introverted wizard, library archivist in Atlanta, GA
Sebastian Blackwell - ne’er-do-well “professional” witch, Lily’s best friend
Sir Edgar Allan Kipling - talking cat, Lily’s closest companion, Lily is “his” human
Madam Ethel Barrington - wizard, Lily’s mentor/teacher, Sebastian’s great-great-aunt
John Faust LeFay - wizard, Lily’s father, plots to revive wizard race and rule mundanes
Lily’s Family:
Allen LeFay - wizard, John Faust’s younger brother, Lily’s uncle
Trista - mundane, John Faust’s daughter, Lily’s half sister, skilled fighter
Caden - wizard, John Faust’s son, Lily’s half brother, deceased
Freda LeFay - wizard, Lily’s mother, lives under the pseudonym Mary Singer
Jamie Singer - wizard (untrained), Lily’s half brother by her mundane stepfather
Sebastian’s Family:
George Dee - wizard, Sebastian’s great-grandfather, lives in England
Day Barrington Dee - mundane, George’s wife, Madam Barrington’s sister, deceased
Elizabeth Dee Blackwell - mundane, George’s daughter, Sebastian’s grandmother
Stephen Blackwell - wizard, Elizabeth’s husband, mysteriously disappeared
Thomas & Alison Blackwell - wizards, Sebastian’s parents, deceased
Frederick Blackwell - wizard (untrained), Sebastian’s older brother
Other:
Richard Grant - mundane, FBI Agent, former dating interest of Lily’s
Anton Silvester - mundane, art dealer, “fixer” for the magical underworld
Seth Humphrey - wizard (untrained), Madam Barrington’s newest student
Roger Darthe - witch, obsessed with power and control, allied to a greater demon
Cassius - witch, Roger’s son
Fae:
Thiriel - fae queen, a duality of decay
Yuki - Thiriel’s messenger, a duality of the aspect of fox
Pip - low fae of the aspect of plants, specifically flowers, loves rum
Grimmold - low fae of the aspect of decay, specifically mold, loves aged pizza
Episode 9
The Heart Has its Reasons
1
The Woes of Trying to Understand Men
Someone once said opposites attract. It was about the most cliché, yet popular relationship trope in existence: that irresistible magnetism between opposing personalities, that fitting together of two souls like pieces of a puzzle. And whoever had first said it, Lily Singer wished she could clobber them over the head with her carpet bag. Or at least shake them silly until they explained what in heaven’s name they had been thinking when they’d uttered such a confounding piece of rubbish. A hex or two might even be in order, just for good measure. For while such a theory was all well and good in the field of thaumaturgic metallurgy, it was a terrible piece of relationship advice.
It was also not something she should be thinking about while performing delicate magic, since casting required the utmost calm and concentration.
“Are you sure you should be doing this the afternoon before your big date? If you mess up my agility training device, I’ll be extremely displeased.”
Lily glared at her meddlesome feline. His feet were curled beneath him in a catloaf position as he nestled comfortably on a nearby chintz chair, “supervising” her work. “For the record, it is not yours. And if it were it would be a cat toy, not an agility training device, whatever that’s supposed to be.”
“Humph.” Sir Kipling flicked the tip of his tail, a plume of white against his grey body. “I do not have toys, nor do I have time to waste playing. I follow a strict training regime to keep myself in top fighting shape, thank you very much.”
“I see. So is this training regime something you work around the fifteen naps you take a day? Or are the naps part of your training?”
There was a silence as Sir Kipling stared at her, whiskers twitching in irritation. “Ungrateful,” he finally groused. “Ignorant and ungrateful, that’s what you are.”
Lily picked up her open eduba and used it to hide her smile, pretending to re-read her notes on the casting sequence she would use to enchant the wooden ball lying in the center of her spell circle. In reality, she already had the entire spell memorized forward and backward—her usual habit when conducting new experiments. Casting magic, especially spells one had altered or created oneself, was a dangerous business, and all wizards took extreme care when it came to magic. Those who did not inevitably met with a sticky end.
Which was why Sir Kipling had a point. She probably shouldn’t be conducting new experiments mere hours before a date with her best friend and companion in magical adventure, Sebastian Blackwell. Everyone had to have a weakness, right? Well, hers was social interaction—especially if the person involved was handsome and male, as Sebastian most certainly was. The whole opposites attract thing made it ten times worse, because—
“Well? Are you going to proceed with your enchantment before I die of old age and waste one of my precious lives?” Sir Kipling’s sarcastic meow intruded on her wandering thoughts as they attempted to careen full-tilt down the “dating” rabbit trail. She shook her head, irritated at herself. Laying her eduba down on the oak worktable, she stepped into the spell circle to examine her crafting one final time.
