Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  Libbie had never owned a cat before, either, only a dog. She felt her anxiety level rising at the thought of Hercules and Eliza living under the same roof. What if he hurt the cat by accident? He was a large, energetic dog. He could injure the cat just trying to play with her.

  “So Inga has left us this jar with a note, a cat each, and the contents of her liquor cabinet, and these somehow qualify as a witch’s assets,” Kate said. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He reached into another drawer and produced a stack of four books. “There’s one for each of you.” He dispensed one to each of them.

  Julie was the first to flip hers open. “A blank book?” she asked.

  “I think it’s meant to be a journal,” Libbie said. Courtney had an entire collection of half-empty journals with a variety of adorable covers. This journal, however, was exceptionally plain, with a simple black leather cover and no lettering.

  “I think so, too,” Kate said. “I suggest journals for clients all the time. Helps to focus your thoughts and provides an outlet for feelings.”

  “So Inga thought we needed this?” Rebecca asked. “How is this one of her assets?”

  “I wish I had more answers for you.” Ethan passed a document and a pen across the desk. “Now, I’ll just need your signatures.”

  Julie took them and leaned on the end of the desk to sign. “My mother will flip over the cat and not in a good way.”

  “Who knows? Maybe she’ll be good company for your mom when you’re not around,” Rebecca said.

  “Queen Elizabeth herself wouldn’t be good enough company for my mother,” Julie complained.

  Libbie signed next and passed the document to Rebecca.

  “If everything you’ve said is true about witches and sisterhood,” Kate began, “then why would Inga choose a man to represent her? It seems to me she would’ve chosen a female attorney.”

  Ethan’s expression clouded over. “As a matter of fact, she did. Inga had initially hired my sister. Deb and I practiced together.”

  Libbie remembered that the sign outside had said Townsend & Townsend. She’d assumed it referred to a father and son.

  “But not anymore?” Kate prompted.

  “Deb died last year,” Ethan said, and Libbie noticed that a muscle in his cheek began to pulse. “Inga and I had gotten to know each other, and she asked if I’d continue to represent her. I was honored that she trusted me.”

  Libbie could see the pain in the man’s eyes and wondered if they reflected her own. Loss seemed all around her today, almost suffocating in its relentless presence. A memory flashed in her mind of young Josh in one of those children’s pits filled with hard colorful balls. He’d disappeared beneath them, and she’d jumped in to fish him out, petrified that he would be crushed or asphyxiated. That was what today felt like—she was trapped in a pit of soul-crushing balls that could kill her if she didn’t find a way out, and she desperately wanted someone to jump in and save her.

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” Julie said.

  Libbie knew she was probably thinking about Greg. It was natural to relate your own sorrow to someone else’s.

  “Will you be attending the funeral, Mr. Townsend?” Libbie asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Inga left quite an impression on me, as I’m sure you can understand. I’d like to pay my respects.” He hesitated. “If you think it will help you, I can give you the name of a witch I spoke to after Deb passed. She might be able offer more insight.”

  Libbie winced when he stumbled over the word ‘passed.’ He still seemed to be grieving.

  “Lorraine was very enlightening,” he continued. “She was able to fill in some blanks for me. Maybe she can help you, too. If you’re interested, she calls herself the Voice of the Moon Goddess.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said. “We’ll keep her in mind.” She signed the document and returned it to the lawyer.

  Julie glanced at her phone. “I hate to be the spoilsport, but I don’t think we have time to stop by the house before the funeral.”

  “No, you’re right,” Kate said. “We’ll meet at Inga’s afterward, okay?” She cut a glance at Rebecca. “The cats will be fine until then. I’m sure Bonnie fed them.”

  Rebecca took Libbie’s hand. Together, they rose to their feet. “My first witch’s funeral,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure I shouldn’t say this, but I’m actually looking forward to it, now that I know.”

  Kate shot her a quizzical look. “Why? It’s not like she’s going to jump out of a cauldron and yell surprise.”

  “No, but maybe something unexpected will happen,” Rebecca said.

