Magic & Misdeeds

by Annabel Chase

  “Man, I lost my fedora,” Benny complained.

  “That’s the last article of clothing I’d be worried about right now,” I said.

  Benny grabbed a leaf and held it over his private parts.

  “Why did you run?” the sheriff asked.

  “Because I thought I was in trouble,” Benny said.

  “For what?” the sheriff asked.

  “I don’t know,” Benny said. “Every time you or the deputy comes around looking for my brother, it’s because he’s in trouble.”

  “Yes, but he’s in trouble because he did something,” I said. “Why do you think you might be in trouble? Did you do something?”

  Benny looked perplexed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. That argument with the leprechaun? I mean, we were only a little disorderly. I didn’t think anyone would report it.”

  The sheriff flicked a glance in my direction. “Do you know the leprechaun’s name?”

  “Yeah, Clark. Smug little guy. Always posting his screenshots online like he’s the gods’ gift to gaming.”

  “What was the argument about?” I asked.

  The sheriff helped Benny to his feet and Benny was careful to keep his leaf in place.

  “He took a scythe and I had to wait for the supplies to replenish before I could get one,” Benny said.

  “What’s so bad about waiting?” I asked.

  “You don’t understand,” Benny said. “It’s the principle. The dude has no etiquette.” The werewolf paled. “Hang on. I heard…” He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

  “Benny?” I pressed.

  He wagged a finger. “No way. I’m not talking. I know what happened.”

  “You know what happened to Clark?” the sheriff asked.

  “I know the dude’s dead,” Benny said. “That’s it.”

  “And you didn’t think we might want to talk to you about it?” the sheriff asked.

  “No, man. Like I said, it was nothing. I’d forgotten about it and when I heard he was dead, I just…” He trailed off and averted his gaze.

  “You just what?” I asked.

  “I said good riddance, okay?” He stamped his foot. “Doesn’t make me look good, does it?”

  “Not really,” I said. But it didn’t mean he was guilty of murder either.

  Benny shivered. “I’m getting chilly. Could I maybe find my clothes?”

  “First, I want you to tell me where you were between five and six yesterday morning,” Sheriff Nash said.

  Benny’s eyes rolled upward. “That’s early. I was asleep.”

  “You weren’t awake for the tournament?” I asked.

  “I’m not that into it,” Benny said. “I only joined because it’s local and some of my friends play.”

  “You’re out here in the dark playing,” I said.

  He shrugged. “That’s fun. I don’t care about winning.”

  “Can anyone verify that you were home in bed during that time?” the sheriff asked.

  “My mom and dad,” Benny said. “You know them pretty well by now.” He grinned. “Pretty soon, they’ll be having you over for family dinners.”

  The sheriff hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go find your clothes. I’m going to talk to your parents at a respectable hour in the morning. Don’t even think about leaving town until I’ve cleared you.”

  Benny snorted. “Where am I going to go? I live at home and I work part-time. I don’t even have my own set of wheels.” He brushed past us and began hunting for his clothes.

  I spotted a familiar item on a bush and plucked it from the vines. “Here you go, Benny. Crisis averted.” I tossed the hat to him and he caught it with his head so that he didn’t relinquish the leaf. Impressive.

  “Thanks for the help,” the sheriff said, once Benny was gone. “I’m going to go check out the rest of the woods and make sure the wolves aren’t into any trouble. Go ahead and break your ward on your way out.” He hesitated, scratching his jaw. “You want me to walk you back to the perimeter? In case you get lost, not because you can’t handle yourself.”

  “You reached your quota of heroic gestures today when you threw yourself in front of me at the tree,” I said. “I’ll manage to Hansel and Gretel my way out of here, but thanks.”

  A wolf howled and the sheriff heaved a sigh. “I can tell it’s going to be a late night. I’d better not find Wyatt out here.”

  “Let me know what you find out from Benny’s parents, okay?”

