Artful Magic

By Brandy Woldstad

A hidden magical world reveals itself when Lyla meets with a lawyer, who looks like a gnome, about an inheritance from an aunt no one heard of.

Her inheritance puts her in danger.

If you enjoy contemporary fantasy stories with gnomes, fairies, and adventure, curl up with Artful Magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandy Woldstad
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215874851

Book preview

Chapter One

Gnome and Howe Law Office bustled with activity. Lyla stood in the entrance, relieved to be out of the mid-March chill. She stood on the top step, feeling like she stood on a stage while she took in the high domed, fresco ceiling, the mahogany bookshelves filled with thick volumes of law books with titles she didn’t understand, and the light from the ornate candelabra chandelier reflected off the white marble floors. The soft scent of old books and warm printers mingled in the air.

This place wasn’t far from the Arbor University where she worked, and yet she had never heard about the incredible interior of this building. The place had to qualify as a historical building. It was an excellent place to bring her students for onsite sketching, if the owners didn’t object to her students not following the business dress code.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handmade, quilted purse, which functioned as her art bag with a wallet tucked into the bottom. Her orange plaid winter jacket covered her swirled turquoise t-shirt and jeans. Her outfit set her apart from the professionals in business attire. She let out a quiet sigh for not thinking to wear a dress for her meeting with Andrew Gnome even though she’d still stand out with the bright blue streaks of color in her straight black hair.

Lyla glanced down at the letter she’d received from the law office for a reminder of which room she was supposed to go to for a meeting she didn’t think she belonged at. Mr. Gnome insisted Lyla was the heir to her aunt Ren’s estate. There had to be some mistake because no one in her family went by the name of Ren, and a quick search through Lyla’s family tree showed she didn’t have an aunt.

Mr. Gnome assured her there was no mistake and that she needed to come as soon as she could. Lyla finally agreed, figuring she could donate the cash from the sale of the estate to the Fountain of Hearts Healing Art Foundation, a charity Lyla volunteered for.

Lyla’s hand slipped into the middle pocket of her purse to grab her sketchbook when a man, half the height of Lyla, stepped off the elevator. The man wore a bright purple business suit with a neon green pocket square. His neatly trimmed beard formed a triangle with the tip stopping at his chest. His nose had an interesting shape, as if someone had taken a mound of clay and smooshed it on the center of his brown face. She squinted, trying hard not to think the man looked like a gnome because she didn’t think it was a polite observation.

The man paused at a desk to talk to a college aged man. The cover of Lyla’s sketchbook creaked open. Her pencil moved around the blank page rapidly catching the man’s likeness, certain that the man she sketched was Andrew Gnome.

Do you want me to sit in a chair and pose? the man asked as he approached.

Lyla’s face grew warm. She glanced down at her sketch, confirming the man definitely looked like a gnome without the triangular hat. His face had a serious, almost grumpy expression.

No, that’s alright, she swallowed. Your features are so interesting, I felt compelled to draw them.

I see.

The man didn’t look pleased at Lyla’s honesty. She snapped the sketchbook closed and dropped it back in her purse. The man watched her with raised eyebrows, which were bushy, like the kind she’d create if she were drawing a gnome.

She needed to stop thinking about this man as a gnome. For one thing, gnomes, the kind from fairytales, didn’t exist. Secondly, the poor guy probably grew up being teased about looking like a gnome and had grown tired of the comments about his likeness to them.

I’m Lyla Turnbull. I have a meeting with Andrew Gnome at 11am.

I’m Andrew. I’m pleased to finally meet you. You certainly didn’t make it easy for me.

Guilt swirled in Lyla’s stomach. She had postponed the meeting for nearly a month. During that time, the Gnome and Howe office called daily, then twice a day, and finally every hour. Andrew Gnome’s persistence concerned her the day he filled her voicemail box twice, during the hours that she taught her college art classes. She gave in to meeting with him when she realized the next thing Andrew would do was send someone to pester her while she taught.

Yes, I’m sorry about that. Lyla let out a little laugh of incredulity. I was… busy.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him an apologetic look. It wasn’t completely true, but strangers often let the busy excuse work for explanations.

