Midsummer Night's Mayhem (11 page)

12

T
here was a saying that all things look brighter in the morning, but as Clover stared at the sorry state of her house, she completely disagreed. The front door was flung wide open, revealing a circle of black magic staining her front porch, which meant that someone had cast the wicked spell, conjuring the nighttime intruder on her doorstep while she was upstairs sleeping.
The nerve of them
, she thought, glaring down at the circle. The stench of the creepy specter still lingered in the air, making her skin crawl.

She clutched a cup of coffee in her hands. The more she inspected the scene, the more she realized that casting the spell on her porch had been a deviously good idea. Now it would be harder to trace the spell back to the witch or wizard who performed it.
Was it too much to ask that they cast their black magic at their own house?
Clover mentally fumed, keeping her fears at bay. Nothing angered her more than a sneaky coward. She could handle a fair fight as long as he or she had the common courtesy to do it to her face, but a cheap, dirty trick really got her goat.

After discovering the black magic circle on the front porch earlier that morning, Clover had pulled two sheets of parchment out of her desk and scribbled messages, one to the sheriff’s department, informing Juniper of the magical break-in, and the second one to Derek, asking him to come in early because of said break-in. Mail service came twice a day in the Meadowlands and three times a day in larger more populated areas like Willow Realm and Stargazer City. Unfortunately, the first post didn’t come until noon, which wasn’t soon enough for her, so Clover relied on Rusty to deliver the notes. Not everyone had a bird to take messages back and forth like her two sisters, and Rusty had made it pretty clear as a pup that he wasn’t the delivery kind of familiar and only delivered emergency messages. Luckily, this qualified.

Even with the door open, her house stunk of brimstone and sulfur. Ashy footprints and paw prints covered the floor. Not a neat and tidy creature, the specter had left a haunting trail of ash, and unfortunately Clover had walked right through it, tracking ash in ugly smears across the wood floors. Her priority last night had been rescuing Rusty and she’d made a mess in the foyer, hallway, and library where the infamous black ribbon that had bound her familiar lay in a tangled heap.

Clover had never encountered black magic. It was banned in Everland, but she’d heard stories from her sisters of many witches and wizards who dabbled in the dark craft, either out of curiosity or desperation. Vivi had faced a dark and dangerous wizard—the Darklander—a few months back who didn’t make it a secret he dabbled on the edge of black magic, and with her job as an investigator, Honora had tangled with more than a few witches and wizards who’d crossed the line. But even these stories hadn’t prepared Clover for the ugly reality.

Disgust crawled across her skin like ants. She rubbed her arms and stared down at the ashen circle that was filled with broken glass, charred bone, brimstone, and a sticky black tar—just a few of the tools of the trade in dark spellcasting.

The front gate rattled and Derek raced up the walkway, his shirt buttoned up wrong and his hair in tangles. “I got here as quickly as I could.” His mouth hung open as he hurried up the steps. “What the Hazel happened here?”

“Just another lovely morning at the pumpkin house,” she said, frowning and trying to hide a twitch of fear.

He gave her a hug. “You don’t fool me. Are you okay? Really?” He held her at arm’s length and inspected her face like a mother hen.

She relaxed in spite of her mood. “I’m fine or at least I will be once whoever did this is caught.”

Derek dug his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and stared at the circle while Clover filled him in on her late-night visitor.

With slumped shoulders he said, “This just got real, scary real, not just tragic real. Whoever killed Oliver is sending you a serious message.”

“A message I got loud and clear.”

“When is Juniper getting here?” he asked.

“I sent the note to the sheriff’s department this morning with Rusty. He hasn’t made it back yet, so I don’t know.” Clover took a slow drink of coffee, hoping for a little caffeinated fortification.

“Rusty must have hit my place first on his way to the Willow Realm station.” With a surge of determination, Derek skirted his way carefully around the ugly ash circle. “If I know you, you’re going to try to get some clues to who might have done this.”

