Witch of Edgehill Mysteries Box Set: Books 0-2: Witch of Edgehill Box Sets, #2

By Melissa Erin Jackson

This is a limited-edition box set that includes a short prequel introductory story, as well as the first two books in the Witch of Edgehill series.

Amber Blackwood, is a lifelong resident of the cat-obsessed town of Edgehill, Oregon. She must solve the murder of her best friend and uncover the truth of who really killed her parents-all while keeping her witchy gifts a secret from the new police chief who is suspicious of her odd behavior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Erin Jackson
• Release date: Jan 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781956335064

Book preview

Witch of Edgehill Mysteries Box Set

Copyright © 2022 Melissa Erin Jackson.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Witch of Edgehill Mysteries Box Set Ebook ISBN: 978-1-956335-06-4

Pawsitively Suspicious Audiobook ISBN:  978-1-7361866-4-0

Pawsitively Poisonous Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7324134-3-6

Pawsitively Poisonous Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7324134-6-7

Pawsitively Poisonous Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-7324134-4-3

Pawsitively Cursed Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7324134-5-0

Pawsitively Cursed Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7324134-7-4

Pawsitively Cursed Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-7351500-4-8

Front cover design by Donna Rogers.

Title pages by Maggie Hall.

Stock art via Designed by Freepik, iStockPhoto, Shutterstock.

Family tree drawing by Drew Clark.

Pawsitively Poisonous first published in 2019 by Ringtail Press.

Pawsitively Cursed first published in 2019 by Ringtail Press.

www.melissajacksonbooks.com

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

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

Epilogue

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 19

Chapter 18

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

A Peek at Pawsitively Secretive

About the Author

Pawsitively Suspicious Title Page

Chapter 1

As the last words of the spell left Amber’s lips, she crossed her fingers to give herself a boost of luck. Sure, she was a witch, but even witches needed a little help sometimes. She held her breath.

The small white plastic disc on her coffee table didn’t melt this time. It didn’t go up in a puff of black acrid-smelling smoke either. And it certainly didn’t turn a sickly shade of green before the edges buckled and curled, making the thing look like a dead, overturned beetle, as it had a week ago.

Nothing happened at all.

Which meant the spell had finally worked.

Amber uncrossed her fingers and picked up the plastic disc. It was difficult to believe that something no larger than a dime could have caused her this much trouble. She ran a fingertip over the disc’s still-smooth surface and edges. Everything felt in order, but she knew there was only one way to know the spell had truly worked.

She shifted her gaze to her coffee table, littered as it was with scraps of paper covered in half-formed and scratched-out spells, as well as pots of paint, brushes, and scattered plastic pieces. There were small triangles for ears, curled candy-cane shapes for tails, and paper-thin tubes for whiskers. The whiskers only graced the faces of her demo toys. Otherwise, once the animated plastic cats were in the unforgiving hands of a five-year-old, the painstakingly created whiskers would be carelessly snapped off.

Her latest demo toy was painted orange with a few white stripes and bore a striking resemblance to her own living cat, Tom. The plastic creation, once fully complete, would be positioned to stand on all four feet. It now lay in pieces—completed head, two body pieces bisected longways, and a tail. Amber grabbed the right side of the body and placed the magic-activated disc inside the cavity. With a quick incantation and the swipe of her free hand, the plastic disc affixed itself to the body’s wall. There were already three other discs in the cat, each one infused with a movement spell.

In Amber’s older models, a button could be pressed to trigger an action—walk, lick paw, and sleep being the most common. Every press of the button would cause a new movement. But now, with this new spell, her design had been taken to a new level.

Hopefully.

In short order, Amber cast three more spells to fuse the pieces, leaving no sign of seams. The last thing she needed was for a curious parent to pry the plastic body apart and find that the animated toy they’d purchased for their child was hollow, with no sign of batteries or wires, yet could play with their child for hours on end.

Amber took a seat on the floor, the toy cat standing before her on the coffee table. She stared into the cat’s bright yellow plastic eyes. Walk, Butterscotch.

The cat took a step forward, then another. There was a curious little expression on his face, as if he were just as surprised—and delighted—by his new abilities as Amber was. He didn’t move with the rigidity of a robotic toy whose limbs were powered by electric currents and hinges. This cat’s movements were fluid, like a living animal.

Sit, Butterscotch, Amber said.

The cat plopped onto its haunches, tail wrapping around his paws as he did so.

Amber grinned. The voice activation spell in the disc had worked. Now, instead of each creation only being able to cycle through the pre-spelled movements in their preselected order, the child could interact with the toy more fully. All the child needed was a name for the cat and a spoken command, and the toy would react as if it were a living companion.

