by Emery Belle
Toil & Trouble
A Magic Island Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Emery Belle
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Afterword
About the Author
TOIL & TROUBLE
A Magic Island Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Book 5
By Emery Belle
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© Copyright 2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
My shoes squeaked conspicuously against the pristine white marble floor as I slid into the bench at the very back of the room, settling in beside a fairy tapping her foot in annoyance and looking bored as she picked at a stray silver feather on one of her shimmering wings. The long rows of benches, which were groaning and creaking under the weight of the dozens of magical creatures waiting impatiently for their turn to address the High Court, hadn’t been there the last time I’d found myself in the all-white circular room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, marble dais, and stark lighting.
But that had been for a disciplinary hearing regarding the illegal use of my training wand—today, the court was hosting its monthly town forum, where any islander could bring their grievances to the High Court justices, the group of men and women sitting on the dais in plush high-backed chairs and looking down imperiously at the brownie now standing before them, his knees visibly quaking.
“And in conclusion, my lords and ladies,” the brownie squeaked, his brittle voice like nails on a chalkboard, “I speak for the entire brownie community when I ask that you require the Magic Island ferry to build a special seating area for our kind so that we can avoid another squashing.” He produced a raggedy tissue from the pocket of his overalls and dabbed at his eyes before bowing his head. “Barney never saw that yeti coming.”
Lady Amabelle, the court’s second-in-command, leaned forward in her chair, her eyes round with sympathy. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your friend. We have spoken to the yeti in question, and he confirms that he simply did not realize that Barney was there before he sat down—as you can imagine, he, too, is quite traumatized by the incident. It is my understanding that he had to be taken to the hospital to have what was left of the brownie scraped from him, and the procedure was quite… invasive.” She shuddered, and the brownie addressing the court let out a fresh wail.
“Rest assured,” Lady Amabelle continued, pausing briefly to narrow her eyes at a werewolf snickering in the front row, “that we will require the ferry to not only construct a separate brownie seating area but to add a separate boarding entrance and exit as well to avoid any accidental tramplings. It is only by the grace of the goddess that we have avoided more incidents of this nature to date.”
She turned to the man seated beside her at the head of the dais and inclined her head, and he raised his gavel and banged it against the table. “Case closed.”
The brownie stammered his thanks, bowing so low that his long, leathery nose almost brushed against the floor, and scurried from the room. As the gold door separating the High Court’s chambers from the courthouse lobby banged shut behind him, I heard a horrible, booming squawking sound and a tremor of fear ran through me—that noise could only be coming from Millicent, the man-sized, man-eating parrot that guarded the courthouse. I’d been unfortunate enough to encounter her the day I arrived on the island, when I’d been forced to beg this very same court not to revoke my magical status over a discrepancy in the time my magic first appeared—a difference of mere seconds.
My stomach churned as I remembered that day and, more significantly, my first encounter with the man seated in the throne-like chair in the center of the dais, his silver-white hair gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows, his long fingers gripping his pewter and gold wand as he surveyed the chamber. Lord Macon, Chief Justice of the High Court. Otherwise known as my nemesis. And my grandfather.
That last thought sent my pulse skittering out of control, and I gripped the edge of the bench to control my breathing as the fairy beside me shot me a suspicious look. Only a few weeks had passed since Garnet’s mother had told me the truth about Lord Macon, about the mother I’d never known who was executed for the egregious sin of falling in love with a human man. I was the result of her decision to follow her heart, even though it led to her death, and that made me, in the eyes of the islanders, an abomination. A freak. A walking dead witch. For if anyone ever found out who I was—what I was—I would likely meet the same fate.
But someone did know. As he sat there on the dais, the crown of gold leaves perched on his head, the black-as-night robes threaded with starlight sweeping the ground at his feet, his face wore the same cool, calm, detached mask as always. The tic going on one side of his jaw gave him away, though. He’d seen me. And he was deliberately ignoring me.
I didn’t know what I would say to him when I finally confronted him, because I’d decided, in the sweaty fever dreams that kept me tossing and turning all night, that I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, to force him to admit to the truth, to confess that he’d had my mother—his own daughter—put to death moments after bringing me into this world. I hated him with a pure, stunning, breathless fire that consumed me day and night. He was the reason I had no family.
And yet. And yet.
He was the only family I had left.
Lady Amabelle consulted a roll of parchment in front of her and raised her eyes to the waiting islanders. “Reuben Berger? Please step to the front of the room.”
A tiny wizard hurried forward, stumbling on the hem of his robes in his haste to reach Lady Amabelle. She gave him a kind smile and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “What would you like to say before the High Court, Mr. Berger?”
