Cozy Mystery Boxed Set – Sweetland Witch (Women Sleuths Collection: Book 1 – 2): Sweetland Witch (3 Book Boxed Set)

By Zoe Arden

2 BOOK BOXED SET ON OFFER!

 

Book 01: Witch Cake Murders

When young witch Ava arrives in Sweetland Cove, murders follow her everywhere. As the days pass, she knows someone wants her dead and all the witches are hiding something. Can Ava stop the killer before they strike again? Will she be able to clear her name?

 

Book 02: The Witching Flavor

Witches are missing at an alarming rate! When a second witch goes missing and another person is dead, Ava's friend, a vampire, gets accused of the crime. She knows what is going on, but can she stop the kidnappings before they turn to another murder?

 

Discover the Sweetland Witch series by bestselling author Zoe Arden. These charming mysteries will have you scratching your head to work out who the murderer is. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Arden
• Release date: Aug 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393259671

Zoe Arden

It was from reading Agatha Christie’s mystery books that inspired Zoe to write cozy mystery novels. Zoe liked the fact that cozy mysteries are able to offer readers a form of escapism that typical detective stories can’t. Like what Marilyn Stasio, who has been the Crime columnist forThe New York TimesBook Review since the late 1980s, recently wrote: “The abiding appeal of the cozy mystery owes a lot to our collective memory, true or false, of simpler, sweeter times.” It is Zoe’s desire that her writings will evoke that nostalgic memory in all of us; those memories of the good old days. What sets Zoe apart in her writings is her fusing of Mystery with Paranormal elements, a combination which will bring about fantasies that are intriguing and engaging. Her stories contain unexpected twists and sometimes light-hearted moments that will make one smile at Zoe’s quirkiness, fun and wittiness in her writings.

Book preview

dedication

. . . . . . .

Dear Reader,

I believe that books should be enjoyed by as many people as possible. YOU deserves a big THANK YOU.

. . . . . . .

Got something to share?

I would want to hear from you!

So please do get in touch with me:

fb: zoe arden facebook

website: https://zoearden.com

e: [e-mail]

. . . . . . .

BOOK 01

WITCH CAKE MURDERS

Let me ask you something, Brendan said. You're a witch. Why do witches like human men? He was looking at me so earnestly I felt compelled to answer him. I just didn't know what to say.

Um... I stammered. I don't know. I grew up around humans, so I guess I'm just drawn to them. I looked back through the glass patio door at Damon, who was dancing with Megan again. Brendan followed my gaze, looking miserable.

Love sucks, he said, then shoved the purple stem he'd been twirling into his pocket and skulked off. I turned back to the stars and sighed.

An earth-shattering scream rose into the night, making me jump.

Through the patio door, I could see a crowd gathering around the perimeter of the room. A woman was screaming. I hurried inside. The crowd had opened up, leaving two people in its center.

Felicity stood there, her mouth hanging open. Campbell was dancing around her, his hands flying unnaturally through the air. His head was tilted at an odd angle and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, like a thirsty dog. He was making strange grunting noises that almost resembled words.

He's drunk! someone yelled.

Campbell swung his hips around and bumped into Felicity, who stumbled away from him.

All right, all right, break it up, Felicity's boyfriend Lincoln said.

Lincoln was the sheriff of Mistmoor Point, and the crowded parted for him as he came through.  Even if he hadn't been a sheriff, I suspected the crowd would still have parted for him. At six feet tall with bronze hair and blue eyes, he made quite a figure in the middle of a crowd.

Okay, Campbell. Time to go home, Lincoln said, clamping one hand down on his shoulder.

Campbell yanked Lincoln hard, sending him flying across the room. Everyone gasped. Campbell stopped, looked around, then let out a strange gurgling sound. He fell to the floor. His face was bright blue.

Felicity hunkered down next to him. She gave him one hard shake then looked up at the rest of the room, her mouth gaping.

He's dead, she cried. Campbell's dead!

