A Drop of Witch (Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths) (A Cozy Mystery Book) Read online

  A Drop of Witch

  Sweetland Witch Women Sleuths

  A Cozy Mystery Book

  ZOE ARDEN

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 ZOE ARDEN

  All Rights reserved.

  This book cover designed by melody simmons

  https://bookcoverscre8tive.com

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  . . . . . . .

  dedication

  . . . . . . .

  Dear Reader,

  I believe that books should be enjoyed by as many people as possible. YOU deserves a big THANK YOU.

  . . . . . . .

  Got something to share?

  I would want to hear from you!

  So please do get in touch with me:

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  . . . . . . .

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Preview of Next Book

  ORDER OF BOOKS LIST . Also By

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  Publisher Notes

  “Everyone, just calm down. Ms. Binford, if you have information regarding the whereabouts of Polly Peacock, then—”

  “Not her whereabouts,” Margaret said, her eyes gleaming. “Her escape. There’s more to it than just her desire to kill Ava.”

  Colt’s face darkened.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, watching him.

  “Polly doesn’t just want to kill you,” Margaret said.

  “All right, enough!” Colt barked, pushing me back toward the exit. “Anastasia’s right. We have no business being here.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, fighting him as he tried to force me back. “What’s she talking about?”

  “It’s irrelevant.”

  “Ava,” Margaret said, taking a step toward me as I struggled against Colt. “Polly wants her powers back.”

  “What are you talking about? She can’t get her powers back. That’s impossible.”

  Colt picked me up and swung me over his shoulder. He carried me outside as I beat against his back with my fists.

  “What is the matter with you?” I screamed. “Put me down!” I grabbed his ear and pulled hard.

  “Ow!” he yelled and dropped me on my feet.

  “What are you trying to hide from me?” I demanded.

  “Ava, let me explain—”

  The back door creaked open as Margaret stepped out. “Perhaps he doesn’t want you to know the truth.”

  “What’s the truth?” I asked.

  “Polly wants her powers back, and she’ll do whatever she must to make that happen. Including sacrificing those around her.”

  “You don’t mean... like an actual sacrifice?” I asked.

  Margaret nodded. “Five people.”

  “Five!”

  “And you will be her last victim, Ava. And she doesn’t just plan to kill you.”

  I tried to gulp but my mouth was dry.

  “What does she plan to do?” I asked.

  “She wants your soul. And she’ll steal it by whatever means necessary.”

  * * *

  prologue

  * * *

  Polly Peacock stared through the bars of her window, watching the guard circle the building for the fiftieth time this hour. His feet trudged through the same path over and over again. Never veering. Never finding excitement. Just like her life at Wormwood Work Camp.

  She’d been here six months and had six more to go. It wasn’t a particularly long sentence. She’d convinced the inquisitors from the Council on Magic and Human Affairs that she’d been nothing but a pawn in Slater Winston’s scheme to rid the world of witches, rather than the instigator.

  “He used me!” she’d cried during the inquisition, sobbing into her hands.

  When she’d peeked out between her fingers, she’d seen sympathetic faces and known she’d won some friends. Empathy was a powerful tool. Which was why she’d been shocked when the final verdict came down.

  “One year in Wormwood Work Camp...” Dean Lampton, the head of the Council had read.

  She’d smiled, happy with the outcome. One year in a work camp? No problem. She was already rising from her chair to take her place with the guards. She’d learned from the other girls in her holding cell that Wormwood was a breeze. She’d be able to make her way through the daily routine without even batting an eye.

  But Dean hadn’t finished.

  “...and removal of powers.” Dean set the judgment papers down and looked Polly in the eye without apology.

  “Wait. What?” she had screeched. “Removal of powers? Why? For how long?”

  “Forever,” Dean said, as if it went without question.

  Polly’s heart had skipped several beats before resuming at an alarming rate. Ba-rump. Ba-rump. Ba-radadadadarump.

  “You can’t take my powers!” she’d cried, but Dean Lampton and the others were already moving on to the next case.

  Polly’s heart skipped again now as she looked at the moon and waited for the clock to change. It was the same upsetting rhythm her heart had made that fateful day. She had less than two weeks before the Wolf Moon would appear in the night sky. It wasn’t a lot of time, but it was enough. She’d be ready for it, no matter what. Especially now that she wasn’t alone.

  There was laughter in the distance. Polly squinted toward the twinkling Christmas lights the camp had been decorated with and watched as the guard looked longingly in the same direction. It was Christmas Eve, and they’d decided that even here, in this isolated place, there was still something worth celebrating.

  The inmates had been allowed to decorate their cells using paper snowflakes they’d made during arts and crafts hour. Tinsel had been strung from the ceiling. The warden had even taken to singing carols. Everything about the place screamed of Christmas—except the green grass and bars on every cell.