Butterscotch, she said, eager to see what kind of speed the toy was capable of. Run. Speed and volume would eventually have to be worked into the spells. She couldn’t have a toy cat roar so loudly it made a child’s ears ring.

Movement to her left caught Amber’s eye, and she spotted a pair of pink cat noses poking out from under the dust ruffle on her bed. One pink nose belonged to her black-and-white cat, Alley, and the other belonged to Tom, her resident scaredy-cat. Tom found Amber’s animated toys terrifying—though poor Tom found most things terrifying—and hid any time one of them started to move. Perhaps he felt an extra level of distaste over this one, as the toy was colored orange, like he was. Alley distrusted the toys, but not with the same vehemence as Tom. The fact that she was hiding now didn’t bode well.

After all, cats sensed things humans could not.

Amber’s attention snapped back to her animated Tom-lookalike just as the little orange toy started to run across the coffee table. Run was inaccurate. The little thing went from zero to sixty, sending brushes and papers flying in all directions. Before Amber could react, the toy ran to the edge of the coffee table and leaped.

For a moment, the cat hung suspended in midair. He looked over his shoulder with a little glint in his plastic eye, as if to say, "Are you seeing this? I’m flying!"

And then Amber realized that it wouldn’t just be one of his whiskers that would snap off if he landed wrong. With a quick deactivation spell, all life left the toy cat. A quick wind spell ensured the cat landed on a rug rather than the hard floor, and then skidded several inches on his side toward the bed. Tom’s pink nose quickly disappeared as he backed under the bed where it was safe, hissing and spitting and cursing Amber’s name in Cat. At moments like these, Amber was glad cats couldn’t speak in Human. Tom was sure to have a penchant for cursing.

Once the plastic toy had come to a stop, Alley slowly inched forward, the dust ruffle resting on top of her head like a bonnet. Hunkered low to the ground, Alley army-crawled toward the toy, tentatively sniffed a lifeless back leg, flinched, then sniffed again. Quick as a snake, Alley reached out and smacked the toy with a paw. The still-lifeless toy cat skidded an inch. Alley hissed, decided that she’d had quite enough, and darted under the bed to hide with her brother. Tom let out a low guttural growl to let Amber know he was still very upset about this whole thing.

Sighing, Amber climbed to her feet and walked over to the fallen toy. Still so much work to do, she muttered as she picked the cat up off the floor.

But this was progress. Hard-won, self-taught progress. Amber’s parents had died while she was still in high school, meaning Amber—and her younger sister Willow—had missed out on the witch training they’d been promised once they turned eighteen. Amber got the impression that her parents would have moved the goalposts again, always avoiding the magic conversation, but they died before they’d even had a chance. What magic Amber did know came from experimentation, along with a handful of lessons she and Willow had received from their paternal Aunt Gretchen.

Holding onto the cat, Amber walked the short distance across her studio apartment to her one window, which overlooked Russian Blue Avenue. The sky was a soft gray, bands of warm yellows and oranges marking the sunrise. Amber sat on the bench seat—Alley’s favorite place to while away the hours when she wasn’t being terrified by animated toys.

Directly across the street sat Purrfectly Scrumptious, a bakery run by Betty and Bobby Harris. Betty’s cupcakes were the stuff of legend, and so good that sometimes Amber liked to pretend Betty was a witch, too.

As sad as it was, Betty often seemed like Amber’s only friend in Edgehill. Betty was in her sixties—thirty years older than Amber—and was spry, kind, and collected gossip with a skill rivaled only by her abilities as a baker. Amber’s mouth watered at the mere thought of sinking her teeth into a Coconut Cream Delight cupcake.

Betty was adept at seeing past how … odd … Amber could be, how reclusive. Amber’s solitary tendencies were due to her parents. Her mother, especially, had always emphasized the importance of keeping their family’s magic a secret; their lives depended on it. It was hard for Amber to truly be herself when she had to keep such a big part of her locked away, so she mostly stayed isolated.

It spoke to the natural magic of Betty’s cupcakes that even someone like Amber couldn’t stay away. Betty and Bobby had known Amber’s family, the Blackwoods, for years, and watched Amber and Willow grow up. Betty was like the grandmother Amber had never had.

Far in the distance, beyond Russian Blue Avenue, was Amber’s old family home on Ocicat Lane. When her parents had died in a mysterious house fire fourteen years earlier, Amber not only distanced herself from others, but retreated inwardly. The burned areas of the house on the horizon had been removed, and while the renovations had begun, they hadn’t been completed.

Amber liked to think she knew how the house felt.

Willow and Aunt Gretchen had moved several hours away to Portland, Oregon, once Willow was eighteen. They’d asked, almost begged, Amber to come, too. But Edgehill had always been home for her. The sad, teenage part of herself still tucked inside didn’t want to abandon her parents by leaving, even if she knew logically that they were gone. She knew that no matter where she lived, that fact would never change.