Two spots of color appeared high on the wizard’s wrinkled cheeks as he pointed a shaking finger at a middle-aged witch sitting in the far corner of the room, glaring at him, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “I want that woman to pay for what she did to my pet dragon!” he demanded in a voice that carried across the chamber.
The witch let out a derisive snort as she jumped to her feet, opening her mouth to retort before Lady Amabelle cut her off with a withering look. “You’ll have your turn, Ms. Moggle.” She nodded to the wizard. “Go on now, Mr. Berger. What, precisely, did Ms. Moggle do to your pet dragon?”
The wizard turned and scowled at the witch, who mouthed a few choice words at him as he snapped his fingers. A popping sound preceded a young dragon the size of a black bear appearing before the dais, and the waiting islanders’ cries of alarm at the sight of the dragon immediately turned to snorts of laughter as he opened his mouth to emit a roar and bubbles poured out instead.
“Look what she did!” the wizard cried, stamping his foot on the ground as a bubble drifted over to Lord Macon and burst on the tip of his wand. “She’s emasculated him.”
&n
bsp; “That’s what you get for siccing him on my familiar!” the witch snapped back, and when she stomped toward the dais, I saw that she was cradling what looked like a bald rabbit in her arms. At the sight of the dragon, the rabbit began squirming wildly, trying to burrow itself down the front of her robes as the witch struggled to hold on to it. “That monster singed every inch of fur off her body. She hasn’t been able to help me gather herbs for my potions since!”
“That’s what she gets for eating my prize-winning petunias!” the wizard shouted. “You know what they say”—he gave Lady Amabelle an imploring look—“good dragons make good neighbors.”
“That’s fences, you half-brained nitwit!” The witch let the rabbit hop from her arms as she strode forward, whipping her wand out of her pocket and aiming it squarely at the dragon. The wizard made a grab for the wand and missed just as a jet of pink light shot from its tip, along with a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. When the smoke cleared, the courtroom erupted in peals of laughter once more as the dragon pawed frantically at the frilly pink baby’s bonnet now tied around his head.
“How’s that for emasculating?” the witch screeched as the wizard let out a howl of outrage and lunged for her neck.
“Order! Order!” Lady Amabelle cried, grabbing the gavel from Lord Macon and slamming it down, but the resulting boom that echoed around the chamber did little to stop the chaos.
She dropped the gavel and started toward them, rooting around in her pocket for her wand, but Lord Macon beat her to it, striding down from the dais, his dark robes streaming behind him. Wordlessly, he sliced one finger through the air, and the squabbling neighbors were torn apart by invisible hands and thrown to opposite sides of the room. The wizard whimpered as he climbed to his feet, looking shaken, but the witch merely sat there, staring daggers at Lord Macon, who met her gaze with his cold, steady eyes.
“You are making a mockery of this courtroom,” he said, his voice low, deadly. “Get out now, both of you, before I have you locked in the dungeons for wasting my time. And take that ridiculous beast with you.” His eyes flicked toward the dragon, who had managed to knock the bonnet askew and was batting at a few bubbles trickling out of his mouth.
As the wizard hurried forward, conjuring a steel collar and clamping it around the dragon’s neck before leading him out of the chamber as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, Lord Macon swept his gaze over the room, assessing everyone in it with silent intensity. “If anyone else plans to pull a stunt like that, I will personally string you up by the ankles in the town square and release the manticores from their mountain.” His nostrils flared with anger. “I hear they’ve been petitioning the court for fresh flesh.”
Two leprechauns jumped to their feet and hurried from the room, dragging a pot of fake gold behind them, followed by a zombie with a blood-smeared mouth and a hollow gaze. “He can’t do that,” the fairy beside me whispered haughtily, stretching her wings to their full length. “There are laws, you know. The International Association of Magical Beings would never allow one of its citizens to become a manticore’s next meal.” She narrowed her eyes in Lord Macon’s direction. “He’s obviously bluffing.”
Even though he couldn’t possibly have heard her, Lord Macon’s gaze snapped toward the fairy, and she cowered against the back of the bench, clutching her bag of glittery dust as if that would protect her from the wrath of the most powerful man on the island. He let his eyes linger on her for several threatening moments, and I could hear her breath quickening as the color drained from her face.
He finally turned away, and though I tried my best to catch his attention—to what end, I wasn’t entirely sure, because I certainly didn’t have a death wish—he strode back to the dais without looking my way. There, he conferred with his fellow High Court justices in a low voice, and though I heard what sounded like a few weak protests, he snapped back, “It is decided.”