  Libbie wasn’t convinced that a funeral was where you wanted something unexpected to happen, but she understood the sentiment of not wanting to sit in public with uncomfortable emotions for any length of time. She’d do it for Inga, though. The older woman had introduced Libbie to worlds she didn’t know existed, and it seemed that she was determined to continue educating her from beyond the grave. Her gaze flicked to the sealed letter now stuffed into Kate’s handbag. She had a feeling opening that letter was going to be their introduction to yet another of Inga’s lives.

  Chapter Five

  The funeral was held at Needham’s, a historic Victorian building with gingerbread trim and a striking view of the lake’s south leaf. Although it wasn’t officially a funeral home, it wasn’t unusual for people to host small gatherings there. It seemed strange to Libbie to look out the window and see people enjoying the water as though nothing had happened, as though the town hadn’t lost a remarkable member of its community. That was life, though. Tragedies happened, and the world continued to spin on its axis, oblivious to the pain and suffering of its inhabitants.

  “Anyone else expecting Inga to rise up out of the casket?” Julie asked in a hushed voice as they viewed Inga’s body.

  It had taken Libbie a full minute to look directly at her friend’s body. Seeing Inga’s small frame in its final resting place made the whole thing real, and Libbie wasn’t ready for a reality check.

  “If she flies away on a broomstick, I’ll eat my hat,” Rebecca said.

  “That one’s too nice,” Kate said, admiring her black pillbox hat with its truncated lace veil.

  Libbie lowered her voice, ready to pose the question she’d been dying to ask since they’d left Ethan Townsend’s office. “So are we witches now? Is that what you all took away from the meeting?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca said.

  Julie trained a wary eye on the other guests in case they were overheard. “I think we will be, once we’ve accepted her gifts or assets or fed her cats for ninety days straight until the next lunar event.” She exhaled loudly. “I don’t know.”

  “We did accept her assets,” Libbie whispered. What they were meant to do with them was anybody’s guess until they could open the letter.

  “Are you finished yet?” a gravelly voice asked. “Some of us don’t have bladders capable of lasting through an entire service.”

  Libbie turned to look at the old man behind them in line. He wore a faded suit and a tie that was slightly frayed along the edges. She recognized him as one of Inga’s neighbors. “I’m sorry, Mr. Francis. We just wanted to say a proper goodbye.”

  Mr. Francis stared at the casket, his eyes filled with sorrow. “This funeral seems wrong for our Inga.”

  “Too fancy?” Libbie asked.

  “No, too normal,” he replied. “The Inga I know would’ve wanted to be burned on a pyre and sent across the lake in all her fiery glory.”

  “I think she put in the request, but the town council turned her down,” Kate said. “Health and safety hazard.”

  Mr. Francis chuckled. “You’re her cocktail club, right? I’ve seen you coming and going from the house on Friday nights.”

  Libbie knew it was because Mr. Francis spent most of his time in a rocking chair on the front porch of his log cabin-style house.
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  He edged closer. “Is it true she died after too many tequila shots? I’ll be honest, that’s a pretty tempting way to go.”

  “She died after one tequila shot,” Kate said, “but the cause of death was a heart attack, not alcohol poisoning.”

  “I figured as much,” Mr. Francis said. “Her liver was made of titanium. She could drink me under the table any night of the week—and sometimes did.”

  Libbie stared into the casket, looking for any sign of Inga’s witchiness. Was there a tattoo? Any mark that helped one witch recognize another? She reached forward to shift a wayward strand of white hair from Inga’s forehead. If nothing else, her friend looked peaceful.

  The women said their goodbyes and moved forward to allow other mourners to pay their respects. Libbie noticed Ethan Townsend further back in the line. Their eyes met, and she glanced away quickly, surprised by the butterflies that erupted in her stomach at the sight of him. She was relieved when Kate’s husband came over to provide a welcome distraction. Ethan Townsend might be a silver fox, but Lucas Golden was the physical embodiment of the word ‘hunk.’ Libbie had approved of him from the moment Kate had introduced him as her boyfriend eighteen years ago, and not just because of his good looks. Lucas had a kind heart and a generous nature. He was the ideal companion for Kate.