Willow and Aunt Gretchen both moved on with their lives, even if they were still grieving.

Amber, however, was stuck.

She looked away from her family home and down at the cat toy she still held. These toys were one of the few ways she kept her magic—and the memory of her parents—alive. Even when her toys malfunctioned, there was something rewarding in the knowledge that when she got a spell to work, it was due to her own skill and hard work. Her way to healing was slow, but she was at least inching toward it.

She glanced back outside just as the front door of Purrfectly Scrumptious opened. Out sauntered Savannah, Betty and Bobby’s Maine coon. Savannah was a large gray fluffy beast of a cat, but as sweet as the treats Betty made. Savannah was an unofficial part of the Harrises’ marketing plan. The cat practically batted her baby blues at passersby and after they’d stopped to fuss and coo over the gorgeous cat, they wandered into the shop to pick up a baked treat or six. There very well could have been a little bit of magic in Savannah, too.

If Savannah was out on the sidewalk now, it meant it was nearly time for Amber to open her shop as well. Turning away from the window, she went about feeding the cats in their little nook across from Amber’s bed. As usual, Tom came bounding out from his hiding place at the prospect of food. Alley was slower to join him, but by the time their bowls were full, and Amber had set the orange plastic cat on the kitchen counter, the cats were both busily eating.

Dressed in her usual black slacks and button-up shirt—today’s was deep purple—she checked her long, wavy hair in the mirror in her tiny bathroom. It was pulled back in a braid, as it often was. There were a few flyaways and she probably could touch up her makeup, but she shrugged helplessly at her reflection instead. It wasn’t as if anyone she wanted to impress would be coming by to visit her anyway.

With that, she slipped on a pair of sensible black shoes, called a goodbye to the cats, and made her way down the steps to her shop below her studio apartment. She opened the door at the back of The Quirky Whisker and peeked her head out. The street beyond was quiet. Everything looked in order.

The annual Here and Meow festival had ended a month ago, and the town was slowly recovering from being swarmed by cat-loving tourists. Edgehill always had visitors, as the uniquely themed town was a draw year-round, but nothing compared to the wild weekend in May when the town was chock-full of feline enthusiasts.

Amber went about getting the store ready for opening. A young woman worked for Amber in the shop, but wasn’t due in until the afternoon. Amber filled a few orders for tea—the magically infused sleepy tea being the most popular—and animated toys that had been placed for pick up over the phone yesterday just before closing.

She had just flipped over her sign—a small chalkboard hung with a burlap strap and adorned with a drawing of her bespectacled, top hat-wearing cat logo—when Amber saw Betty make her way across the street, Savannah at her heels.

Amber pulled the door open, the bells above it tinkling as she did, and smiled at the older woman. Hey, Betty.

Morning, sugar, Betty said, stepping inside. She was an African American woman with short black hair, kind brown eyes, and an ever-present scent of sugar and flour.

Amber kept the door open for Savannah, who sauntered in behind Betty and offered a little chirp in greeting. Savannah then made her way across the shop and around the counter, to where a small bowl of treats was always kept for the town cats who might wander in.

Did you hear? Betty asked. The bell above the door jingled again as it shut behind her.

Many conversations with Betty started this way.

Hear what?

You know the new chief of police who moved to town a few days ago? Betty asked.

Amber had heard a new chief had been hired to replace the man who had recently retired, but she hadn’t known when he was going to start. He was just another person in town not to befriend.

Anyway, there’s a potluck in Balinese Park today to officially welcome him, Betty said. The cautious tone to her voice told Amber that Betty knew she would likely shoot down this invite just as she’d shot down most others. Would you like to ride over there with Bobby and me?

Amber absolutely did not. A potluck? Surrounded by people who wanted to make small talk with her? No thanks. Maybe. I’m going to visit my cousin this afternoon. I don’t know how long I’ll be there.

Betty clucked her tongue in her signature way. So much could be said with a cluck of that tongue. In this case, it told Amber that Betty knew Amber was full of it. Well, sugar, if you change your mind, we’re leaving here at 4. Closing up a little early.

Thanks, Amber said, trying her best to smile though she suspected it looked more like a grimace.

As Betty and Savannah left The Quirky Whisker, Amber watched them cross Russian Blue Avenue, her stomach a little hollow.

She hadn’t lied when she told Betty she was going to see her cousin that afternoon. He was the last Edgehill-based tie she had to her family. He was also the only other witch in town aside from herself. The only problem? He hated Amber and her entire family. So she couldn’t imagine Edgar would even open the door when she knocked.

