Seashells, Spells & Caramels: A Cozy Witch Mystery Read online

“Ah, lassie, we best be movin’ to higher elevations. Tide’s rising.”

  The churning sea lapped over the dock and licked at the stone road we stood on. I jumped back from the encroaching shoreline and followed the mustached ferryman up a set of switchback stairs carved into the rocky cliff. I looked over the edge.

  The water already covered the gates the man had just locked. Climb faster, old man. We made several more twists and turns before stepping out onto a narrow lane.

  I jogged up the cobblestoned road, skirting the cliffside. My soggy boots scuffed along the uneven stones. The sea clawed its way up the street, flowing nearly up to our heels and then ebbing away.

  I looked at the retreating waterline, then at the ferry man.

  “Best to pick up the pace a wee bit.”

  I gasped when a cold spray licked up my back, soaking my shirt and the hair at my nape. The ferryman looked over my head and muttered, “Oh dear.”

  That couldn’t be good.

  He grasped my wrist and yanked us both into an alcove. A wave of water rushed by, soaking me up to my waist. The pull of it as it ebbed made us both brace against the sides of the stone alcove to avoid being dragged with it down to the sea. We looked at each other wide-eyed.

  “Quick, while it’s out.”

  We dashed back into the street.

  “I know a shortcut.”

  I followed the older man up the street. I glanced back, and my stomach quaked as a huge wave coiled up. We dashed past a few more buildings, then made a quick turn into a shallow alley. He pointed at an iron ladder bolted to the side of a building.

  “Climb!”

  I hoisted myself up as quickly as I could, though my wet boots slipped on the rungs. The ladder rattled with the ferryman’s steps. A giant wave frothed up the street, barreled into the alley below us, and churned around in the tight space. I shimmied up and up, my heart pounding in my chest as the whoosh of the sea below told me the water continued to climb.

  Finally, I dragged myself onto a flat roof and turned, reaching an arm down. The ferryman grasped it, and I helped haul him up. We sat, panting, until the rising sea slowed down and then calmed. Only the top few feet of the ladder remained visible.

  “Whew.” The ferryman stood, dusting off his soaked blue work trousers and lifting his cap to run his fingers through his white hair. “That was a close one.”

  The sea had swallowed up entire buildings, leaving just the peaked roofs visible.

  You don’t say.

  I followed the ferryman across a swaying rope bridge to a street a tier higher. We stopped at the edge of a broad street, standing in the shadows of an alley. Laughing crowds passed down the brightly lit road. Where’d all these people come from?

  “This is the main street. You can stay up all night here and walk back in the morning.”

  I recalled the baker’s words about his daughter staying on the royal grounds. “You don’t know how to get to the palace, do you?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in the baking contest.”

  His mustache twitched. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Pssh. I’ll take you there.”

  “Really, it wouldn’t be a bother?”

  “Not at all, not at all.” He gestured toward the bustling, bright road. “We’ll take Main Street all the way up. Where you from?”

  We walked as I told him my story.

  Silhouettes moved about inside brightly lit windows. A group of teenage girls bounced down the street, giggling. With flower crowns—and was that a cloud of moths fluttering above their heads?—they looked like forest fairies. Two older women, short despite the boost from their tall thong sandals, stood in a doorway. The bins outside their shop overflowed with glowing blue ice and fresh fish. They smiled as we passed, their faces round and wrinkled.

  By the time I finished my story, the ferryman simply muttered, “Well, I’ll be.”

  Ahead of us stretched one of the stone arches I’d thought were trellises. I saw now that they formed bridges over the canals. Water poured from the mouths of the fish sculptures, like a filling bath. I followed the ferryman out onto the railing-less bridge and peered down at the water.

  Glowing orbs floated by under the surface. What could those be? A kind of bioluminescent fish? A shimmer flashed below. Had I just seen a tail? A large tail? The smiling face of a woman shot up out of the water, her wet, purple hair matted to her head and shoulders.