Then he straightened and turned toward the islanders waiting for their turn before the court, and when I flicked my gaze to the dais, I saw Lady Amabelle looking positively furious. “The town forum is finished for the day,” he announced. When the assembled creatures began to protest, he sliced his hand through the air once more, and the room immediately fell silent. “I advise each one of you to think long and hard about the problems you are bringing to this courtroom before next month’s open chamber. I do not suffer fools. Now get out of my sight.”
I heard a few grumbles as the islanders filed toward the chamber door, but for the most part, they remained silent, no one daring to incur Lord Macon’s wrath. The fairy beside me accidentally whacked me in the face with her wings in her haste to flutter out of the room, but I remained rooted to the spot, my mind working at a rapid-fire pace as I watched Lord Macon gather his gavel and wand with an idle wave of his hand.
As he turned toward the door behind the dais that led to the justices’ private chambers, I stood and called out to him, my voice echoing around the nearly empty room. “Lord Macon! Wait. Please.”
His shoulders stiffened, and I saw him clutch the back of his chair for the briefest of moments before he recovered, swinging back around and fixing his icy stare on me. I swallowed hard but refused to look away.
“Is there something I can do for you, Miss Winters?” he asked, and I could practically hear him clenching his teeth from across the courtroom. Lady Amabelle glanced up from the conversation she was having with another justice and gave me a puzzled look, her eyes sliding from Lord Macon to me and back again.
“I was…” My voice faltered, and I paused to clear my throat before trying again. “I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you.”
The tic in his jaw started up again as he continued staring me down. “Miss Winters, you were in this courtroom a few moments ago, correct?”
I nodded. “Yes—”
“Then you clearly heard me say that the court will no longer be hearing any more requests today?”
“Yes, but—”
“But you thought the rules were beneath you, is that right?”
The courtroom was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Several of the justices were looking at me incredulously, as though trying to gauge just how stupid I really was. Well, they had no idea.
I squared my shoulders. I had no intentions of backing down. “No, I do not think that.”
Lord Macon’s lips curled in a cruel smile that sent shivers racing up and down my spine. “Then what matter, may I ask, are you arrogant enough to believe is so important that it puts you above every other man and woman who walked into this courtroom today?”
There was a very pregnant pause. Finally, I said, “I think you know.”
He froze, his eyes locked on mine, and in that moment, there was only us. There was only the truth stretching between us, messy and gut-wrenching and dangerous. Oh so dangerous.
Because if I was going down, I was bringing him with me.
All of the justices were now watching us with open interest, and when Lord Macon finally regained his composure, he slapped the trademark sneer back onto his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Winters. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than listen to the ramblings of an untrained witch who has no idea what constitutes a real problem.”
He snapped his head toward the other justices. “Let’s go. We have a meeting with the IAMB eastern division in less than an hour, and they’re insisting on sending flying carpets to transport us as a gesture of goodwill. Security wants us to test them out close to the ground first in case they pull another stunt like last year and try to buck us off over the Sahara.”
Then, ignoring me completely, he turned on his heel and swept from the room. The rest of the justices trailed behind him, looking mutinous as they disappeared through the door—all except Lady Amabelle, whose gaze was inscrutable as she studied me for several long moments before I broke the connection, bowing my head in defeat as I walked away.
Chapter 2
&nbs
p; “And then he brought me to the docks after dark, and we held hands while we watched the mermaids perform their ritual moon dance. You should have seen the water, Wren—it was so beautiful under the moonlight, and there was no sound other than the waves crashing against the shore and our hearts beating in perfect rhythm. Well, other than that drunken ogre party down on the sand, but I tried to ignore the smell of roasting ferrets; that always makes my stomach turn. But oh, goddess, when he kissed me, I swear, I forgot all about it.”
Garnet let out a dreamy sigh and twirled her fingers through the ends of her long auburn hair. “It was the most romantic night of my life. I think he may actually be the one, Wren, I really do.”
“That’s great,” I said, trying my best to sound enthusiastic as Garnet droned on and on about her magical date with Calvin, our familiar training instructor and her boyfriend of the past several months. She’d been walking around with her head in the clouds ever since their first date at the Sparrow Coven’s ball, and it took all of my willpower to keep myself from rolling my eyes every time he came up in conversation—which happened approximately two hundred times a day. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for my friend, but right now, when my own love life was in such a pathetic state, I wanted to throttle her every time she said his name.
And it seemed like I wasn’t the only one. I glanced over at Hunter, whose face was set in grim lines as he hunched over his mixology textbook, muttering darkly to himself and gripping his pencil so hard I could hear the wood snapping. The three of us were waiting for our lesson to start—after a long hiatus following the death of his lady love, Hattie, Glenn was finally ready to return to the academy and resume his role as our mixology instructor. I couldn’t wait to see him, and not just because Glenn’s return meant we no longer had to take double spellcasting lessons with Lady Winthrop.
