Of Stars and Spells Read online

  Of Stars and Spells

  Sister Witches of Raven Falls Cozy Mystery Series, Book 3

  Nyx Halliwell

  Of Stars and Spells

  Sister Witches of Raven Falls Cozy Mystery Series, Book 3

  © 2019 Nyx Halliwell

  ISBN: 978-1-948686-15-0

  Cover Art by EDH Graphics

  Formatting by Beach Path Publishing, LLC

  Editing by Elizabeth Neal, Patricia Essex

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  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Ready for more fun?

  Ready for more magick?

  Pumpkin Pecan Muffins

  Whitethorne Hot Apple Cider

  About the Author

  Connect with Nyx today!

  Dear Reader

  1

  Autumn. My favorite season and the one I’m named after. This morning, I feel the tug of the Pacific Northwest weather and turning of the Wheel of Life, before opening my door.

  Something big is happening today. Even the cards agree. The Ace of Pentacles fell out of my tarot deck as I performed my daily morning shuffle, alerting me to new beginnings and earth energy working together to bring me something tangible.

  Crisp fall air fills my nose as I find Godfrey and Snow perched on the welcome mat between the dueling displays of pumpkins and gourds. Both cats look up, as if their heads are on the same string, and Godfrey meows loudly.

  Cats. I have a doggie door at the back entrance, but they refuse to use it. Godfrey believes it’s beneath him, and he’s trained his new love interest to act the same.

  The two walk by me, one on each side, tails curled over their backs. They nestle together at the fireplace in Sirius’s large dog bed, Snow entwining her white body among her kittens and licking Vivaldi’s head before she settles down.

  Sirius is my familiar, a beautiful large Irish wolfhound that Snow’s kittens adore.

  The tiny furballs have grown considerably since my sister, Summer, found them in a box this past June. Vivaldi, along with the others, greets her mother warmly and rubs her face with her own.

  As I look out, I inhale deeply, enjoying the sunlight glistening off an abundance of yellow, orange, and red leaves. Winter’s cabin and the Whitethorne woods are on my right. Summer and Spring’s, and several gardens, are across the path to my left. The greenhouse branches off behind my house. The last vestiges of gourds and pumpkins are scattered amongst the now dormant gardens, Mother Nature getting ready for a deep sleep.

  Sirius is finishing his breakfast, ready for his run by the time I’ve slipped on my running shoes. I’m wearing bright orange yoga pants featuring pumpkins and a matching puffy vest over a black long-sleeve shirt. I’ve swept my red hair into a ponytail and put in my skeleton earrings to complete my look. Sirius wears a black collar with moons and stars on it, his metal tag a bright yellow, matching the color of his wise old eyes.

  We leave the cats by the fireplace to nap in its warmth, and head out for our daily exercise.

  Yellow and purple mums are in full bloom along the stone path to Conjure. The last traces of fog slip off amongst the trees, and the sun continues to rise. The smell of baking apples and pumpkin bread mixes with that of the nearby pines, telling me Spring is hard at work in the kitchen for the Fall Festival and Samhain celebration.

  Sirius trots along, sniffing and marking his territory here and there. I feel more alive at this time of year than any other, and the dog seems to share that.

  Spring’s familiar, Hoax, is on the back porch of the shop as we climb the steps. “May there be guineafowl crying at your child’s birth,” the mockingbird yells at me.

  Whatever that means. Sirius growls at him in mild warning, but I just roll my eyes. The bird is cursed and can’t fly, and he slings Irish and Gaelic maledictions at everyone—his way of mocking us. Some days, I wonder how he’s managed to live this long amongst us witches.

  I leave Sirius with Hoax, and head inside to find Spring and her friend, Storm, baking apple fritters, donuts, and other specialty treats for the display case. I greet my sister, whose pale cheeks are flushed from the heat of the stove, with a kiss on the cheek. Snagging a cup from the cabinet, I fill it with warm apple cider from a giant pot on the stove.

  Storm, a gypsy at heart, pulls out the latest round of miniature apple cider donuts from the oven. She’s pinned her long hair on top of her head and wears a black flowing skirt, purple top, and a candy corn necklace. Her dark hair and eyes contrast sharply to Spring’s blond and blue, but the two move with a rhythm suggesting they are old friends from a past life, reunited in this one. Spring sprinkles cinnamon sugar on the donuts and puts them on a cooling rack.

  I drop a cinnamon stick into my cup and take several sips, enjoying the warmth as it goes down. “How many have you made?” I ask, looking around. Every inch of counterspace is covered, and I lick my lips, anticipating what I’m sneaking from the plethora for breakfast.