Who would be next?

prologue

*   *   *

Eli raced through the house, grabbing everything he could. Two suitcases were open on the bed. Ava was sleeping beside them. She made a soft cooing noise as she slept. Her feet began to move like she was running, which was silly, because she couldn't even walk yet.

What will I tell her when she's old enough to understand?

He pushed the thought from his mind. That would come later. For now, the important thing was to get her out of here. His wife was dead. The man who'd killed her had been turned into a gooey pile of gunk just outside his front door. The only thing that had remained of the killer after Eli cast his oobleck spell was a button off the man's coat. For some reason, metals and plastics didn't respond well to oobleck spells.

Ava began to cry softly. Eli pulled another pair of socks from his drawer and went to her. He touched Ava's forehead. "Calmnetico," he whispered. A soft orange glow emanated from his fingertip, instantly settling her. Eli didn't know how humans survived parenthood without the use of charms and enchantments. Wouldn't babies just cry all night long without an appeasement charm?

There, there, Eli said, stroking Ava's bright yellow hair. It was growing fast. She wasn't even one yet and already her mother's blond locks were evident on her head. Lorabelle would have loved to see how they grew out.

Eli sighed and turned back to his packing. He didn't know when the Council on Magic and Human affairs would come for him—no one knew what he had done just yet—but the Council had ways of finding things out. He didn't intend to wait around and find out whether they would listen to reason.

Eli had killed a human. The same human who had murdered his wife. He could tell the Council it was self-defense all he wanted, but if they chose to believe it was revenge, there'd be little he could do. He'd tried to tell them once before that Jon was dangerous, but they hadn't listened. Now Lorabelle was dead He would never entrust his life or the lives of those he loved to the Council's hands again.

Eli looked at a large painting of a boat at sea that hung near the bed, considered it, then tossed it into the suitcase along with Ava's clothes. It had been one of Lorabelle's favorites. Maybe Ava would like it one day.

"Expando," Eli said, directing the stream of magic from his fingertip toward the suitcase.

There was a flicker of light. The suitcase remained the same standard size on the outside, but the inside had grown two feet wider and three feet deeper. Eli took several of Ava's baby toys and stuffed them in at the bottom.

A loud thump sounded from the hallway. Eli turned and held his breath, waiting. What if Jon had brought friends? He stepped in front of Ava, ready to defend her. Even if it meant his own death.

A lock of blond hair spilled over the edge of the doorframe and a moment later Trixie and Eleanor's heads were visible. Trixie's head sat atop Eleanor's, like a totem pole. Behind her, her body hovered several feet off the ground. Her round face and wide blue eyes opened even wider when she realized Eli had seen them.

Oh! Trixie cried. She toppled over Eleanor and fell into the room.

Eleanor scrambled in after her, pulling her sister to her feet.

I keep telling you not to hover over me like that, Eleanor scolded her younger sister. She wiped the back of her neck, where Trixie had left her footprint. I am not a step stool. What is this goo you got on me? You have no knack for hover charms.

Trixie smoothed her bright blond hair behind one ear. "And you have no knack for..." She tried to think of something, but Eli could see she was struggling to come up with anything Eleanor was bad at.

...for making peppermint cake! Trixie cried triumphantly. She cleaned her shoes with a towel, wiping the goo off them.

Eleanor looked so affronted by Trixie's insult that Eli had to stifle a laugh. He would have thought Trixie had called her a dim-witch.

"My peppermint cake is to die for!" Eleanor cried, holding her head high.

It's too dry, Trixie said, wrinkling her nose.

Eleanor bristled. "What does a frosting expert know anyways? I'm the cake expert!"

Ava's blue eyes fluttered open, and she began to cry.

Eleanor's blond hair swiveled around her face, creating a halo. It reminded Eli of Lorabelle. If you'd never met the three of them, you would still have known they were sisters just from their hair color. No other family in the witching world had hair so golden and bright it almost hurt the eyes to look at.

