Basic Witch_Witches of Salem Read online

  Basic Witch

  Witches of Salem: Gemma Bradbury Magical Cozy Mystery Book 1

  Harmony Hart

  Eventual Mayhem Media LLC

  Copyright © 2018 Harmony Hart.

  All rights reserved. Eventual Mayhem and Harmony Hart reserve all rights to Gemma Bradbury Book 1, the Gemma Bradbury Series and the Witches of Salem World. This work may not be shared or reproduced in any fashion without permission of the publisher and/or author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design © Eventual Mayhem

  Basic Witch (Gemma Bradbury 1) / Harmony Hart -- 1st ed.

  Contents

  A Note of Thanks

  Join The Witches of Salem

  I. Basic Witch

  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

  Hex & Candy

  II. A Taste of Salem

  Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits

  Alphita’s Honey and Sage Pear Jam

  About the Author

  Witches of Salem World

  A Note of Thanks

  It didn’t feel right to start our budding author-reader relationship off without offering a bit of gratitude. THANK YOU for taking a chance on a new series, a new pen name, and a new cozy mystery universe full of magic and adventure.

  The Witches of Salem World started off as a fun idea conceived over a bottle of wine (or three, but who’s counting?), but since then, it’s developed into so much more.

  This series, this world, and my interactions with fellow cozy authors and readers has reignited my passion for the craft of storytelling and world building in a way I never dreamed possible. I hope you love Gemma, Titus and the residents of Salem as much as I do.

  xoxo Harmony

  Join The Witches of Salem

  What kind of witch are you?

  Enter Salem's Inner Circle for info on new book releases, exclusive access to giveaways, reader events, author interviews, witchy self-care rituals, secret recipes and more!

  Join The Witches of Salem on Facebook

  Subscribe to The Witches of Salem Newsletter

  Dedication

  To Kevin, for your unwavering love and support, and for making sure the house doesn’t fall apart around us while I lose myself in these books.

  To ALAS—Claire, Julie, Jami, Amy and Alyssa— for keeping me sane and providing a safe space for my particular brand author crazy.

  And to Tammi and David, for the sprinting dates, the group experiments, the lessons & the late-night laughs.

  I

  Basic Witch

  Gemma Bradbury Book 1

  Craving an extra taste of Salem?

  Check out these recipes at the end of the book:

  Alphita’s Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits

  Alphita’s Honey and Sage Pear Jam

  1

  I wrapped the ritual knife in a swath of plush violet velvet and carefully passed it to the woman, handle first. Her grey eyes lit up with mischief as she weighed it in her palms before tucking it into her messenger bag.

  "It's perfect. Just the thing to amplify the energy in tonight's Samhain celebration," she said.

  "Don't forget to cleanse it." I slid a small bag of sea salt across the counter toward her with a wink. "Freshly infused with frankincense oil and sage smoke." I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I even added a bit of smoky quartz powder to give it an extra boost, just for you."

  "That's quite the mix!" She patted my arm. "You're a natural, dear. Just like your great-aunt Mavis. Are you sure you won't change your mind about joining us? We'd love to have you. You can never have too much feminine power."

  "Thanks for the invite, Marnie. Maybe some other time. The only thing on my agenda for the night is my annual pumpkin spice latte and a good old-fashioned Netflix binge."

  "You have an untapped power inside you, Gemma. I can sense it. You shouldn't waste it, especially not on the most sacred of days."

  "Understood." I smiled reassuringly as I rounded the checkout counter and guided her toward the front door. "It's just been such a hectic month, between Mavis’ passing, moving here and taking over the shop. I just don't have the energy to meet new people tonight."

  I didn't want to tell her the truth—that I wasn't even a Wiccan. Or that one month ago, I knew absolutely nothing about metaphysics. Hell, I didn't even know I had a great aunt. But when a lawyer showed up at my door to tell me I had inherited a magic shop in Salem, Oregon just as I was on the verge of quitting yet another thankless corporate job, it felt like fate opening the door to some great adventure.

  So I packed up my car (and my cat) and headed west out of Brooklyn in search of my true purpose. Or at the very least, something to occupy my time until the next great adventure came along.

  I fell in love with the quirky shop and the cozy apartment upstairs right away. In a strange way, it felt like home the minute I walked through the door. But actually managing a magic shop was another thing altogether. Turned out, customers who frequent shops like this usually expect you to have a working knowledge of pagan philosophy. Aside from Marnie's almost daily visits, business had slowed down to a trickle.

  I knew the only way to rebuild the customer base was to actually learn something—at least enough to not look like a complete newbie—so I spent my downtime speed-reading my way through every book in the shop's extensive collection. I'd finally reached a point where I felt comfortable answering basic questions, but no way was I going to embarrass myself in front of a group of actual Wiccans. That would ruin any and all chances of transforming this shop into a thriving business.

