A Drop of Witch (A Cozy Mystery Book): Sweetland Witch Page 2

  “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.

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  T he 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.

  “Hang on,” Damon said, pulling me back. “I haven’t given you your gift yet.”

  He reached into his sports coat and pulled out a small package about the size of a paperback.

  “Have you been hiding that in there all evening?” I asked.

  Damon pushed a curl of dark hair out of his eyes, which looked even bluer than normal amidst the Christmas colors the bakery had been decorated in.

  “Yes.” He smiled and handed me the box.

  I ripped the paper open. “Oh, my roses! I can’t believe you found this!” I threw my arms around Damon’s neck as I gripped the small book tightly in my hand. He hugged me back, kissing my lips lightly as I grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  “Sara Sweetland and Patrick Mistmoor: History in the Making,” I read. “I thought this was out of print. Even the library didn’t have it. Where in the world did you find it?”

  His blue eyes gleamed playfully. “EBay.”

  My laughter was interrupted by a very loud woman who was standing a few feet behind me. I turned to see that Paisley Mudget, a round, short woman with a bad sense of humor, was now taking her turn with Mayor Singer.

  “As for your New Year’s party, Mayor Singer,” Paisley said, wagging a finger in his face. “Start spreading the news... no one’s showing up that day...” She laughed at what she thought was a clever joke. No one else laughed with her.

  Her twin sister, Lottie, cringed.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Paisley said, shooting Mayor Thomas a look. “Sweetland thinks you’re sweeter than our own mayor. Isn’t that so, Mayor Thomas?”

  Mayor Thomas smiled politely and turned away. Paisley had that effect on people. A long-standing member of the Witch’s Council, Paisley was not nearly as well liked as Lottie, who liked to gossip as much as the next p
erson but drew the line at laughing at them.

  Paisley and Margaret Binford had been great friends before Margaret had resigned as head of the Witch’s Council and moved to Mistmoor. It had been less than a week since Margaret’s departure and already Sweetland Cove was better for it. If only Paisley would do the same.

  “King Zulubar!” Paisley shouted.

  Lottie tugged on her sister’s arm. It was one thing irritating her neighbors and friends; it was another to irritate the goblin king.

  “King Zulubar,” Paisley shouted again. “Please, allow me the honor of shaking your hand.”

  She bowed to him and he bowed back, then he rose and walked toward her with his hand outstretched. When he took Paisley’s hand, there was a loud static sound, like an electric lightning bolt. Zulubar’s whole body shook. When it stopped, there was smoke rising from his hair. Paisley revealed an electric buzzer she’d hidden in her hand.

  King Zulubar looked perplexed. He stared at the buzzer while Paisley’s guffaws drew embarrassed looks from everyone at the party. Gratefully, King Zulubar didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s a tool of honor,” Paisley told the goblin king. “Used only when shaking hands with the strongest of men.” She smiled widely and held her hand out for him again.

  “I thank you for the compliment,” Zulubar said, taking her hand once more. This time, he held onto her hand even longer, probably thinking the longer he did, the more honor it bestowed on him.

  When Paisley finally released him, he bowed his short, mud-colored body until the tip of his nose was touching the floor. Several party guests looked on anxiously. It was rare for goblins to join witches at a party, but after the recent dealings we’d shared regarding a draugr who’d gone on a killing spree, Eleanor and Trixie had agreed it was only right to invite them.

  “Goblins aren’t very bright, are they?” Damon asked.

  “They’re bright enough,” I said, bristling at his comment. “Sheriff Knoxx is certainly intelligent.”

  Damon said nothing, which irritated me that much more. He had a habit of forgetting that Sheriff Knoxx was part goblin. I tried to let it go. After all, it was Christmas.

  Lucy caught my eye. My best friend had wound her way around the room and was now chatting with Felicity Redfern and Sheriff Lincoln Maxwell, the only other people here from Mistmoor Point. She raised an eyebrow when King Zulubar bowed and shrugged as if to say, “As long as he’s happy.”

  “Hey,” I said, turning back to Damon. He was holding my hand again and the warmth of his body had suddenly reminded me of something important. “I haven’t given you your present yet.”

  He smiled at me.

  “I was wondering when you’d get to that. Lay it on me.”

  He held out his hands, grinning like a kid.

  “Close your eyes.”

  He closed them.

  I reached into my purse, withdrew a slip of paper, and laid it gently in his hands.

  He opened his eyes and scrunched his brow. He picked the paper up and looked at the date and time on it. It was for four days from today, just before New Year’s.

  “Um, thanks. What is it?”

  I couldn’t contain my smile. “It’s your mom.”

  Damon’s own smile faded.

  “What?”

  “She’s coming to visit.” I threw my arms around him, laughing at his shocked expression. “Merry Christmas!”

  He took my hands and unwrapped them from around his neck. “Ava, what are you talking about? I haven’t seen my mom in over a year, not since I moved back to Heavenly Haven.”

  “I know. That’s why I thought this would be such a great surprise.” But Damon’s expression didn’t match my own.

  “There’s so many witches on this island,” Damon said, his eyes scanning the room. The way he said “witches” was like he had a mouthful of poison.