He’d stopped answering her calls months before, so she’d resorted to swinging by his house occasionally. Edgar only let her in once, and they hadn’t gotten past the foyer before he got spooked and kicked her out. She tried bringing him pastries, groceries, and even gifts. The most recent gift was an intricately carved marble cat statue that she’d left on his porch nearly a week ago. Every day for the past week, she’d gone to the house just long enough to see if he’d at least taken the gift inside. So far, the statue remained on his porch. Today would be day seven.

She had to hope that the relentless Blackwood persistence would finally win him over.

Chapter 2

After her temporary employee had been set up at The Quirky Whisker for the afternoon, Amber headed out for her cousin’s house. Edgar Henbane lived on the southern end of Edgehill. The further south one got, the more rural it became. She traveled up a two-lane road flanked on both sides by aspen trees, their trunks thin and white. The leaves would be a vibrant yellow in the fall, making their stark white trunks stand out in the landscape even more.

The turnoff for his street was hidden amongst the foliage. The dirt road had waist-high grass growing on either side. She bumped along the uneven path, branches and leaves smacking at the car.

Ahead, an old fence—so overgrown with ivy it was impossible to see what was beneath it—stretched out to the left, marking the start of Edgar’s property. The gate was forever stuck open, as the vines had reclaimed it on the other side of the opening, too. The twisting vines had also ensnared a tree just behind the fence, wrapped tightly around the trunk like a thick green blanket. The branches of the oak draped over the opening in the fence, creating an almost perfectly constructed archway. The property was walled in on three sides by the vine-choked fence, pine trees stretching up behind it to fully close him off from the world.

She continued down the road, the expansive area on either side overgrown with weeds. The grasses were as tall as the car’s doors in some places. Amber wondered what creatures lurked in the copious brush.

After a slight curve in the road to the right, the house sprang into view. It was a two-story, modestly sized wooden monstrosity. Dying shrubs and tall weeds rose around the structure, almost surrounding the wide porch. A couple of the windows on the top floor were boarded over. Amber sensed no movement from inside.

A truck was parked out front, just as old, dusty, and dilapidated as everything else here. At least the tall grasses had been cut back around most of the house’s front steps.

She climbed out of the car, just as she had the last several days, and made her way up the creaking wooden steps. It wasn’t long before she spotted the cat statue still on the porch, as it had been for the past week. But today there was a note tied around the cat’s neck. An excited little trill fluttered in her chest. Something different!

But when she got close enough to read the note, her hope deflated.

Go away and take your unwanted gifts with you. The Blackwoods are dead to me.

She contemplated knocking, or calling out to him, begging him to talk to her. But she’d tried all that already. Tried everything she could think of and he still refused to let her in, to give her a chance. For months.

At some point, persistence just wasn’t enough.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she picked up the heavy cat statue and slowly made her way back to the car. She almost dropped the statue as she struggled to get it into the passenger seat. She strapped it in and then walked around the car to the driver’s side. She stared at the old wooden house.

The Blackwoods are dead to me. The words rang in her head.

He’d get his wish; Amber officially gave up.

Frowning, and fighting the sting in her eyes, she climbed back into the car and made her way down the rutted dirt road.

She was on her own now.

Healing meant letting her past go and moving toward the future. She needed to find a way to let people into her life, even if she had to keep her own truth a secret.

Otherwise, life would be too lonely.

She stopped at the mouth of Edgar’s street and pulled out her phone. The text she sent wasn’t to her cousin—she wasn’t sure if he even had a cell phone—but to Betty.

I’d love to join you and Bobby at the potluck.

Just as four p.m. rolled around, she called a quick goodbye to her employee who would be manning the shop while Amber was out. As she stepped outside, a small blue sedan pulled up out front. Betty was behind the wheel, and Bobby rolled down his window and grinned at Amber.

Hi, Amber. How you doing? Bobby was also African American and in his mid-sixties. He always greeted Amber with the joy of seeing an old friend for the first time in ages, even if he’d just seen her yesterday.

I’m okay, Amber said, getting into the backseat next to a small stack of pink cupcake boxes. A tote bag loaded down with liter bottles of soda hung heavily from her forearm. She placed the bag between herself and the boxes as if the barrier would somehow stop the delicious scent wafting about the car. I cannot be held responsible for what happens to these cupcakes. It’s your fault for leaving them back here with me.

The couple laughed and then Betty pulled out onto Russian Blue Avenue.

Balinese Park was near the center of town, not far from the sprawling Manx Hotel. It was a large, wide-open park that sported everything from tennis courts and a public swimming pool to a large duck pond. Several blue picnic tables were set up beneath an awning, not far from the pond.

Amber didn’t particularly love crowds, but she reminded herself that her isolation didn’t have to be this thorough. It wouldn’t kill her to spend time around people. She loved this town, after all. She could try harder to love the people in it, too.

