Spellbound Seven

by Cindy Stark

  “Increase your hold. Stand your guard. Protect that which others seek. Allow none to enter. Allow none to see. This I ask, so mote it be.”

  When she finished, she pushed the lock together again.

  Nothing happened. When she released it, the lock fell free.

  A flash of white temporarily wiped her mind, and she struggled to retain her sanity. She couldn’t lose it now.

  She worked to inhale a calming breath.

  She read the words again, more carefully this time.

  “Hazel?”

  A man’s voice came from the outer area, and she froze.

  “Blessed Mother, help me,” she whispered.

  She licked her thumb and forefinger to extinguish the candles and headed out to the front desk.

  Officer John Bartles leaned against the counter with a friendly smile on his face. “I’m here to lock up. Are you ready to go?”

  Fear trembled through her body. She could see no way out of this mess.

  She forced a smile. “I sure am. I was just about to grab my purse. Give me one second.”

  She turned back to the office, certain he could see right through her. Or worse. He’d smell smoke from the extinguished candles. John would ask Timothy to put her on the list of suspected witches the moment Timothy returned to town.

  She had no other choice but to leave the disconnected lock hanging from the box and slid it onto the shelf. As fast as she could, she shoved her magical tools and Clarabelle’s spell book into her purse and left Timothy’s office, turning off the light as she went.

  The box on the shelf shouldn’t be visible to anyone but her, but she had no doubt Timothy would have been certain the lock was secured before he left town. He would know in a second someone had tampered with it.

  She absolutely had to find a way to get back in and lock it before Timothy returned in two days.

  Two days.

  “I’m ready,” she said to John with a smile and prayed she wouldn’t throw up before she made it to her car.

  He shut off the rest of the lights, and, together, they left the building.

  John regarded her as they walked toward her Honda and his police SUV that he’d parked right next to it. “That was sure nice of you to volunteer. The town hates to close the library while Timothy’s on vacation.”

  She shook her head as though to brush off his compliment. “I didn’t mind at all. I should probably volunteer for things around town more often. I guess you have someone to cover tomorrow, too?”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “We do, but thanks for checking. I’m sure Timothy is grateful.”

  She reached for the handle on her door. “He can call anytime. I’m more than willing to step in if he needs help.” She just wished she had the following morning’s shift as well.

  He gave her a friendly wink. “I’ll say goodnight then.”

  She opened her door. “Goodnight, John.”

  Hazel started her car, put it into drive, and managed several blocks before she pulled to the side of a darkened road. She opened her door and retched onto the pavement.

  When she finished, she drove the short distance to her house and hurried inside.

  She wanted to curse her luck and claim that the spell she’d done earlier to protect herself hadn’t worked, but perhaps that was what had saved her from John discovering what she’d been doing.

  She had a boatload of trouble in her harbor and no time to waste before she fixed it.

  Eighteen

  Hazel spent most of the night alternating between searching the two spell books she had in her possession and pleading for Clarabelle to show her ethereal face and help her granddaughter in desperate need. Both proved pointless.

  She wasn’t sure what time she’d finally dozed off, but by the time she woke, the clock said it was half-past nine. She was certain it lied, but her phone confirmed the same.

  She washed her face to clear sleepiness from her brain. The funny circle imprinted on her forehead may or may not have been caused by falling asleep on her watch while sitting at the kitchen table.

  Unfortunately, once the sleepiness was gone, she discovered her thoughts had morphed into a frantic mess. She was no closer to finding a solution to her problem than she’d been when she’d walked out of the library with John Bartles the previous night.

  She couldn’t call Peter. She’d forever hear him say, “I told you so,” every time she wanted to attempt anything risky, and he wouldn’t have a clue how to help with this situation anyway.

  Worse, she’d have to pretend nothing was wrong when they visited Audrey to review wedding plans later that morning, and Peter was terribly good at reading her moods.

  Calling her mother was definitely off the list.

  Cora was a maybe, except she didn’t want anyone else in the coven to know what she’d discovered until she was ready to tell them. Hazel needed time to process first and make plans. But time was quickly running out. Timothy would be back in town tomorrow.

  She had barely more than twenty-four hours left to figure this out.

  If only her ancient grandmother was more reliable.

  Her hand shook as she filled the kettle with water and put it on to boil. Fixing that lock was no trivial matter. If Timothy returned and discovered what she’d done, things could escalate quickly. She’d put herself and likely others in danger.

  She inhaled a deep breath and used the energy to call her grandmother once again. “Clarabelle! Why aren’t you here when I need you?”

  Or Mr. Kitty for that fact. They’d both deserted her in her time of need.

  She slumped against the counter, defeated. She’d really messed up this time.

  “Clarabelle?” she whispered, knowing the ghost wouldn’t hear her. “There’s a reason you’re still on earth, and it’s because I need you. I really need you.”

  A light touch caressed her cheek, infusing her with hope, and she straightened. “Clarabelle?”

  Soft, ethereal laughter echoed around her in answer.

