The Wrong Witch

  The Wrong Witch

  Twistchapel Cozy Mystery #6

  by Alexandria Westbay

  Copyright © 2017 Herrin Enterprises LLC

  All rights reserved.

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

  The Twistchapel Cozy Mystery Series:

  The Befuddled Butcher (Book 1)

  Released September 2017

  The Suspicious Spirit (Book 2)

  Released October 2017

  The Vexing Vampire (Book 3)

  Released October 2017

  The Problematic Pixie (Book 4)

  Released November 2017

  The Watchful Werewolf (Book 5)

  Released December 2017

  The Wrong Witch (Book 6)

  Released December 2017

  The Annoying Angel (Book 7)

  Releasing January 2018

  Twistchapel Cozy Holiday Shorts:

  The Stolen Santa (Christmas Short)

  Released November 2017

  For updates on the newest Twistchapel releases, as well as freebies and giveaways, come subscribe to my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/c8CE4L

  Follow us on Facebook @AlexandriaWestbay for updates, occasional cat videos, and more!

  Chapter 1

  “Your mom?!” exclaimed Bart and Bridgette together.

  “Why, hello, Bridgette,” smiled my mom, walking by me and into my dining room. I hadn’t seen, talked to, or heard from my mom in years, yet here she was. I wasn’t even sure if she knew I had become a witch yet. “Long time no see.”

  “H-Hi Miss Foster,” stuttered Bridgette, trying to stand up.

  “Please, my dear,” said my mom, shaking her head. “Call me Melina from now on. Besides, it’s Melina Edwards now. I changed my name back after Terry left. Look at you! Have you been going to town on the cupcakes?”

  Bridgette blushed and looked down at her stomach.

  “She’s pregnant, Mom,” I sighed, closing the door behind me. “You’d maybe know that, if you ever visited.”

  “Pregnant?” gasped my mom. “Please don’t tell me the child is from that skinny little pipsqueak that was always running around with you two when you were younger!”

  “I-It is Dan’s,” mumbled Bridgette.

  “Wow, your mom’s a real piece of work,” said Bart, laying on the table. Bart was the familiar I received when I became a witch. For reasons unknown, he preferred the form of a cat.

  My mom casually waved her hand in his direction, and a muzzle appeared around his mouth.

  “Mmm! Mm mmm mmm mm!!” he shouted, trying desperately to paw it off.

  “Bart!” I shouted, rushing up to him, unsure how to help. “Mom! Take it off him!”

  “What’d your mom do to Bart?” asked Bridgette, unable to see him while he was immaterial. Bart materialized, looking over at Bridgette in a panic.

  “Mmmmmmm!” shouted Bart.

  “Why is your familiar revealing itself to Bridgette?” hissed my mom, turning towards me and raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s okay, Miss Fos-er Melina,” said Bridgette, yanking on the muzzled around Bart’s mouth to no avail. “I know she’s a witch, just like you.”

  “You told her?” asked my mom, eye twitching ever so slightly.

  “It’s complicated, but yes, she knows,” I said. “Take the muzzle off Bart or get out. Now.”

  My mom glared at me for a moment. I wasn’t sure if she would leave or stay, but I was fine with either. Worst case I could just take Bart to Warren or something to take it off.

  Finally, she waved her hand at Bart again.

  The cat brought his paws up to his mouth, patting it to make sure the muzzle was really gone.

  “Insult me again, familiar, and that thing is never coming off,” said my mom.

  Bart nodded without saying another word. It was weird to see him not have a snarky comeback and just sitting there quietly. I didn’t like it.

  “You’ve really got to keep your familiar under control,” she continued. “They are here to serve us, and it’s best if they don’t get too comfortable.”

  “He’s my friend,” I said.

  “No, he’s your familiar. And a bad one, if you ask me. You’ve had your powers for months now, and you don’t even know how to remove a simple spell from your own familiar? Embarrassing.”

  I glared at my mom as she talked. Who did she think she was, leaving for years only to come back and insult me in my own house.

  “Uh, what brings you to town?” laughed Bridgette nervously. She didn’t seem to like this either.

  “Well, since everything is in the open…” said my mom, running her hand over her clothes. “I’ve come back because of a witch’s conference. I normally go every year, and this year happens to be held near Twistchapel. It’s hosted by some vampires around here, who have a secret lair or something.”

  “Crestwood?” I asked. I hadn’t been there for a few months, when I helped solve a case involving several vampire murders.

  “I guess,” she shrugged. “I don’t pay much mind to the other races. They always want something out of us, but never provide any good use. It wasn’t until all those vampire and werewolf teen movies came out that younger witches started interacting with them more.”

  “Most of the vampires and werewolves I’ve met are good people,” I said.

  “So?” asked my mom. “I don’t see why that means I need to be concerned with their affairs.”

  “Is Zoey going with you?” asked Bridgette, trying to ease the tension in the room that was mounting with every passing moment. “To the conference?”