Now look what you've done, Eleanor chided. She went to Ava and picked her up, holding her the way Lorabelle used to.

"What I've done?" Trixie cried. She looked at Eli as if asking him whether or not he could believe this.

Eleanor, Eli said, reaching out for Ava. She reluctantly handed her over. Eleanor turned to the suitcases, noticing them for the first time. Her eyes slowly moved around the room, taking in the missing items.

You're leaving, Eleanor said.

I am, Eli replied.

Trixie looked from one to the other, her eyes bouncing back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. With her lime-green stockings and matching hat, it looked like she was there to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. A human holiday that Eli had never fully understood.

Wait. What? Trixie asked now. You're leaving? As in you and Ava? She started shuffling her feet in an odd jig she did whenever she got nervous or excited.

Eli nodded. He'd known this would be hard. He'd hoped he could sneak off the island without saying goodbye. To anyone. He'd left a note to be delivered after he was gone and entrusted it to Tootsie, his wife's familiar. He supposed the note was irrelevant now.

Eli, please don't do this, Eleanor begged. Her eyes reminded him far too much of his recently deceased wife.

Eleanor was dressed in the same somber colors she'd worn for Lorabelle's funeral today. Funerals and their drab colors were a human custom that had been adopted by witches and wizards centuries ago when they'd begun living side by side. Only, of course, there were some slight differences. Human funerals didn't typically involve turning silverware into penguins and feeding people happiness-infused lava cake.

Eli shifted his feet under Eleanor's gaze. Ava squirmed in his arms, too young to understand that he needed her to remain still. Too young to care about anything that was happening right now. He would make sure that she never knew about any of this. Ever.

I don't have any choice, Eli told them both. The Council has probably already sent someone for me.

What are you talking about? Eleanor asked. Lorabelle had been older than both of her sisters, but Eli had always thought Eleanor acted the oldest. Why would the Council send someone for you?

Eleanor and Trixie stared at Eli a full minute before a light clicked on in Trixie's eyes.

Oh, my roses! Trixie exclaimed. Eli! You didn't!

Eleanor looked at her younger sister, utterly perplexed. Didn't what?

Trixie sighed and tossed her hands in the air. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. She turned back to Eli. How? When?

"About an hour ago. An oobleck spell."

I thought you were going to let the Council handle his capture, Trixie said.

Eleanor's eyes widened. You killed Jon?

Eli nodded. He was waiting for me when I got home with Ava. He wanted to finish what he started.

Wait a second... Trixie’s face scrunched up like she smelled something bad. She looked down at her shoes. "Did you say you used an oobleck spell?"

It was the first thing I could think of, Eli told her.

Ew, Trixie said, grabbing the towel and wiping her feet more frantically with it. The goo was sticking to her shoes like glue.

Eli! Eleanor cried, finally catching up to Trixie. That's disgusting! Do you mean to tell me that this stuff Trixie got on me is... Jon? She grabbed the towel from Trixie and started wiping the back of her neck, rubbing it raw.

Eli decided he'd packed enough. He laid Ava carefully on the bed and closed their suitcases.

"Floatisio hovero," Eli said, casting his charm. The suitcases floated ahead of him in the air. He picked Ava back up and hugged her to him.

But the Council won't fault you for Jon's death, Eleanor pleaded. Not after what he did to Lorabelle. Not if he tried to kill you, too.

It wasn't me he was after, Eli said, holding Ava more tightly to him. It's not safe for her here.

We would never let anyone hurt Ava! Trixie cried.

Never! Eleanor agreed.

Besides, Trixie chimed in. If Jon is dead, then who's going to hurt her? She's safer here, in Sweetland Cove.

But Eli was already shaking his head. Lorabelle wasn't safe.

Trixie and Eleanor couldn't argue that.

Eli expelled a long breath. Jon has a child. A wife. Friends.

The sisters knew what he was getting at. Revenge was a sticky mess.

But where will you go? Trixie asked, her bottom lip pouting out just like Lorabelle's used to do.