The piece of wood was the size of a pingpong ball, carefully etched and inlaid with aluminum dimmu runes to hold and seal the spell she was about to cast on it. Her uncle Allen—a brilliant, if rather scatterbrained wizard—had been teaching her construct magic over the past five months, ever since she had returned from her adventures in England last September. This simple crafting was her first step toward creating much larger and more complicated constructs. It would be years, possibly decades, before she was skilled enough to build something like the floating hands her uncle had crafted to cook and clean at his house, or the strange but wonderful crablike creature named Egbert, who was supposed to help him with his experiments. Of course, the crab construct was as eccentric as its maker, and it spent more time chasing mice and hoarding shiny objects than it did helping her uncle. That occasionally happened with more advanced constructs. The dozens of layers of parameter spells which gave each construct its abilities and guided its purpose were delicate. They easily picked up minor flaws unique to the crafter who created them—which is why Lily was starting with a simple wooden ball. Her plan was to enchant it with a movement spell, “programming” it to avoid all objects within a one-foot radius. In theory, if her spell worked, the ball would be impossible to pick up or catch, since it wo
uld move to stay at least twelve inches away from any approaching object. It would make a wonderful cat toy, though she would never admit to designing it specifically for Sir Kipling. If she did, he would ignore it. Instead, she spent a great deal of time assuring him it was strictly off limits and not to be touched.
Reverse psychology worked wonders on cats.
After ensuring each of her inlaid runes were well sealed and in the correct order, Lily stepped to the edge of her circle, closed her eyes, and attempted to clear her mind. Normally she liked to sit in a comfortable crosslegged position when she cast. But she was still in the pencil skirt and blouse she habitually wore for her day job at the library above her magical basement archive, and pencil skirts did not lend themselves to sitting crosslegged. Such an outfit could be inconvenient, she would admit. But that inconvenience was a small price to pay to maintain her preferred, southern genteel, ladylike appearance. Being a lady was her version of rebellion, inspired by growing up around blunt country types and rambunctious stepsiblings who would sooner eat soap than learn manners. It had made her the laughingstock of her little rural school, but she had done her best to ignore the other children’s jibes, finding solace in her books while trying not to dwell on how different she was.
Of course, it had all made sense when she had learned that she was, in fact, a wizard. Throwing herself into the study of magic had done much to bolster her confidence and help her find her place in the world. Yet a lifetime of being the outsider—not to mention being introverted and naturally awkward—was not something easily overcome, not even with magic. Which was why not for the first, or even the hundredth, time over the past five months she wondered how in the world she had ended up dating her ne’er-do-well witch friend Sebastian, who was her opposite incarnate, if ever there was one.
She had tried dating in the past, and each disastrous attempt had only further cemented her belief that she was better off sticking to books and magic. Magic was logical and followed predictable rules. Even if it had the potential for getting out of hand, the risks of using it could be easily mitigated by a skilled and cautious wizard.
But people didn’t work like magic, and there were no textbooks for her to memorize on how to deal with them. If there were, her life would be so much easier. Maybe then she would know how to react to Sebastian’s polar-opposite personality. If he said A, she knew she should say B. If he did X, she would have already memorized the appropriate Y and Z response and could whip it out with aplomb. Lily’s lips twitched upward at the thought even as a familiar knot of anxiety formed in her chest. She sighed. Books just made more sense than people did—they didn’t have annoying habits, they never said anything awkward, and they definitely didn’t get their feelings hurt. If only men were more like books…
An image of Richard Grant, FBI agent and former dating interest, popped into her head. While not perfect, he had certainly fit her ideal of a proper gentleman. A pity he had lied to her and used her as bait in one of his investigations. She wondered how things might have turned out different if he’d actually intended to date her, not just use her to arrest her father.
Shaking her head again, she tried to rein in her wildly galloping thoughts and focus on the spell. Sebastian had a good heart and he made her smile—when he wasn’t annoying the heck out of her. Why had she even been thinking about Richard in the first place?
“All right, I give up.” Sir Kipling’s irritated meow once again brought her attention back to the present and away from her complicated dating life. She blushed, glad her magical talking cat couldn’t also read minds.
“What do you mean you give up?” she asked, looking over her shoulder to see him rise in a lazy stretch before he jumped off the chair and stalked over to her spell circle.
“I give up this pointless waiting while you daydream about men.”
“I was not—”
“Yes, you were. Your scent changes when you’re thinking about Sebastian. You smell like—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll take your word for it,” Lily said, absolutely not wanting Sir Kipling to finish that thought. She shuddered to think what sort of awkward comments he would make if she ever managed to settle down with someone and have an actual love life. Better not to think about it. Life was best taken one step at a time, after all.
