Spell or High Water Page 15

  “You trying to scare me off, too?”

  We held hands, like we did when we were ten, all the way into the café. I might never know how Abigail’s life turned out, but I knew she wouldn’t be haunting us anymore. At least, not for a while. In another few years, her legend might resurface, in some new variation and for some other purpose. But for today at least, the legend of Abigail Windsor was put to rest, and all was well in Reed Hollow once again.

  The End

  Want to read more Baylee Scott mysteries? Start your Reed Hollow adventures with the full length novel: Touch of Light: A Baylee Scott Paranormal Mystery.

  About the Author

  April Aasheim is a USA Today Bestselling paranormal mystery author with a history of paranormal experiences herself. When she isn’t writing, you can find her hiking, dancing or exploring old houses and cemeteries.

  Follow April at:

  www.Aprilaasheimwriter.com

  www.facebook.com/AprilAasheimWriter

  www.amazon.com/April-Aasheim/e/B008RBFPNQ

  Vacation from Murder

  ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn

  Summary

  All Mag and Clara Balefire want is a chance to enjoy a three-day weekend without having to hide their magic. Camping on a secluded beach seems to be the perfect solution until their campsite is invaded by a family with two young boys.

  Quicker than you can say broomstick, the boys steal the Balefire's hearts and then the unthinkable happens. The family disappears in the night and the witches are certain they've fallen victim to foul play.

  Join Mag and Clara's adventure to figure out what happened to the Young family before it is too late.

  Vacation from Murder is a short story that takes place directly following Murder Above the Waterline, but can be read as a standalone story.

  Chapter One

  Sand spewed as the old VW minibus lurched across the narrow curve of Pingree beach and shuddered to a halt inches from the damp remains of an ebbing tide. Behind the wheel, Clara Balefire breathed deeply of the salt-tanged air and took in the view from under the wide brim of a straw beach hat.

  A black one, as befitted a witch of her age and stature.

  “We’re here.” Her cheery lilt dropped into the rushing sound of waves coming through doors left open by her passengers in their haste to curl toes into warm sand. Closing down Balms and Bygones and bringing everyone here for a long weekend away had been the right choice.

  Three days of sand and sun and sea. Sheer bliss.

  Or a total nightmare with two sister witches and their mostly-feline familiars crammed into the back of a tin can on wheels. Totally worth it, though, if the Balefires could spend a weekend not having to pretend to be something they weren’t. Like mother and daughter rather than sisters, for instance.

  Blood magic came with a few perks. Magic being the best of them, but the enhanced lifespan didn’t suck, either. Unless you were Mag Balefire, who’d almost been killed battling a raythe. She’d escaped with her life, but lost most of her youthful good looks and agility.

  “We need to unpack and set camp,” Clara shouted toward the retreating backs of her sister and their familiars. When all she got in response was a dismissive hand wave, she flicked a whisper of magic to close the doors and reversed the van into a shaded spot among the towering pines above the beach line. Her sister and the two cats might be able to relax without having their campsite shipshape and ready, but Clara needed order before chaos.

  Only grumbling a little about the work, she began emptying the contents of the van’s cargo area. First order of business — set up the screened enclosure and the nifty picnic table that folded up into a plastic box. Gotta love modern technology, she thought.

  She struggled through ten minutes of trying to decipher the instructions for setting up the screen house before discovering the problem. Some of the snap-together tubes carried the wrong stickers. She had eleven marked with the letter B and five Cs when there should have been eight of each.

  “Bother.” Looking both ways to be sure no one was watching, Clara held the image of the finished structure in her mind, called upon the power coiled inside her, and let magic take its course. Pieces and parts snapped into position to form the completed frame.

  “I saw that.” A dry voice came from the other side of the bus. “And I approve, little sister.”

  “Oh shut up.” Clara snapped as she bent to unfold the plastic-coated canopy, then instantly regretted being churlish. This was supposed to be a fun vacation, not one riddled with more stress. “Grab the other end, or did you want me to ask Pyewacket because she’s taller?”

