Hoodoo and Just Desserts (The Witch Sisters of Stillwater Cozy Series Book 1) Read online

  “Never for any good reason. You’re here for the latest, gossip, aren’t you?” She asked brusquely, slipping past me to shuffle to her desk. She sat in the office chair with a resigned sigh, and I could tell I had already won. “What is it, Mazie?” She pressed, steepling her fingers atop her desk.

  “It’s just that Dickney has been pushing the issue of the water park he plans to build. I was wondering if you’d managed to dig up any dirt on him,” I said, rocking idly on my heels. I was all too prepared for the glower my sister leveled at me, though after being on the receiving end of her glares for some thirty years, I was beyond used to it.

  “I don’t exactly go looking for trouble where there is none, Mazie,” she sighed, brushing me off as she busied herself with sorting some files on her desk.

  “Oh, please. Trouble is your middle name,” I snorted, slumping in one of the chairs across from her desk. She spared me another glare, before seeming entirely intent upon ignoring me. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest as I waited for her to finish whatever mundane task she was occupying herself with. I smirked as I watched my sister, sensing her growing discomfort with my silent presence as much as she would like to deny it. After a few moments, she exhaled a sharp huff, dropping the papers on the table and raising a brow at me.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do. It’s not like I have the power to run Dickney out of town, as much as I’d like to,” she groused. I chuckled a bit, shaking my head at her sour mood.

  “I don’t expect you to run him out of town. I just want you to look over his record. That’s not much of a request, is it?” I smiled, leaning back in my chair and propping my feet up on the desk. Fern glowered at where my feet rested, shaking her head as if to clear her mind before breathing a deep sigh.

  “I’ve already looked into his record, alright? He’s squeaky clean. It’s almost sickening,” she blurted, crossing her arms dourly over her chest and refusing to meet my gaze. I tilted my head curiously, unable to help my soft chuckle.

  “Sickening, huh? We weren’t all rebellious teenagers, Fern, dear,” I taunted, just barely managing to dodge as she flung her pen at me.

  “Like you can talk,” she scoffed, balefully staring where her pen lay. I waved a hand, levitating it back onto the desk. Fern looked scandalized, gripping the writing utensil and hissing at me like I’d committed some cardinal sin. “You know better than to do magic in public. Honestly, Mazie,” she gritted out. I sighed, sinking back in my chair and considering her for a long moment.

  “It’s not like anyone is going to see us in the privacy of your office. Are you scared that cute new rookie is going to catch wind that you’re not just a witch in the metaphorical sense?” I asked with a smirk, unable to contain my laughter at the red blossoming in her cheeks. I couldn’t quite tell if she was angry or embarrassed, although it was likely some mixture of both.

  “You know I don’t like to flaunt our magic,” she grumbled, brushing a lock of her red curls behind her ear. I touched my own blonde hair self consciously for a moment, cursing her for getting the good looks of our mother—not that she’d believe as such, even if I were to tell her. Fern was self conscious about more than just her magic—she seemed to resent many facets of her appearance, and even her character. I thought the splash of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose were adorable, but she’d probably throw me in a cell if I brought it up.

  “I know, I know. Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll keep it under control, okay? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you and your little crush,” I mumbled, allowing the legs of the chair to clatter to the floor as I leaned across the desk. My elder sister didn’t seem too thrilled by my reassurances, considering me for a moment longer before exhaling a sigh and dropping her head into her hands. “Whoa. What’s wrong?” I demanded, fully prepared to eviscerate whoever may have upset my sister... myself aside.

  “Am I that obvious? I’ve been trying to be... subtle,” she muttered, keeping her eyes downcast. I chuckled, reaching out to mess up her bouncy curls. She cringed, making a half-heated attempt to pat her hair down as she drew away.

  “You’re just obvious to me, Fern. I’m your sister. I know when you like someone. I doubt anyone else has noticed your love struck staring,” I teased. She reddened, muttering into her hands. “Speak so the rest of the class can hear,” I chuckled, reaching out to pull my sister’s hands away from her face. She stared at me, looking more than a little self conscious.