  “Three dozen donuts,” Spring says, continuing to work even as she speaks, her dangling black cat earrings swinging. She’s wearing my favorite Halloween apron and she accented her outfit with an orange and black headband. “I have another five, three pies, and two dozen pumpkin muffins on order.”

  Along with her lotions, potions, and herbs, her bakery goods are in high demand. She’s probably been here since well before sunrise. “When I get back from my run, I’ll open so you two can keep working. My clients don’t start ’til ten.”

  As she hustles past me, she gives me a quick squeeze. “Thank you.” She points to a basket on the edge of the counter. “Will you drop that at Mama Nightengale’s?”

  “Of course.” Snatching it up, I return to the porch, motion to Sirius, and the two of us take off. As we pass the parking lot, I see customers already lining up at the entrance, hoping to be one of the few to grab the apple cider donuts before they sell out.

  Even with Storm’s help, Spring has been running out of all the fall pastries by closing. I expect the holidays will be the same.

  The shop is short of space to keep up with demand for other products, as well,
especially Summer’s crystal jewelry, and our selection of buddhas and goddess statues. I’ve been considering expanding our storefront on the north side. We could use it for the retail items and a larger treatment room for me.

  I don’t do many energy healing sessions—that’s Summer’s area of expertise—but I’m seeing more clients than ever for tarot readings, birth charts, and relationship advice. They sometimes come in pairs or groups and it’s challenging to fit everyone around my table.

  Summer’s appointments have grown too, and I know she could use more space for all her crystals and other supplies. She’s seen an increase in couples and best friends who want to have a treatment together, but she can only fit one table in there. She recently had a request to do an entire bridal party, giving them all a burst of positive energy to get them through the wedding, but it’s impossible to squeeze that many into the tiny cube she uses now, so she was forced to do it at the bride’s house.

  Plus, Spring needs a bigger kitchen. Then we could hire Storm full-time.

  Expansion—this energy falls under the planet Jupiter. I ask for that planet’s guidance and assistance as I contemplate my plans.

  The sounds of birds and squirrels preparing for hibernation reach my ears as Sirius and I turn south, walking along the highway on our favorite bike trail. I drink in the sight of the turning leaves, the reassuring smell of overnight wood fires lingering in the air.

  Various evergreens provide a canopy, a tapestry of sunshine falling at our feet. I have to watch for acorns and pinecones as I jog to keep up with Sirius. I take him off leash so he can run in and out of the woods, sniffing and barking at the squirrels.

  We near Mama Nightengale’s convenience store, and it looks like she’s busy this early as well. Several people are getting gas, others coming and going with various prepackaged items, newspapers, and lottery tickets. Mama herself opens the back to throw out trash and says good morning to me. I lift the basket, whistle at Sirius to come, and after a logging truck passes, we cross the highway to deliver the items for her new fresh bakery case.

  “You tell your sister I’m needin’ more,” she says, flipping back the red-checkered towel to eye the contents. Her hair is in dozens of braids, accented with orange beads. Her voice is deep and sultry. “I’m selling out every morning before I can say Happy Halloween.”

  I smile at the shorter woman, the sun on her dark skin highlighting its smooth surface. I wonder how old our neighbor is—much older than she appears, I suspect. “She’s having trouble keeping up with the demand at our place, too, but I’ll put in your request.”

  One of Mama’s eyes narrows at me. “She puttin’ some kind of spell on them, making them so popular?”

  I wink at her. “Good food is magick in itself, isn’t it?”

  She laughs good-naturedly and pats Sirius on the head. “I’m lookin’ forward to your trick-or-treat open house Saturday night. Need me some new tarot cards.”

  “They’ll be on sale.”

  She nods, looking off toward the woods. “Your momma would be proud of what you gals accomplished in the past year, growing Conjure the way you have.”

  My heart does a hard thud in my ribcage at the thought of Mom. “We’re having a small get-together afterward to celebrate her if you’d like to attend.”

  Another nod, this time her gaze finding mine. “I’d be honored.”

  With a wave goodbye, Sirius and I head back to the path.

  This time of year is sacred to us for thanking our ancestors, and this year, it holds even more meaning to me and my sisters. We’re preparing a special Samhain feast and leaving an empty chair and place setting for her spirit to join us.

  I know she won’t, since her soul is in limbo, thanks to the beast we have trapped in the woods, but I pray she finds some way through.

  Or we get through to her. We’ve been working since Beltane to find some type of magick to get her away from the beast, break his hold over her.

  So far, no luck.

  My heart does another thud, this one more like a soft echo, as my familiar and I draw close to Harrington Farms. The twenty-five acre family-owned and operated property grows vegetables for sale in the summer, pumpkins and gourds in autumn, and Christmas trees for the holidays.

