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

  “Gemma Bradbury, as I live and breathe.” He approached me with caution, taking every inch of me in with a scrutinous eye as he peeled back the lapel of Beau’s coat to check out my clothing. “Is this the same outfit you were wearing last night?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s all that was available to me this morning. And the coat is borrowed.”

  “Obviously.” He caught my topknot in his fist and looked into the mirror with me. “And what is this?”

  “I couldn’t figure out the shower. It’s the best I could manage.”

  “We’re going to pay Clarence a visit,” Destiny offered.

  “Oh, honey!” David cried, slapping his hands on both knees. “You do need help. But you’ve come to the right place. Destiny, you send an owl ahead to Legend’s and make sure they can fit her in as soon as we’re done here.”

  “You got it,” she said.

  He shuffled me over to a room filled floor-to-ceiling with gorgeous fabrics, and flew through the aisles, tapping particular bolts as he went. The fabric bolts glided across the room to land in a neat stack near a massive mirror. Satisfied he had gathered everything he needed, David came to a stop and beckoned me over to the mirror.

  “Now,” he said as he helped me out of Beau’s coat, “talk to me about your personal style.”

  “Um… it’s pretty much like this,” I said. “Leggings, slouchy sweaters, comfy boots.”

  He closed his eyes, giving a slow his head a slow shake, then fixed his gaze on me as he gripped my shoulders in both hands. “Gemma. While I applaud your sense of… comfort… there is a time and place for yoga pants, and a time and place to be a little more adventurous. Think of this as adventure time. I like to start with the shoes,” he said. He waved a wand, and a silver shoe box appeared in front of me. “Take a peek!”

  I tilted the lid open, revealing a pair of four-inch blush pink stilettos with hot pink soles. The shoes were stunning by any measure, but there was no way I was slipping those on for a walk through Salem. I slapped the lid shut and glared at David.

  “Are you insane? Have you even been outside? The cobblestone will destroy those in a millisecond. And you’ll find me lying on the ground with a broken ankle.”

  “But you’ll look fantastic,” he teased with a wink. When he caught my exasperated look, he smiled. “Never fear. There’s a reason people shop here. All of my shoes are graced with self-balancing heels and anti-fatigue insoles. You’ll never wobble, lose your footing, or experience pain in a pair of these babies. Guaranteed.”

  “Pain-free high heels?” I asked, eyeing him with suspicion. “That sounds too good to be true.”

  “Give them a try!” David urged. “You can always carry your—” he looked down at my cardigan Uggs with disdain, “—whatever those are… with you just in case.”

  “Hey! I love these boots.”

  “Like I said, Gemma. Time and place. Now try on the heels.”

  “Are all fairies this bossy?” I asked as I tugged off my boots.

  “Most of us, yes.”

  I slipped into the heels and felt my jaw go slack as they molded to my feet. I took a few steps and stared at David in awe. “This is like walking on a cloud!”

  “Ye of little faith,” he said. “Those are perfect. Now, for the outfit.” He stepped back, evaluating me with his chin in one hand, and snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Just be still. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  After a furious storm of wand waving, fabric flying, and dizzying design tweaks—all of which lasted no more than two minutes total—David spun me around to face the mirror. I had to admit it. I looked amazing.

  The black skinny pants and fitted blush pink scoop neck sweater did incredible things for my body, accentuating my minimal curves in all the best ways. David had topped off the look with a three-quarter length wool pea coat in a muted fuschia, and a pair of rose quartz stud earrings.

  “Perfect!” He exclaimed. “How do you feel?”

  “Astonished,” I said. “This entire outfit is unbelievably comfortable.”

  “Then my work here is done. Come along,” he said. “I’ll bag up a few more options, some pajamas, and whatnot—on the house, of course—along with yesterday’s clothes. Oh! And before I forget…”

  He handed me a cream leather cross-body satchel with gold hardware, the kind of handbag that would cost about three thousand dollars back in the human realm.

  “David, this is exquisite!”