  “Pretend I’m wearing a fedora,” he said, and tipped an imaginary hat.

  I laughed. “I’d rather picture you wearing a leaf.” I wished I could snatch back the words the moment they left my mouth. “Crap-on-a-stick, I didn’t mean it that way.” Heat rose to my cheeks and I was glad my face was obscured by the night. “I only meant that the hat wasn’t cool.”

  His low laugh rumbled in the darkness. “It’s okay, Rose. You know I don’t mind either way.”

  “I’m not picturing you with leaves or a fedora,” I said, waving my hands. “I’m not picturing you with anything at all.”

  “Rose, you’re not helping your case.”

  “Good night,” I yelled. I stumbled forward and tripped over another root in my desire to escape both the sheriff and my embarrassment. This only made him laugh harder and I was pretty sure his laughter followed me all the way back to the perimeter.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Mistress of Psychic Skills stood on my doorstep at an ungodly hour the next morning. I’d helped Marley get ready for school and then collapsed back into bed until five minutes before my lesson.

  “We have to work indoors today,” Marigold announced.

  “You say that like I’ll object.” Given a choice between physically active and lazy, I’d choose lazy every time.

  Marigold entered the cottage, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I should have brought a bottle with me, but I was in a hurry.”

  “Sure.” I hustled into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. When I returned to the living area to hand it to her, she was poised on the chair like an emperor ready to be fed grapes.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  “Too warm,” she said, somewhat breathless. “It’ll pass.”

  “Hello hotness your old friend. Why don’t you use magic to treat for your menopause symptoms?”

  Marigold’s head snapped to attention. “Stars and stones, have you lost your mind? Don’t say the ‘m’ word out loud in mixed company.”

  My head swiveled, thinking that Alec or Florian had ninja-ed their way into the cottage, but there was no sign of either one. “What mixed company?”

  She motioned to the Yorkshire terrier, snoring quietly on the sofa. “Him.”

  “You’re embarrassed that the ancient dog might know about your menopause?”

  She jerked a finger to her lips. “Ember, please. The more you say it out loud, the worse it is.”

  “You know that’s not how menopause works, right? It’s not a demon that gets summoned.”

  “Isn’t it though?” She exhaled dramatically. “I’ve tried all the charms and potions the coven recommends, but nothing helps. I swear the recipes were created by wizards.”

  That wouldn’t surprise me. “I guess it’s one of those natural parts of life that magic doesn’t allow us to mess with permanently.”

  “Probably the reason I was never able to improve my looks when I was younger.” Marigold smoothed her hair. “I used to try all kinds of spells to make myself taller or my butt bigger, but nothing worked long-term. Just goes to show you that you can’t mess with perfection.”

  I squinted at her. “You wanted to make your butt bigger?”

  Marigold stood and aimed her bottom in my direction. “I’ve added more cushion naturally over the years, but it used to be a mere husk of a butt. I would sit down and get an instant muscle cramp because there was no fat to protect me from the hardness of the chair.”

  “
That sounds…painful.” For me to hear.

  “I wish I’d had this butt my whole life. It’s what my younger self dreamed of.” The witch grimaced. “And now the cruel irony is that I’m too old to enjoy it.”

  “You’re too old to enjoy your butt?”

  Marigold grabbed a pillow and hugged it against her chest. “I still do okay with the men, but my younger self would’ve benefited greatly from my current bottom. I don’t have the same energy level that I used to.”

  I found that hard to believe. Marigold was a sergeant cheerleader on speed as far as I was concerned. On the other hand, I didn’t want to delve into the details of her dating life. Not until I had the right spell to ward off nightmares.

  “Age is relative,” I said, in an effort to sound diplomatic. “You’re only as old as you feel.”

  “Tell that to the old witch I see in the mirror,” Marigold shot back. “Sometimes I catch a glimpse of my reflection and think some old woman’s broken into my house.”

  “To steal what—your sensible shoes?”