  “I doubt it,” smirked my mom. “This is an invite only event. Always has been. I, of course, have been invited ever since I was a young girl. Never one to miss an opportunity to learn more about my craft. You never know when you’ll learn something that’ll be useful later on in life.”

  “What sort of things do they teach there?” I asked. Other than my mom, I hadn’t met any other witches up to this point. While Bart was helpful in learning the occasional spell or getting the history on a paranormal creature or event, it could be good to learn from other witches. Maybe they would have some tips and tricks that would help me out with everyday things, such as cleaning dishes, or getting a broken key fob to work.

  “It changes from year to year,” shrugged my mom. “They usually have a potions and transmutation lecturer, and then a few others. Sometimes it’ll be broom flying, defensive spellwork, offensive spellwork, paranormal history, and more.”

  “Are you going to be a lecturer?” asked Bridgette.

  “Not this time,” said my mom, a smile spreading. “However, I’ve got an in with the organization. If everything goes well, I should be able to be at least a guest lecturer at the next year’s conference!”

  “How exciting!” said Bridgette, clapping her hands together. “Isn’t that exciting, Zoey?”

  “Extremely,” I said dryly. “It’s been a long day, so I’m going to bed. Mom, you can either sleep in the living room or get a hotel. I don’t care which.”

  “Don’t you want to catch up more?” asked Bridgette. “Surely your mom has been doing and seeing some crazy things over the past few years!”

  “I’ve done an interesting thing or two, I suppose,” smirked my mom.

  “Hard pass,” I said, putting a few dishes in the sink before heading for my room. “Feel free to stay as late as you’d like, Bridgette. Lock up before you leave, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking nervously over at my mom. I wasn’t sure if she exactly felt safe being alone with her. “I think I’ll probably just catch up with her another time.”

  I walked into my bedroom, Bart floating silently behind me. Closing my door, I turned to whisper to him.

  “Why are you being so quiet? You never let anyone talk to you like that! She was insulting to not just you, but all familiars!”

  “Some witches feel that way,” he shrugged, refusing to make eye contact with me as he floated off to a side couch he usually slept on. “Besides, I didn’t want to get muzzled again.”

  “Familiars help witches learn their powers, though,” I pressed. “Why would witches have such a low view of familiars if you all are the ones that helped them from the start?”

  “A number of them believe that they would’ve come into their own without us,” he said quietly. “After they get to a certain point in their skills, they come to resent us, or view us as little more than an annoyance. That’s why familiars are normally only with witches for a few years. After that, even the nicer witches want to be left alone. We go back to the Other, waiting to be summoned again by a new witch in the next generation.”

  “You’re not a nuisance,” I said, shaking my head. Not only had Bart taught me everything I knew, but I had come to view him as a close friend, practically family. Well, closer than family, in my case. “You don’t think I’ll eventually resent you, right?”

  “I hope not,” he mumbled. “It usually happens, though. I won’t blame you if the day comes.”

  It broke my heart to see Bart so quiet and sad. My mother really had a way with words. Rarely would you leave a conversation with her feeling better about yourself, or filled with optimism.

  I couldn’t believe she was back… I didn’t want to believe she was back, even if it was j
ust for a short time.

  I sat down on my bed, rubbing my fingers over my eyelids. I had so many questions, but I didn’t want to get into it. It had been a horribly long day, an old acquaintance had died, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Maybe the next time she came into town I’d try to be a bit more friendly, or take an interest in what she’s been up to for the past several years. She was always the hero of her own stories, though, and I didn’t care to listen to her exaggerated tales.

  Trying to lean back, I felt something heavy in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw it was the box that Warren gave me after solving another murder. He told me not to open it until a mysterious she arrived. He must have meant my mom. How did he know she was going to be back in town, let alone visit me? I guess it didn’t really matter.

  I tore off the birthday wrapping paper, exposing a little white jewelry box.

  Did Warren buy me jewelry? I hoped that wasn’t the case. He knew Drake and I were dating, but if anything that might prompt him to want to get me something even more. Anything he could do to get a dig in at Drake. I wouldn’t let that work, though. If it was a necklace or something, I would just return it to the warlock.

  Taking a breath and crossing my fingers that this also wasn’t a trap, I opened the box.

  Inside lay a pure black rock, shining up at me with the reflection of the light in my room. Why did he give me a rock? Why did he not want me to open it until my mom arrived? Was this some sort of prank? I picked up the rock to look at it a little closer, when suddenly it started shaking.

  Tiny red and orange fireworks shot from it, making small explosions just a couple of inches above the rock. In the remnants of the explosions spelled out:

  Congratulations. You have been invited to the 327th Annual Witch’s Conference. This year, it will take place in Crestwood, hosted by the very generous vampire council.

  We hope you will come participate and learn from some of the greatest witches in your area, and the world!

  It then gave the date of tomorrow at noon, before disappearing completely. I shook the rock again, trying to get it to go off. Hopefully I hadn’t missed anything.

  “What was that?” asked Bart, looking at me from his spot on the couch.