  “You wouldn’t understand. You’re the pretty one,” she managed, averting her eyes and fidgeting. I stared at her through wide eyes before cackling, unable to stop myself. She leveled me with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest as I continued to giggle, unable to contain myself.

  “Fern, come on. You’re not serious, are you?” I blurted, wiping a tear of mirth away from my eye. She soured immediately, turning to her computer with a huff.

  “If you’re just here to make fun of me...,” she muttered. I managed to contain the rest of my amusement, resting my hand on her desk and wiggling my fingers at her. As I expected, she gripped my hand tightly, though she still refused to meet my gaze.

  “Come on. You have to be kidding. Everyone knows you’re the pretty one. Look at this,” I grinned, giving the chub of my stomach a little poke. Fern rolled her eyes, but I did manage to make her smile, so it was a small victory.

  “So what? More of you to love,” she said dismissively, eyes widening as she stared at her computer. “Oh. Crap. We’ll have to talk later. The chief wants to see me in his office,” she rambled, leaping to her feet and looking nothing short of entirely panicked. I stood as well, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her forehead.

  “Text me so I know you survived. I’ve got to head to work, anyway,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes as she tried to rub the lipstick off of her forehead. “Oh, come on. I’m the only one who wears that shade. What are they going to think? That you’re in some torrid love affair—,” I blurted, smiling innocently as she glared at me. “Okay, okay,” I muttered, licking my thumb before wiping away the smudged lipstick mark. Fern made a face that was torn between appreciative and disgusted, grunting as she edged past me to the door.

  “I’ll see you at home tonight, alright? Stop by the five and dime on the way home. Moody needs cat food,” she said absently, and I nodded quietly as I followed her out the door. We parted ways as she turned left towards the chief’s office, and I turned right towards the exit.

  “Good luck,” I called, and she stiffened for a moment before giving me a thumbs up without bothering to look over her shoulder. I smiled to myself, glancing at her office crush only to see him staring a bit dreamily after her. I swallowed my amusement, pushing out the door and enjoying the breezy day.

  After that, it was off to work, off at the Civil War battlefield and museum. I managed to get in my work attire just in time to greet a group of tourists who looked all too interested in what the museum had to offer. Part of me hoped they would linger inside the museum...as much as I loved giving tours, I was feeling exceptionally tired. I suppose it served me right for fooling around at the Sheriff’s office before work.

  “Stuart!” A harsh voice called out, and I startled a bit, not used to hearing such hostility from my coworkers. I glanced up just in time to see my boss looking amused by the fright he’d given me. “Mazie, you in there? This group wants a tour of the battlefield,” the older man said warmly, gently knocking his knuckles against my forehead. I snickered before straightening and putting on my oh-so-professional work persona.

  “Great! If you will just follow me, then. Stay close, please,” I announced, clapping my hands together as I walked the familiar path that led to the back most half of the museum. The group trailed behind me, muttering amongst themselves as I threw the doors open and held one open for each member of the group. They were, of course, too preoccupied to thank me, but I hadn’t expected much else. They gathered in an awkward gaggle, and I managed to contain my amu
sement as I took the lead. Another day on the job.

  The tours were relatively easy to work through. The walk could be tiring at times, especially doing it several times a day, but I ate plenty of cookies to make up for the calories burned. Had to keep my girlish figure, after all. There were no reenactments today—that would take place on the final day of the upcoming festival. Just the same, there was plenty to see. The battlefield was set up to look just liked it had back in the day, when the war was taking place. There were tents, mannequins of soldiers, even replicas of period-appropriate weapons. The group seemed fascinated by everything I pointed out, and I appreciated their enthusiasm at the very least. Most of the time I had to drag around families with moody teenagers—not my idea of the ideal work day. This group was comprised of older men and women, though their clothing screamed “tourist”.

  Continuing down the path that I had memorized, I paused in front of a tall bronze statue. It had discolored due to age, but it was still a magnificent sight to behold. I swept my hands towards it in a grand gesture, pleased to hear a collective gasp from the group.