  Lucas kissed his wife’s cheek before turning to greet the other women. “No Chris?” he asked, scanning the crowd.

  “He couldn’t make it,” she lied. The truth was, he didn’t offer to accompany her. Didn’t even inquire after the details. “The kids and I discussed whether they should come, but I decided it would be too much for Courtney. You know how she is. It’d be nightmares for weeks.”

  “Yeah, same.” Lucas raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “Ours would run riot in here and destroy the place anyway.”

  “Lucas,” Kate said in mock outrage. She gave his arm a playful swat. “Our children would never misbehave at a funeral.”

  “Hey, if there’s one funeral where misbehaving would be acceptable, it’s this one,” Julie said. “Inga would love to know that kids were running amok.”

  Lucas rubbed his wife’s back. “Are you lingering or heading home?”

  “We need to stop by Inga’s house after this,” Kate said. “Which reminds me.” Her gaze darted to the other women before returning to her husband. “We now own a cat.”

  His brow creased. “A cat? How did that happen?” He cocked an eyebrow at Rebecca. “Was this your doing?”

  “Not me this time.” Rebecca frequently tried to persuade them each to adopt an animal from the shelter, especially when there was one she deemed ‘really special,’ which was basically all of them.

  “Cat-Cat was one of Inga’s, and now she’s ours.” Kate cupped his rugged jaw and drew him in for a kiss. “The kids will be thrilled.”

  “I’m sure, but I know how you feel about pets,” Lucas said.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Kate said with a tight smile.

  Libbie had been on the receiving end of that smile often enough to recognize it as the end of the discussion. “I can drive us all to Inga’s if you want to ride over together,” she said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Julie said, and the others agreed.

  They left Needham’s, and Libbie took a moment to appreciate the sunshine before ducking behind the wheel of her compact SUV.

  Julie slid into the seat behind her. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t want a funeral. I’d prefer a wake.”

  Kate took her place in the passenger seat beside Libbie. “I’m surprised Inga didn’t request a wake. I could see a big party with body shots off the casket.”

  “That can be yours,” Rebecca said from her place beside Julie.

  Kate laughed. “Go for it. Be sure to record it for my YouTube channel. My subscribers will go nuts.”

  Libbie was quiet as she drove along the curved mountain roads that led to Inga’s house.

  “Are you going to keep Cat-Cat?” Rebecca asked.

  Kate turned to look at her. “Why are you only asking me?”

  “Because I know how you feel about pets,” Rebecca said.

  “I can’t give up Inga’s cat. If she wanted me to have Cat-Cat, then I will.” Kate pushed open the door the moment the car came to a stop.

  “She’s going to need help with that,” Julie whispered.

  “Who are you kidding?” Rebecca shot back. “She’s Kate Golden. She doesn’t need help with anything.”

  By the time they caught up to their friend, she’d already unlocked the front door and was standing in the foyer. Libbie caught her best friend’s mournful expression as she surveyed the compact space. Just as quickly, Kate’s face returned to its usual state.

  “We should’ve brought boxes,” Rebecca said. “We’ll have a lot to carry.”

  “Inga has boxes in the garage,” Libbie said. She’d noticed them two Fridays ago when she’d gone to retrieve another case of wine for the bar.

  “If there aren’t enough, I have plenty I can bring over,” Julie said. “I even have a few garment boxes if Bonnie needs them, or whoever’s packing up the house. Greg didn’t end up having nearly as many clothes as I thought.” She laughed. “And I’d always accused him of being a clothes horse. Joke was on me.”

  One of the cats came tearing down the staircase meowing. “Someone’s hungry,” Libbie said.

  “More like someone’s litter box needs to be cleaned,” Rebecca said. “I’ll go check it out.”

  “Be quick,” Kate urged. “I want to open this letter and see whether we need to have a seance or something.”

  “That’s a psychic,” Libbie said.

