Basic Witch: Witches of Salem (Gemma Bradbury Magical Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  He showed me twice more before asking, “Are you ready to try?”

  I nodded eagerly, brandishing my wand. With a flick of my wrist, I snapped it toward the fire and repeated Beau’s incantation. “Inmotus!”

  With a deafening whoosh, the flames exploded into the room like a deadly backdraft. Beau dove, taking me to the ground with him, and aimed his wand at the unexpected inferno. “Extinguo!”

  As suddenly as the flames came, they were gone. I panted, trying to catch my breath as Beau hovered over me, the weight of his body pressing against mine. He examined me quietly, concern painted across his face. Once he was satisfied that I wasn’t injured, he leaned back on his heels and helped me up.

  “Spell’s bells, Gemma! What was that?”

  “I—I don’t know!” I stuttered. I was too stunned to say much more.

  “I think that’s enough for one night,” he said. “Maybe we should get some rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I tucked my training wand back into its box. I wasn’t so sure I’d be ready for another mishap like that anytime soon.

  I downed my glass of wine in one gulp, then shuffled up the stairs, stopping to pet Titus and Smallish where they dozed by the fire. I pulled my new blush pink satin pajamas from my shopping bag with a half-hearted smile. At least I didn’t have to sleep in my clothes tonight.

  After changing into them, I slipped into bed without a word, waiting silently until I saw the lights go dark and felt the strength of Beau’s arms wrapped around me. I snuggled back against him, grateful that he recognized my need to be held, and even more grateful that he was allowing me to wallow without judgment.

  I settled into a pattern of slow breathing, replaying the unfortunate wand event over and over in my mind until I finally passed out from exhaustion.

  12

  After yet another an unsuccessful struggle with the shower, I changed into one of the new outfits selected by David— dark wash skinny jeans with a fitted v-neck sweater in a rich shade of teal, paired with caramel stiletto over-the-knee boots, a pair of gold and vivianite earrings with a matching pendant, and a form-fitting camel coat. Despite my annoyance at not being able to shower, I didn’t feel dirty. My hair still had a commercial-worthy gloss and bounce, and cascaded over my shoulders in soft curls. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever looked so good.

  Still, I needed to find someone to fix the inoperative plumbing in my apartment. And while I was thinking about it, show me how to work the stove.

  Smallish and Titus were still curled up in the same fireside spot we left them in last night, so I tiptoed across the apartment to head downstairs. I told Beau our familiars could stay here today. I had a lot to accomplish. My errands would be easier without Titus in tow, but I wasn’t quite comfortable leaving her alone here. I felt much safer with a more experienced Salem cat keeping an eye on her antics.

  I ducked behind the checkout counter and dragged out the weighty coin lockbox before wrestling it into my familiar tote. I lifted the satchel with ease, delighted to find it was as lightweight as ever. I wondered if David knew his gorgeous creations had so many practical applications, like hauling massive amounts of heavy coins to the bank.

  I swung the satchel over my shoulder and left to meet Destiny at Aurora’s Coffee Shop. Over cinnamon cappuccinos—good goddess were they delicious!—we discussed the continuing murder investigation.

  “I have to say, I agree with Detective Otto, which isn’t a phrase I’ve uttered often in my life,” she said. “I just can’t see Mason killing anyone, especially not Morty.”

  “Is he really as nice as everyone says he is?” I asked. “I mean, seriously. No one is that nice.” I brought my coffee cup to my lips, allowing the artfully prepared combination of coffee, cinnamon, honey, and milk to wash over me like a soothing balm.

  “Mason is,” she said with a shrug. “And Clarence.” I paused, setting my cup down at the mention the jinn’s name. “Aha! I knew you two would hit it off!” She pointed at me. “I can’t wait to tell David! Tell me everything!”

  “There’s not much to tell,” I said. “I mean, he’s—,” I sighed, unable to find the words to describe the jinn. “He’s everything everyone said he would be. And he seems so kind! Like, genuinely caring. Sensitive, even. But still so masculine. And not in that annoying, possessive, testosterone-overload kind of way.” I shook my head, hoping it would shake the sticky memory of Clarence’s lips brushing across my skin. “He did ask me to dinner, though. I told him I needed some time to think about it. And he was okay with that.”