  Marigold glanced down at her orthopedic tennis shoes. “I have high arches. I need the support.”

  “What psychic activities do you have in mind for me today?” I asked. “I definitely don’t want the power to read minds while these tournament players are in town.” I had a feeling their pubescent thoughts ranged from the best way to urinate without stopping the game to the challenges of dating a mermaid.

  “I thought we’d practice telekinesis today,” Marigold said.

  I wagged a finger at her. “You’re very clever,” I said. “Tapping into my lazy powers.”

  “Yes, I thought it might appeal to you.”

  I raised my hand. “Can we really practice from the comfort of the cottage? I don’t feel like tossing sticks around in the woods today, not with the tournament in town.”

  “And a killer on the loose, from the sound of it,” Marigold added.

  “Hey, there’s a thought. Why don’t you teach me to lift something useful that I can use as a defensive weapon?” I said. “Maybe a sledgehammer?”

  “Yes, because you’re so likely to have a sledgehammer within sight when you’ve been cornered by a killer.”

  “Clark was killed with a cast iron skillet,” I said.

  “Yes, in a kitchen,” Marigold reminded me. “Where do you expect to be within proximity to a sledgehammer?”

  “Fine,” I huffed. “How about I practice flipping a table Jersey style? Odds are good I’ll be within range of a table.”

  Marigold stroked PP3’s head and the dog continued to snooze. If it weren’t for the steady snoring, I’d be checking his vital signs.

  “I think you’re overreaching,” Marigold said. “You can’t go from moving pencils to flipping tables. You need to work up to it. I think we should stick with sticks.” She laughed at her own joke.

  I glanced helplessly around the cottage, searching for appropriate items to move with my mind. My gaze landed on the desk against the wall where Marley’s colored pencils were arranged in a metal cup.

  “I guess a pencil can be a weapon,” I said with a deep sigh. “I’ve seen John Wick enough times.”

  Marigold clapped her hands in a way that made her sound both enthusiastic and efficient. It was a gift. “Perfect. I suggest you start by actually getting up from the sofa. It’s like singing, better to be in an upright position with your diaphragm engaged.”

  I balked. “What kind of kink are you into?”

  Marigold approached me and pressed my abdomen. “Here, gutter brain. You need to tighten your core and concentrate.”

  “If I’m about to be bludgeoned with a skillet, I don’t know that I’ll be tightening anything.” Maybe just my butt cheeks but that would be purely out of fear.

  “You should really be practicing your skills outside of lessons,” she said.

  “Yes, I’ll add that to my list right after laundry, mealtimes, my job, my other lessons, and my personal relationships.”

  Marigold put her hands on her hips. “You’re never going to reach your potential if you don’t practice.”

  “I can live with that.” Whether Aunt Hyacinth could live with that was another story. “I’m going to try and lift one of the pencils out of the cup. Will that make you happy, task mistress?”

  “Which color?” she asked.

  I glared at her. “Seriously?”

  “Choose the specific pencil in advance,” she said. “That’s how you hone your skill.”

  “Fine, I’ll move the purple one.” I rolled my neck from side to side and prepared to focus.

  “Remember to feel the energy inside you and pour it into a ball that you can control.”

  I shushed her. “I can’t concentrate with you babbling in my ear. It’s distracting.”

  Marigold pretended to zip her lip and took a step backward. I zeroed in on the purple pencil. I let the magic flow through me and focused my will. Every time I thought I’d connected to the item, I found myself distracted by another color.

  “They’re too close together,” I complained. “Can we move the purple one onto the desk by itself?”

  Marigold’s brow lifted. “You’re asking to cheat?”

  “How is that cheating? I’m practicing. Shouldn’t we start easy and get harder?”

  “It’s a single pencil. Ember. We’re already starting easy.” She examined my posture. “You’re too tense. You need to relax.”

  “Which is it?” I demanded. “Am I tightening or relaxing?” I shimmied my shoulders in an effort to relax the muscles.