  Hazel glanced about. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling for you all night.”

  No response, but at least she sensed Clarabelle was still there.

  “I have a problem, Grandmother.”

  Maybe tagging on their relationship would provoke Clarabelle’s maternal instincts. “I’m in danger of being discovered by witch-haters. I’ve broken a lock that I must fix, and I don’t know how. Please, you must help me before it’s too late. I don’t know what might happen to me if I don’t.”

  A fury of anger whipped past her, ruffling her hair.

  “There must be a way to repair it,” Hazel continued.

  Perhaps details might help. “It’s made of metal, and I need to do it from afar. I don’t think I’ll be able to get my hands on the lock again.”

  Anxious seconds ticked past as Hazel waited to see what, if anything, Clarabelle could do.

  The thump of the cover on Clarabelle’s spell book as it hit the table startled her. A second thump followed as Clarabelle opened Scarlett’s as well. Hazel stepped cautiously closer to the kitchen table where she’d left the books and watched as pages in both books turned at a furious speed.

  Crazed energy filled the room, churning the uncertainty inside her. She really had no idea what Clarabelle could be capable of, but she knew she was at her strongest when angered about past events.

  Then suddenly the pages stopped turning and everything went quiet, as though she’d entered the eye of a hurricane.

  She released the breath she’d been holding.

  She moved to her chair at the table and sat. The brush of an unseen hand fell across her hair, smoothing the tangled mess.

  Hazel focused on Clarabelle’s book and found a spell on generating energy. She couldn’t see how that might help.

  She shifted to Scarlett’s book and read a spell on manipulating enemies.

  None of it made sense. “How am I supposed to use this?”

  Together.
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br />   She lifted her brows in disbelief and glanced about the room, wishing she could see Clarabelle. “You want me to…combine them?”

  She could barely manage to do others’ spells. No way could she create one powerful enough to fix a lock on her own.

  Yes, together.

  She dropped her face into her hands. This was not what she’d meant when she’d asked for help. “I don’t—”

  Do it.

  Clarabelle’s thoughts drowned her own. Hazel sighed and repeated Clarabelle’s words. “Do it.”

  Hazel gathered her doubts and stuffed them into a corner. She had no choice but to try. If she did nothing, Timothy would surely find out. If she tried her own spell, she at least had the possibility of saving herself. “Okay…”

  Both spells called for ginger, so that was a given. The manipulation one said to use a black candle, known for shapeshifting, which should help the lock reengage. She wouldn’t be affecting a person like the spell intended, but perhaps it would have the same effect as an object that was extremely valuable to a person.

  One called for crushed cinnamon. If she mixed the cinnamon with the ginger and rolled them in paper, the fire from the black candle would make her spell more potent. That might make up for not being in the same room as the lock.

  “Are you sure this will work from a distance?”

  Clarabelle did not reply, and Hazel sighed. Everything was about to come crashing down on her head.

  Peter had mentioned wanting to move by a beach. Maybe she should ask him to consider that now. Like today. Like if they hurried fast, they might be able to get everything packed up and be out of town before Timothy returned.

  Her stomach churned with nausea, and she glanced at the clock. She had ninety minutes before Peter would arrive to pick her up for their wedding planner appointment.

  If she hurried, she could pull together everything for the spell and ask him to stop off at the library on the way. She could lie and tell him she had to drop off keys.

  She groaned.

  No, she couldn’t do that. She’d have to come clean with him.

  But, if she had a solution to her problem, Peter couldn’t get too mad.

  Too many ifs for her comfort, but, unfortunately, that was her lot for now. She’d have to make the best of it.

  Nineteen

  Hazel waited until Peter was only a couple of blocks from Main Street before she gathered enough courage to say anything to him. The fact that she was out of time had a lot to do with that. “Would you mind if we stop at the library for a minute?”

  He glanced at her. “What for?”

  “I need to drop off…”

  As much as she wanted to lie, she couldn’t.

  Instead, she sighed. “Maybe you should pull over for a minute first.”

  He scowled at her and pulled his truck to the side of the road next to a tall pine. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what you say?”

  She shot him a guilty look. “Because you’re not.”

  He shook his head in disappointment, and she lifted a hand. “Just hear me out first, okay?”

  He tipped his head in agreement, but she still sensed his apprehension.

  “The other night when I volunteered at the library—”

  “Oh, Hazel. What have you done?”

  She wished so much that she didn’t have to confess. “I found things. Several very interesting things. Timothy has a box on a shelf that no one can see without using a spell.”

  Peter lifted an interested brow. Of course, he would. He was addicted as much as she was to juicy details.

  “I found the final spell book out of the four.”

  “And?”

  She scrunched her face in anger. “He has Clarabelle’s diary, and that makes me so mad. That belongs to me, and leaving it there nearly killed me.”

  “But you had to, or he’d know you or someone else had found his stash.”

  “Yes. I also found his collection of witchy tools, so he could do spells.”

  “The town’s greatest witch-hater practices magic?” He chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich.”