With her tote bag of drinks slung over one shoulder, she, Betty, and Bobby each took a box of cupcakes and made the short trek from the parking area to the picnic tables already laden with food. Someone had tied cat-shaped balloons to the awning poles. A trio of black balloons with cat ears and painted-on smiling faces bobbed their welcome as they approached.

There were already at least fifteen people in attendance, some setting up food on the picnic tables, others forming a semicircle around a tall blond man Amber guessed was the new chief.

Amber had just set down her box of cupcakes when she heard, Oh my God, Amber, is that you? from behind her.

Wincing slightly, Amber plastered on a smile and turned to find a brunette hurrying her way. Kimberly Jones was an acquaintance from high school. They hadn’t traveled in the same circles, mostly because Kimberly was … a lot. She was excitable, a little neurotic, and always sounded breathless, like she was constantly imparting the most important news the world had ever known. It was only tolerable in small doses.

It’s so good to see you! Kimberly said when she reached Amber. Betty and Bobby had already been pulled into a conversation several tables over. Amber had been abandoned in a sea of forced conversation without a floatation device. How are you? Kim asked breathlessly. "Did you hear that the new chief, Owen Brown, came here from Portland? Before that, he ‘worked the beat’—isn’t that such a cool phrase?—in Tennessee. He’s so worldly. I’ve never lived anywhere but Edgehill. Do you think our little town will be too slow for him?"

I—

"He also has a little boy named Sammy who is the cutest—literally the cutest—child I have ever seen in my life. Like, that child needs to be in commercials. I have this friend who has a daughter—or is it a son?—who is like a child prodigy at the piano already at the age of four and they’re trying to get him on one of those talent shows, you know?"

Amber blinked. Kim had managed to say almost all of that in one breath.

Before she could reply, someone else approached their little group. Oh, there you are!

Amber flinched and found Jack Terrence, owner of Purrcolate, a local coffee shop, standing a few feet away. His dark brows shot toward his hairline and his green eyes flicked from Amber to Kim and back again.

I wanted to show you that thing, remember? Jack asked and widened those green eyes of his at Amber while slightly cocking his head.

And then she caught on. Yes! she said a little too loudly, and Kim startled. Sorry, Kim. Jack wanted to show me something.

Oh, no problem! Kim chirped. I just wanted to say hi. I usually don’t see you out and about unless it’s for a Here and Meow meeting. It’s good to see you in the wild! Ha! Then something caught her eye and she raised an arm in the air, her gaze fixed elsewhere. Oh my God, Ann Marie! Is that you? Hi! Kim offered Amber and Jack both a warm smile, then hurried off again.

Amber blew out a breath and rested her backside on the edge of the picnic table. It wasn’t so much that she was overwhelmed by Kim as she was overwhelmed … period. What had Kim even been talking about? There was a talent show for four-year-old kids?

Amber didn’t want to talk about talent shows. She wanted to talk to someone about her animated toys and the fact that her voice-activation spells had finally worked today. She could talk to her aunt and her sister, of course, but they had their own lives. Amber wanted a life here. A life where she could be herself without worrying that she was violating the one thing her parents were always adamant about.

You’re … Amber, right? Jack asked, smiling slightly.

Amber tried not to smile, too. It was Jack’s silly little attempt at making a joke. They’d spoken enough times that he had no doubts what her name was. But she played along. Yes, hello. I’m Amber Blackwood. And you’re … John? she asked.

Ha ha, he said. It’s nice to see you here. You’re like a unicorn; sightings are rare.

She flushed a little at that and lowered her head.

Jack and his brother Larry had opened Purrcolate less than a year ago. Amber had been there dozens of times, mostly in the few months before the Here and Meow. She and the rest of the committee met in the conference room in the café, which had the best Wi-Fi in town. Not to mention the fact that Jack Terrence made blueberry scones that were so delicious they almost rivaled Betty Harris’s cupcakes.

Jack Terrence was adorable and tended to light up like a 1000-watt bulb every time he saw Amber. She had a sneaking suspicion that they’d get along extremely well if only Amber didn’t keep shutting him down the moment she feared he was going to ask her out.

Jack was nice, sweet, and decidedly normal. Amber and normal, non-witch men didn’t mix. She had dated a non-witch, Max, a few years ago. They hadn’t been dating long when Amber slipped up and used her magic in front of him. He’d been unable to handle it. He’d told her that he was okay with having a uniquely talented girlfriend, but he’d never looked at her the same after that day. Amber knew that too many of Max’s core beliefs had been shaken down to their foundations. Then one day, without a word, he’d left—both Edgehill and her.

It bummed Amber out every time she saw that wide smile on Jack’s face because it was almost immediately replaced in her head by that look of shock on Max’s … because Max had looked at her once the way Jack did now. Amber wanted to see a smile like that even after a person learned the truth about her.