  "Yule, then?" Marnie asked. "You must join us for Yule."

  "Maybe." I held open the door for her. "I'll let you know."

  "Wonderful. Happy Samhain and blessed be!"

  "Blessed be to you too, Marnie." She stepped out into the cool October air and turned back to face me, narrowing her eyes as she nodded toward the back of the shop.

  "Oh, and Gemma? You should take that citrine pendant for yourself. It will help support your creativity. And it brings prosperity and abundance, you know." She tightened her coat around her torso and disappeared into the night.

  I pulled the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief as the lock clicked into place. A quick glance at my watch revealed I still had a couple of hours until the nearest Starbucks closed. Long enough to count the register and tidy up the shop before venturing out for my beloved Halloween PSL.

  As I made my way back to the register, my cat, Titus, appeared from the back room, weaving between my ankles with a persistent chorus of meows as I attempted to walk without stepping on her tail. I scooped her up, stroking the back of her neck as I walked. "Always underfoot," I chided her. "I'm clumsy enough without you creating a feline obstacles course at every step. You're going to kill us both one day."

  Meow.

  "Yeah, yeah." I deposited Titus on the counter, sm
oothing her inky black fur with one hand as I opened the register with the other. "You eat when I eat, remember?"

  Meow. She stared up at me, her big amber eyes flashing with anxiety as if I might never feed her again, then stepped into the cash drawer, butting her head against my fingers as I attempted to organize the day's cash.

  "Shhh. Just a minute. I'm trying to count."

  Meow. Meow. Meow.

  "Oh, fine!" I lifted her out of the drawer, shoved the cash back into the register and slammed it shut with my elbow. "We'll eat first. But then I need to finish up my work. No interruptions. Promise?"

  Meow.

  I rolled my eyes and opened the sliding door nestled between two bookcases, revealing a narrow set of stairs to my inherited apartment. As I turned to call Titus to go ahead of me—no way was I letting her trip me on those steps—a glint of golden light caught my eye.

  The citrine pendant.

  I caught the gold chain between my fingers, lifting it from the display stand to examine it more closely. When I dropped the crystal into my palm, I could have sworn I felt it radiating warmth. I thought of Marnie's words.

  Creativity. Prosperity. Abundance.

  It's not like I actually believed a chunk of rock could possess magical properties. Even so, it couldn't hurt. I draped the necklace around my neck and spun around to check out my reflection in the full-length mirror behind me.

  Oversized black tunic sweater, black Lululemon yoga pants, black sweater Uggs scrunched down over my calves, a bright pink circle scarf, and hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun. The epitome of a basic white girl. I frowned. Aside from the overabundance of black, I looked nothing like the women who frequented this shop. Maybe that was part of the problem. Did I need a new work uniform? I plucked my phone from my pocket, opened my browser, and typed "Stevie Nicks wardrobe" into the search bar.

  Meow.

  "One second. I just need to pin a few things to my Style board." I thumbed through the images of flowing broomstick skirts and shimmering scarves, saving every photo along the way. "If you want me to make enough money to keep buying you that expensive cat food, I need to look the part."

  Meow.

  "Okay, okay, fine." I turned back toward the doorway, still staring at my phone, and gestured absently toward the stairs.

  Meow!

  Titus leaped from the counter onto my shoulder, sinking her claws into my back as she clung on for dear life. I pitched forward with a yelp and fell into the bookcase, which proceeded to rotate backward as I grabbed onto a shelf with both hands in a failed attempt to steady myself.

  The bookcase spun around at a dizzying speed, opening into some sort of hidden room. I stumbled forward and released my grip on the shelf just as I felt my boot catch on something solid. I closed my eyes and put my arms in front of my face to brace my inevitable tumble to the ground.

  But I never actually hit the floor. I opened one eye to see what broke my fall.

  Only it wasn't a what. It was a who.

  I was sprawled across the slight belly of an old, bespectacled man, lying flat on his back, his icy blue eyes wide with shock.

  And he was absolutely, positively, definitely dead.

  I screamed bloody murder, scrambling off of his torso just as the bookcase slammed shut over the passage to my shop, and everything went black.

  I opened my eyes to see a round face peering down at me. "Oh, good! You're awake!" The man turned away from me. "She's awake, everyone!" He extended a broad, hairy hand, and I took it, allowing him to pull me up to a sitting position. Even with my butt planted firmly on the floor, he was only slightly taller than me. "Say, I don't think I've met you before. What's your name?"

  "Gemma." My voice came out as a pathetic squeak. I cleared my throat. "Gemma Bradbury."

