Lucky Charm (Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 4) Read online

  Lucky Charm

  A Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery, Book 4

  Annabel Chase

  Red Palm Press LLC

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also by Annabel Chase

  Lucky Charm

  A Spellbound Paranormal Cozy Mystery, Book 4

  By Annabel Chase

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  Copyright © 2017 Red Palm Press LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Alchemy

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  “You're going to wear that?" Gareth asked. It was impossible to miss the criticism in his tone, mainly because he made no effort to disguise it.

  I looked down at my tasteful blouse and trousers. "I'm attending a funeral, Gareth. What do you expect me to wear? The dress I wore to the Spellbound High School dance?”

  "Well, you might have more fun if you exposed a little flesh.”

  Argh. What was it with vampires and exposed flesh?

  I turned to face my vampire ghost roommate. "I am attending the funeral of a wizard I've never met. I hardly think fun should be at the top of my agenda." It was also my first official coven ceremony.

  “Aye. You’re right. I suppose it doesn't really matter what you wear anyway,” Gareth said. "Your grief cloak will cover it."

  I froze. "What’s a grief cloak?"

  He clucked his tongue. "Have they still not told you about proper attire? Academy standards really are slipping." The academy was the Arabella St. Simon Academy, where I attended remedial witchcraft classes. I was new to witchcraft—new to the town of Spellbound and all its paranormal ways—and the grief cloak was the latest on a long list of Important Things I Still Didn’t Know.

  "Should I send Sedgwick over to Begonia’s? Or maybe to Millie's?" I knew one of my classmates would have a spare cloak. They each had older siblings and, as a result, lots of hand-me-downs.

  "As long as you wear your black cloak, you'll be fine," Gareth said. "Most of the coven’s grief cloaks have symbolic embroidery of some kind. You'll see later."

  "I'm just glad it will be dark outside, so that I don't have to fly solo on my broom," I said. With my intense fear of heights, it was bad enough that I had to ride on a broomstick at all. The funeral, however, was to be held on Swan Lake at midnight. Part of the coven ritual. Although I had passed the first phase of broomstick training, I still wasn't permitted to ride past sunset. I needed to log more hours in the air first. Many more hours than I was willing to spend hundreds of feet above the ground with only a narrow piece of wood between my legs.

  "So whose broom are you riding on?" he asked. "And do they know what to expect?"

  I glared at him over my shoulder. "I took an extra dose of anti-anxiety potion after dinner. I have no intention of disgracing myself at a funeral."

  Gareth chuckled. "Knowing you, I'm sure you'll find a way."

  I pulled a black cloak from the back of my closet and swung it over my shoulders. "I hope it's not too chilly at the lake." The weather in town tended to stay on the mild side, despite its location near the Pocono Mountains—all thanks to the spell that contained the town and allowed creatures of the night to walk around in daylight without burning to a Kentucky Fried crisp.

  "I'm riding with Ginger," I said.

  "How did she draw the unlucky straw?" he asked.

  I went into the bathroom to brush my hair. "I am not an unlucky straw. Ginger volunteered. She told me so herself."

  Gareth stifled a laugh. “Are you certain? She has that beautiful red hair. I bet she prefers it without vomit."

  Magpie screeched, alerting us to Ginger's arrival before the wind chimes clanged. I shot a quizzical look at Gareth.

  "That's new," I said. “Magpie doesn't usually act like a watchdog.”

  Gareth shrugged. "Perhaps he's coming around to you."

  Doubtful. The only thing Magpie came around for was a can of tuna and to torment me with his soul-sucking face.

  I hustled downstairs to open the door for Ginger.

  "Aren’t you so excited?" she asked, as I opened the door. "Your first coven funeral."

  "It's my first funeral in Spellbound, actually," I said. Although I'd watched the funeral procession for Gareth, I hadn't attended. The long line of vampires in red cloaks had been far too intimidating. Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t met Gareth at that point. I had the distinct pleasure of making his acquaintance after he was the walking dead undead.

  "Is that your only cloak?" Ginger asked, frowning.

  Oh boy. "It is, but it’s black and it’ll be dark outside, right?"

  Ginger brightened. "You're right. It’ll be fine. We’ll have to put it on the list for later, though. You'll definitely need a grief cloak. Everyone in the coven has one.“

  "Told you so," Gareth called after me.

  I stuck out my tongue before following Ginger out the door. Her broomstick was in the driveway, propped up against my 1988 green Volvo, affectionately known as Sigmund.

  "You sure you’re ready to fly with me at night?" Ginger asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  The sky was black as we rode through the chilly night air with only the moon's light to guide us. Ginger made sure to position me in front of her, just in case my anti-anxiety potion failed me. The fey lanterns of Spellbound twinkled below. I tried my best to enjoy the moment, even though I was scared witless. My fingers ached from the tight grip I had on the broom handle. I was relieved when we arrived on the shores of Swan Lake. It looked so different from my first encounter. It had been daylight when I got lost in my car and ended up on the other side of the lake. The day my life was forever altered.