  Pye could morph into an Amazon-sized woman with smoky eyes, a long fall of sable hair, and tawny skin that looked like it had been kissed by the desert sun even in the dead of winter. But she preferred her native form: that of a sleek Siamese cat.

  “I can manage.” Gruff even when she was in a good mood, Mag Balefire, Clara’s older sister, would not be outdone. Using more muscle than she appeared to possess, she tossed her half of the canopy over the frame and helped secure the ropes.

  Without magic. Just to prove a point.

  “Where are the camp chairs? Those ones I packed—the wooden ones with the canvas seats.”

  “You packed? I seem to remember you tossing stuff into the driveway and haranguing me to make sure I fit it all into the bus.” Softening the comment with a smile, Clara realized it had been a long time since she’d seen her sister this excited about anything. Then again, getting away from people was Mag’s idea of a good time, so it made sense that a deserted beach would be her happy place.

  Pingree certainly qualified as deserted. They’d had to scout the place first, to make sure it was as remote as Mag had remembered, then cast a spell to make the VW drive on water to get there. The only other access route involved a mile-long hike on a barely used trail over moderate terrain.

  Next time, Clara decided, it would be her turn to choose the vacation and they could take a cruise.

  “Half this stuff is archaic. What is this even for?” She picked up a contraption that looked like it was made of nothing but metal arms.

  In a tone that added the word ‘idiot’ to the end of the sentence, Mag replied, “It’s a stand.” Then she grinned at Clara’s annoyed glare.

  Fighting to pry apart the accordion folds, Clara pinched her finger, uttered a dirty word, and handed the thing over to her sister. With practiced hands, Mag gave the rack a flip and it fell into place like an obedient dog.

  “Holds the camp stove. You’ll be thanking me in the morning when I fire up the old Coleman and make percolator coffee better than anything that comes out of that monstrosity of a drip machine. The beeping alone is enough to drive me buggy, and it makes barely passable coffee besides.”

  Mag hated the coffeemaker, and she wasn’t fond of the toaster, either. It beeped three times when she pushed the handle to lower the bread into the machine. Why? Was it made to wake up people who made toast in their sleep? Or for people who weren’t aware of what their hands were doing? Then it beeped again when the toast was done.

  Modern technology, what a load of crap. Except for the washing machine and the television. Those she liked.

  The camp stove looked like a metal suitcase and was so old the hinges creaked when Mag nudged it open and placed it on the folding legs. Once she’d connected the propane by means of a flexible hose and flipped the knob, the burner lit with only a tiny spark of Balefire she conjured on the tip of her finger.

  “See that? Works like a charm. Just because something is old doesn’t mean it should be put on a shelf.” In a rare bout of philosophical thinking, Mag mused, “Kills the soul of a thing to go unused.”

  Was she talking about herself?

  The moment passed while the sisters continued setting up their weekend getaway. Mag’s familiar, Jinx, shook off fluffy white fur in favor of his human shape to help blow up a pair of air mattresses for the rear cargo space of the minibus.
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  “Remind me again why we’re doing this the hard way.” Jinx seemed more interested in stretching out on a sun-warmed rock and toasting his fur as a cat than treading away on the foot pump.

  Witches of uncommon power and ability, the Balefires could conjure up a magazine-worthy camping experience without waving a wand. But what would be the fun in that?

  “You’d be missing out on the—” Mag started and Clara chimed in, “—whole camping experience.”

  “I’ve got nothing against camping; I just didn’t realize we were going to be doing it fifties-style.” In a rare moment of unity, Pye sided with Jinx. As different as night and day in personality, the two rarely agreed on anything.

  “It’s not supposed to be a weekend at the Ritz,” Mag said. “Camping is all about the simple things, and getting back to nature. Roughing it in the woods. Us against the elements, living by our wits, and the bounty we can pull from the bosom of Mother Nature.”