  "Looks like you took quite a spill. Does anything feel broken?"

  "I think I'm okay." I wiggled my wrists and ankles. "I'm not exactly the graceful type." I looked past him to see a crowd of people filing into the room through an open door. My gaze fell on the old man—the freaking dead body—I had fallen on top of, and my mouth went bone dry. "Is he...?"

  “Dead? ’fraid so." He stroked his red beard. "I was just passing by when I heard you scream. Had to break the door in to get to ya, though. I sent an owl for the Chief. She should be here any minute."

  "An owl?" I must have hit my head when I fell. I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus.

  Suddenly, I remembered my cat. "Titus!" On cue, her furry form appeared in front of me, and she jumped into my lap. She stared up at me with those huge amber eyes and parted her mouth.

  “Oh, my Bast! I finally killed us, just like you said! What happened? Where are we?” She jerked her face toward the old man's body and back to me. “And who is that?”

  “I don't know!” Wait. Was my cat talking to me? I pressed my palms against my eyes. Was I dreaming?

  “You can hear me? Thank Bastet! Oh, this is the best news! All those years of talking to myself and now you can finally talk back! I have so much to tell you! I—”

  “Don't know what, Miss?" The bearded man looked at me like I had three heads.

  “Don’t know how I got here. Or what happened.” I pointed to the dead man lying beside me. “Or who that is. Maybe you can help me?”

  The sturdy man stroked his beard as he turned to look at the crowd. “Does anyone recognize this woman?” The members of the gathering crowd all shook their heads, a few of them narrowing their eyes suspiciously at me. The room grew even quieter.

  A man in some sort of law enforcement uniform pushed his way through the throng of people, ambling forward with his hand on his hip, holding what looked like a baton. “Just what do we have here?”

  The red-bearded man groaned. “Otto, I called for the Chief. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s Detective Otto to you, troll. The Chief is busy. There’s a dead body in Salem, and it’s my job to figure out what happened.”

  “I have a name you know,” the man—troll?—muttered, almost under his breath. He turned back to me. “Sorry about this, miss. If I’d known Detective Otto was going to show up, I’d have gotten you out of here before he arrived. He leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t know whose idea it was to give this yo-yo a badge and a baton, but he sure don’t make it easy to get things done around here.”

  “I heard that, troll.” Detective Otto stomped over and hovered over the dead man’s body, bending forward at the waist to peer at him. He removed his baton from its holster and used the end of it to poke the old man in the side. He stood up straight with a look of satisfaction on his face and announced to the crowd, “Yep! He’s dead alright. Old Mortimer Moncrief is dead.” A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and everyone began chattering at a low volume. The Detective wheeled on me. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything!” I winced at how shrill my voice sounded inside my head. First, I stumbled into some sort of weird secret room and literally trip over a dead body, and now I was being accused of murder? Let’s just say I was starting to panic a bit. “I don’t even know where I am. Or how I got here. Or who that is!” I pointed emphatically at the old man’s body just as I realized I was still sitting on the floor right next to him. “Ugh!” I let out an involuntary shudder, wrapped one arm around Titus and scrambled to my feet. “I mean, I’m obviously sorry he is dead, whoever he is. But I had nothing to do with it. He was like that when I got here.”

  Detective Otto frowned at me. “And what exactly are you doing here after closing time anyway?”

  “I live here!” I bit my lip as I realized that wasn’t exactly true. “What I mean is, I live in the magic shop on the other side of that bookcase.” I pointed to the shelf behind me. “One minute I was standing in my shop, and the next the bookcase was spinning, and I ended up in this room. This man was dead when I got here. If I killed him, why would I scream and draw attention to myself?”

  “She makes a good point, Ott
o,” the troll said.

  “You stay out of this, Troll. I’m the one with the badge here.”

  “For fang’s sake!” The troll stomped his boot on the ground, causing all of the trinkets in the shop to vibrate under the weight of his foot. “I AM NOT A TROLL!”

  Titus bristled and scrambled up to perch on my shoulder. Thankfully, she remembered to retract her claws this time.

  “I,” Not-A-Troll stood as tall as his height would allow him to and squared his shoulders, a look of pride settling in, “am a dwarf. And my name is Christopher, as if you need reminding.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Detective Otto rolled his eyes and gave Christopher a dismissive pat on the head. “Dwarf, troll. Same difference. He pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket, scribbled something on it, then tore the page off and handed it to Christopher. “Here, Troll. Make yourself useful. Send an owl for the coroner.”

  Christopher snatched the note from him and started toward the front door, pausing to look over his shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, Miss.” His eyes softened as he spoke. “I know you didn’t kill Morty. It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

  I managed a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s nice to know someone believes me.”