  “And here, we have our famous statue of Colonel Augustus Monroe. He was solely responsible for the victorious battle, though he unfortunately lost his life in the process,” I announced, stepping aside as the tourists began snapping pictures. A chill worked its way up my spine, and I rolled my eyes a bit as I felt a presence lingering just behind me. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling by any means, but I was sure I would never be entirely used to the sensation.

  “You give me far too much credit, dear girl. Not that these cretins appreciate it. Gods, what did you call that abhorrent footwear? Flippity floops?”

  Ah, yes. Who better to grace my day than the Colonel himself?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Colonel Augustus Monroe was, in a word... dead. He’d died years ago, but his ghost continued to haunt this battlefield, allegedly because he felt it was his duty. I was mostly convinced he was afraid to cross over, and partly because he didn’t want to leave the other spirits of the battlefield behind. He and Mary Jane, a nurse during the war, had essentially christened the battlefield, that is to say, in the most intimate of manners. Mary Jane was a quiet sort, the type to remain quiet unless the Colonel said something particularly amusing at any given time. She was from a time where women were to be seen, not heard, so I couldn’t particularly blame her. The Colonel didn’t seem the type to hold her to such requirements, but I couldn’t be entirely sure. He was an old fashioned sort, after all.

  The third ghost who haunted the battlefield was also nowhere to be seen at that moment, Little Timmy or LT as we sometimes called him, also bowed to the Colonel’s orders like he'd be killed if he dared disobey. Which, considering he was already dead, was kinda funny. I didn’t have much time to be amused, however, quietly conversing with the Colonel while the tourists gawked at his statue.

  “Flip flops.” I said after a long moment. He raised a single ectoplasmic eyebrow, and I chuckled a bit. “Flippity Floops. They’re called flip flops. And as I’m sure you’re well aware, they’re pretty popular in this kind of weather,” I said quietly, smiling politely as one of the tourists pressed their camera into my hand—I suppose so I could take a photo of the woman and her smiling friends. I took several pictures before handing it back over, paying little mind to the tourists as Augustus snorted haughtily.

  “They’re ridiculous. Absurd! How do they provide any protection for one’s feet? If another war breaks out—,” the ghost colonel ranted, though I tuned him out after a few minutes. His tirades were part of the job when it came to working this particular battlefield...that is, if you were a witch who could speak to ghosts.

  “Alright. Let’s head back to the museum, guys. Stay in a group please,” I called out, checking my watch with a bored expression. There would be a number of other tours today, but that was what I was expected to tend to. I liked my job in most cases, though I was admittedly more interested in pressing Fern for any additional information she may have gleaned today. I allowed myself to drift into my usual state of disinterest when it came to leading tourists around. At first, the job had been exciting. It still had its moments, but you could only show off the same monuments so many times without getting bored out of your mind.

  Augustus seemed a bit surly that I hadn’t been listening to his tirade, but it was something I could deal with at the end of the day. In the meantime, I led the last group of the day to the statue and gestured grandly towards it. They oohed and ahhed, and I was designated to camera duty for what was hopefully the last time that evening. I made a face as one of the younger boys lifted his companion, hanging him off the edge of the statue’s sword for the photo. I waited patiently for the inevitable, rolling my eyes at the telltale rip of the young man’s shirt. He seemed embarrassed, but at least he didn’t have much of anything to hide.

  “I must ask you to show some respect to the war memorials. Thank you,” I said blandly, snapping a photo and pressing it into an older woman’s hands. She was almost too caught up in scolding the boys to notice me, and in spite of how much they deserved it, I was too eager to go home to wait for them to hash it out. “Now, if you’ll follow me...,” I trailed off, offering Augustus a little wave to soothe any hard feelings he may have had. Thankfully, none of the tourists seemed to notice—not that they were paying any mind when they seemed to realize the tour was over. I led them back into the museum, putting on my brightest smile and bidding them all a good evening.