  A pop and a luffing sound interrupted her preaching on the subject, and Jinx said, “Uh oh.”

  The mattress whistled as it deflated.

  “Let’s leave Mother Nature’s boobs out of it, okay?” Getting back to nature was one thing; it being all up in her personal business, Clara thought, was quite another. “I think there’s a happy medium to be found somewhere between having a few of the creature comforts and spending the weekend eating bugs and using a rock for a pillow.”

  To that end, she retrieved her purse and dug around to find an item with no sharp edges and small enough to fit through the air inlet.

  A master at making charms, Clara preferred using found or recycled materials. The bottom of her handbag carried a more eclectic jumble of items than a young boy’s pockets. Among the lint, she found three or four plastic beads. How long they’d been rolling around in there, she couldn’t say, but, infused with magic and directed by her intent, they’d provide protection from further punctures.

  That job done, she slipped a protective charm through the hole and applied the patch kit so thoughtfully supplied by the mattress people. Fortunately, they’d foreseen this precise circumstance.

  Clara also let Jinx off the hook and took care of the second, twin-sized air mattress. Seeing the speed with which the first had deflated, and knowing how sharp Pyewacket’s claws were, she doubled up on the charms and whispered a spell to power up the pump.

  “Don’t know why you spent good money on those bits of plastic when I had a nice set of canvas cots we could have used.”

  “Nice?” Clara snorted. “One was missing two inches off one leg and moths flew out of the other one when I picked it up.”

  Mag sputtered and coughed something that sounded like sissy under her breath, but come morning when her bones didn’t ache, she’d be grateful for sleeping on air instead of the hard bus floor.

  Another flick of magic and the interior of the van adjusted to fit the beds with some space between them. Sisterly love did not involve sleeping in the same bed with Madame Snores-a-lot, and Clara had every intention of tossing a sound deadening charm at the first snort.

  “Fancy a walk on the beach?” With a final appraising look, Clara determined the site was shipshape enough to warrant a break.

  Pyewacket exchanged a wary look with her feline counterpart and shook her head vehemently, “I have no desire to feel the waves crashing against my ankles.”

  “Vacation doesn’t mean ‘a chance to exercise.’ I’m with Pye on this one. We’ll find ourselves a nice place to nap along the way, and you two can act as shark bait.”

  Mag rolled her eyes, “We’ll see how you feel when I’m putting together a clambake later. Wimps.”

  Slightly mollified, and even more intrigued by the mention of clams, the two whirled into their cat forms and trotted on ahead, while Mag leaned on her cane and led Clara toward a gap in the tree line that opened onto a stretch of pristine white beach.

  Rocky crags flanked both ends of the expanse, creating a natural barrier from the rougher waters on either side. In the sheltered inlet, waves crashed lightly along the shore.

  A light, salty wind whipped Clara’s mane of chestnut hair around her head as she lifted her face to bask in the sun’s warm glow. “This was an excellent choice.” She stated her earlier thought out loud, giving Mag credit for having sifted through a dozen options before settling on Pingree Beach.

  “I’ll show you another reason I chose this particular spot.” Mag’s voice held a glint of excitement as the pair approached a wooden sign planted in the sand. “Read the caption.”

  Clara squinted in the glare for a moment before uttering an incantation and conjuring a pair of sunglasses to rest on the bridge of her nose. “Pingree Beach, the resting place of the dreaded pirate Barnaby, is steeped in mystery and intrigue. Legend says that somewhere on this beach lies a hidden treasure trove of gold and jewels, buried by Barnaby before he was betrayed and murdered by his own crew. Many have tried, but all have failed, to find the missing bounty, but every year Pingree Beach is visited by hopeful treasure hunters who still believe the tale.”

  Mag grinned like a schoolgirl, her expression so innocently giddy Clara couldn’t help but smile.

  “We’re going to hunt for that treasure, and we’re going to be the ones to finally discover it!” Mag vowed, continuing down the beach while holding her cane out in front of her and tapping it against the sand. It wouldn’t have surprised Clara one bit to learn Mag had put a metal-detecting charm on the thing.