“You guessed right. I want to plan my countermove.” Clover’s brow furrowed. “Whoever sent the specter wanted to scare me. He or she was counting on me dropping this whole case, backing off, and curling up into a little ball of nerves, which I did do for about an hour after it happened.” In fact she’d curled up in an overstuffed chair in the library, stroking her beloved Rusty and shedding a few nervous tears. But it wasn’t the Mayhem way to let fear overwhelm them.

“Look on the bright side. When the sheriff finds out about this, it could clear your name.” His brow rose. “Sheriff Gardener would never believe you’re involved in Oliver’s murder when you report what happened last night. The murderer is probably behind the specter. Right?”

“I hope so. But I want to figure a few things out first before Juniper and her team come tromping through the house. That’s why I sent Rusty with a note and didn’t send up another emergency beacon. Plus, my neighbors would start calling my place the beacon house. I think subtlety is the way to go. I don’t want whoever did this to think they got to me.” She set her mug down on the porch railing.

Clover grabbed her wand from the table in the foyer and bent down to examine the circle. With a circular wave over a section of the black ash, Clover spoke a magnifying spell to give her a close-up look at the ugly contents. She cringed, realizing it was littered with chunks of broken glass and grave dirt.

“That’s disgusting. Is that a chipped tooth?” Derek crossed his arms over his chest and wrinkled his nose as he kneeled down next to the circle.

“Black magic uses some gross stuff to conjure the spell. Whoever did this pulled a specter right out of its grave.”

“See anything incriminating?” he asked.

Clover shifted the magnifying spell to a new section of the circle. A brown piece of thorn bush caught her attention. “Honora told me about a case she worked once where the wizard left a signature in the circles he cast. He was actually proud of his work. She caught him by tracing the debris he used in his spells.”

“I don’t know who would be proud of this. But I guess even evil wizards like to sign their work. Not very smart of them.”

“Arrogance has brought down many an evildoer,” Clover said, thinking of one of the plots to her romance novels. “Remember in the third
Spellbinder
novel, when Razor planted that stack of fake love letters, trying to break up Calliope and Jasper, and he got caught because he used his own cologne on the parchment? Oh, he reasoned that the scent would make the letters seem more authentic and he was right. Problem was it wasn’t the scent either of them wore, but he just had to use his own out of arrogance, and he got caught. It was his ego that trapped him. Maybe that will work here.”

“Here’s hoping whoever did this is an egomaniac and left us a trail to follow.”

Clover’s pulse jumped. “I think I see something. Will you please grab me some tweezers from the medicine cabinet?”

Derek darted into the house and returned with the implements and a piece of gauze. He handed her the tweezers. “Should we wait for Juniper?”

“Yes, but are we going to? No.”

“Technically, this is evidence tampering, and we really shouldn’t be touching anything.” Derek wiggled his brow, but a mischievous grin conveyed his real thoughts.

“No kidding. But it’s not like I’m going to harm the investigation. I’m helping it along. Plus, there’s plenty of this substance left.” She picked up a bit of broken glass with the tweezers and held it up to the light. Her stomach rolled over when she realized what it was—a chunk of amber-colored glass.

“That looks familiar,” Derek said. “Where have I seen that type of glass before?”

Clover swallowed, but her mouth was dry as dust. She cleared her throat and placed the bit of broken glass on the gauze Derek held in his hand. “It looks like the same type of glass used in beer bottles.”

“Wait, you mean like the beer that was served at the party? Hey, that means…” He stopped short from saying what they both were thinking and shook his head. “No, there has to be another explanation. He’s such a nice guy.”

Clover’s heart welled with disappointment. After her encounter with Bradley at the tavern, it made sense. He knew she was asking questions about the murder, but he’d played it off so well, never raising suspicion. He even came off as kind and concerned.

“I don’t want to believe it, either. I’d much rather believe that the glass was planted to make Bradley look guilty, but until we know otherwise, we have to focus on the evidence.” She cringed because that’s exactly what Sheriff Gardener had said to her when he wanted to see inside of her closet. She had to face facts. “Our local brewer has a lot of explaining to do.”