  Tonight the shore was dotted with black cloaks. I noticed the floating funeral pyre and quickly realized what kind of ritual this was going to be.

  "We’re going to burn him?" I asked.

  Ginger looked at me like I had two heads. "Of course. What did you expect?"

  So we were Vikings? "But Raisa was a witch and she was buried on the grounds of her cottage."

  "Raisa was never one to follow Spellbound traditions. Plus, she wasn’t one of us.”

  Technically, neither was I.

  Once everyone had arrived, Lady Weatherby took her place beside the float, which was currently anchored to shore. Her long cloak billowed in the breeze. The darkness and somber occasion managed to enhance her commanding presence.

  "We are gathered here to celebrate the life of Josef, a beloved wizard of Spellbound. He has walked through the doorway to the other side where our ancestor
s await him with open arms. May the spirits guide him and may he find everlasting peace."

  "The winds in the East rise for you, Josef," a group of witches cried.

  "The winds of the West will steer you to everlasting peace," another group cried.

  "Josef's son, Felix will do the honors." A middle-aged man stood beside Lady Weatherby, clutching a thick wooden stick. He extended it toward her and, with the flick of her fingers, flames sprouted from the wood. He walked over and the flames kissed the floating pyre. They began to lick the wood, slowly at first and then quite greedily. The anchor was removed and the wooden structure floated toward the middle of the lake. The fire burned hotter and brighter, cutting a striking image on the darkened body of water. Everyone on the shore joined hands and began to sing. Unsurprisingly, I didn't recognize the song. It was a haunting melody, sad yet strangely uplifting.

  As atmospheric as the whole ritual was, I was relieved when it was finally over. Funerals made me uneasy given my history. I'd attended my mother's when I was three and my father's when I was seven. My father's parents followed later.

  Dozens of broomsticks launched into the air at once and I was amazed that there were no accidents. Unlike me, the rest of the coven seemed to know what they were doing. We flew back to town, where everyone gathered for refreshments in the all-purpose room of the academy.

  "He looked good for a three-day wake," someone commented. Because the coven waited for the full moon to perform the ritual, the body was laid out for three days in Josef's house. I didn't attend the wake, but it seemed that everyone was relieved it wasn't a twenty-day wake. Those were apparently brutal. And smelly.

  I waited in line to offer my condolences to Felix. This was the hardest part for me, being confronted with someone else’s pain. It hit too close to home.

  “Emma Hart, isn’t it?” Felix said, shaking my hand. He was average height with a slim build and kind eyes.

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances.”

  “Death comes for all of us eventually, I’m afraid,” he said. “It was my father’s time and he knew it. He was well prepared and, oddly, that is a comfort.”

  “It’s not odd at all,” I said. Although I was still young when my grandmother died, her death didn’t come as a shock like the others. We’d had a little time to prepare and that somehow made her passing easier.

  “This is your first ritual, I hear,” Felix said. “I’m sorry to make it a funeral.”

  “No, it was amazing,” I said. “Very moving.”

  “Speaking of moving,” a voice said behind me. “Let’s get on with it.”

  I looked behind me to see Jemima, a young witch with a sour attitude. I’d tried to befriend her, but her personality didn’t make it easy.

  “It was good to meet you, Felix,” I said.

  “Same here.”

  I found Ginger standing next to the refreshment table, chatting with her sister and a few of the older members of the coven.

  “What did you think?” she asked, handing me a cup of burstberry juice.

  “It was breathtaking,” I said. “What happens to the floating funeral pyre?” I knew firsthand that the magical border of Spellbound extended partway into the lake. I wasn’t sure if Josef’s float would simply bounce off the invisible barrier and eventually drift back to shore.

  “We do a spell that allows it to disintegrate by sunrise,” Ginger said.

  Magically efficient.

  “No one seems sad,” I said. “Did Josef have friends in the coven?”

  “He kept to himself in his later years,” Ginger said, “but he had friends. Josef was a huge advocate for animal rights, too. He donated a lot of money to Paws and Claws over the years.”

  I had a certain fondness for the animal rescue center since that was where I met Sedgwick.

  “Death for someone like Josef isn’t a sad ending,” Meg interjected. Ginger’s older sister shared her flaming red hair and alabaster skin. “It’s simply a new beginning.”

  Was that how Gareth saw his latest incarnation as a vampire ghost? A new beginning? I guess it was one way of looking on the bright side.

  “How long will people stay here?” I asked, fighting the yawn that was building inside of me.

  “Until sunrise,” Ginger replied, and I nearly spit my burstberry juice all over her grief cloak.

  “Not everyone,” Meg added quickly, gauging my reaction. “Only those who want to and can. We know you have class in the morning.”