Andrew stared at her for a minute. Lyla did her best not to shift her weight from one foot to the other, but her index finger tapping on her shoulder strap probably gave away her nervousness.

Follow me, Andrew said.

He walked to the elevator. Lyla followed, trying to think of something to say as she stepped onto the elevator with him. Andrew pushed the number five button. Then turned to face the back wall of the elevator.

Lyla remained facing the doors. She smiled to herself at the oddness of Andrew’s behavior.

What are you doing? Lyla asked.

Riding the elevator, Andrew said simply.

Lyla smiled to herself at Andrew’s unconventional way of riding in the elevator. She wondered if she were being tested or recorded for one of those hidden videos that analyzes people’s behaviors. Whatever Andrew’s reasons for facing the way he did, Lyla remained facing the elevator doors.

The elevator whispered past floor number two, three, and four. Lyla’s stomach rose and fell as the elevator stopped before the light display showing they had reached floor five lit up. A soft hiss sounded behind her. She turned in time to see the back wall of the elevator rise out and up like a trunk of a van opening on its own.

Warm, humid air drifted into the elevator. Lyla smelled the sweet, colorful flowers that lined a walkway. Hundreds of shades of green surrounded her as she stepped into a tropical greenhouse. A river with a waterfall wound around the perimeter of the room. It reminded her of the Arbor University Conservatory, which she took her students to draw on a weekly basis. Only here, she didn’t recognize any of the plants.

Lyla’s fingers twitched. She wanted to yank her sketchbook from her purse and capture the strangeness that spread out before her.

Are you coming? Andrew asked.

Lyla spotted Andrew sitting at a table that looked like a slice of a log mounted on a pedestal. He gestured to a cushion on top of a tree stump.

Have a seat, he said.

Lyla followed the red mulched path to the table. Her gaze followed a set of blue wings as they fluttered to a tree branch. She gasped as the owner of the wings draped her tiny legs over the side.

Is that a fairy?

One of them, Andrew said.

Lyla sat down on the stump, scanning the tree branches for more fairies. He had to be joking.

Andrew cleared his throat.

"Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to be here," Andrew said.

A splash sounded next to her. Lyla peeked at the water in time to see another fairy burst out of the water and buzz out of sight.

Ah, sure. No problem, Lyla said without looking at Andrew. I need to be back to the university soon to prepare for my evening class.

A rustle of papers drew her attention to the table.

Here is your aunt Ren’s will, Andrew said. He pointed to Lyla’s name. And here is proof that you are the intended recipient.

Lyla leaned forward and read her name printed neatly in the beneficiary box.

This is so strange. I never heard of Aunt Ren until you called me. Do you have a picture of her?

I’m sorry I don’t. Maybe one of her friends will have a photo.

If she has friends, Lyla stopped to correct herself. If she had friends, why didn’t they inherit Aunt Ren’s estate?

Because that isn’t how it works, Andrew said. He pulled a gold padded envelope out from underneath the papers and slid it to Lyla’s side of the table. These things must stay in the family.

Lyla looked down at the envelope in confusion. Aunt Ren wasn’t family. At least not from Lyla’s research. She had checked with her parents to make sure she wasn’t adopted, and they assured her she wasn’t. Maybe Ren had taken one of Lyla’s community art classes and felt a connection to Lyla in a way that made her think they were related.

Go on, Andrew encouraged. Open it.

Lyla touched the envelope, which had Lyla’s name above a line that said, Care of Gnome and Howe Law Office. There was no return address.

I have the protection spell in place, if that’s what’s worrying you, Andrew said.

Protection spell? Are you joking? Is this some sort of hoax? Lyla asked.

Andrew shifted. A fairy with yellow wings fluttered down from the trees and hovered next to Andrew’s shoulder. Her long, fiery red hair swirled around her. The fairy wore a green silk top and a pencil skirt. If Lyla ignored the fairy’s tiny size, bare feet, and wings, the fairy looked ready to work in a law office. The fairy waved.

No hoax, Andrew said.