  There’s a small wooden stand behind the front gate, pumpkins in various sizes spreading out from each side. Brightly colored potted mums form a backdrop. Inside the stand are jars of homemade jams and jellies, and some of Spring’s honey, along with other craft items Mrs. Harrington makes and sells.

  I’m surprised to see the gate is closed and no one at the stand. Usually when Sirius and I go by, one of them or their helpers are opening up.

  The house seems eerily quiet. There’s no one out and about.

  I feel an itch under my breastbone, but I ignore it, running on with Sirius. Perhaps they’re getting a late start, or having a business meeting inside.

  We run past acres of ground now going fallow for the winter. Mr. Harrington has already cleaned off most the garden growth and vines, a few beds still filled with mums. Behind that are Christmas trees, the next season bearing down on us even though Halloween is a couple days away.

  My sisters and I celebrate it as Samhain, and our customers who do the same are climbing every year, demanding more for the season. The Harringtons have seen a good amount of growth in the past few years as well. Many folks have come full circle, wanting the experience of hunting for pumpkins, purchasing locally grown mums and gourds, and preferring handmade items rather than those mass produced and marketed from stores.

  Sirius and I spend a little time in the national park, soaking up sun and passing other walkers, joggers, and bike riders. Everyone in these parts speaks and offers a kind word, and I offer gratitude to Mother Nature for giving us this beautiful place to live in.

  I gather a few maple leaves from the path—as big as my hand and strikingly yellow and orange—before we turn around and head home. I plan to press them in our Whitethorne Book of Spells I keep to infuse the pages with the precious fall energy.

  Several cars pass on the highway as we walk the bike path toward the Harrington Farm. I’m thinking about the clients I have later today—two tarot readings, and a past life birth chart analysis. I always enjoy those a great deal.

  I’m thinking about that and the possible expansion of our shop next year, when a black truck roars by and wheels in at the Harrington’s drive.

  A man gets out in a perfectly pressed white military uniform. I stop in my tracks and my breath catches in my lungs.

  I’d know that build, that dark hair and handsome face, anywhere.

  He goes to the gate to unlock it.

  I blink several times, unable to believe my eyes. This Air Force officer is broader and more muscled under that impressive uniform than the man I knew five years ago.

  But my heart has no doubt, its solid thudthudthud inside my chest an absolute checkmark.

  Quinn.

  My soul mate.

  Sirius stops beside me, his lanky body pressing into my leg as he picks up on my sudden mix of emotions—surprise, worry…

  Love.

  A bottomless well of unrequited love.

  For half a second, I try to talk myself out of the idea that it truly is Quinn Harrington. He’s swung the gate open so he can drive up the lane leading to the house.

  His buzzcut hair is so dark, it seems to absorb the morning sunlight. When he looks up, his eyes meet mine, and there’s no denying it.

  I sense him catch his breath.

  This is the man who left me.

  The man whose chart I’ve read a hundred times.

  Unlike the dozens of couples decorating the wall in my office, ours doesn’t have a fairy tale ending. We’re soulmates, yes, but not all soulmates end up together.

  I’m jinxed. In this lifetime, Quinn and I are destined to be star-crossed lovers.

  Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring for him. Dreaming about him. Wishing on the stars th
at he’d come back to be with me.

  Wish granted.

  Or is it?

  My pulse beats so fast I feel like I might have a panic attack. I feel his heartbeat, too—clairsentience is one of my gifts. It’s as if the two of us are frozen in time.

  How is it possible he’s home and I didn’t know it?

  The eclipse! The Ace of Pentacles warned me, and we’re between a solar and lunar eclipse, the latter coming on Samhain. They reveal secrets and brings surprises—and not always good ones.

  Beside me, Sirius whines. I pat the dog’s head, reassuring him. I lift the other hand in hello, and the action seems to snap him out of his surprise. Nothing changes in his face, and he gets into his truck and pulls it through the gate as if he doesn’t know me.

  My heart drops like a fifty pound pumpkin into my stomach.

  Stunned, and a little embarrassed, I wonder if he doesn’t recognize me, or if he’s just moved on.

  Of course, he’s moved on. He left you, I remind myself.

  The leaving to join the Air Force wasn’t the worst part—we had plans for when he returned. But six months after he enlisted, he sent me a text saying I needed to forget him, that his life was too dangerous now and he couldn’t ask me to wait for him.

  I thought he was joking. I replied, called, wrote letters. He never picked up, answered, or responded at all. It was if he completely disappeared from the face of the earth.

  His parents offered no help, telling me only that he’d been tapped for intelligence work and part of that involved cutting all unnecessary ties. Ghosting, they called it. Even they claimed to rarely hear from him and eventually stopped mentioning him at all. Gossip around town said he’d joined a top-secret national intelligence division like the CIA or NSA.