  The woman looked around, saw the ferryman, and waved. He waved back. She turned to me and smiled, her face shimmering like glitter and her teeth oddly small. Then she dove into the water, and her shimmering, scaled tail flipped up, the huge fin waving as it dipped back below the surface.

  “What is this?” I scrambled back on shaking legs.

  “Merfolk.”

  My head hurt.

  “Ah, come on, I guess you’ll figure it all out soon enough.”

  We crossed the bridge and passed a fortune teller sitting at a table at the mouth of an alley. She wore a turban and laid out tarot cards. “Care for your fortune, Imogen?” I slowed, but the ferryman grabbed my elbow and dragged me forward.

  “Charlatans.” He muttered the word so quietly I almost lost it under the din of music pouring from taverns on each side of the road.

  “But how did she know my name? Maybe she really is psychic.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course she’s psychic, but does that mean she’s going to be honest with you about what she sees?”

  I marveled at that. Really psychic? Was no one else impressed by that?

  We passed a tavern with an outdoor patio, wrapped in trailing vines and blooming pale lilac flowers that perfumed the air far out into the street. A group of young men raised their frosted glass mugs then poured the bubbling blue liquid down their throats. As soon as they thudded their mugs back down on the table, the liquid refilled. I stopped. How could that be possible?

  “Let me guess, never seen magically refilling mugs either?”

  I shook my head. Magical?

  He huffed. “You’re too used to human ways.”

  “Human?” I jogged after him, doing my best not to trip as I marveled at the strange sights all around me. “Aren’t we all human?”

  “We’re magic folk—you daft, girl? If we were human we’d a been on that boat down there.”

  “I tried to get on it.” A woman with twin fires blazing on her shoulders strode by. I gaped, turning to watch her.

  “Oh, don’t encourage ’em. They jus’ love to show off their fires.” The ferryman led me uphill. “The temple bells are enchanted to make sure all humans board the ferry back to the mainland by the last launch.”

  I gaped at him. “But… I was told stories, about people staying on the island at night and going mad.”

  “Sometimes, if a human’s got magic somewhere in his or her veins, way down the line, they may have enough to resist the wards. It’s only happened once or twice. They didn’t go mad, the other humans just didn’t believe their stories and assumed they had. It’s hard for most humans these days to accept the reality of magic.”

  It became easier to concentrate on his words as we left the loud streets below and climbed into darker, quieter neighborhoods.

  “In the old days, they believed it all too well,” the ferryman continued. “Some lived with us peacefully, but many wanted to use us or hurt us for our magic. So eventually we formed the kingdoms. Some of our kind mingle with the humans, the ambassadors, you know, and tradespeople, that sort. You need special permits to come and go and most of us never bother with it. Never been to human lands before myself, though I’m mighty curious about a few things. How do they get from place to place, long distances I mean, without magic?”

  Magic? He had to be joking, right? Then again, how else could I explain all I’d seen? The mermaids, the beer mugs, the fortune teller… for that matter, the contest itself and how I’d somehow entered without that being possible. I stopped short, my chest tight. I fought for breath, my m
outh opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  “I believe you.” I shook my head at him. Then laughed. “That probably makes me absolutely crazy, but I believe you. I believe in magic.”

  “And I believe in oxygen.” He scowled. “Young lady, you’d best believe, you’re part of a magical baking contest that starts tomorrow.”

  My smile dropped. “It’s a magical contest? But… I don’t have magic.”

  The ferryman motioned me forward and I followed numbly. “First of all, of course you have magic. You couldn’t have even entered without it.”

  I held up a finger. “Actually, I never really entered. I baked a shortcake, wrapped in the flyer like it said to do, but before I could mail it, my apartment burned down.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You’re like a baby, that’s how much you know. The flyer was enchanted, lassie, to transport your package to the address upon it. As soon as you wrapped up your cake, you sealed the spell and whoosh, off it went to the royal estate to be judged. So you definitely entered. And you would’ve been on that ferry if you didn’t have magic. You’re one of us, and you best accept that.”