  I gulped down the remainder of my juice. I was a functional insomniac. I’d give it my best shot.

  Chapter 2

  On the way to class the next morning, I snagged a latte from Brew-Ha-Ha with an extra shot of ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed.’ Everyone in the classroom seemed to be struggling to stay awake. Ginger basically phoned in a lesson on witches and their relationship to nature. Each time she mentioned the earth or the ground, I pictured myself curling up in a ball in the grass outside and falling asleep. So much for the potency of my extra shot.

  By the end of the class, I was openly yawning, but I didn’t worry because so was everyone else, including Ginger. I got the impression that she continued socializing somewhere else after she dropped me at home.

  A white-faced owl swooped into the room, grazing the top of Sophie’s head. Good thing she was resting it on the table. A spot of drool glistened in the sunlight.

  The owl dropped a message on the desk in front of Ginger and flew straight out the door without stopping. Ginger unrolled the note.

  “Emma, Lady Weatherby and Professor Holmes would like to see you in her office after class."

  Uh oh. That’s not a message any witch wants to receive.

  Begonia’s brow creased with worry. "What do you think they want?"

  I had my suspicions, but I’d wait until the conversation actually took place to confirm them.

  "I'm sure it's nothing," I said. “Lady Weatherby probably just wants to tell me that my grip on my wand is too loose or something. She’s always on my case to practice.”

  I left the classroom and walked down several long corridors until I reached Lady Weatherby's office at the far end of the building. It was the largest office in the building, as one would expect. On the wall behind her desk hung a portrait of a young and vibrant witch. She wore the very same headdress of twisted antlers that Lady Weatherby wore now.

  "Who is that?" I asked, pointing to the portrait.

  Lady Weatherby clasped her hands together. “I’m glad you asked. She is Arabella St. Simon. The academy's namesake."

  So she was the one we had to thank for the ASS Academy? Nice going, Arabella.

  "She looks so young," I said. And yet she was wearing the headdress that indicated she’d been the head of the coven. How long ago was that? Lady Weatherby was the current head and before her was her mother, Agnes.

  “Arabella was the youngest head of the coven in our history," she said. "She was greatly revered, hence the academy."

  Professor Holmes sat in the chair closest to the desk. He gestured for me to sit beside him.

  “So what's her story?" I asked. I figured she must be deceased by now.

  "She was the strongest head of the coven in a thousand years," Lady Weatherby said, with more emotion than she generally mustered. "Her death was a tragedy and we mourn her loss to this day. It is an honor for me to sit beneath her watchful gaze every day. It makes me aspire to do great things."

  So Lady Weatherby admired Arabella greatly, but had a tumultuous relationship with her own mother. I wondered what the difference was between Arabella and Agnes.

  Over in the corner, a black cat awoke from a nap. There was so much hair that I could scarcely discern its face from its bottom. Only when it raised its head did I realize that the cat wore a tiny headdress identical to Lady Weatherby's. I squelched my laughter, not wanting to insult anyone.

  Lady Weatherby followed my gaze to the stretching cat. Magpie woul
d kill for some of that fluff.

  "That is Chairman Meow," Lady Weatherby said. "My familiar. You do remember that the rest of us have feline familiars here."

  Although I'd seen Lady Weatherby's familiar in passing, this was the closest I’d ever been to him. He tended to keep a respectful distance.

  "He has beautiful green eyes," I said. They shone so brightly that I had no doubt they glowed in the dark. "Does he mind wearing the headdress?"

  When I was nine, I remembered my neighbor trying to coax his dog into wearing reindeer antlers for Christmas. It didn’t end well for the antlers. Chairman Meow struck me as the type of cat that would speak his mind if displeased. In fact, I suspected that he and Magpie would get along swimmingly.

  "He does not mind the headdress,” Lady Weatherby said. "Now if we can please get back to business. Professor Holmes tells me that you were able to communicate with Raisa at her cottage. He further informed me that you were unaware that you were dealing with a ghost." She tapped her fingernails on the desk in a gesture that was reminiscent of her mother. Agnes tapped her own twisted fingernails in a similar fashion when I visited her in the Spellbound Care Home. I had a feeling Lady Weatherby wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

  "She was different from Gareth," I explained. "She could touch things, move things. She made me a drink called Pure of Heart." And she frightened the living daylights out of me.

  Lady Weatherby and Professor Holmes exchanged a look.

  "So she neglected to tell you that she had passed on?" Lady Weatherby asked.

  "I only found out the truth when I ran into Professor Holmes on the way back home." It had been quite a shock to discover she was dead. The old witch even had iron teeth. The sound of their clicking had haunted my dreams ever since that day.

  "We have been assuming that your ability to see Gareth was the result of his connection to his former house and office. Now we are not so certain." Lady Weatherby’s expression was a mixture of concern and frustration.