How will we find you? Eleanor asked.

You won't, Eli told them. I'm taking Ava somewhere... Somewhere with so many people, no one will even notice us.

Like the city? Eleanor asked, hoping for a clue. But Eli kept his lips sealed. This was it. Sweetland Cove was no longer his home.

Eli allowed Eleanor and Trixie to kiss Ava one last time before he left for the ferry docks. He had just enough time to catch the last one out. From the mainland, it would only be a short plane ride. No one would ever find them. Ava would be safe. And she would never, ever know the truth.

*   *   *

0 1

*   *   *

I woke up on my twenty-first birthday expecting to feel different.

I looked in the mirror, checking for crow's feet and smile lines. Nothing. I could hear my mother's voice in my head, laughing and tsking me for being so silly. She sounded like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. I'd adopted that voice for my mother when I was six and saw the movie for the first time. Since I had no frame of reference, I'd figured that voice was as good as any.

A knock sounded outside my door. Ava, we're going to be late.

I looked at the clock on my nightstand and groaned. When I'd graduated high school I'd thought I'd be writing bestsellers or starring on Broadway by now. Something... special. Different. Not working as a waitress at the same New York City diner my father was a line cook at.

I opened the bedroom door. My dad stood there smiling at me and holding a small box.

Happy birthday! he cried.

I smiled and took the box from him.

Thanks, Dad. You didn't have to—

Don't even say it. Of course I did. I'm your father. My daughter is turning twenty-one today. The least she deserves is a... well, open it and find out.

He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Yellow curls fell across my eyes and I pushed them away. I quickly undid the ribbon my father had tied around the box and tore the paper open. Inside was a sterling silver necklace. I stared at the pendant. A solid silver witch's hat.

Oh my God.

Any time I'd expressed even the slightest interest in witches or magic since I was a kid, my father had always gotten angry. Growing up, I hadn't even been allowed to dress up like a witch for Halloween. It had taken three years of begging before he'd even allowed me to go trick-or-treating. And then he'd followed me and my friends from house to house, not letting me out of his sight for an instant. He'd even walked up to the doors with me. It was the last time I'd been invited trick-or-treating.

It's beautiful, I told my father, still uncertain about its meaning. Maybe this was his way of telling me he considered me an adult now.

It... it was your mother's. The words croaked out of him.

This was Mom's? I looked at the pendant again, more closely this time.

My father never talked about my mother. The most he'd ever told me about her was that she'd died in a plane crash when I was only a year old. I'd grown up terrified of flying. Maybe that was why I'd never left New York.

Despite wishing for some adventure in my life, I'd decided long ago that the city was big enough and busy enough that I didn't need to go anywhere. I could find plenty to do right here. Besides, I could never leave my dad. What would I have done anyway? Work as a waitress in some other diner in a less interesting city?

I hugged my father tightly.

I love it. Thank you.

I took the necklace from the box and put it around my neck. My father fixed the clasp for me, and I looked in the mirror. The witch's hat shined brightly even in the dim lights of my bedroom.

Why did... I was dying to know why my mother had a witch's hat for a necklace. Was she into the supernatural? Fantasy? Was her favorite movie The Wizard of Oz? What did it mean?

My father sensed the question on my lips. She just thought it was pretty, he told me and left it at that. I opened my mouth again, more questions rising in the back of my throat, but my father turned and went back down the hall.

At work, everyone wished me a happy birthday. Lance offered to take me out for a drink after my shift. You're twenty-one. It's a rite of passage. I went through it two years ago on my birthday. Now it's your turn.

Lance smiled widely at me. His brown eyes worked to charm their way in. I was tempted to say yes, but I could feel my father's eyes on us from the kitchen. My dad didn't like Lance. Actually, my dad didn't like anybody. If I went out tonight, he'd only stay up worrying.

Thanks, I said. Maybe some other time.