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it? But it gets better. Stick your cat in there.”

  “What now?”

  “Do not stick your cat in there!” Titus protested.

  “It’s okay. Just slide her right in,” David urged. “It’s a familiar tote.”

  “This is made to carry cats?”

  “Or whatever. Anything small enough to get trampled on during a long day of exploration. Like this little creature here.”

  He had a point. And he was right about the shoes, after all.

  “Here goes!” I swept an arm under Titus’s belly and lifted her into the air.

  “I do not consent to this!” Titus yowled as I held open the satchel and lowered her in, feet first.

  “Humor me,” I said.

  “Hey!” She mewed happily and peeked her head out. “This isn’t half bad!”

  I frowned, hefting the bag with one hand.

  “But it doesn’t feel any heavier,” I said.

  “Almost as if it were magic!” David grinned. “It expands to give your familiar the exact amount of space and support it needs to feel comfortable and eliminate any strain on you. Even with the cat inside, it will feel light as a feather.”

  “David, I can’t thank you enough. This is mind-blowing. And the outfit…” I snuck another peek in the mirror. “I feel a like a million bucks.”

  “You’ll thank me again after you get a peek at Clarence Hakim,” he said.

  “Why is everyone so obsessed with Clarence?”

  “Face of a god. Built like a minotaur. Richest man in Salem. Oozes kindness and generosity. Oh, and did I mention single… and looking?”

  “I’m not really looking for—”

  “You’ll see,” David promised. “Just don’t ask any questions about the plantation workers. He’s a little sensitive about the whole situation.”

  “What situation?”

  “It’s kind of a long story. You’ll see.”

  9

  I bounced out of Fae Fashion feeling more stylish than I had in… ever. Despite her protests, Titus had curled up in a content little ball, falling fast asleep inside our new satchel before we even made it onto the sidewalk.

  “That outfit!” Destiny squealed.

  “Thanks! It feels good to be in clean clothes. Your brother has a great sense of style,” I told her.

  “He really does. It’s too bad Daddy doesn’t support his creative endeavors. But David somehow manages to balance the store and his political obligations. Being the only son of the Fairy King is a tough gig. I’m just glad I don’t have to bear that burden!” ” She giggled, but this time her laughter sounded forced. Time to change the subject.

  She took my packages, including Beau’s coat, and rang a bell just outside the shop door. A massive brown owl appeared, looking quite perturbed when he saw the number of bags she held up. “Montcrief’s Magic Shop,” she said firmly.

  The owl captured the bag handles in his beak and lifted off in the direction of my apartment.

  “I can’t believe he’s carrying all of those bags!” I said.

  “The owls are a lot stronger than they’d like you to believe. Don’t let them give you attitude about carrying your packages home. Ever. You let those birds slide one time…” Destiny trailed off, shaking her head.

  “So what do you do?” I asked. “Did you say something about art?”

  “Interior design,” she answered. “I own my own studio, right near your shop. In fact, I’m one of your new tenants! Which reminds me, I should
probably introduce you to everyone. Stella and Kayleigh from Pixie Potions, and Wendell—he’s our resident wand and broom craftsman, and Clara from the bookstore, though you could probably live your whole life without meeting her and not be any worse off for it.”

  “Interior design? That’s interesting,” I said. “Did you ever have Mortimer Montcrief as a client?” I had to tread lightly here. If she said yes, I would know to keep my apartment decor woes to myself.

  “Ha! No,” she replied. Thank goddess. “Morty wouldn’t even let anyone but Mason into that apartment of his. But based on the general state of the shop, I can’t even imagine what a nightmare he would have been as a client.”

  “You have no idea,” I said. “Destiny, it was horrible.” I recounted my entire experience from the night before, conveniently leaving out the parts about a bare-chested Beau sleeping in the bed with me, and us spooning all night.

  “I would love to get my hands on that place,” she said. “Please, please, please let me redecorate for you. It’ll be so fun!”

  “Um, yes. Definitely,” I agreed. “As soon as possible.”