  I clocked out shortly after, all too ready to get home and change out of my scratchy work uniform. My boss was absent as I stepped out of the museum, and I considered waiting to make sure he locked up before taking my leave. Dismissing the idea, I got in my car and turned the radio on full blast. My favorite song was playing, and I tapped the beat on the steering wheel as I drove down main street. I could only hope Fern had remembered to pick up Moody’s food...our beloved feline tended to get pretty irritable when we forgot her kibble. It may not have seemed like much of an issue, but Moody... well, Moody was a very special cat.

  As I pulled into the driveway, I saw Fern’s car already parked and smiled to myself. At least she wasn’t pulling another all-nighter at the office. I couldn’t stand when she worked herself to the bone for Stillwater’s unappreciative Sheriff. Truth be told, she was probably more deserving of the position, with all the work she put in. She always waved me off, looking flustered when I said as much. Fern wasn’t much of a pack leader, and I supposed that was the one thing that would inhibit her as Sheriff. I shook off the thoughts as I slipped out of my car, locking up and striding to the front door. I fumbled with the house key for a moment, smiling victoriously when I found the right key—on the third try or so, but who was keeping count?

  Pushing into the house, I was startled to see Fern all but passed out on the sofa, her face peaceful as she softly snoozed. Moody perked up as I stepped inside, bounding towards me with something akin to a smile on her feline face.

  “Did you bring the liver treats?” She demanded, and I stared at her in confusion for a moment. Not particularly because my cat was talking—or more specifically, telepathically communicating with me. I didn’t remember promising any liver treats, but then again, I tended to be forgetful at times.

  “Uhm... sorry?” I managed, shuffling over to the easy chair that Fern usually claimed as her own. She must have been particularly exhausted to take the couch, lumpy and tattered as the old thing was. Moody huffed, hopping on the back out of the sofa and walking along it, peering down at Fern with an expression that could only be described as insidious.

  “Fern promised you would be bringing some home. As an apology for making me wait so long for the good kibble. I try to be such a good feline, and you two take me for granted. I’m tempted to go on strike. As a matter of fact—,” Moody began to rant, but I held up a hand and allowed my head to drop back.

  “What, exactly, would you do, on strike? There’s not a whole lot you do around the
house, anyway,” I mused aloud, folding my hands in my lap and watching the cat pace.

  “There would be mice without me. You’d need to invest in traps. I think liver treats are a small price to pay,” she retorted, finally sitting down and licking her paw before dragging it across her ear. This process repeated several times as I just watched her, unsure of what else I was supposed to say. I had apologized, and it was too late to fetch any of the liver treats from the store. At least, it was too late for me to feel like going back out. I closed my eyes, relaxing for a moment although I could feel the finicky feline’s eyes upon me. There was the sound of a soft thump, and I peeked an eye open just in time to see Fern lurch upright. That is, it would have been upright if not for Moody sitting just under her chin.

  “Moody...,” Fern groaned sleepily, rubbing her eyes and trying to roll over to go back to sleep.

  “A bit early for bed, isn’t it?” I pointed out, and my sister groaned before sitting up and considering me with narrowed eyes.

  “This is not bed. This is couch. See? Couch,” she replied, gesturing vaguely at the ratty piece of furniture she seemed intent upon resting on. I hummed, considering her with a faint smile.

  “If you’re tired, then why aren’t you going to bed? I’ve slept on that couch, Fern. Not a five star sleeping experience there,” I asked, snorting as she groaned rather melodramatically.

  “I’ve got some files to go over. Didn’t feel like staying at the station all night long, so I brought them home,” she explained tiredly, gesturing to a pile of folders on our coffee table. I belatedly wondered how I hadn’t already noticed them, but considering all the other junk on the table, I couldn’t blame myself terribly.

  “That... doesn’t explain why you’re sleeping on the couch,” I chuckled. She groaned, resting her head in her hands. I watched her for several moments, waiting for the explanation I was sure she would provide. Instead, she seemed to have drifted off with her face buried in her palms. I rolled my eyes, walking over to the couch and giving her shoulder a gentle shake. She startled awake with a sharp intake of breath, looking at me as if I’d killed her puppy. “Fern. Go to bed,” I ordered gently, receiving a bitter smile in return.