  Kate shrugged. “Can’t witches be psychic?” Her face brightened. “Hey, maybe that’s one of the assets.”

  Libbie shuddered. “No thanks. I don’t want to be psychic. I have enough issues with my own thoughts without including anyone else’s.”

  They gathered around the coffee table where Kate placed both the jar and the letter.

  “Do you think we need the journals?” Libbie asked.

  Kate shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out in a minute.”

  Rebecca hurried to join them, trailed by all four cats. Libbie didn’t know whether the cats were actually related to each other, but they bore similar markings of brown, black, and white.

  Rebecca knelt beside the table. Her knees had barely touched the floor when Kate ripped open the envelope. Libbie leaned forward expectantly.

  “Open the jar?” Kate said, frowning.

  “That’s it?” Rebecca asked. “The letter tells us to open the jar?”

  Kate flipped the letter around so the other women could read it. “Open the jar and receive your gifts.”

  “No explanation? Nothing?” Libbie settled back on her calves, feeling disappointed. She’d hoped for more information from Inga. Then again, the older woman hadn’t told them she was a witch when she was alive. Why would she bother now?

  Kate blew out a breath. “Here goes nothing. Literally.” She twisted the lid off the jar, and a gust of wind rushed through the room, sweeping the letter off the coffee table and onto the floor. A pungent smell filled the air.

  Rebecca coughed and waved a hand in front of her face. “Holy smokes. It smells like Inga when she would eat those garlic bagel chips.”

  “What’s the point of bequeathing her bad breath?” Kate asked.

  Libbie fell silent, a memory stirring. An uncomfortable memory but one that seemed entirely relevant. “Her last words,” she finally said.

  “I’ll miss you?” Kate asked.

  Libbie shook her head. “She said ‘breath is the spirit.’”

  “So her spirit smells like garlic?” Julie queried. “That’s unfortunate.”

  Kate pinched her nose. “I hope mine smells like roses.”

  “It depends on who’s opening mine,” Julie said.

  “What’s the gift? I’m confused.” Rebecca took the jar from Kate’s hand and
stuck her nose inside.

  “I’m starting to think this really was an elaborate prank,” Julie said.

  Although Libbie didn’t think so, she remained quiet because she couldn’t offer a better explanation.

  As they stared at the seemingly empty jar, Libbie’s arms and legs began to tingle. The sensation rippled across her entire body until she shivered from the effect.

  “Does anyone else feel that?” Kate asked.

  The four women exchanged uneasy glances. “I do,” Libbie said.

  “Me, too,” Rebecca said.

  Julie nodded, her eyes rounded. “Does anyone else—?” She halted as the women seemed to realize at the same time that their skin was glowing with a soft white light. Before anyone could comment on it, their skin reverted to normal.

  Rebecca stared at her arms, now outstretched. “What just happened? Are we all going to walk around reeking of garlic? Did she hex us?”

  “Why would Inga hex us? She loved us,” Kate said.

  Libbie breathed into her hand and sniffed it. “My breath smells normal.”

  Kate turned and blew out a breath in her best friend’s face. “How about mine?”

  “Smells like you gargled with garbage and then rinsed with acid.”

  The other women laughed.

  “Libbie, that sounds more like something Inga would say,” Kate told her. “You know that’s my normal breath. That’s why I brush a few times a day.”

  Libbie did know. She knew her best friend’s brushing habits as well as her own. “It’s your one flaw.”

  “Why isn’t there more to the letter?” Julie complained. She held out her hands and examined them. “Is the tingling somehow the gift? A reminder that Inga is always with us?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca said. “The way the lawyer spoke about it…I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “According to him, we’re the Dread Pirate Witches,” Libbie said.

  Rebecca scrunched her nose. “Like the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride?”

  Julie wore a blank expression. “I don’t get it.”

  Libbie felt a rise of excitement. “Remember in the movie, the Dread Pirate Roberts isn’t one person. The name gets passed on to someone else when the current pirate is ready to retire.” She’d watched the movie countless times with her kids and knew it by heart.