  Polly wondered what it was like for Slater at Swords and Bones right now. Did maximum security prisons have Christmas trees and tinsel? Probably not. If things went according to plan, he could tell her himself soon enough.

  Slater’s punishment had been worse than hers in some ways, easier in others. He’d received a life sentence for killing three people—two humans an
d one warlock. Plus, of course, the attempted murders of Sheriff Knoxx, Detective Colt Hudson, and that awful Ava Fortune. Just thinking of Ava’s pretty little face made Polly want to vomit. The goody two shoes had a way of bringing out the worst in her.

  Maybe she was just bitter. That’s what Polly’s mom said. Anastasia Peacock had told her repeatedly to let things go, but how was Polly supposed to do that when she was still in here? Without her powers? Slater had no powers to begin with since he was human, so the Council hadn’t been able to strip him of anything. Despite his life sentence, Polly thought he’d gotten the lighter punishment.

  She took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the guard. He’d stopped staring toward the party and started walking again. The clock struck midnight—prime witching hour. Polly started to move. She wished she could’ve made her move sooner, but her only ally in all of this had pointed out that without her powers, she needed every ounce of outside magic she could get. Witching hour would give her the extra boost she needed to make her escape.

  She slowly removed the stolen wand from under her mattress. It had been waiting for her in the laundry room, right where her ally had said it would be. She tapped the bars with it, terrified it wouldn’t work, but the bars opened easily and she breathed a sigh of relief. Good wands always worked, even for dim-witches.

  She shuddered as the thought ran through her head

  Dim-witch.

  Is that what I am now? She’d had powers once. Being stripped of them wasn’t the same as being born without them. Polly reflected on that as she made her way down the long, empty corridor. The proper name for her wasn’t really “dim-witch.” It was “criminal.”

  The door to the outside swung open. Polly looked around, checking for the guard, and ran. The fence to freedom was still several yards away.

  Polly’s first thought, when this escape plan was first hatched, had been to go to her mother’s after getting out. Her new friend had told her that would be a mistake.

  “They’ll be watching her.”

  Polly had nodded her agreement. Her mother’s home and shop were off the table.

  “I can go to you,” Polly had said.

  “Oh, no. You can’t do that,” her ally had chided.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not taking that risk. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

  Polly’s face had flushed. She had no idea why this person was helping her, and she didn’t really care. She wanted out and was grateful for the help, but this seemed like only half a plan.

  “You won’t have time for visiting old friends, even if you had any left. There is work to be done once you’re free.”

  “I know,” Polly had snapped.

  “Then go about your work and stay away from people. Sleep outside. Heavenly Haven is warm even during winter. You won’t freeze.”

  “Whatever you say,” Polly had muttered, gritting her teeth.

  Her ally had leaned so closely in that Polly could smell the onions from their lunchtime sandwich. “Do not cross me, or you will regret it.”

  Polly had nodded and forced her lips sealed.

  She jumped as the guard suddenly came around the corner now and dropped to the ground, certain she’d been seen. He walked right past her, texting on his cell phone and looking bored. She shook her head and suppressed a laugh. When they found out she was gone, he’d probably be fired.

  She stood up and resumed her trek to the fence. Just two more yards.

  “Hey!” a voice called.

  Polly turned and saw the guard staring at her with his mouth hanging open. Apparently, he’d decided to look somewhere other than his LED screen. She stared back at him, frozen. He took a step in her direction, and she sprinted toward the fence. He began chasing her. His whistle blared loudly. He muttered an incantation, and the whistle suddenly amplified a hundred times. It could be heard across the whole work camp.

  A horn blared.

  Spotlights began searching the ground.

  “Stop!” the guard yelled.

  Polly ran faster. She pointed the wand in the guard’s direction, attempting to cast a simple rope spell to tangle his feet.

  “Tanglio!” she cried, but nothing happened. The wand was dead in her hand.

  Warthogs!

  She’d been afraid that might happen. Wands were temperamental for those without powers. Sometimes they only had one good spell in them. Once that spell was cast, they were useless.

  “Stop!” the guard yelled again.

  The fence was just ahead. It stood eight feet high with spikes at the top. She could make out the glint of searchlights off its rusty metal. She could taste the freedom on her tongue.

  Polly closed her eyes and leaped into the air. Normal witches would never have been able to make the jump without magic, but Polly was one-eighth pixie. Her powers as a witch had been stripped, but the Council had forgotten to take into account the bit of pixie still residing deep inside her.