And the truth was something she had to keep locked up even tighter than Edgar locked himself in his own house, shielding himself from the world.

So uh … Jack said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You know anything about the new chief?

Not much, no, she said.

He nodded.

She chewed on her bottom lip.

He cleared his throat.

Well, this was going well.

Did you bring scones? she asked suddenly.

He instantly brightened. I did, yeah. Want one? I tried a new recipe recently …

Conversation flowed a little easier after she’d devoured an orange and cranberry scone while Jack told her about his latest creation. Jack, it turned out, rambled at length once he loosened up a bit.

She found his rambling endearing. She liked the way the tips of his ears went a little pink when he was worked up about something. She was even enjoying his rather involved story about almost getting into a fistfight with an old woman at a farmer’s market last weekend over blueberries.

The flutter in her stomach when he smiled at her was a definite problem, though. This had happened a few times with Jack, but it always happened just before he was gearing up to ask her out.

She needed to nip this in the bud. Again. No dating non-witch men.

Checking left and right quickly to make sure no one was within earshot, she whispered a confusion spell.

Jack stopped speaking mid-sentence and his brow wrinkled. I uh … He rubbed his temple. Sorry. I … I’m not sure what I was doing. He blinked at her a few times. I should probably go find my … brother. It was nice talking to you. I think? His cheeks went red now, too, and he smiled awkwardly, and then wandered off.

She huffed out a breath. Amber hated to use her magic to cause someone else discomfort. But it was better for both herself and Jack if she never let his crush—or hers, for that matter—take hold. Dating non-witches got too messy.

When she saw Jack stop abruptly and look around, rubbing his temple again as he did so, she despised herself even more. She might not have been formally taught the rules of magic, but the sick feeling in her gut told her how wrong she’d been. A strong moral code was important whether or not magic was involved.

This was also why she was better off locked in her shop or apartment most of the time: she was less likely to do something foolish.

Amber vowed not to use magic on Jack anymore. Not for this reason, anyway. This was the most invasive spell she’d used yet to discourage potential flirting, and the hollow feeling let her know that she’d crossed a line.

Perhaps her visit to her cousin had left her more off-kilter than she realized. She wasn’t thinking straight.

You’re no better than a Penhallow, she thought in disgust.

The Penhallows manipulated minds and hearts, used magic to hurt and kill, and felt no remorse about doing so. The Penhallows had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth fourteen years ago. The fact that this coincided with the death of Amber’s parents was not lost on her. Willow and Aunt Gretchen thought Amber had a screw loose when it came to the Penhallows. They were a myth as far as Aunt Gretchen was concerned; a scary legend parents told children to help keep them in line.

Amber couldn’t shake her sixth sense that the Penhallows had killed her parents.

And now Amber was using magic in all the wrong ways, just like those fabled cursed witches. She wanted to call out, I’m sorry, Jack!

She wondered if Betty and Bobby would be offended if she walked back to The Quirky Whisker. The long walk would do her some good. She could call Willow and her little sister could set her right again.

Amber checked her pockets and purse. No cell phone. She’d forgotten it somewhere—again. The number of times she’d needed to perform locator spells on her cell was ridiculous and the problem seemed to get worse by the year.

You must be Amber Blackwood.

Startled, Amber pulled her face out of her purse and looked into the blue eyes of a tall, blond man. The new chief of police. Amber briefly wondered where his entourage of new admirers had gone because he stood alone in front of her now.

That’s me, she said, resecuring her purse on her shoulder and extending a hand.

I’m Owen Brown. They shook hands. I’ve been told by quite a few folks today that I should come by your shop. You specialize in animated toys, right? My son Sammy isn’t quite three yet, but he’s in that obsessed-with-animals-phase. I’d love to bring him by.

Amber blinked at him. He was so … friendly. The last chief of police hardly seemed to leave the station.

I have a toy demonstration scheduled for next Sunday, she said.

Smiling, he said, We’ll be there.

Just then, a pretty blond woman approached, a young boy with a head of wild blond curls on her hip. She placed a hand on the chief’s elbow and, with a faint Southern accent, said, Sorry to interrupt, Owen, but it sounds like you’re wanted over there by the mayor. She shot a friendly smile at Amber and then made a goofy face. "I think Mr. Fancy Police Chief here is going to have a speech given in his honor."

The chief rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then said to Amber, I appreciate the warm welcome but I’m not a huge fan of all the attention. It was nice to meet you, Amber. If we don’t get the chance to chat again, we’ll all see you on Sunday, okay?

Amber nodded.

With another smile, his wife turned to follow him. The young boy in the woman’s arms twisted so he could look back at Amber. Bye, lady! he said, and grinned at her, waving enthusiastically.