The morning rush ended and the noon rush started. I kept checking the clock, wishing I could somehow make time spin a little faster. Around three, just an hour before my shift ended, two women came into the restaurant. They looked almost identical, with their bright blond hair twirled high in a bun. It was almost the same shade as mine.

They were both in their forties, though I could tell one of them was just barely so. She was dressed like she'd paid one too many visits to the local thrift shop. Bright pink jeans and a matching hat were accentuated with long loopy earrings, a bright yellow shirt, and a sparkly vest. The other woman, clearly her older sister, looked like a subdued gypsy. She wore dark grays and blacks with silver bangles and large hoop earrings. They looked around the restaurant, searching for someone. Their eyes stopped on me.

I moved to the right, thinking they were looking at the menu behind me. But their eyes followed me. They were staring so intently at me I began to blush. Maybe I had something on my face? I snuck into the back room and did a quick makeup check. Everything looked in order.

Hey, Ava, Judy said, coming up beside me. She did a quick mirror check of her own, straightening her apron. There are two women out there asking for you.

For me?

Yep. Except they called you Ava Fortune instead of Stone. But they described you to a tee. Actually, Judy turned to me, giving me a quick once over, they kinda look like you. Relatives, maybe?

I doubt that, I told her, making my way back out front. My father and mother had both been only children. Judy followed me and pointed out a booth. The two women who'd been staring at me sat there expectantly.

I got two glasses of water and made my way toward them.

Good afternoon, I said, setting down the glasses. Welcome to Stuffed. They were sitting side by side instead of across from each other the way people usually did.

The women grinned at me and shot each other a look. The younger one actually elbowed her sister.

Hello, Ava, said the older woman.

Um, I said, feeling like I was the punchline of some unknown joke. Do I know you?

We've met before, she said. Though it's been a while—

"Quite a while," her younger sister interrupted.

—since we've seen you.

I put my pen down and bit my bottom lip.

We met you on the island, the older woman said. She sounded cautious. Like she was feeling me out.

Manhattan? I asked.

Heavenly Haven.

Oh, I said, laughing. Understanding clicked in my brain. You're mixing me up with someone else. I've never been out of New York.

The sisters frowned and shot each other a worried look.

Do you need another minute to look over the menu? I asked. They were starting to creep me out. It was the way they kept looking at me. Like I was famous or something.

I'll take pumpkin pancakes without the pumpkin, please, the younger woman said.

The same for me, please, said her sister.

I stared at them. So you want... pancakes?

The women whispered to each other like they were conferring on some big secret.

Yes, pancakes, the older one replied, nodding her head. Plain. No pumpkin. No villeroot. And some hot tea, if you have it.

No what? I asked.

Villeroot. My stomach just can't handle it this late in the day.

Er, okay. No problem. I scratched it down on my notepad and turned toward the kitchen.

There's the birthday girl! Billy, one of the line cooks, shouted. Hey, Eli. Tell your daughter she should be out partying, not working at this dump. There was a general murmur of agreement from the other two cooks, but my dad's lips tightened.

Listen to this order, I told the guys. I thought even my dad might find this funny. Pumpkin pancakes, hold the pumpkin. There was a round of laughter. And no villeroot, I said, smiling. The woman's stomach can't handle it this late in the day. There was another round of laughter.

What the heck is villeroot? Billy asked, wiping his forehead with a towel.

I shrugged.

No idea. I'm pretty sure it only exists in that lady's imagination.

I looked toward my dad to see if he was laughing, but he wasn't there.

Where'd Eli go? Billy asked.

He'd just been standing here. How did he sneak away? I hadn't even seen him leave the kitchen. I shrugged and grabbed two mugs for tea for the pumpkin ladies.

I pushed the kitchen door open and stopped in my tracks. My dad was at the pumpkin ladies' table. His face was scarlet, and his eyes had narrowed to black slits.

He stood in a heated discussion with the women. The pumpkin ladies turned their eyes to me, looking grim, then slowly rose from their booth. They left the restaurant without a word.