  “Don’t spend too much time thinking,” Destiny said. “A hundred women are clamoring to get their pretty fingers on Clarence Hakim.”

  “I’m not too concerned. Clarence seems incredible, but I’m afraid Beau stole my heart the moment I met him,” I said.

  “You and every other single witch in town,” she said. “Just be careful with Beau. As beautiful as he is to look at, he’s notoriously noncommittal. Married to academia, with no room for romance in his life.”

  “He does seem really hung up on me being his student,” I said. “So, there may not be a future for us, anyway. Maybe I’m imagining Beau’s attraction to me. It’s entirely possible it’s all in my head. Men are generally territorial. They can usually pick up on another man’s interest in a woman, but Clarence wasn’t even phased when Beau showed up with lunch. Beau seemed a bit agitated to find him there, but Clarence just glossed right over it.”

  “That’s not surprising,” she said. “Clarence is a class act. When I think about how good he is to his plantation workers… Such a good guy.” She smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. “Which brings us back to Mason. You’re really convinced he’s the murderer?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “I haven’t even met the guy yet. But I know I didn’t do it, and I haven’t found any other suspects. When Beau repaired the front door lock, he confirmed the magical wards were still in place on the shop, so it’s unlikely someone was able to get in and out undetected. With no sign of forced entry, who else could it be?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “I just hate to think of Mason as a killer, you know?”

  “That seems to be the general consensus. But still… I have to stop by the Bank of Salem to make a deposit for Montcrief’s and open a personal account. I thought I could check out Mason’s alibi while I’m there. I just hope someone will be willing to talk to me about him.”

  Destiny looked thoughtful. “You know… there’s one person there who’d probably be happy to confirm Mason’s alibi,” she said. “I could ask Patrick. He and Mason go way back. If Mason is innocent, he’ll want to help clear him of suspicion.”

  “Are they close enough that he’d lie for Mason?”

  “In most cases, yes. But not in this one. Mortimer Montcrief was old money, one of the bank’s best customers. And there is nothing more important to a leprechaun than money. Drinking, fighting, and women come in a three-way tie for close second. If Mason had anything to do with Morty’s death, Patrick is duty-bound, as Taoiseach, to tell the truth. Even if that means hurting a friend in the process.”

  “Seems like leprechauns have an interesting moral code,” I said.

  “Girl, you don’t know the half of it. I’ll walk to the bank with you, just two friends handling their financial business. I’ll ask Patrick about Mason’s alibi while you make your deposit.”

  “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

  Her melodic laughter rang through the coffee shop. “Honey, I don’t offer to do things unless I actually want to do them,” she said. “Besides, hanging out with the new witch in town is more fun than I’ve had in ages.”

  “In that case, let’s go play detective.”

  The Bank of Salem was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even in movies. As we crossed into the lobby, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of it—much larger than it seemed just by looking at the building facade—but also by its opul
ence. The floors and walls were made of seamless white marble with sparkling gold veining, and aside from a massive stained glass skylight depicting a pot of gold sitting in tall, green grass at the end of a rainbow, the ceiling was covered in gold leaf. A long, gleaming gold teller desk staffed by several preoccupied leprechauns, each wearing a uniform of emerald green blazers and gold satin ties, sat at the far end of the lobby.

  Destiny nudged me and pointed at the tellers. “You’ll make the shop deposit there,” she said. “Once you’re finished, meet me at the base of the stairs. I’ll go find Patrick.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I crossed the room, my footsteps echoing through the massive lobby as I approached the desk. No one else was in line, so I chose the closest teller—a gangly older man with round wire-rimmed glasses and a cartoonish manner. “Hi, there,” I said. “I need to make a deposit into the business account for Montcrief’s Magic Shop.”