Amber smiled and waved back. It eased, however slightly, the sick feeling in her stomach over sending Jack away. She scanned the park for him and found him in a small cluster of people several hundred feet away. He stood beside his brother Larry, who was telling a story to his small, rapt audience. All at once, the whole group, Jack included, broke out in laughter. Amber smiled softly to herself.

He would be fine.

Gather around, everyone! the mayor called out. Join me in welcoming the new chief of police!

Amber figured this would be a good time to duck out, while everyone was distracted. She turned and headed back the way she’d come, only to hear the disapproving cluck of a tongue. Sagging, she glanced over to find Betty Harris near the trio of bouncing black cat balloons.

I don’t think so, sugar, Betty said and held out a hand. It’s too far to walk. You’re already here. Welcome the chief, eat some lunch—or just some cupcakes.

I’m just so bad at all this, Betty, Amber said, waving a hand to gesture at the entirety of the park.

The only way to get better is to keep trying, Betty said, hand still out. You’ve been hiding out in that shop of yours for too long. Time to venture out. I saw that Terrence boy giving you the eye.

Amber frowned a bit at that.

All I’m asking is for you to try, Betty said, taking a few more steps toward her. Your parents would hate to know you’ve shut yourself off.

That one got her. Blowing out a slow breath, Amber reached for Betty’s hand. Healing was slow, but all she could do was take one step at a time.

Even if those steps were taken reluctantly.

Chapter 3

After the welcome speech from the mayor, and a few words from Chief Brown about how he was looking forward to his new life in Edgehill, the potluck began in earnest. Amber lined up between Betty and Bobby and loaded up her plate with a mixture of things that all had more sugar in them than anything else. If she was supposed to socialize, she needed some added courage.

Some people needed alcohol. Amber needed carbs.

Though, an hour into the lunch—which turned out to be more fun than she expected, wedged between the Harrises and sitting across from Kimberly Jones and the Terrence brothers—Kim insisted that Amber have at least one adult beverage. Amber had two.

By the time the festivities were wrapping up, Amber was full and warm and felt decidedly better about the Jack situation, even though the spell had clearly worn off by then and he was back to being mildly flirtatious. Amber wasn’t as inclined to discourage Jack when she felt content and her mind was a little fuzzy.

She sat alone now, her back to the table and her elbows resting on the edge, her feet crossed at the ankles. To her left, most of the adults were gathered in little clusters talking and drinking. Jack, Larry, Kim, and a handful of Here and Meow Committee members were, for some reason, playing a rowdy game of limbo. Someone had set up a small speaker, from which a voice that sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk was asking how low one could go.

The normally mild-mannered Ann Marie yelled, I’ll show you how low I can go! like a battle cry and then bent backward with all the flexibility of a contortionist.

Go, Ann Marie! Go! shouted the onlookers.

Amber laughed softly and shook her head. To her right, a pair of harried women were looking after a gaggle of toddlers. She wondered how the pair had been roped into babysitting duties. One woman was trying to lead the group in a singalong of The Itsy Bitsy Spider while the other did her level best to keep the amped-up kids in one place. Amber guessed the kids were hopped up on sugar, too.

One boy tried to make a run for it, but the woman caught him before he ran off and plopped him back in place in the circle. The boy found this development so upsetting that he screamed as if the woman had scalded him, then fell backward onto the grass in a full-on tantrum. Tightly fisted hands beat at the ground, heels kicked, and he screamed as if he had just endured all the horrors of the world at once.

The singalong was abandoned when the second woman tried to calm the boy’s tantrum. However, he had already set off two other kids.

A few parents hurried over to assist, including Chief Brown, but the raucous game of limbo was mostly drowning out the children. The boy who had lost his ever-loving mind turned out to be Chief Brown’s son, Sammy.

Behind the collection of worried parents and tired, sugar-crashing toddlers, Amber saw a duck go waddling by, quacking up a storm. A moment later, Amber saw why. A little girl was chasing the duck, hands outstretched as she called for the little duckie to come back.

The duck made a sharp turn toward the large pond; the little girl followed close behind. A nervous flutter ignited in Amber’s chest and she stood up. The pond wasn’t terribly deep for an adult, but for a toddler …

There was a small incline that dropped straight into the pond. If the girl went much farther, she’d surely tumble down the slope and into the murky water.

Maddie! a woman called out, frantic, just as the duck gave one final agitated quack, reached the edge of the slope, and took flight. The sudden burst of wings startled the little girl, she lost her footing, and down she went.

Before Amber or anyone else could move, Chief Brown was off like a shot, tearing after the little girl who had already slipped over the slope and out of view.

Amber knew there was no way the chief would reach her in time. Without thinking, Amber started a wind spell, her lips moving quickly as she silently mouthed the incantation.