This entire thing had to be some strange hallucination on Lyla’s part. She hadn’t slept well for the past few weeks. Her relationship with her boyfriend of two years ended a week ago, and her extra evening class disrupted her personal painting routine. She played along and opened the envelope. The sooner she accepted the inheritance, the sooner she could get home and take a nap to reset her mind.

She grabbed the envelope. Her fingers brushed a wax seal that hadn’t been broken. Lyla had never received any letter with a wax seal before. The envelope itself felt empty.

The fairy hovered at Lyla’s side. The buzz of her wings stopped when she landed on Lyla’s shoulder. Lyla smiled in surprise when she smelled the fairy’s light strawberry jam scent. She wondered if that was the fairy’s natural smell, or if the fairy used scented soaps and shampoos like humans. Lyla felt it rude to ask. She tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto the table.

Lyla winced when she smelled oily burlap. The fairy darted into the trees. Andrew leaned forward. A static charge shocked Lyla’s fingers when she touched the sack.

What is this? Lyla asked, frowning at the sack.

Your inheritance, Andrew said.

A burlap sack?

Lyla unfolded the sack to take a closer look. It was barely large enough to hold her sketchbook and pencils.

Nothing else? she asked.

Andrew shook his head.

Do you mean to tell me that you pestered me for the last month about having me come here to claim a burlap sack? Are you crazy?

Lyla tilted her head back and stared into the canopy of branches above her. Maybe she was the crazy one. Gnomes aren’t lawyers. Fairies don’t flutter around conservatories. And envelopes aren’t sent with wax seals. This place defied her understanding.

Andrew waved his hand in dismissal.

Miss Turnbull, I’m simply doing my job, Andrew said patiently. This package is everything from Ren’s estate.

Lyla stuck her hand into the envelope. No note, or photo, or piece of jewelry was inside. She frowned and ran her fingers across the rough cloth.

Ren had nothing else? No home? No furniture or trinkets? No clothes?

Andrew leaned over the table and lowered his voice.

Your aunt Ren died after she saved her dog from an explosion that destroyed the house she rented. A friend of hers mailed us this package. I assume her clothes weren’t salvageable. He paused and gave her a regretful look. I’m sorry, there is nothing else left.

Lyla stopped breathing in shock at hearing how Ren had died. She felt tears sting her eyes at such an awful thing happening to anyone, let alone a relative.

She looked at the burlap sack, wishing it could tell her more about Ren. Why would she carry such a filthy thing around with her?

What happened to Ren’s dog? Lyla asked.

He hasn’t shown up yet, Andrew said.

Lyla gave Andrew a confused look.

If he wants to meet with you, you’ll see him, Andrew said. He’s a sweet little thing. I believe his name is Chancy.

Chancy? As in risky?

Andrew chuckled.

Maybe. Or ‘Chancy’ as bringing good luck. I’m not sure which one Ren intended. She was an interesting lady. It’s also possible that Chancy named himself.

The stump pressed into the back of Lyla’s legs as she stood. She huffed. The idea that a dog could name himself and suddenly appear in her life if he wanted to sounded as ridiculous as meeting a gnome. She shoved the burlap sack into the front pocket of her purse.

This is crazy. I think it’s time for me to go, Lyla said.

Andrew stood and straightened his blazer. He gave Lyla a measuring look before he let out a deep exhale.

All right, he said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it.

He led the way to the elevator. Lyla tried to spot more fairies as they waited for the doors to open, but they remained hidden.

The elevator door rose and within seconds, Lyla was in the main work area, shaking Andrew’s hand before heading to the door.

Lyla, Andrew said, as her hand brushed the door handle.

She turned to face him.

Whatever you do, don’t toss away your inheritance, Andrew said. It could be valuable.

Sure, Lyla said, turning to hide her doubtful look.

She wasn’t well versed in valuables and collectibles, but it didn’t take much knowledge to know the burlap sack was nothing more than a sack. No one would want to purchase it.

As she walked to her Toyota Camry, she couldn’t help but question why so much fuss was made about something so mundane.