“Um, Clover. We have a guest,” Derek said and motioned to the walkway.

Felicity Claire stood clutching the gate, her face pale, and her eyes bloodshot.

“Can I help you?” Clover stood, her senses tingled. This was the second time Felicity had visited her house in the past few days and this time the witch didn’t look good. “Let’s sit in the garden and we can talk.”

The witch pushed open the gate and rushed forward like a cat darting to safety. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, Clover.”

“Sorry for what?” Clover asked, intercepting Felicity on the path and guiding her to a small stone bench. The last thing she needed was Felicity asking questions about and tromping through the mess caused by last night’s intruder.

“To put you on the spot. I need your help. I’ve come to confess.” The witch’s hands were cold and clammy as she grasped Clover for dear life.

“Confess!?” Clover barked. “For what?”

“I’m responsible for Oliver’s death. It’s all my fault,” Felicity gasped.

Clover got Felicity to the garden and settled at a quaint stone bench next to fragrant tea roses. Seeing where they’d gone, Derek brought their guest a warm cup of tea. Her trembling hands clutched the cup as she took a long drink. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, staring at Clover like a broken witch. “Things just went too far. They got out of hand. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really I didn’t. You have to believe me. I would never willingly hurt Oliver. I’ve been guilt-stricken since this whole mess began.” The teacup rattled against the saucer, prompting Clover to sweep it out of her hands before she could drop it.

“Should we wait for the sheriff?” Derek shifted from foot to foot.

“No!” Both Clover and Felicity said in unison.

“I need to say this now,” she said. “I’ll confess everything to the sheriff, but what happened wasn’t fair to Clover. You’ve always been so kind to Oliver and me in the past, and this is how we repay you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It was a stretch to say Clover had been kind to Felicity and Oliver in the past. She was cordial, maybe even a little neighborly, but they weren’t friendly. “Just tell us everything that happened. Take your time,” Clover said in a soothing voice. Finally, she was going to get some answers.

“It has to do with Oliver’s will,” she said.

“Yes, I was there for the reading. I heard.”
Here it comes
, Clover thought.
The admission.

“The news about Oliver’s witchling is all over town,” Derek blurted. Clover cleared her throat and he went silent.

Felicity’s cheeks flushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“I had my suspicions,” Clover said.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the witch he mentioned in the will.” A tear rolled down her face. “I always knew our relationship was special, but I had no idea he felt so strongly about me that he’d change his will.” She shook her head and grabbed Clover’s hand. “You have to believe me. I never asked for the money, never expected him to leave me one gold coin, never mind his labyrinth or land. I was as shocked as anyone when I heard the news. I wasn’t dating him for his money.”

“Then why were you?” Derek asked with a bewildered look on his face. “Sorry to be so blunt, but you’re much younger than he was and, well, you seem like a nice witch, and he wasn’t.”

“You worked for the Yearlings, didn’t you? As Austin’s tutor,” Clover said, taking over the questioning from her less than tactful assistant.

“Yes, that’s how I met the Yearling family. Austin was in his final year at Haven Academy and his father wanted him to continue his education with advanced magical training, so I was brought in to help. Unfortunately, Austin wasn’t interested in studies. He wanted to enter the world of finance and start making money. He was tired of training, school, and magic. He wanted to get out into the world and live. So I spent many an hour talking with Oliver about his garden and about magic.”

“What kind of magic, exactly?” Clover asked, realizing that she knew little about Felicity’s
persuasion
.

“I have a fondness for advanced illusions, spellcraft, and wandwork. I’m addicted to magic, really.” She beamed and for the first time since Clover had spoken to her, a spark of joy cut through the grief on her face.

“You and Oliver struck up a friendship though mutual interests,” Clover said.

“Yes, it was just a cordial friendship while I was tutoring Austin.”