Chief Brown reached the edge of the slope in record time and dropped to his stomach like a baseball player sliding home. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, everyone’s attention now focused on Maddie and Chief Brown.

Amber’s eyes slipped closed and she pictured Maddie, clad in her frilly yellow dress with her black hair pulled up in a little ponytail. She replayed the sight of Maddie sliding headfirst toward the pond. Then Amber imagined the air forming a hand and reaching out to grab the girl by the back of her dress and pulling her back onto her feet.

Opening her eyes to a swell of applause, she saw Chief Brown coming up the side of the incline with Maddie in his arms, the little girl no worse for wear except for a few grass stains on her dress. She was dry as a bone. She clearly wasn’t sure why everyone was so excited, but she grinned out at them all, nonetheless, waving like a little princess atop a float.

Maddie’s mother ran up to the chief and took her daughter, using her free arm to hug the man. People ran over then to pat him on the back and shake his hand and tell him how sure they were that he was just what Edgehill needed.

Yet, while he was being heaped with praise, swarmed by impressed townspeople, his gaze swept the crowd. And then his blue eyes locked on Amber where she stood removed from the group. For a moment they just stared at each other, her heart thumping for reasons unknown and his blond brows smashed together on his forehead. He cocked his head. The trio of black cat balloons swayed in her peripheral vision.

Her eyes had been closed while he made his way up the slope with Maddie. Had Chief Brown seen Amber standing alone, eyes closed, and lips moving? What had it looked like to him when the unseen hand had snatched Maddie from falling into the water? Had he been reaching out for the girl, only to watch as she was pulled to her feet again as if by … magic?

Amber gulped.

As the crowd finally broke up, Amber’s focus on the distracted chief was broken by Betty approaching her with Bobby in tow. Chief Brown still gave Amber the occasional strange look, but his attention was constantly redirected by each new person who came over to speak to him.

Betty, I’m not feeling that great, Amber said, a hand to her stomach. I hate to rush you, but—

We were going to ask you if you were ready to go, too, Bobby said, his expression a bit worried. Think you ate too much sugar? You’re worse than my niece with those sweets!

Amber laughed. She nearly choked on it though when Chief Brown looked over at her again, squinting at her curiously. When he looked away, Amber took that as her cue, said, Well, I’ll meet you at the car. I think I need to walk this off, and then hurried away.

She would no doubt come off as even more suspicious now to the chief, even if he couldn’t explain what he saw or why he thought Amber had anything to do with it. Maybe it was some kind of police Spidey-sense.

As she walked away, she could almost feel his eyes on her back. This Owen Brown guy was more observant than she liked. Worse, by using her magic so blatantly, she had disappointed her parents. Yet, when Amber thought of the sweet, confused smile on little Maddie’s face, she knew she would make the same choice again and again.

She would have to watch out for Chief Brown. While Betty had always overlooked Amber’s odd behavior, the chief had latched onto it. She’d planted a seed of suspicion in him.

She could only imagine what his suspicion would become once given the time to bloom.

Pawsitively Poisonous Title Page

Chapter 1

The palm-sized black toy lay curled on the countertop. Amber stood on one side of the counter, the other swarmed by the wide-eyed, upturned faces of six little boys and girls, their parents forming a wall behind them. Some looked as delighted as their children. Others, especially the fathers, appeared nothing short of harassed—all folded arms and pursed lips.

Amber supposed she couldn’t blame them for being skeptical and a bit wary during her toy demonstrations. They watched with dubious concern, not trusting the toys and trinkets their children brought home from the Quirky Whisker. The toys that seemed to move on their own, that played with their children for hours without showing signs of slowing down. Toys that couldn’t be dismantled to replace the batteries when the toys inevitably stopped working in a year or so.

By way of explanation, she would say, Oh, they’ve got tiny computer chips inside that power them. And, I can’t explain how they work, exactly! The designs are perfected by an engineer who wishes to remain anonymous.

Besides, with their fickle, ever-changing focus, the children would lose interest in the toy in question soon enough, and her creation would languish in a box or under a bed or in the back of a closet, gathering dust. The spell would have worn off by the time the old toy was rediscovered; it would be immobile and unresponsive, as if its battery had finally been drained.

Then Amber would have a new toy on the market and the children of Edgehill would beg their parents to replace the ones they’d already abandoned.

Are you ready? Amber asked now, bent at the waist with her arms resting on the wooden countertop so she was eye level with the kids. Her dark brown hair hung over her shoulder in a loose braid, the ends gently tickling her arm.

She got a wave of nods in response.

Her attention shifted back to the black plastic toy, this one fashioned to look like the curled, sleeping form of a cat. Its tail was wrapped around its body, hiding its paws.

"Wake up,