What was that about? I asked my dad, setting the mugs aside.

What? he asked.

Those women. What were you talking about? Who were they?

No one, he snapped. Crazy customers. Nothing new. He pushed past me and made his way back to the kitchen.

I wanted to follow him. I was dying to know who those women were. My father spoke to people as little as possible. To strangers? Almost never. The fact he'd actually left the kitchen... that he actually seemed to know them... floored me.

I cleaned off the table the women had been sitting at, running through everything that had happened in my head. I was sure I'd never seen them before, yet... there had been something vaguely familiar about them.

Under one of their water glasses lay a tip. I scooped the bill up, preparing to pocket the single in my apron. My mouth dropped open. It wasn't a single. I stared at the bill, unbelieving. A hundred dollars? All I'd done was bring them water.

I flipped the bill over, looking for signs that it was fake. Written on the back of the bill in black marker were the words, Happy birthday, Ava.

*   *   *

0 2

*   *   *

The day after my birthday was my swing shift. Our boss had thought he was doing me a favor by having me start at three in the afternoon instead of eight in the morning. He'd probably figured I'd be out all night drinking and would enjoy sleeping in. Little did he know Dad and I had spent a quiet evening in, eating cupcakes he'd picked up from Frodo's and watching old movies.

It had been nice, but it had also been... routine. We always watched old movies and ate junk food. That was my dad's definition of a great time. Every celebration. Every Friday night. Old movies and junk food. I was twenty-one and acted like I was forty-one. Sometimes I felt like the most boring person alive.

I'd had so few friends growing up. Dad had always treated me like I was an egg that could crack at any second. I think one of the reasons I'd been so enamored with witches when I was little was because they could fly away on their brooms and go wherever they wanted. Do whatever they wanted. I touched the necklace around my neck and wished, not for the first time, that my mother was here.

When Dad left for his morning shift, I took the rare opportunity of being alone in the apartment to sit outside on our balcony with a cup of coffee. Eight floors up, we had a lovely view of the park across the street. I liked to watch the people in it. I tried to imagine where they were going or what their lives were like.

The sun was shining brightly. Summer was just getting started. A robin fluttered through the air past our balcony. I watched it swoop down from the sky and set itself on a low tree branch. Just below the tree branch, something caught my eye. I blinked to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

The pumpkin ladies from the diner stood there. They were looking up at me. The younger one grinned and waved broadly as if trying to get my attention. Her sister's eyes widened in disbelief. She pinched the younger woman's arm and raised her pointer finger at her. A puff of blue smoke flew from her fingertip.

My jaw dropped open and hot coffee dribbled over my chin. I dropped my mug. The cup toppled to the ground and broke into four large pieces. I wiped myself off with a napkin and picked up the pieces. When I looked up again, the women were gone.

I kept looking out of my window the rest of the morning. Part of me hoped I'd see them again. There was something just a little off about them. Something strange yet... fascinating.

On my way to work, I kept looking behind me, certain the pumpkin ladies were there. I replayed what I'd seen over and over in my mind and convinced myself I'd imagined the blue smoke. People didn't shoot smoke or anything else from their fingertips. That was impossible.

I hadn't imagined them though. The pumpkin ladies had definitely been there. And they'd been looking for me.

When I got to work, we were swamped with the late afternoon rush. I barely had time to say hi to my dad before jumping on my first table. Every time the door chimed I looked up, half hoping, half expecting to see those women. Every time I was disappointed.

When four o'clock hit, my dad clocked out.

I'll keep dinner warm for you, he said and got out of there before the dinner rush could hit.

I hadn't worked swing shift in a while. I think the last time had been when I was sixteen and had started at the diner part time. The second I turned eighteen and didn't have school anymore, my dad had secured me a spot on the morning crew. He'd worked at Stuffed for years and was a favorite of our boss, who was more than happy to oblige. Mostly because my dad never took time off, never came in late, and never once in his fifteen years there had he asked for a raise.