  She caught the top of the fence and grunted as the spikes dug into her palms, but she refused to let go. At least it wasn’t razor wire. She had no idea how she was supposed to get over the fence at Swords and Bones when the time came. They had razor wire a mile high, or so she’d heard.

  “Stop!” the guard yelled a third time. But she was already on the other side of the fence, and she had no intention of going back.

  * * *

  0 1

  * * *

  The CD started over. A version of “Jingle Bells,” in which the witches used magic to make their voices ring like actual bells every few words, echoed throughout The Mystic Cupcake. Some of the party guests were singing along. No one cared that they’d already heard the song twenty times in the last two hours. It was Christmas.

  People had spent the mornings with their families, unwrapping presents and eating pancakes, but now it was evening and time to party.

  Melbourne and Trixie stood near the punch bowl, talking and snacking on the cranberry spice happiness scones I had helped to prepare for tonight. Everything tonight had my special blend of happiness extract. It had taken me the last week to get it just right. A special blend of happiness, joy, and cheer, it was the perfect thing for tonight’s festivities. To the average person, happiness, joy, and cheer all sounded like the same thing, but a professional mood extractor knew the subtle differences.

  Trixie laughed out loud and touched Melbourne’s elbow as he told a joke. He blushed lightly and looked away, but not before laughing with her. I knew it was too soon after Pennyweather Kelso’s death for Melbourne to start looking for romance, but maybe one day...

  “All right, all right, everyone, listen up a minute.” Sheriff Knoxx’s loud, deep voice boomed across the room, which had been enlarged with a special enchantment for tonight’s party.

  I grabbed Damon’s hand and nuzzled my head against his shoulder. Sheriff Knoxx had a glass of punch in one hand and his other was wrapped tightly around Aunt Eleanor’s waist.

  “I just want to thank these fine ladies for throwing this party tonight.” He looked at Eleanor, who beamed back at him. “Eleanor Rose, you are not only the most beautiful woman in this room—no offense to the rest of the ladies—but the best cake expert on all of Heavenly Haven.”

  Eleanor’s whole face turned scarlet.

  “He must be drunk,” I whispered to Damon.

  Sheriff Knoxx didn’t normally speak so openly about his feelings.

  Sheriff Knoxx turned to Aunt Trixie next. “Trixie, your frostings are unmatched in every way.”

  Trixie smiled widely, another glass of punch making its way to her lips. I looked around for William Carney. He was notorious for spiking punch bowls at parties. That would explain Trixie’s goofy grin and Sheriff Knoxx’s speech.

  I saw William in a corner talking to Mayor Singer and his wife, Tazzie. He’d cornered them and appeared to be trying to sell them a set of steak knives. His giant mustache curled inward at the tips the longer William talked. Poor Mayor Singer.
He was one of only a few people here from Mistmoor Point. He’d been working hard to bridge the gap between our two sides of the island and the stupid age old rivalry that separated us, and he was being accosted for it.

  I searched the room for Sweetland Cove’s mayor, Quinn Thomas, thinking he could help. But Mayor Thomas was currently engrossed in conversation with Lucy and Megan Lockwood. Of course, he was. Mayor Thomas had a soft spot for pretty girls. Damon nudged me, drawing my attention back to Sheriff Knoxx, who was still talking.

  “And Ava, your mood extracts... well, they keep the party alive,” the sheriff continued.

  “He’s either drunk or the Christmas spirit has worked some magic over him,” Damon whispered to me.

  I suppressed a laugh.

  “Let’s all raise a glass to the ladies of the hour,” Sheriff Knoxx said.

  “Definitely drunk,” I said.

  Sheriff Knoxx passed Eleanor a glass of punch. She raised her hand and something shiny gleamed in the twinkling red and green lights. I squeezed Damon’s hand.

  “Oh, my roses. Is that...” I said, unable to believe my eyes. My jaw started to open.

  Damon closed it for me and followed my gaze. His eyes popped open when he saw what I was looking at.

  “Sheriff Knoxx proposed?” Damon asked me, clearly shocked.

  “I guess so.” Unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, Eleanor’s ring finger now carried a tiny heart-shaped diamond set into a white gold band. “It must’ve just happened. Aunt Eleanor hasn’t said a thing to me.”

  “Why don’t they announce it?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she wants to tell us herself first.”

  I looked around for my dad. Maybe she’d said something to him. He was making his way toward Mayor Singer and Tazzie, apparently spotting their need to be saved from William Carney’s sales pitch. When had William started selling cutlery, anyway? Water bottles down at the beach, sure. Ice cream, yes. But knives?

  Then again, William had always been a free spirit. He knew everything about this town and would sell anything to help aid his adventurous lifestyle. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out the knives had been dipped in the Fountain of Youth or once belonged to leprechauns. I started toward my father.