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

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. Maybe I’m just a little on edge, considering.”

  “Returning to the scene of the crime, eh?” He ambled toward me, his eyes filled with mistrust. “Enough to make anyone nervous. What’s the matter? Coven decided you weren’t worth protecting after all?”

  “Actually, they told me I could live here. And they want me to run the shop.” I silently wished Beau would hurry up.

  “Aha!” Detective Otto cried. He pointed a finger at my face, regarding me with suspicion. “Motive! We already have the opportunity. Now all we have to do is find the murder weapon, and you’re done for, Missy.”

  “I didn’t kill Morty,” I insisted.

  “Like I said before, I’m the law around here. I decide who’s guilty.”

  I started to snap back with a retort about the court system, but I wasn’t sure if Salem’s criminal justice system worked the same way as it did back home, so I thought better of it. No use making him dislike me even more. But since we were on the subject, I couldn’t refrain from prying a bit. “So you’ve determined it was a murder, then?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Oh, I understand the investigation is in your capable hands,” I lied. “But… you don’t think the murderer will come back, do you?” If the damsel in distress routine worked on Death Himself, maybe it would be equally effective on Detective Otto. “It’s my first night here, and I hardly know anyone. Should I be worried?”

  “Come on now, Miss.” Right on cue, the Detective softened, his shoulders relaxing as he propped one hand on his utility belt. Do you really think I’d leave a lady unguarded after a gruesome crime like this?”

  “You mean you’re going to stay?” Abort! Abort! An intimate evening with the not-so-friendly neighborhood moose shifter was so not where I pictured this interaction going.

  “If you want me too,” he said. He pointed to a tattered sofa near the fireplace. “Down here, of course. Keep it strictly professional.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you, Detective.” Please for the love of everything, go home. “But I think Professor Bacchus is on sentry duty tonight. Coven’s orders.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping the embellishment didn’t come back to bite me.

  “Ah. Well, then. You should be safe enough, I suppose.” He almost looked disappointed. I got the feeling the Salem Chief’s Department didn’t see much action. Might as well throw the poor guy a bone.

  “I’m happy to talk to you about Morty’s death again tomorrow, after we’ve both had some sleep. Maybe something else will come back to me by then? The Coven said I could meet you for an official interview at the Chief’s station? At your convenience, of course.”

  “Three o’clock,” he barked. “At the station.” He started to make his way to the door and gave me a nod. “You should lock this behind me.”

  “I will. Thank you.” The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairway, signaling that Beau was finally coming back down.

  Otto loosened his hold on his belt and cleared his throat. “We, uh… appreciate your full cooperation.” It was almost as if he wasn’t sure how to verbalize a simple concept like gratitude.

  “Absolutely, Detective. I’ll see you tomorrow. Three o’clock.”

  With a tip of his hat, Detective Otto excused himself, leaving me alone with Beau and Titus in the Little Shop of Horror. At least I wasn’t spending the night in jail.

  Finally, Beau reappeared, Titus hot on his heels.

  "The apartment is fine,” he said. “Musty, and probably not your style, but it will make a suitable sleeping space until we get it spruced up and redecorated to your liking. I turned on the lights and started a fire in the bedroom and living room to warm it up a bit.

  "That's so thoughtful. Thank you."

  "I'm going to stop by my house to pick up a few things and retrieve my familiar. Go on upstairs and get settled in. Lock up behind me. You'll be safe here until I get back. But if you need anything before I return, just send an owl.”

  “An owl?”

  “It’s how we send messages quickly around town.”

  “Like in Harry Potter?”

  “Harry who?”

  “Forget it.” I didn’t even want to think about a world without Hogwarts. “Where do I find an owl?”

  “It’s simple enough. You just ring a service bell. An owl will fly right over, pick up your message, and deliver it right away.

  “How will I know where to send it?”

  “Don’t worry. They know how to find anyone in town. It’s part of what makes them so efficient.” He paused, reconsidering his statement. “That’s not exactly true. The owls are efficient when they choose to work. It’s convincing them to actually make an effort that’s the problem. There’s been some pushback from the Union over the collective bargaining agreement with the town, and…” He trailed off, a slight smile of embarrassment flashing across his face. “My apologies. This isn’t the time for a deep dive into Salem politics. I’ll, um… I’ll just be going. I won’t be gone long.” He turned to leave, but I called out before he reached the door.

  "Wait!" I peeled his coat off and offered it to him. "You'll need this."

  "Thank you." He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that showcased his perfect white teeth and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. And may or may not have set a hundred butterflies alight in my stomach.

  I watched him glance over his shoulder to wave as he walked out the door, then closed it behind him and locked it. I leaned back against the heavy wood with a sigh, feeling every bit like a twitterpated heroine in a Disney movie.

  I allowed myself a few moments of lust-addled bliss before straightening to head upstairs. Just then, Titus jumped up on the checkout counter next to me, sending a stack of handwritten receipts flying in a flurry across the room. Startled, she vaulted off the edge of the counter to cower between my ankles.

  “Did you see that?” Her amber eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “It just came at me! A vicious attack!”