  “I’m not quite sure,” I said, staring at the shiny rock in my hand. It didn’t look like anything special anymore. Part of me didn’t want to go to the conference. It’d mean spending more time with my mom. However, a bigger part of me looked forward to rubbing it in her face that I was invited to go, too. I placed the rock on my nightstand and glanced back at the cat. “But, I think we’ll be going to that witch’s conference after all.”

  “Joy,” he mumbled, turning away as he tried to get some sleep.

  Chapter 2

  “Are you sure you want to go?” asked Bart for the hundredth time. We were walking down the aisles of Foster’s Market, where I was doing my usual rounds. When I woke up that morning, my mom was nowhere to be seen. She must have taken the not-so-subtle hint that I’d prefer she not stay with me, and left.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “I think it’ll be interesting.”

  “Everyone there is going to be so horrible though,” whined Bart. “Most witches aren’t like you, Zoey. Most are a lot more like your mom.”

  “It’d be nice for the good witches to get some representation then, hmm?”

  “If you say so,” he mumbled.

  Down at the end of the aisle was Eric Muller, my manager. Just the man I wanted to see.

  “Morning Eric,” I smiled. “Enjoy your vacation?”

  “I did,” he nodded. Eric had taken the previous week off to go out of town with some friends. I was always happy to give my employees time off, but it could be a little rough when the best ones were gone for more than a couple of days. He deserved the time off, though. “It looks like the store managed without me.”

  “Barely,” I laughed.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” he smiled. “Did I miss anything important?”

  “Not really,” I said. “However, I’m going to be taking tonight and the rest of the week off. I wanted to let you know you’d be fully in charge before I left.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. Going out of town yourself?”

  “More of a staycation,” I smirked. “Some personal matters have been pretty taxing, and I think I could use some rest.”

  “You get just a little bit of excitement going, and now you need half a week off?” said Bart. “You’ve got to build up your tolerance for not being lame.”

  I shot a look down at Bart. Maybe my mom wasn’t wrong when she talked about familiars being annoying, at least some of the time.

  “Staycations can be just as fun as going out of town, if not more,” said Eric. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything major while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks, Eric,” I said, turning back down the aisle the way we came.

  We went down to a few more sections of the store, checking to see how everyone was doing and letting them know that Eric was in charge over the next few days. After that, we turned down the bread aisle, making our way to the front of the store.

  Two women about my age were comparing sandwich bread packages as we passed by them. One of the women had long red hair, while the other, with short brown hair, turned and let out an obnoxious laugh. I stopped and looked over my clothes, checking to see if anything was wrong. I looked at my feet in case there was a roll of toilet paper stuck to my shoes that I didn’t notice, but I was in the clear. What was so funny?

  “A grown woman, with a familiar?” howled the woman.

  “A familiar? You can see him?” I asked, shocked. I had never run into someone that had seen him, outside of a few paranormal creatures.

  “Of course we can, sweetie! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a witch out of high school that still needed one! How embarrassing!”

  “You seem lovely,” said Bart.

  “What was that?” asked the woman, raising her hand up to her ear. “I don’t think I understand cat-onese.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s probably just all the gunk in your ears,” purred Bart.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed as she dropped her hand. Her finger glowed blue briefly, before she flicked a ball of energy at the cat. Instinctively, I threw an electric shield around Bart, catching and diffusing the ball before it could hit him.

  “Looks like you can take a joke well,” hissed Bart.

  “Oh, yeah?” hissed the woman back at him. “I bet you wouldn’t like it if-”

  “Enough, Margot,” said the other woman, putting a hand on her arm to calm her down. This woman’s blue eyes flashed harshly at her friend, before softening as she looked at me. “I’m sorry for my friend’s behavior, Miss. It is a bit surprising to see a witch at our age still with a familiar, though.”

  “It’s okay,” I lied. The only offensive spell I knew involved fire, and I didn’t exactly want to burn my store to the ground over a stupid squabble. “I take it you two are witches as well?”

  “We are,” nodded the second woman. “We decided to pick up a few food items before heading over to the witch’s conference later this afternoon.”

  “I bet she doesn’t even know about it,” sneered Margot. “Only real witches are invited to it.”

  I pulled out the black stone from my pocket. “Well, I guess it looks like I’m a real witch then.”

  Margot’s face soured further, but she didn’t say anything.

  “How exciting!” cheered the second woman. She reached out her hand. “My name’s Judy. This here is Margot. We’re both from Nimbleshire.”

  “I’m Zoey, and this is Bart,” I said, shaking the woman’s hand. “Nimbleshire? I’m afraid I haven’t heard of it.”

  “It’s a few hundred miles West,” said Judy.

  “That must’ve been quite the drive,” I said.

  “Drive? We didn’t-”

  “Don’t tell her!” said Margot quickly. “It’ll be good for her to just figure it out on her own.”

  Judy sighed, but didn’t explain any further. “Is this your first time going to the conference?”