  I blinked at him. Believing in magic was one thing, but believing I had magic when I had a lifetime’s worth of evidence to the contrary was another.

  We hiked on in silence. The crash of the waves, now far below, kept a steady beat for us and bats swooped overhead whistling and squeaking. We passed over another stone bridge, the water below teeming with glowing orbs and glittering tails. I sighed. Between the tiny lights that hovered among the leaves of the trees, the mermaids, the soft music that seemed to emanate from the water, and the occasional deep ringing of temple bells, I found myself in love. This city buzzed with magic and life and beauty.

  The road narrowed, the cobblestones even and better paved. We approached a tall, elaborately woven, wrought iron gate with gold leaf accents. Two guards in blue, green, and gold livery stood at attention. When we approached, they lowered their lances, forming an X over the gate.

  “State your business.”

  The ferryman leaned toward me. “Show them your competition materials.”

  “Oh right.” I fumbled in my bag and pulled the documents out, handing them to the guard on the left. “I’m here for the baking contest.”

  The guard glared at my face, then looked over the passport.

  I turned to the ferryman. “Do ticket agents and such know about this place? About magic? They seemed to recognize that passport.”

  He shook his head. “Lass. It’s the spell. When a nonmagical person sees that document, it’s spelled to make them as helpful to the person bearing it as possible. Then they forget all about it.”

  I grinned. “That’s awesome.”

  The other guard spoke into a glowing earpiece.

  “We’re summoning the contest coordinator. She’ll escort you to your lodgings, Miss Banks.”

  I sighed with relief. At least I’d found the right place.

  “Well, this is where I leave ya.”

  I turned to the ferryman. “Thank you so much. I would have been lost without you.”

  He waved me off. “I know.”

  I grinned and reached out a hand. “Imogen.”

  He looked at my hand, then stuck out his hand in the same stiff manner, without taking mine. “Charlie.”

  I grinned, clasped his hand, and then shook it slowly. “That’s how humans do it.”

  “Huh.” He nodded. “Something new every day.” He turned to go. “Say, Imogen, if you ever want to hear some local history from salty old barnacles like me, come by the Rusted Wreck. Won’t see any of them fancy types there.” He jerked his chin at the palace gates. “But they got a damn good clam chowder and cheap drinks.”

  I grinned. “The Rusted Wreck. I’d love that. And I can tell you all about human long-distance travel.”

  He nodded and waved goodbye. “See ya around. And good luck tomorrow.” He froze. “One more thing.”

  I raised a brow.

  “Be careful. I’m guessin’ you don’t know about the last royal baker. She was murdered, through and through, no matter what they tell ya. Someone’s out for the bakers, so you watch yourself and take care, ya hear?” Charlie walked off with one last wave.

  I gulped. The woman at Victoria’s rehearsal dinner had said something along those lines, too. Did I need to be worried?

  A woman in a pencil skirt with a swirling hem appeared behind the gate. Her white hair stood out against her dark, smooth skin, and her dark eyes looked off into the middle distance.

  She nodded, “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well tell her that all contestants are treated the same and she doesn’t get an en suite bathroom because no one else does either.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I will.” She turned back to me as the gates separated magically, letting me through. She pulled something like a glowing white gumball out of her ear and tucked it into her pocket.

  “Amelia Tate, Contest Coordinator. And I hear you’re Imogen?”

  I nodded. “Hi.”

  She swept an arm toward the expansive green grounds behind her. “Welcome to the Royal Estate. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  10

  Orientation

  Singing coming from the room next door woke me up the next morning. Last night, Amelia had warned me about the walls being paper thin. I listened harder to make out the lyrics.

  “As I toiled in the kitchens one morn, one morn,

  By the heat of the flames and the wet of the sweat,

  I spotted a rat steal an ear of corn,

  And I vowed when we met, that crime he’d regret.