  “Place your deposit on the scale,” he said, motioning to a huge gold plate in front of him. I heaved the lockbox out of my tote and emptied the contents onto the scale, then tucked the now-hollow box back into the bag.

  As I did so, a magnificent rainbow appeared from overhead, beaming straight through the skylight onto the scale. The gold coins began to sparkle, turning translucent, then shimmering into nothingness as the rainbow vanished.

  “Um…” I cast a questioning look at the old man. “Where did that money just go?”

  “To Mortimer’s pot, of course.”

  “Pot? As in an actual pot of gold?”

  “Where else would it go?”

  “You keep the bank deposits in literal pots of gold,” I repeated.

  “Yes, at the end of the rainbow.” He pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose, peering at me with concern. “Is this your first time in a bank, Miss?”

  “Sorry. I’m new here.” “Ah, the new witch! That makes sense, then. All of our funds are stored in high-quality pots cast from the finest dwarf iron and guarded, collectively, at the end of the rainbow in the Fear Gorta Fields.” He motioned to the skylight above us.

  “And the Fear Gorta Fields are...?”

  “Special place, it is. Acres and acres of soft jade grass, that, when stepped on, make a person unnaturally hungry. So hungry, in fact, that anyone who tries to cross the fields without prior permission becomes ravenous. Most end up turning back in search of snacks,” he said. “But those unfortunate few who have attempted to brave the distance always end up dying of starvation before they reach the gold.” He passed me a receipt showing the amount of my deposit.

  “That’s… horrifying,” I said.

  Foolproof security, it is.” He beamed at me, clearly proud of the bank’s deadly foil to would-be robbers. If nothing else, I guess I could rest easy knowing the money kept here was safe.

  “Thanks, um…” I looked for a nametag.

  “Darby,” he answered. “Darby O’Dowd. Assistant bank manager.” He leaned forward to whisper. “Really, I do all the managerial duties and oversee all deposits. The majority of the work here falls on employees. The Taoiseach is a mere figurehead. Even if he does get all the credit.”

  “Sounds like most jobs I’ve had back in the human realm. And it’s very nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Gemma Bradbury. I’ll be taking over Morty’s shop, so I may have a few questions during the transition.”

  “Of course! Anything I can do to help,” he offered. “Morty was a dear friend. He’ll be sorely missed.”

  “That reminds me,” I began. “Did you happen to see Mason Montcrief in here yesterday evening, sometime before closing?”

  “Indeed, I did,” he said. “Mason was here for a few hours, in fact. He was looking into cosigning a small business loan for a friend.”

  “That’s nice of him.” “That’s our Mason! Always putting others first.” Darby pulled out a large gold notebook. “Ah, yes. Mason arrived at 1:18 pm, and was here until we closed at 7:00 pm.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate your help, Darby.”

  “My pleasure, Ms. Bradbury. I do hope to see you again soon!” He grinned, giving a little wave.

  I smiled back at him and crossed back toward the lobby entrance, where Destiny was waiting by the stairs.

  “Any luck?” She asked.

  “Darby confirmed Mason’s alibi,” I said. “Either everyone is right about Mason being the world’s nicest guy, or he’s the world’s most convincing sociopath. Either way, there’s no way he could have gotten to the shop, killed Morty, and left without anyone seeing him before I stumbled over the body.”

  “I’m glad you were able to get confirmation, at least. I’m still waiting on Patrick. He’s dealing with a situation.” She inclined her head toward an office on the other side of the staircase, where Patrick stood, stone-faced, as a near-hysterical Clara Cook ranted and raved. I couldn’t hear what she was saying through the glass windows, but it was obvious she was upset.

  “What’s going on there?” I asked.

  “Who knows? Probably overextended on her credit again,” Destiny said. “That’s an every month thing. Makes sense, considering what Malachi said about her frivolous spending habits. I’m surprised she’s able to keep her business going at all.”

  “Destiny? What was Morty like as a landlord?”