  If there even was a real pirate Barnaby. Clara doubted he had ever set one foot on this beach. Finding his treasure seemed unlikely, but she knew better than to tempt fate and speak her mind on the subject. Mag could pull off a miracle and she’d never hear the end of it.

  Chapter Two

  “Kaeden, give it back. Right now.” The voice of a child attempting to be quiet but not quite succeeding woke Clara from a dead sleep.

  “No, I’m the one who found it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.” The boy named Kaeden hissed back, his lisp causing the words to run together as though he were trying to talk with a mouth full of bubble gum. “Mom said.”

  The first boy huffed and lowered his voice another octave. “I don’t care what Mom says, and don’t you dare tattle on me or I’ll find a cave to leave that stupid stuffed elephant in, and you’ll never see Jerry again.”

  Kaeden’s voice cracked and Clara could tell he was about to let loose the waterworks. “You’re a jerk, Xavier. Go find your own shell. There’s tons of them on the beach. And don’t you worry, Jerry,” he said lovingly. “I won’t let him leave you in a cave.”

  “Give it!” Xavier was starting to get annoyed.

  “You’ll have to catch me first!” Kaeden hollered and took off at a run.

  At the exclamation, Mag shot straight up in bed, a flicker of Balefire ready at her fingertips.

  “Relax, Maggie, it’s just a couple of kids,” Clara whispered. “They must be camping nearby.”

  Mag groaned, “You mean we’ve been invaded. Wonderful.” Sarcasm colored her tone as she spat the last word.

  The commotion awakened the familiars, and Jinx, hidden behind the curtains lining the VW’s windows, transformed into his human form and took over the role of complainer. “We’ll be the ones to suffer, you know. Kids always pull on our tails and rub our fur in the wrong direction.”

  “Quit your bellyaching.” Clara admonished, brushing off Jinx’s concern and leveling Pyewacket with a gaze before she had a chance to add anything. “There’s nothing to do now except introduce ourselves. We don’t want it to be awkward.”

  She swung the back door of the minibus open, stepped out into the warm morning breeze, and made a beeline for the next site over where a harried-looking couple attempted to pitch a tent. Clara couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as she approached and caught a snippet of their conversation.

  “It’s just a couple of days, Renee. Give the boys a chance to roam free for a change, and enjoy the peace and quiet
. Dr. Hopper recommended more time bonding as a family, and there aren’t any distractions out here.” The man’s voice remained even and his tone neutral, though Clara could practically see the waves of tension rolling off him.

  Their body language—his hunched shoulders and the way she kept her body turned slightly away—told Clara plenty.

  Renee took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay, Tim, I’ll accept we had to come to the back of beyond with nothing more than we could carry on our backs. But I’m telling you right now, if I see one single wood spider, I’m out of here. Those things are pure evil.”

  Clara gave fair warning by stomping on, and snapping, a few twigs as she made her way across the narrow piece of forest separating the two sites.

  “Hello, there. I just wanted to come introduce myself. I’m Clara, and I’m camping just over there with my mother, Margaret.” She pointed toward the VW, where Jinx peeked his whiskers out from behind one of the curtains and evaluated the new arrivals.

  “Nice to meet you, Clara,” the woman said. “I’m Renee Young, and this is my husband, Tim. Our boys, Xavier and Kaeden, are around here somewhere. They’re nine and eleven and can be quite a handful. Just let us know if they get on your nerves.” Renee extended a hand, and Clara shook it politely.

  “Really, they’re no trouble at all,” Clara replied lightly. Mag probably wouldn’t throw an actual curse at her for not banning the children from their designated area.

  “Enjoy your weekend, and let us know if you need anything,” Clara offered before taking her leave and returning to where Mag was busy measuring grounds for a pot of her celebrated percolator coffee. She raised an eyebrow as Clara settled into a folding chair.