Chapter Two

Lyla rubbed her hands together for warmth. The classroom felt cooler than usual. A few students left their jackets on as they worked at their easels, which faced a still life arrangement setup on a table in the middle of the half-circle. She wished she had thought to ask Andrew Gnome if she could bring her class to the conservatory for an onsite sketching practice. The tropical warmth sounded preferable to the chill that wasn’t going away despite her adjusting the thermostat at least five times in the last thirty minutes.

She walked the perimeter of the room, examining the charcoal drawings her students had made. Her idea was to get her students to capture a variety of textures. The table captured nostalgia with a cardboard box turned on its side, suggesting that the worn teddy bear, alphabet blocks, the scuffed plastic car, and a metal pail with a plastic shovel inside had tumbled from the box.

Her students drew well, and she offered minor suggestions on how to improve their compositions.

The second to the last student, Tyrone, surprised her. The objects he sketched looked as though she could take them right off of the page. She went to compliment him on his shading technique when she spotted something odd in his drawing.

Why did you draw a Pomeranian between the box opening and the teddy bear? Lyla asked.

Tyrone pulled his charcoal stick away from his paper and peered at Lyla over his shoulder. His dark eyebrows pinched together. He narrowed his eyes while he tried to decide if she was testing him.

Because he’s there, he said finally. He pointed his charcoal stick at the table.

Lyla started to argue, but turned to find a golden brown Pomeranian laying slightly in front of the teddy bear with his backend inside the box. His head tilted slightly in acknowledgement of Lyla making eye contact with him. The tips of the Pomeranian’s puffy fur looked singed, as if the little dog had survived some sort of fire. Or an explosion. Lyla covered her mouth. She didn’t know how it was possible, but this had to be Ren’s dog.

One student, Maria, who sat on the side of the half-circle, rose from her stool and walked over to Tyrone’s easel. Her face melted into an expression of adoration.

Aww, he is sooo cute, Maria said. She nudged Tyrone. You got the perfect view. The flap of the cardboard box keeps the little guy hidden from my side.

Tyrone grinned in reply.

Lyla moved to the front of the still life and waited for everyone to stop drawing. She put her hands on her hips.

What I’d like to know is who put the dog in my display, Lyla said.

The Pomeranian yipped, but didn’t change his position next to the bear. No one confessed, but many of Lyla’s students looked highly amused, as if they were pleased to witness an art professor go crazy before their eyes. No doubt, stories about her would appear on social media.

It wasn’t me, but if that little guy needs a home, I’d be happy to take him, Maria said.

Lyla huffed. She reached out to remove the Pomeranian from the still life. When Tyrone cleared his throat.

If it’s okay with you, Professor Turnbull, I wouldn’t mind if the Pomeranian stayed in the still life until we’re done. He’s cute, Tyrone said.

And well behaved, added the student next to Tyrone. I thought the little guy was stuffed.

Lyla looked around at the nodding heads in the classroom. She didn’t bother to ask why anyone in class would think that she’d use a taxidermy dog in a still life. Artists were stereotyped as doing eccentric things and a stuffed dog wasn’t that crazy compared to other things she heard about.

Fine, Lyla said.

She moved away from the table and sat down on a stool at the back of the classroom. Someone had to have put the little dog on the table. There wasn’t anything for him to jump on to get up there on his own, which made her wonder how the dog got into the classroom in the first place. There were two sets of double doors to open to enter the building, not counting the door to her classroom. The foot traffic in and out of the building wasn’t high in the evening, since there were only two other classes taught at this time of day.

If her students told the truth and they hadn’t brought the Pomeranian in, did that mean the dog was escorted by fairies or gnomes?

Lyla closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that what she saw this afternoon was nothing more than her imagination gone wild. A trick of her exhausted mind.

I don’t mean to interrupt your focus, but have any of you heard or seen the Gnome and Howe Law Office on Third Avenue? Lyla asked.

How far away from here is it? Tyrone asked.

About a mile, she said.

He shook his head. It doesn’t sound familiar and I walk down Third Avenue every day to come to class. He shrugged and resumed drawing.