  “Strict, but fair. Lenient to a point. If you had a bad month or two, he’d usually find a way to make it work. In all my time in Salem, he never made a tenant leave. He had a soft spot for the old retailers like Wendell’s and Cook’s Books but was also open to new blood like me and David coming in to shake things up. Why do you ask?”

  I relayed my confusion over the mysterious ledger. “If Clara was overextended at the bank, it’s possible she wasn’t paying her bookstore rent, either.”

  “You know, I did hear whisperings from Patrick that Morty had asked Bennett about Salem’s eviction laws.”

  “So that could be a motive,” I said. We watched Clara screaming through the glass window, both cringing as she stabbed a pointed finger into Patrick’s chest. “I can’t believe Patrick is letting her behave that way.” When he didn’t react, she threw her hands up in the air, shouting as she paced around him in circles.

  “He finds it amusing,” she said. “The calmer he is, the more she rages. A bit of drama to break up an otherwise humdrum day. He’ll put a stop to it once he’s grown tired of her lunacy.”

  “But still no murder weapon, and that doesn’t explain how she would get into the shop. I can’t just go accusing her without proof.

  “She certainly seems to have a killer temper,” Destiny mused.

  If I could just get into her Cook’s Books without her knowing...”

  “I have an idea,” she whispered. “But we’re going to need Beau’s help.”

  13

  Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Beau asked. He frowned at me as I adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit lapel. It had taken me two days, and one successful immobilization spell, to convince him to ask her out on a date.

  “Because Clara Cook is obsessed with you, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep her away long enough for me to snoop around her place,” I said.

  “I don’t love the idea of you breaking and entering,” he pointed out.

  “It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key,” I said.

  “What happens if you get caught?”

  “I have a very plausible neighbor-and-landlord-appropriate story. I’ll just say I thought I heard a noise and went to check on Clara. When she didn’t answer the door—because she’s out on a date with you—I got worried and let myself in. It’s not too much of a stretch. And besides, if there’s any chance that Clara killed Morty, I’m willing to risk a few hours of questioning over a minor violation of her tenants’ rights.”

  “Send for me if you need help.”

  “Will do. The cats have promised to stand guard. Smallish will hang out near the end of the street, and call out to Titus if anyo
ne approaches. Titus will be posted up at the front door, close enough to relay any messages of danger. Besides, I have my wand!” I held up the plain wood dowel and wiggled my eyebrows.

  “Oh, gods, Emma. Please don’t use that while I’m gone.”

  “I thought you said I was getting the hang of it,” I argued.

  “You managed to immobilize a candle flame without burning the building down. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He grasped my hands in his as he gazed at me, his dark eyes shadowed with concern. “You’ll be careful?”

  “Of course,” I nodded as I pushed him out the front door of my shop. “It’ll be easy as pie.”

  Spoiler alert: it was not easy as pie.

  I waited for Beau and Clara to disappear into the darkness, watching through my living room window as I tamped down the stabbing pangs of jealousy that assailed me when she draped her arm through his. I knew the date wasn’t real, not for Beau at least. But I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of the fact that he was taking her out in public for dinner.

  Beau was still on edge, thinking someone might get the wrong idea about us if we were seen spending too much time together. Every meal we’d shared so far had been enjoyed behind closed doors here at the shop, or in my apartment.

  I did my best to disguise my annoyance every time he uttered the phrase “the wrong idea.” So we hadn’t kissed. Yet. But considering we spent every night cuddling while sharing the same bed, whatever conclusions people might draw about us if we went out to dinner together wouldn’t be too far off base.

  As soon as the coast was clear, I crept downstairs—as if walking like a normal person through my own apartment would somehow cause Clara to hear me and alert her to my plan—and, after sidling up to her door, let myself in.

  The bookstore was marvelous, with floor to ceiling shelving on every wall and shoulder-height bookcases lined up in neat rows, the selection illuminated by sconces mounted on the end of each shelf. The musky scent of old leather-bound books mingled with the fresh aroma of bergamot. In the center of the store was a cozy seating area with a couple of cushy sofas in much better condition than the ones at Morty’s, along with two wingback chairs arranged in front of a fireplace.