  “Brilliant. Ah! Here we are!” She halted under an elegant sign with the words Legend’s Salon, taking my hand to lead me through the glass doors and over to the reception desk, where a pale, slight young man was studiously examining his midnight blue fingernails.

  “Malachi, darling,” Destiny greeted him. “How are you?”

  “Surviving,” he said, his world-weary tone laced with a Kardashian-style vocal fry. He leaned forward in his chair to stage whisper, “Which is more than I can say for old Mortimer Montcrief, right? Dreadful news, just dreadful.” He scrutinized me for a moment before glancing back at Destiny without addressing me. “And who is this?”

  “This is Gemma Bradbury. She’s the one I mentioned in my note,” Destiny explained.

  “Ah, yes. Going to visit Clarence Hakim, are we?” He stood, pushing his chair back with a dramatic sigh, and beckoned me to follow him. I passed my satchel off to Destiny, knowing Titus would not take kindly to the sounds of running water or blow dryers, and crossed the room with Malachi. He stopped at a row of white and chrome salon chairs and pointed at the only empty one. “Sit!”

  “Legend!” He called. “The new witch is here.” Malachi cast a sidelong glance my way before adding, “You might need reinforcements.” He tapped me on the shoulder, whispering, “Good luck,” with an inflection that indicated he might not actually mean it, and sauntered back to the reception desk to continue the back-breaking work of inspecting his manicure.

  “Hellooooo,” a male’s voice sang out from behind me. “And what do we have here?” A pair of slender hands grasped my shoulders, spinning me around in my chair. I was surprised to see a tall, willowy man with beautifully coiffed black hair. Although he was standing upright, his lower half looked like that of… a horse?

  I cleared my throat. “Gemma.” I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his hooves. I pressed my lips together, struggling to form words.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he chided me. “Haven’t you ever seen a satyr before?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re from the human realm, aren’t you?” He bit off the words as if my origins were something to be ashamed of. “Is that where you learned that it was acceptable to do… this—” he motioned to my top knot “—to your hair?”

  I touched the top of my head self-consciously. “It’s just easy. And comfortable.”

  “Honey, it’s a disaster, that’s what it is.” He looped a finger under my hair elastic, sliding it out of my hair in one quick motion before tossing it on the counter. “We can do a quick blowout today, but you really should come back for an afternoon. We can address these split ends, do a deep condition, and maybe do something about these grays coming in.”

  “Hey! I do not have grays,” I argued. But Legend and I both knew I absolutely had gray hair. I just wasn’t prepared to admit it yet.

  “Yes, well…” He pursed his lips. “Blowout it is. This will only take a few minutes.” Legend swung a white cape over my shoulders, then snapped his fingers, and a pair of stylists appeared. First, a young male who hovered his palms over my head, drenching my hair with a fresh-scented liquid, then a small, rotund woman who, after framing my head with her hands, conjured up a tiny, isolated windstorm at the crown of my head, drawing it down in a slow journey to the ends. In a flash, my hair was dry. A quick glance in the mirror revealed it was also shiny, smooth and full of volume.

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “Nymphs,” a woman next to me said. “Water and air, to be exact. I understand they don’t have nymphs in the human world?”

  “No,” I answered. “Not that I know of, at least.”

  “I’m Clara. Proprietor of Cook’s Books.”

  “Oh,” I said. The tenant Destiny warned me about. “Aren’t you right next door to Montcrief’s?”

  The woman rotated in her chair to take me in. Her shoulder-length platinum hair was styled in careful finger waves, and bright blue eyes bored into me from behind a pair of black cat-eye frames. She smoothed the skirt of her crimson dress down over her lap before speaking again. “Yes,” she said. “My family’s bookstore has been there for generations.”

  “Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Gemma.”

  “I know who you are.” She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “I saw you with Beau Bacchus last night. He walked you home, and then he didn’t leave again until this morning.”

  I froze in my seat. Aside from the fact that her knowledge of our comings and goings was beyond creepy, I felt a duty to protect Beau’s reputation.