When I was fourteen, I'd realized most of the kids I went to school with had parents who were teachers or lawyers or nurses or... something more than just a line cook. I'd asked my dad why he didn't try to get ahead. Maybe become head chef at a fancy restaurant. Or better yet, open his own diner.

Flying under the radar is the only way to stay safe, he'd told me. I thought that about summed up his life. Safe. Boring. Tiresome.

I sighed as the last of the evening rush filed out of the restaurant. Three more hours to go. The diner closed at eleven and by midnight we'd all be gone. By one, I could be in bed. And tomorrow I would start all over again.

The pancake ladies didn't show themselves all night. But around the time we turned the diner's lights off, I began to feel someone watching me. It was the icky, creepy feeling that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I kept looking around, thinking maybe Lance was checking me out—it had happened before—but he was busy sweeping the floors.

I shook the feeling off and grabbed the last of the trash. The alley was dark and stinky. Only a sliver of light made its way between the buildings, casting strange shadows on the side of the trash can. It was the type of place location scouts noted for use in horror movies. The type of alley where dead bodies were likely to turn up and ghosts were likely to make their first but not last appearance.

I threw the trash bags into the bins and spun quickly back toward the door. It was locked.

Crud, I said, banging on it from the outside. As if anyone could hear me through the brick walls and heavy metal door.

There was only one way out of the darkness. I turned toward the only opening the alley offered and began trekking toward it. A pinpoint of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. I could go around to the front doors and Judy or someone would let me in.

I was halfway down the alley when two figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking my only exit.

I stopped walking. Zillions of slasher flicks ran through my mind. I knew better than to wait and see if Jason Voorhees would brandish his machete at me. I reversed toward the locked door. Maybe if I banged hard enough someone would hear me after all.

Hello, one the figures said, coming toward me. The lone sliver of light fell on her face, and I recognized the older pancake lady. She was coming straight at me. Her sister was beside her, holding something in her hand.

Suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with these strange women. The idea that they were following me no longer seemed exciting. It just seemed creepy.

Ava, it's us, the younger one said.

How did they know my name? My heart raced. I turned and ran... straight into a brick wall. I'd gotten so freaked out I'd run right past the back door and didn't see the end of the alley in front of me. I bounced off the brick and fell back onto the pavement, my face already hurting.

Ava, the women cried together, running toward me.

I held up my hands in self-defense, expecting them to grab me or try to rob me. Something. But all I felt was a soothing hand reach out and stroke my hair. Hair that was the same color as theirs.

"Calmnetico... calmnetico... I opened my eyes and saw the older pumpkin lady looking at me with soft, worried eyes. Her finger extended toward my forehead and a soft orange glow was emanating from it. Ava," she said again. I felt my nerves soothing, despite the strangeness of the situation.

The younger woman squealed, clapping her hands together and doing some kind of jig. She looked like a drunken Irishman.

Who are you? I asked. The strange orange glow grew duller than faded away. "What are you?"

The women smiled. The older one spoke first.

We're your aunts, Ava. And we're witches. Just like you.

*   *   *

0 3

*   *   *

Ava, calm down! Trixie shouted as I threw another piece of trash at her. She turned to her sister. She's as scrappy as her mother.

Eleanor nodded. My garbage-wielding fastballs seemed to be having no effect on either of the women.

"You are not my aunts, I said again. And you are definitely not witches."

Eleanor took a step toward me. Trixie and I were with your mother when you were born, she said calmly.

I picked up a decaying tomato that had spilled out of a bag. It squished in my hand. I threw it smack into Eleanor's face where it splattered everywhere. Trixie laughed. If I hadn't been so freaked out, I might have laughed with her.

Eleanor wiped the tomato out of her eyes and sighed. She held her hand in front of her face and made a circling motion in the air like she was waxing an invisible car.

"Lenacium motamato," Eleanor said.

The tendrils of tomato affixed to Eleanor's eyelashes began to disappear. The juice dripping down her cheeks faded away. It was like an invisible washcloth had come out of the air to clean Eleanor's face.