  “How about music?” she asked. “Do you think that might help or will it distract you?”

  I chewed my lip. “What kind of music?”

  “Classical?” she suggested.

  “No, that’ll put me straight into a coma,” I said. “I need something in between Sleeping Beauty and The Red Shoes.”

  Marigold surveyed the cottage, hands on hips. “What about one of those human world musicians you’re so fond of? William Joel? Bruce Springshine?”

  “Yes, let’s go with that,” I said. “Thunder Road might work.” It wasn’t as energetic as Born to Run but also not as sleepy as I’m on Fire. I pulled out my phone and started the song.

  Marigold listened intently, as though trying to absorb the music. “Okay, maybe I can see the appeal.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You need to rustle up a little more enthusiasm or this lesson is over.” I shook my hands to loosen them and fixated on the purple pencil. I focused my will as the music washed over me. The top of the pencil began to wiggle and I increased my concentration, tugging on it. It lifted slightly before dropping back into the container. My shoulders drooped as I turned toward Marigold.

  “Stop looking like you just lost your matching sock in the dryer,” she scolded.

  “No,” I said. “That warrants this expression.” I straightened my shoulders and produced a pout. “This posture is more in line with I finished the bottle of wine, there’s no more left in the house, and the stores are all closed.”

  “A serious problem,” Marigold agreed. “If you plan ahead, however, one that’s easily avoided.”

  I blew a raspberry at her. “Let me try again.” I refocused, blotting out everything except the purple pencil. The magic flowed from my core to my fingertips and toes. I pictured the purple pencil rising and leaving all the other colors behind. This time, it kept going and floated completely out of the metal container until it was levitating about a foot above the desk. Then I turned it on its side and flew sideways in a rapid motion. The point of the pencil stuck in the wall. I faced Marigold with a triumphant smile.

  “Well done, Ember.” She jiggled my arm with a bright smile. That was the thing about Marigold. She appreciated my successes and didn’t even mind when I gloated, unlike Hazel who would’ve found a way to undermine my minor accomplishment.

  “Thanks,” I said, flopping onto the sofa. My phone vibrated and I swiped it closer to my face.
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  “Uh oh,” Marigold said. “Looks like someone will be needing her reading glasses soon.”

  I ignored her and read the text from the sheriff. “Benny’s alibi checks out.”

  “Still no murderer then?”

  “No. We found him at the Tree of Bounty last night and he ran off like he was guilty…” I stopped. “Hey, I bet you can tell me.”

  “Whether he’s guilty? No idea, but you just said his alibi checks out.”

  “No, I’d like to know about the Tree of Bounty,” I said.

  Marigold recoiled. “Why? Are you writing an article on it?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “Alec thought a little controversy might sell a few more papers.” That seemed sufficiently vague enough to make sense.

  Marigold shuddered. “I used to have nightmares about that tree as a little girl. Even now, I avoid it on my nature walks. It’s far too creepy.”

  “What happened there?”

  “I can’t believe your aunt hasn’t mentioned it,” Marigold said.

  “Every time I’ve brought it up, everybody clams up, and both times I’ve been there, I’ve felt a strange sensation.”

  She rubbed her neck. “The hairs on the back of my neck are tickling me just talking about it.”

  “I felt heavy, like gravity was working overtime,” I said. “And a horrible sense of dread.”

  Marigold regarded me curiously. “How interesting.”

  “Why? That hasn’t happened to you?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know,” she said. “As I said, I steer clear of the area. I don’t want to be anywhere that witches were hanged.”

  Her revelation shocked me. “Like they were in Salem?”

  “Different reasons, of course. Everybody knew ours were actually witches. That wasn’t up for debate.”

  “Why would witches be hanged in Starry Hollow? They practically run the town.”

  “Powers ebbs and flows over the years,” Marigold said. “This happened during a period when the coven was weak. Many towns have a dark period of history that they prefer to ignore. The Tree of Bounty is one of ours.”