Spell or High Water Read online

  “You alerted him to my presence.”

  “I didn’t tell him where you were, I swear,” I said. “He’s heartbroken and confused, and he won’t stop that racket unless he gets that harp back. Do you really not know where it is?”

  “No, I told you I don’t,” she said. “Will you leave me alone now?”

  I shook my head. “You glamoured the map, didn’t you? And the boat. There’s more… you aren’t telling me.” She wasn’t humming, though I honestly wouldn’t have been able to hear underneath the wailing. But she was definitely a siren…

  And her feet weren’t quite touching the ground.

  “You’re a ghost, too,” I said. “Did he kill you? Is that why you crashed his boat?”

  In answer, she bared her neck, revealing—bite marks. “Someone ambushed me in the woods the last time we met,” she whispered.

  “A vampire?” I asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t that—turn you?”

  “It would if I were human. As it is, their venom is lethal to us. I never found out who did it.”

  “And you’re stuck here until you do? I can ask someone.” I wouldn’t say the person in question would be particularly thrilled about that, but it was worth a try.

  The wailing noise had reached unbearable levels. Everyone in town would know it came from the lake, but not who. We had to handle this.

  “Would you?” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Why get the harp in the first place?” I asked. “Doesn’t it switch off your own powers? He used it to repel sirens…” I trailed off. The siren girl had completely vanished. “Guess that was a sensitive question.”

  “No kidding,” Alissa muttered. “That ability of yours doesn’t pick up on ghosts?”

  “Apparently not.” I was more concerned with how she’d switched off my lie-sensing power. Nobody had ever managed to do that. But no paranormal power was without its weakness.

  With no sign of the ghost girl, we turned to head back downhill. I frowned, squinting at the lake between the trees. An awful lot of people had gathered on the shore, probably because the witches had traced the noise spell to here. Good. That means he’ll probably be there. The elder vampires were rarely unaware of the latest drama.

  “You’re going to ask Vincent?” Alissa asked.

  I nodded. “He won’t be happy with me. Never mind that he’s met every resident and is most likely to know the latest gossip, pirate ghosts included. What was he even doing in that shop?”

  “He was acting oddly,” she said. “It’s weird that he showed up at that shop just before you did, too.”

  I thought back to his reaction. Maybe he knew which vampire had murdered Freya. He was in charge of their paranormal laws, after all.

  “Maybe he does,” said a voice. Soft, quiet, and somehow penetrating even with the racket of the wizard’s spell in the background.

  The man—or vampire—himself stepped silently out from behind a tree, causing me to jump and Alissa to let out a startled noise.

  “How long were you following us?” I asked, raising my voice over the ever-insistent wailing. He can read minds. Of course.

  “I wasn’t following you.,” Vincent said. “Only waiting.”

  “We just found a ghost in the woods,” I said. “She had bite marks on her neck and happens to be the deceased siren girlfriend of the man responsible for that ungodly racket. And now you show up. Are you going to explain?”

  “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He reached into his thick coat and pulled out a golden harp.

  My mouth fell open. “You stole it?”

  “Stole it?” he echoed. “No, I bought it back from that shop. Someone sold it for a considerable sum.”

  “But why go looking for it?”

  “Because I was alerted to the fact that the ghost had appeared in the cove. I guessed that he was looking for something.”

  “Well, that would have helped before I told him his girlfriend’s ghost is in the woods,” I said. “Except I don’t think he knows she’s a ghost. A vampire killed her. Did you know who?”

  He frowned. “I thought you’d worked you out. He did it himself.”

  I gaped at him. “What? He’s a wizard. Was a wizard.”

  “He was a wizard before he turned into a vampire,” Vincent explained. “That’s possible—many vampires are.”

  Wait. The vampires who were younger, who’d grown up here, were more likely to have been other paranormals before being bitten.

  Vampires couldn’t swim. He had been giving me a clue.

  I looked at the harp. “I’m not sure that’ll be enough to make him go away, but I guess it might work.”

  “It’s designed to turn off sirens’ magic,” he said. “He was trying to protect himself from the others when he went to meet with her.”

  “But he lost it,” I said. “Maybe she did have him under her spell.”

  “It’s siren nature. She can charm anyone she sees.”

  Yikes. She’d probably done the same to the Bella Landis, to get her to buy the harp without explanation. And both the wizard and the siren had kept their magic after death.

  “So—who stole it from him?” I asked.

  “I believe it was found in the woods near the lake when it was originally handed over to Gus at the Emporium. I would say that it’s likely that he lost track of the harp in the horror of accidentally killing Freya, and went back to his boat…”

  “And drowned,” I said. “Playing the harp will stop her, right? I don’t know what else to do to help both of them leave.”

  Vincent looked down at the golden harp. “Perhaps they should meet face to face.”

  Not sure she wants to do that. But the wizard needed to know we’d found the harp. Maybe then, they’d both be able to move on.

  “I’ll do it.” I reached to take the harp from him, and to my surprise, he handed it over.

  With the harp in my hand, I walked between the trees to the edge of the forest, where it jutted out over the lake. “Hey! Wizard!” I said. “I know you’re out there. We have the harp.”