  I suddenly realized he wasn’t comfortable at this party. He’d been putting on an act for me. Damon and I had had so many ups and downs in our relationship it was getting impossible to see things clearly anymore. One minute we were a couple, the next we were too different to be together. Damon had finally come to grips with the fact I was a witch, but I still didn’t think he liked it.

  “You don’t like it? I thought you’d be thrilled to see your mom. You’re always saying how much you miss her. So I... I wrote to her asking her to come.”

  The color drained from Damon’s face. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  I held back the tears of disappointment raging behind my eyes. I’d been so sure he’d love it.

  The doors to the bakery opened just then and a rush of warm wind fell across the room. I turned my head, feigning curiosity, but really I just didn’t want Damon to see my eyes watering. When I saw who was at the door, I forgot about everything that had just happened.

  Detective Colt Hudson scanned the room. His six-foot-four body filled the doorframe. He was impeccably dressed, and his light colored hair was tousled from the wind. His eyes stopped on me.

  “Oh, my roses,” I said. The last time I’d seen Detective Hudson, he’d tried to arrest me. I’d never quite forgiven him for that.

  Damon stood protectively in front of me as Detective Hudson made a beeline for us.

  “Ms. Fortune,” he said, nodding. “Is there somewhere we might talk?”

  Eleanor and Trixie were at my side in seconds.

  “Our niece has nothing to say to you,” Trixie said, taking up my defense. My aunts and Damon formed a wall between me and Detective Hudson. He peered easily over them, narrowing his eyes at me. Each time he tried to get around, they moved to block him.

  “I don’t have time for games,” Detective Hudson snapped.

  “Whatever you feel you have to say, you can say in front of all of us,” Eleanor said.

  “That’s right,” I told him.

  Detective Hudson let out a long breath. “Fine. Polly Peacock has escaped from Wormwood, and the Council on Magic and Human Affairs has reason to believe that she’s on her way to Sweetland Cove.”

  The wall in front of me gave way with this new information, and I stepped forward.

  “Why would she be coming here?” I asked.

  Detective Hudson cocked his head to one side, looking as if I had just asked an obvious question.

  “To kill you,” he said. “Now, can we talk?”

  * * *

  CHAPTER

  TWO

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  M y knees buckled under me as Eleanor and Trixie gently pushed people out of The Mystic Cupcake. My father slipped a chair under me before I fell.

  “Move along now,” shouted Eleanor. “Time to go. Merry Christmas, everyone.” She tried to keep things light but the room had already taken on the undertones of gloom.

  I caught every look the guests gave me before they left. Half the party felt bad for me. The other half were scared of me. They still equated me with the deaths that had happened last summer, when all the humans had died. Even though it was Polly and Slater behind the murders, I had a big scarlet “A” attached to my forehead. Thanks mostly to Detective Colt Hudson, who seemed to have forgotten all about that now.

  “Ms. Fortune?” Detective Hudson asked.

  He was looking at me with concern, which made me want to giggle with the ridiculousness of it all. The last time I’d seen him, he’d wanted nothing more than to lock me up. My father, too. Now he’d come to protect me. How was I supposed to trust anything he said?

  The chair I sat in wasn’t comfortable, but at least my knees weren’t buckling anymore. I tried to look Detective Hudson in the eyes but each time I did, I wanted to smack him. I thought it best to look at the floor.

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asked, putting what he thought was a comforting hand on my shoulder. It gave me goose pimples. I tried to remember if his eyes were always so gray or if the shock of Polly’s
escape had somehow tainted my perception of things.

  He spoke to me as if I was a small child from a foreign land, drawing out every syllable and overemphasizing every word. “Poollyyy Peeeacooock escaaaped from Wooormwooood. We beeelieeeve she is coming heeere. Toniiiight. To get yoooou.”

  Damon shot him a look and shoved his hand off my shoulder.

  “Is that seriously how you talk to people? You’re scaring her half to death. Ava are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I told them both, standing up.

  Eleanor and Trixie had finally managed to get everyone out and had returned to my side. My father frowned next to me, and Eleanor patted his shoulder.

  Sheriff Knoxx joined us a moment later. He’d followed the crowd outside to make sure no one decided to linger. The Sweetland Cove gossip mill was persistent, especially around the holidays.

  “Are you sure?” Damon asked. “I could get you something. Tea or coffee...”

  I gritted my teeth. I hated being treated like a child. “I said I’m fine.”

  Damon backed off and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Detective Hudson,” Sheriff Knoxx said, sucking in a breath and puffing out his chest. It was his “I’m in charge” stance. “Fill us in on what’s happening.”

  Detective Hudson nodded.

  “Polly Peacock escaped from Wormwood Work Camp.”

  “So you said,” my father, Eli, snapped. “When exactly did she escape?”

  Detective Hudson hesitated. “The night of Christmas Eve.”

  “Christmas Eve!” cried Eleanor. “But that was yesterday! We’re just finding out about this now?”

  “She’s without her powers and—”

  “And?” Aunt Trixie interrupted. “And you thought you would wait a full day before telling us?”

  “The warden at Wormwood thought it would be easy to recapture her. They did not alert the Council until a few hours ago. I was immediately dispatched.”