  “Right? I also found a notebook full of…things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  In her fright over the broken lock, she’d forgotten what she’d learned about Sarah and Cora. And now, Peter wanted to know.

  She closed her eyes and dropped the back of her head against the seat. “I’m sorry, Peter. Obviously, I didn’t think things through very well when I started this conversation, and this might not be the best place to tell you what I learned.”

  “But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  It was a statement, not a suggestion.

  She nodded reluctantly. “If I read Timothy’s code correctly, and I’m pretty sure I did, he and the others have targeted Cora as a witch. I’m going to tell her, and I’ll need you to help me protect her.”

  “Of course.”

  Dread slithered over her, and she wished she could run. “There’s more. Timothy had many names listed in there. Most were lined through, which I think means they’d been eliminated from suspicion. Cora’s had no designation, but Sarah was in there…and he’d underlined it in red.”

  The color slipped from Peter’s face. “He what?”

  Oh, gosh. She didn’t have time for this. “You’re going to have to listen to me, Peter. I don’t have time to go into all this right now. There’s a more urgent matter. I took photos of what I’d found, but I have a problem. I used a spell to open the lock on the box, and when I tried to close the lock, it wouldn’t engage again. I have to fix it before Timothy gets home tomorrow.”

  He stared at her in disbelief for several long moments. Then his anger flared bright and hot. “You’re telling me that you’ve possibly given the man who may have killed Sarah a reason to come after you?”

  She swallowed. “You make it sound really bad when you put it that way.”

  He clenched his jaw. “It is really bad, Hazel.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. That’s why I need to stop there before we head out of town. Clarabelle helped me with a spell that should fix the lock, and then Timothy won’t know what I’ve seen.”

  “Should?”

  Of course, he’d focus on that word. “She seemed positive it would work, and I don’t have to go inside the library to do the spell.”

  Positive might have been an exaggeration, but Peter didn’t need to hear that right now. “I need to be on the opposite side of the wall from his office, and I might need you to provide a distraction. I already have everything ready to go. I just need to light a candle to burn some spices and say a few words. That’s it.”

  Doubt lingered in his eyes. “That’s all?”

  “Yep, and then we can be on our merry little way. No harm. No foul.”

  The angry energy emanating from him seemed to settle some. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

  She couldn’t bear to tell him it could all blow up in her face. She needed to remain positive for both their sakes.

  As they approached the library, Hazel pointed to a cluster of pines against a solid rock wall. “I can use those trees right there to hide me while I perform the spell.”

  The moment the words left her mouth Timothy’s bright red Toyota Echo pulled into a space several cars ahead of them, and she gasped.

  Peter pushed her down. “Duck.”

  She fell to the seat. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to follow him inside the library and distract him, so you can do the spell before he discovers what you’ve done.”

  She glanced up at him with a mixture of fear and gratitude. “What if he already saw me?”

  “I’ll tell him you’re across the street and that I thought I’d see how his vacation was while you talk to a friend.”

  “There is no friend,” she reminded him.

  He cast an impatient glance at her. “He doesn’t know that. I’ll say it’s Mrs. Tillens. She’s always about town.”
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  She nodded and exhaled. “Okay. We can do this.”

  He pinned her with a direct look. “We’d better do this. He’s headed toward the front doors. I need to go.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he stepped from his truck and soon disappeared from sight.

  Hazel waited what she thought was the appropriate amount of time before she slowly sat up, casting her gaze all around her to see if anyone had noticed.

  She couldn’t see a person in sight. With her nerves on fire, she slid her purse and its forbidden contents on her shoulder and exited his truck. Luckily, the library had no windows on this side of the building.

  As casually as she could, she strode across the lawn, stopped once to check for people again, and then slipped behind the pines. Scents from the evergreen needles surrounded her, and she breathed them in to bolster her. An earth witch always did her best work outside anyway.

  She pulled the candle from her purse and removed the rolled piece of parchment that held the crushed spices intact. Next, she dug out the small box of wooden matches and the spell that she’d hastily scrawled on another piece of parchment.

  She paused a moment to whisper a plea to the Blessed Mother for guidance and energy and then lit a match. With her hands shaking, she held the flame to the wick until it caught hold. She was grateful she only needed power from the black candle and wouldn’t need to wait for it to burn completely.

  She anchored the paper with the spell against her palm and held the rolled spices with her fingers. Careful to not burn the spell paper, she tipped the rolled parchment to the flame. The scent of cinnamon and ginger mingled with pine from the surrounding trees, reminding her of her favorite fall scents. She inhaled and held the spell up to read.

  “Blessed Mother, hear my plea. Send your power to help me. Repair the lock that has gone wrong. Make it whole. Make it strong. Move it back to its former state. Do it now before it’s too late.”

  She waited until the ginger, cinnamon, and paper finished burning before she said the final words. “I ask for this, so mote it be.”

  As she said the last word, something akin to a sonic vibration sent her stumbling, and she grabbed the stone wall to steady herself.