  “It’s not what you think,” I explained. “The Coven asked him to help me get settled in, and I was a little on edge last night. He offered to sleep on the couch so I would feel more comfortable. That’s all.” Not that I should have to explain that to you, Stalker Barbie.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Will he be staying with you long, then?”

  “Maybe? Until Detective Otto apprehends Morty’s murderer, I guess. He’s giving me witch lessons in the evening, so at least it’s convenient.”

  Clara’s nostrils flared. She continued to stare at me as a gorgeous stylist with silver hair tucked the last few curls into place. Finally, she opened her mouth again.

  “You should come by my store,” she said. “I can make some book recommendations.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I’ll probably drop by to see you later this week after I’ve had a chance to review Morty’s account ledgers and bring myself up to speed on all of his tenants. Sometime between reopening the store and soaking up whatever Beau has to offer me,” I said. Clara remained still, but I couldn’t help but notice her dainty knuckles turning white as she gripped the arm of her salon chair. So the thinly veiled comment about Beau was a cheap shot, but it felt good. Served her right for being so creepy.

  “All done!” Her stylist sang.

  Clara stood and shook out the skirt of her fitted A-line dress, flashing me a dirty look before plastering a fake smile on her face. “Afternoon, Jenna.”

  “Gemma,” I corrected her.

  “Hm.” She shrugged, tossing a half-hearted wave in my direction as she stomped off, her black high-heeled Mary Janes clicking across the salon floor with every step.

  Malachi guided me back to the reception area where Destiny was waiting for me. She stood, transferring the familiar tote—and Titus—back to me.

  “Sweet stars above, girl,” she said. “You look spectacular. But how on earth did you manage to sit next to Clara Cook for more than two minutes without strangling her?”

  “I was about ten seconds away,” I replied. “Is she always that… intense?”

  “Yes. Always,” Destiny confirmed.

  Malachi edged in, cupping a hand near his mouth as if it would somehow lower his stage whisper to a volume where the whole salon wouldn’t hea
r it. “Clara’s got a real bee in her bonnet over the rumor that Beau Bacchus is going to be spending so much time with Gemma,” he said.

  I cast an exasperated look at Destiny, who just shrugged. “It’s a small town. Gossip happens.”

  “Why does Clara even care?” I asked. “Are they dating or something?”

  “No,” Malachi said. “But not for her lack of trying. The woman is in here every single morning without fail, making sure her hair and makeup are situated just so for her staged run-ins with Beau.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Beau usually visits Montcrief’s a few times a week—during his lunch hour—to replenish his classroom supplies. Clara is so obsessed with him that she waits outside the bookstore every day on the off chance that she’ll ‘accidentally’ run into him when he stops by. And,” he leaned in, his whisper growing more dramatic and—dare I say—louder, “that whole 1950s librarian thing she’s got going on? Tsk, tsk. All started when Beau politely told her she looked nice one day. She immediately went to Fae Fashion and commissioned an entire wardrobe full of shoes and dresses in the exact same style. And now she has a standing daily appointment here at Legend’s to replicate the same makeup and hairstyle she was wearing on that fateful day when Beau Bacchus noticed her for five whole minutes.” Malachi shook his head, one finger making a circular motion near his ear.

  “Wow,” I said. “So she really is crazy.”

  “As a bedbug!” Malachi laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea how she’s able to afford her shopping and salon habit, what with the meager earnings a bookseller must make. But as long as the cash is rolling in to pay my salary, who am I to complain?”

  “Thanks, Malachi.” I fished into the velvet bag for a gold coin, which he eagerly accepted, dropping it into a chrome lockbox.

  “Should I—” He sauntered off, and I looked to Destiny, whispering, “Do I need change?”

  “If you did, you shouldn’t have checked out with Malachi,” she answered. “He doesn’t give change.”

  “How convenient for him.” I made a mental note to figure out exactly how much these gold coins were worth, and how much I should expect to pay for things here, so I didn’t get taken advantage of again.