Oh wow, I mumbled. I put down the rotting apple I'd been preparing to chuck at Trixie and took a deep breath.

You... you really are witches? I asked.

The alley, which had been filled with darkness moments before, seemed packed with light now. There was no source for it, it was coming from all around us.

Eleanor and Trixie stepped carefully forward. This time, I didn't threaten them with rotting fruit or veggies. Eleanor's hair was almost as light as my own. Trixie's shade was even closer. I'd never seen anyone else with hair like mine. Even with the ready availability of hair dye, it seemed impossible to achieve the bright blond locks I'd been born with.

Trixie held something out to me. The fear I'd felt was quickly fading, replaced with curiosity.

I reached out and took what Trixie offered. It was a photograph. I stared down at it in awe. My mother's face smiled back at me. She was beaming beside my father, who looked happier than I'd ever seen him. On either side of my parents stood Trixie and Eleanor, both of them smiling widely. In the middle of the picture, my mother cradled me in her arms. I looked about two days old.

That picture was taken right after your birth, Eleanor said.

You were born bald, you know, Trixie interjected. Thank the roses your hair grew in. The last time we saw you, your hair seemed to be growing at a good rate, but you never know. Your grandfather lost his hair at twenty! I was afraid you might look like a cue ball.

Eleanor threw Trixie an annoyed look.

What? Trixie asked. She needs to know about these things! It's not her fault she looked like a bowling ball when she was born. All babies look a little weird.

I couldn't help laughing. The bickering between them was nonstop, but I could tell it was suffused with love.

So, Ava Fortune, Eleanor said, placing her hands on her hips and ignoring her sister. Or, I suppose I should say Stone. When did your father change that, I wonder? Either way, you're twenty-one now and part of the Rose family. The choice is yours.

I always thought Fortune was a good wizarding name, Trixie interrupted. But I suppose Stone is less obvious. Easier to hide.

What are you talking about? I asked, biting my lip. Rose family? Fortune? My head was spinning. There was too much information coming at me all at once.

Ava Rose Fortune, Eleanor said, tilting her head to one side. It's the name you were born with. It's a witch tradition to use a mother's maiden name as her child's middle name.

I don't have a middle name. And I thought my mother's maiden name was Albert, anyway.

Trixie and Eleanor gasped. Never in the whole witching world! Eleanor said, throwing her hands into the air.

Albert? Trixie pouted. That's not even pretty. What kind of witch would be born with a name like Albert?

Eleanor held up a hand, silencing her sister. This is all the more reason for you to come with us now. You have no idea who you are.

What are you talking about? I asked. Go with you where?

Back to Heavenly Haven. The island you were born on, Eleanor said as if it were obvious.

I was born on an island?

Of course. That's your real home. Not this... city. Eleanor said 'city' like it was a dirty word. Come with us, Ava.

The back door to the alley suddenly swung open. Lance poked his head out.

Ava? he called.

The light that had been emanating around me went out in a flash.

There you are, Lance said, walking toward me. We were wondering where you got off to.

I looked around the alley, my eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness I was now encased in. My aunts were nowhere in sight.

The door locked behind me when I took out the trash, I told him.

Lance glanced nervously back at the door he'd just come through. He pulled on the knob and the door opened easily. It's not locked now, he said, sighing with relief. Come on. It's almost midnight. Let's get out of here.

I followed Lance back into the diner, wondering if Trixie and Eleanor had anything to do with my getting locked in the alley. I hung up my apron, double checking the pockets for tip money. Inside one of them was a card.

THE MYSTIC CUPCAKE

121 BELL AVE.

SWEETLAND COVE, HEAVENLY HAVEN

I flipped the card over and found a message written in long loopy letters.

If you decide to come back with us—and we hope you do—we're at the Cumberbun Hotel. 555-6510

— Aunt E.

I drove home, so lost in thought I almost drove right through a red light. My dad was