  “Jeez, Titus. Calm down. It’s just paper.” I scooped her up and stroked the back of her neck in an attempt to soothe her as I surveyed the mess of paper strewn all over the ground. “A whole lot of paper.” I yawned, exhaustion taking over. “Let’s get upstairs. We could both use some sleep. I’ll clean this up in the morning.”

  “If we live that long. This place is a death trap.”

  “Well, my feline friend, after all the weird stuff we’ve seen today, I’m afraid that statement might not be too far off base.”

  5

  As soon as I crossed the threshold into Mortimer's humble abode, I had regrets. The kind of regrets that made me want to run screaming into the night, begging Beau to take us to his house instead. But I had a feeling I didn't want to cross Mayor Davenport, or the Coven. If this was where they wanted me, this is where I would stay.

  I set Titus down on the wood floor. “Don't break anything,” I warned.

  Not that anyone would notice. The shop downstairs was cluttered, but Mortimer's apartment was a prime candidate for the season finale of Hoarders.

  Piles and piles of books, tattered volumes stacked from floor to ceiling, teetering precariously with every step I took. Mountains of paperwork, half-empty teacups, and dusty knick-knacks covered across every surface.

  The kitchen was small, yet functional. But that was as far as I could go in the way of compliments. The stove—which appeared to be a gas-powered vintage model sporting an avocado green finish—was scratched and worn. The counters were covered in glass canisters of all sizes, none of which were labeled, and the sink was piled high with dishes. A peek inside the matching refrigerator revealed a glass bottle full of milk, a wedge of cheese, and half an onion. Thank goodness Beau had taken me to eat. If the Detective hadn't declared Mortimer Montcrief's death a homicide, I would have assumed he starved to death.

  I crossed the room and made my way down a narrow hallway, opening doors along the way. A bedro
om with a wardrobe I didn't dare open, a full-sized iron bed made up neatly with a threadbare patchwork quilt, and a lopsided dresser, all cast in a golden glow from the second fire Beau had built. A closet stuffed to the brim with who knows what—I slammed the door shut just as the contents shifted and started to spill out. I'd deal with that tomorrow. A bathroom, complete with a cracked mirror over the sink and an enormous clawfoot tub that, under any other circumstances, I would love to sink into for hours on end. You know, if it weren't so grimy. I shuddered and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I grasped the cast-iron doorknob of the last remaining door and let out a long, slow breath. Every room had been worse than the one before it. There was no telling what nightmares awaited beyond this threshold.

  I twisted the knob and eased the door open, flinching as it let out a long, aching creak. Nope. I yanked the door closed and rushed back into the living room. No way was I walking into a spooky murder-house room by myself at midnight on Halloween. Whatever was behind that door could wait until Beau got back. Or better yet, until daylight.

  I wrapped myself in the beige quilt and moved into the kitchen, taking three clean teacups down from an open shelf before snagging a few of those glass canisters. I opened each one and gave them a sniff to confirm my assumptions about the contents. Lavender. Chamomile. Lemon balm. A perfect combination for a relaxing herbal tea.

  I grabbed the tarnished copper teakettle from the stove, flicked on the kitchen faucet, and filled the kettle with water before returning it to the stove. But that was where my domestic abilities ceased.

  I peered down at the range, searching for a place to switch on the burner. There were no knobs. I narrowed my eyes and took aim at the counter full of canisters, sliding them away from the wall in hopes of finding a light switch or some sort of mechanism for turning on the burner, but to no avail. I backed up, examining the front of the oven door and the range hood before crossing my arms and slumping against the kitchen island, baffled. What kind of stove had no controls?

  I stared at the tea kettle, eyeing as if I could will it to boil on cue. Just as I was pondering my options, I heard a soft knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

  "Gemma? It's me." Beau.

  "Come in!" I called. He opened the door slowly, easing in with his overnight bag before a massive, fluffy calico with giant white paws and tufted ears lumbered in behind him.

  "This," Beau said, "is Smallish."

  "Smallish?" I laughed. "There's nothing Smallish about this cat."

  "I know," he responded. He lowered his voice before continuing. "She's part Maine Coon and part... just big. But she's sensitive about her weight."

  Smallish narrowed her pale green eyes and let out a raspy meow.

  "Well, hey there," I said. I squatted down to greet Beau's familiar. The cat made a beeline for me, rubbing her broad face over my calves, and then trotted over to the fireplace, her ample belly swinging as she jogged. She eyed Titus with curiosity, then flopped down on the rug beside her. Titus opened one eye, peering at her, then went back to sleep without a word.

  “Well, that was suspiciously easy,” I said.

  Beau set his bag down near the loveseat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hope I didn’t get your hopes up with my glowing review of the place.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t find a hotel?”

  “It’s… quaint.” He dropped down onto the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He jumped up, coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “And dusty.”

  “Oh, for… That’s disgusting. You can’t sleep there.” I braced my hands against his back, gently pushing him into the bedroom as he continued coughing. “Look,” I said, gesturing to the bed. “By some small miracle, this is the only clean spot in the entire place. It’s big enough for both of us.”