  In a furious rage I cast a spell, a spell,

  Sent a fiery blast to cause the thief great grief,

  Cursed and lashed out all pell mell,

  And instead of the rat, I extirpated the beef.”

  I chuckled into the sheets. The violent lyrics, contrasted with the girl’s cheery tone, got me.

  “The flames caught the curtains alight, alight,

  I called on the heavens to redress the mess,

  As the rain poured down, the rat gave me a bite,

  And that’s how I caught my plague-like illness.”

  I had to meet this girl. I climbed out of the sleeping alcove that held my bed.

  Last night, my mind whirring with magic and the competition, I’d been convinced I’d never fall asleep. But the down bed took care of that. I’d had the best sleep of my life.

  I lowered my bare feet to the warm wood floor. French doors opened to a field that ended in a sharp drop off to the sea below. I threw them open and stood with arms spread wide. The rush of the sea met my ears, the air humid and salty.

  I left the doors open and did a little happy dance as I turned back to my room. With tall ceilings, exposed stone walls, and the doors to the field outside, I was in heaven.

  Though it was tiny, it felt cozy and airy. I liked the simplicity. Besides a desk, the only other furniture was an armchair and a wardrobe. Maybe it held some extra clothes in my size? I was in a magical kingdom; a girl could hope.

  I opened the twin doors to find empty wooden hangers and below that two empty drawers. Bummer. I had on all the clothes I owned—jeans, a cami, and a unicorn T-shirt. I pulled on the socks and boots Lois had given me. Amelia had promised to send her word that I was all right and staying in Bijou Mer.

  I picked up my complimentary toiletries and headed left down the hallway. An enamel sign on the last door read Toilette. I knocked, three short thuds.

  “Occupied.”

  I waited… and waited some more. Finally I knocked again.

  “What?”

  I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a fellow contestant, especially if she was the baker’s daughter and had inherited his burly arms and temper. “Hi. I’m Imogen.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Amelia said there’s only one bathroom on the women’s floor, so I don’t mean to rush you, but if I could just brush m
y teeth, I’ll be out in a jiffy and you can have it back, if you need more time?” I winced, scratching at the tendrils at my nape while I waited for a reply.

  “That’s true. Only one bathroom, so we’ll all have to learn to share.”

  I forced myself to wait before replying, so as not to say something I’d regret. “Sharing is caring. I’ll just wait then, I suppose. Right here. Outside the door.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” sang the high-pitched voice.

  A creak down the hall alerted me to another door opening. A blond girl, rubbing roughly at her eyes, emerged. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she came out of the door next to mine.

  She wore pink flannel pajamas patterned with horses that magically galloped around the fabric, over her shoulder, and down her shins. I grinned and lifted my hand in a tentative wave. She looked behind her as she made her way toward me, then flashed me a shy smile.

  “Hallo.” She winced at the bathroom door. “Occupied?”

  I nodded.

  “Is it Pritney again?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know anyone yet.”

  She folded her arms. “How long has she been in there?”

  I whispered, “Ages.”

  The girl huffed. “Pritney then.” She leaned against the wall beside me. “I’m Maple.”

  The baker’s daughter! Not the burly Amazon I’d expected. “Imogen. I met your father yesterday, he told me to tell you good luck from him.”

  “You met my pa?” Maple groaned and buried her sleep-lined face in her hands. “Urgh. He means well, but he’s so… so embarrassing.” Maple let her hands drop and she frowned at the bathroom door again. “I seriously might wet myself, right here in the hall, if she doesn’t hurry.” She scooted closer to me. “I’d tell her so too, if she didn’t terrify me.”

  I grinned.

  Another door opened next to Maple, startling us both. A gray, wiry mop of hair poked out the doorway. A wrinkled face with tiny squinting eyes blinked at us.

  Maple grinned at me. “Lillian, this is Imogen. Imogen, Lillian.”

  I waved hello.

  “Why you two young things hangin’ around outside my door?”