Lily frowned, a crease forming on her brow as she looked down at the little wooden ball, then at her watch. It was getting late, and she had already made considerable progress, having finished the last dimmu runes and applied the sealant. Various tools, bottles, and brushes littered the oak worktable, a testament to her labors. She still needed to clean up here, take a shower, and dress—and it wouldn’t hurt to leave time for a nice cup of tea to calm her nerves before Sebastian arrived. Perhaps Sir Kipling was right. She would finish his cat toy another day when she was less distracted. She was about as good at not worrying as Sebastian was at not getting into trouble—which, ironically, was one of her greatest sources of worry. Well, at least worrying about a date with a handsome man was better than worrying about having no date at all. With that thought to comfort her, she gave a rueful smile and got to work cleaning up.
Lily stood in front of her bathroom mirror, attempting to subdue her rebelliously frizzy chestnut hair with copious amounts of bobby pins. Sir Kipling was absent, having been banished from his perch on the toilet after he suggested she do what all intelligent creatures did and just lick her hair into submission.
Once her hair was finally presentable, she examined her makeup and checked that there were no smudges of foundation on her glasses. Satisfied, she tugged the hem of her dress, ensuring every part of her appearance was perfect, then straightened her posture and squared her shoulders. She could do this. Relationships couldn’t possibly be more complicated than advanced thaumaturgy, and she had nearly mastered that.
“Has it ever occurred to you that even if you dressed in a brown paper sack, Sebastian would still get that starry-eyed look on his face as soon as you opened your front door?” came the drawling meow of her ever-smug feline. So much for him obeying orders.
“Has it ever occurred to you that you should keep your patronizing comments to yourself?” she shot back, hyper-aware of the heat spreading across her cheeks.
“If I did that I wouldn’t be much of a cat, now would I? Besides, you spend so much time agonizing over unimportant minutiae that you need frequent reminding of what really matters.”
Lily turned to face her opinionated cat who sat in the bathroom doorway, the white mustache and monocle markings on his smokey-gray face only adding to the mantle of precociousness he wore like a royal robe. “A lady’s appearance is not unimportant, I’ll have you know. And it’s not Sebastian’s opinion about my appearance that worries me, it’s his opinion about everything else. Not that it’s any of your business. I thought I told you to take your scintillating wit elsewhere? I’m sure the houseplants would like some company.”
Having delivered her repartee, she snatched up her purse and made a rapid exit of the bathroom, hoping to forestall further snarky comments about her dating life.
Of course, when it came to Sir Kipling, her magical, talking familiar, there wasn’t much that could deter him when he wanted to be heard. It was his least endearing trait, and a frequent annoyance ever since his transformation by a mysterious entity who had also given him strange and unexplainable power. Through a process of elimination, she had come to suspect that the entity was angelic in origin, though no record existed since the time of ancient Babylon of any wizard encountering such beings.
The contemplation of esoteric magic soothed her annoyance as she traversed the hall, entered the kitchen, and started boiling water for a cup of peppermint tea. Her respite was short-lived, however, as she turned to find her cat sitting blithely on the kitchen table, having appeared there as if by magic. It hadn’t been magic, of course. At least she was relatively sure it hadn’t. While she knew her feline had come away from his angelic encounter with abilities that no a
mount of physics could explain, he was also uncannily good at every trait his species naturally possessed—including sneaking around without being noticed.
“Shoo. I would like to enjoy a quiet cup of tea by myself before my date arrives, if you please.”
Sir Kipling ignored her, his yellow, half-lidded eyes unblinking as he stared her down, white-tipped tail twitching rhythmically. She glared right back until her teapot began to sing, which gave her an excuse to abandon the contest of wills. Once the tea was ready, she retreated to the living room. He did not follow her this time, thankfully, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Perching carefully on the edge of the sofa so as not to wrinkle her dress, Lily cupped her mug between chilled hands and breathed in the soothing, minty steam wafting up from her tea.
Her four-legged harbinger of chaos and snark was actually the least of her worries. She loved him, despite his annoyingly misplaced notion that it was his job to build her character—it was understandably upsetting when the creature who had once been your silent solace from the world started expressing “opinions.” But then, one could hardly expect a magical cat to be without his quirks, and Sir Kipling had long been her only true companion.
No, her cat was not her chief concern. Even so, his comments did nothing to help untangle her emotions about one dashingly handsome reprobate. Despite Sebastian’s troublemaking ways, he was her friend and the one person who had consistently watched her back throughout their entirely inconvenient adventures that had started the previous summer—from a life-or-death race through time, to a museum heist, to finally meeting her biological father.
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