  His coughing fit finally over, Beau wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Gemma. We can’t sleep in the bed together.”

  “I trust you to be a gentleman.” But I’m still hoping maybe you’ll be just a teeny bit ungentlemanly.

  “It’s not that, it’s…” He raked a hand through that gorgeous head of hair and blew out a breath. “You’re pretty.”

  “You can’t sleep in the bed with me because I’m pretty?” Normally I’d be swooning at the compliment, but I had a feeling this line of conversation wasn’t leading to a whirlwind romance. “You are very, very, very pretty. And clever. And interesting,” he continued.

  “You just said very three times in a row. Surely, an educated guy like you can come up with a better adjective?”

  “But that’s not the point.” He drew his mouth into a hard line. Apparently, Beau didn’t like having his vocabulary called into question, even by a very, very, very pretty woman. “The point is that it doesn’t matter how pretty or clever or interesting you are. You’re my student, first and foremost. It’s my job to teach you, not sleep with you.”

  “Easy, now. No one said anything about sleeping together.”

  “You know what I meant.” He leveled his dark gaze at me, making my knees go weak in an instant.

  “I’m not your student, yet. Our lessons don’t officially start until tomorrow. And as much as I’d like to continue arguing semantics with you, I’m really tired. And really creeped out by this whole situation. And I’d really, really like it if you stayed in here with me tonight. Nothing scandalous. Just sleep.”

  He stared at me, considering my proposal, then finally nodded. “It’s probably best we don’t mention this to anyone. I wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  And I meant it. Not just because they might think Beau was taking advantage of a student, which, in my mind, still seemed like a ridiculous concern given the fact that I was in my thirties and more than capable of making my own decisions about my dating life. But also because I didn’t particularly want to be seen as the easy new girl in town. Cut me some slack. Embracing the whole idea of feminine and sexual agency isn’t as simple as it sounds.

  Beau pulled the covers back, and I yanked off my boots before sliding in, fully clothed, and snuggling under the threadbare blankets. He drew his wand and tapped it against the wall, whispering, “Tenebris,” and the room went dark. But even in the shadows, I could see his lean, muscled form outlined by firelight as he removed his shoes and pulled his sweater over his head, then stripped his undershirt and belt off. I held my breath as he paused, his fingers playing at the button of his jeans for a moment before he changed his mind and decided not to take them off. He slipped, bare-chested, into bed beside me, and laid on his back, drawing the blankets up to his chin.

  We were both frozen, silent, in the near-pitch blackness with only the occasional flicker of dying flames illuminating the room. My heart raced in my chest, and I was too nervous to breathe.

  It wasn’t like Beau was the first man I’d ever seen half-undressed before. Or even fully undressed. But it was almost as if his presence alone had an undeniable effect on every system in my body. What in the world was coming over me?

  I shivered, finally giving into the chill in the room.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “Freezing,” I answered.

  “Me too.”

  We were quiet a moment more, and I almost thought he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, Beau blurted out, “This is ridiculous.” He rolled onto his side and wrapped a strong arm around me, pulling me flush against his chest. I eased back, allowing our legs to intertwine as he spooned me and snuggled his chin against my shoulder.

  “Not a word to anyone,” he reminded me.

  “My lips are sealed.”

  Beau let out a long sigh, and I felt my breathing fall into sync with his as his warmth radiated through my body and lulled me into deep relaxation, and then, finally, sleep.

  6

  When I woke up the next morning, I wasn’t sure where I was. But as my bleary eyes widened and the room came into focus, th
e unbelievable events of the night before came rushing back to me.

  I stretched my arms over my head and snuggled closer to the center of the bed, expecting to feel Beau’s warmth at my back. What I got instead was a black ball of fluff who was quite displeased by my selfish disruption of her sleep.

  Beau was gone.

  “Hey! Stay on your own side. Some of us are trying to sleep here,” Titus complained.

  “Says the cat who thinks my face is an appropriate napping spot.”

  “It’s the only way I can muffle the sounds of you snoring,” she said.

  “I do not snore!”

  “How would you know?” She opened one eye and peered at me. “It happens while you’re asleep.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but the feline made a good point. “I might have liked you better when I couldn’t hear you talking.” I flung the blankets back and sat up, swiveling to plant my bare feet on the cold wood floor.

  “Five more minutes.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I padded into the bathroom and stripped down, nearly recoiling when stepped into the bathtub. My brain must have consciously blocked out the filth I discovered last night. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and turned the faucet, bracing for an onslaught of ice-cold water to rain down on my head.

  But nothing happened.

  I opened my eyes and squinted up at the showerhead for a moment before growling in frustration. I stomped over the edge of the tub, barely avoiding a violent collision with the ground, and snatched up my clothes. I pulled on my yoga pants, yanked my sweater over my head and shoved my feet back into my boots. I wadded my wilted socks and yesterday’s panties, shoving them into an empty basket on a shelf. At least I could grant myself the one small dignity of not traipsing around my new town in dirty underthings.

  I wound my wild mess of waves into a loose top knot on the way to the kitchen, where Titus was waiting expectantly.