  I held it out over the water, its glowing shape reflected on the lake’s surface.

  The ghost appeared in a shimmer of light, his wizard’s hat tilting at a crooked angle. “You found it.”

  He reached to take it, and I pulled it backwards. “Not until you give me an explanation. You killed her, didn’t you? The siren.”

  “No. I rather think it was the other way around.”

  A chill on the back of my neck announced the other ghost’s presence. Only now did I realise the wailing noise had entirely stopped.

  The siren ghost faced the wizard-vampire ghost. “You murdered me,” she whispered. “It was you.”

  “As it was your song that lured me into the water.”

  She opened her mouth, and the harp in my hands began to vibrate. Countering her magic.

  The ghost girl looked at him, tears spilling from her eyes. “It’s what I am. I can’t help my nature.”

  “As I can’t help mine,” said the vampire. “I never wanted to kill you, but to turn you. So we could be together.”

  I saw it clearly. He’d really believed it. My truth-sensing ability told me neither of them lied.

  The harp continued to play. I held it still, but neither of them spoke another word. As the haunting tune went on, both ghosts began to fade. I looked out across the lake as the melody died down, and nobody remained but me, Alissa, and the vampire.

  Silence fell. I waited a moment, then lowered the now-quiet harp. The wizard’s spell had quietened, too. Hopefully, for good.

  “I guess they’re at peace now.” I looked at the vampire, who smiled in a self-satisfied manner. “How’d you find out about the ghost, anyway?”

  “That delightful cat of yours found me.”

  “He did?” So that’s what Sky got up to when I wasn’t around? “Why did you get the harp, because he asked you to?”

  “I hear
d you have a habit of involving yourself in any local business, so I took the liberty of procuring it when he hinted that you’d need the harp.”

  I blinked at him. “Since when could vampires talk to cats?”

  “Whyever not?” He took a step backwards, then walked away, his swift vampire speed ensuring I’d never catch him up.

  “That cat is an enigma,” I muttered to Alissa. “Glad we cleared up the case, anyway.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. A vampire and a siren? I have to say, I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “He couldn’t even swim,” I said. “This place really does have no end of surprises.”

  Not least of which lay beneath the waterfall. Somewhere within were the secrets of my own family. I’d find them, someday. I knew it.

  The High Fliers passed overhead, and the sun reflected in the lake as it descended. Looked like it was going to be a beautiful summer’s evening, after all.

  For more of Blair’s magical adventures, you can start her series from the beginning with Witch in Progress. Find out more at: smarturl.it/BlairWilkesMysteries

  About Elle Adams

  Elle Adams lives in the middle of England, where she spends most of her time reading an ever-growing mountain of books, planning her next adventure, or writing. Elle's books are humorous mysteries with a paranormal twist, packed with magical mayhem.

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  It’s Always Night at the Bottom of the Sea

  Molly Milligan

  Summary

  A summer storm brings death to an English coastal town.

  Jackie doesn’t think that Corey could have just walked into the sea. But when she starts to look into the young woman’s death, she unearths an enemy from the past and a mystery in the present. With the help of her friend Gloria, she closes in on the suspect. Too late, she realizes the murderer had magical help and now she’s fighting not only the criminal, but the storm itself…

  This story is written in British English, which is just like American English but we like to use the letter 'u' more.

  Chapter One

  The cry for help came out of a bright blue sky in the clear early morning.

  I stood on the cliff-top and stared out to sea. To my right, the coast curled around, and tucked into the bend was the little fishing and tourist town of Wildham-on-Sea. To my left, the cliffs continued to snake in and out, splitting the green fields from the blue-grey sea in one long red and yellow line.

  I cocked my head and listened, hard. There was something not right about the shouting. I couldn’t ignore it, of course, but I was wary. The calling came from the wide empty sea, which looked dead flat and glassy.

  Too flat. Too glassy. And far too quiet – if you could ignore the shouting, which I couldn’t, so I headed to the path hewn into the side of the cliff and half-walked, half-slid on my bottom, to get down to the pebbly beach. I stopped at the bottom of the cliff, and waited for another shout.

  “Help! Save our souls!” yelled a man in a strong Norfolk accent. But now it came from a different direction to the first shouts. Now it led me to the left, towards a rocky outcrop of jagged stones erupting from the sea.

  “Save yourselves,” I screamed back, and turned, and clambered back up the cliff path as quickly as I could. “I don’t flaming think so,” I muttered in between gasping breaths. “You’ll not trick me, Yow-Yows.”

  “You’re back early,” said Gloria as I reached my cottage on the headland. I lived in a small, pretty house at the top end of the old town, which was all narrow curling streets and confusing alleyways. Opposite my house stood Gloria’s arts and crafts gallery. Usually she would be opening up to the public at this time in the morning, but today she was bringing in the larger items that cluttered up the pavement outside her shop. “Can you give me a hand?”

  I stretched up and helped her to unhook some wind-chimes, and passed them over to her. “Are these made from actual spoons?”

  “Yes! Aren’t they cute?”

  “Handy if you run out of cutlery. I might buy one. Yes, I know, I should wash up more often.” I stood back and looked out to sea. The sky was still perfectly clear but I knew what was coming, now. “I didn’t feel like carrying on when I heard the Yow-Yows. I’m guessing that you heard them, too?”

  “I did. The storm won’t be hitting until later but I want to be ready, and I can’t take the risk of leaving any of this outside.”

  I carried on taking down the wind-chimes while Gloria flitted in and out of her shop, dragging in quite a random assortment of sculptures. A lot of it, I’d have to say, was just tat. It appealed to holiday makers who were suddenly inspired by their week-long beach holiday to buy a three-foot-high stone mermaid or model sailing ship made entirely out of crushed soda cans. Once they got these rash purchases home, they would be stowed in a garden shed and never spoken of again. Or, if they didn’t like their family, given away as gifts.

  Anyway, Gloria knew her audience. She was a witch of the twinkly-sparkly sort. You know, where the obligatory uniform is anything in purple, preferably floaty, and maybe with some silver embroidery on it, too. Don’t think I’m being catty. I’m not. She really was lovely, but she was like a permanently wound-up spinning top, shooting out energy at random, all around her. Too much time in her presence felt like being caught in an electrical storm.

  Me, I’m just your average everyday middle-aged woman who has a nice, neat haircut, and sensible but not too sensible shoes, and a grown-up daughter, and a career as a freelance features writer, and a divorced ex-husband kicking around somewhere, and a cat – because as well as all that, I am a witch too. I’m the sort of witch you’d come to see if you were suffering from warts or unrequited love or a midlife crisis or a moth infestation. It’s not glamorous work but someone has to do it.

  “Can you grab the other end of this, please?” Gloria asked, pointing at a long piece of driftwood.

  “What is it?”

  “Art.”

  I braced myself and lifted the hulking thing. “Art is heavy. Oh! There is a little dancing figure carved in it, isn’t there?”

  “Maybe.” Gloria backed into the shop, grunting. “Here. On three. Drop. One. Two – sorry! I slipped.”

  “Did it hit your foot?”

  “A bit,” she said with a grimace. “But I learned not to wear sandals at work after the metal walrus incident. I think they’re still laughing about me at the hospital.”

  “Don’t tell me. I don’t need the details. Who made this, anyway?” As I looked at the driftwood, I was drawn by the urge to touch it. The wood was worn smooth by the action of the sea, and I wanted to know its stories. Where had it been? What had it seen? The dancing figure was a trick of the light falling on its twisting form, yet there was something there – some touch, some intervention. I couldn’t work it out. “There’s some kind of magic here,” I said. “Do you feel it?”

  “Well, that’s Corey for you. She’s not a witch, not like us, but she’s … well, she’s attuned, you know?”

  “Corey Aldershaw-Pike?” I knew her by sight, but then, I knew everyone in our little town. And that surname had a particular significance for me.

  Gloria nodded. “She is such a nice person, and I adore her work.” She glanced towards the door. A piece of litter blew past, and I realised the wind had been picking up while we’d been inside. “It’s strange, because she was supposed to be here at eight this morning, rotating some of the stock of hers. She promised me smaller things that were more likely to sell to the tourists.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be along soon. Is that everything?”

  Gloria nodded, thanked me, and I headed back over the road and home. The sky was already darkening. I wanted to be safe inside, and I wanted to make sure my cat was with me, too.

  I worked hard all day, in my little study on the back o
f the house. By the time that evening came, the rain was battering on the huge glass windows and I took a break. I stood and looked out into the purple-dark air as the wind tore at the bushes in my garden. A chair toppled over. I should have brought it inside.

  Iceni, my ginger and white kitten, mewed and left me, seeking sanctuary in the quieter inner rooms of the house. I picked up a long red cord from a workbasket on the floor – the kitten had dragged this around more than once, and I had to untangle it before it was going to be any use. Then I put on a long, waterproof coat, a hat and rubber boots.

  I wanted to make use of the storm’s energy before it got too dark.

  As soon as I stepped outside, the gales caught me and nearly tore the door from my hands. I hoped that no one was caught out in this, and spared a thought for the emergency services who would be working hard this night. I fought my way along my garden path. It was a long garden and ended abruptly in a steep fall of cliff. Here, I was brought to my knees, but it didn’t matter. It was probably safer to be low down and out of the worst of the wind’s grasp, anyway. I raised up my hands, still holding the red cord. The Yow-Yows would be out there somewhere, still calling people to their doom, but my mission was not with them.

  I breathed in, sucking in the power of the wind, letting it infuse me. I let my breath be the wind’s breath, and my fire be the storm’s fire, and my being was the force of nature itself.

  I could hardly see what I was doing, but I tied a knot in the cord, close to the left end, while muttering a tuneless charm that didn’t even rhyme properly. I made it up on the fly, as I did most things. “I tie this knot, to trap the wind … to trap the wind …” And then it petered out, because I couldn’t find a good ending. It would do. I repeated it for a knot on the right side, and then one in the middle.