Magick and Murder - Chapter 1

I think I've got everything fixed with Fae and Felonies. At least, the copy I downloaded from Amazon was correct. If you got a copy with less than twenty-one (21) chapters, contact me. I'll make it right.

In the meantime, I'll give you a taste of book 3 of the Millersburg Magick Mysteries, Magick and Murder.

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Kirsten Wilson kept an eye on the protesters across the street from Aunt Jo’s coffee shop as she served their only two customers. The huge double-paned picture windows didn’t block the crowd’s shouts. The auras around the Normals who marched were ugly smears of gray, their hatred marring their usual rainbow colors. They paraded up and down the block of East Jackson Street in front of the Holmes County courthouse. The Normal protesters shot even uglier looks at the coffee shop as they shouted their awful slogans.

She wished all of them were simply people from Cleveland or elsewhere, but she recognized more faces than she was comfortable with, including Amelia Ryder’s mom. People in Millersburg may get into a snit fit if the neighbor’s dog pooped in their lawn. Maybe the occasional DUI or domestic abuse situation. But nothing so bigoted as marching in in hatred because someone was different.

Heck, Jo’s status as a witch had been an open secret in the area, long before the Rainier Outing revealed the existence of the supernatural races twelve years ago. The ladies in town often consulted her about their problems. A lot of farmers stopped in for a hot breakfast and even hotter coffee with a side helping of weather predictions. But with the current lawsuits questioning the supernaturals’ status as United States citizens, some nasty elements in Normal society decided integration was something to be avoided at all costs.

An occasional dead leaf drifted down the street on the wind, a reminder that the earth was settling in for its long winter sleep. But it was an unusually bright, sunny day for Ohio this close to Thanksgiving despite the steady breeze. The brilliant blue sky silhouetted the three-story stone historic courthouse. However, its imposing features didn’t deter the protesters. Neither did the couple of police officers watching them to make sure they didn’t get out hand. A couple of the idiots had tried to annoy people heading into the courthouse, both Amish and English alike. But after one warning from the police, Warren Simon, the leader of Humanity Now, reined in his followers.

Kirsten nibbled on her lower lip. Why did anyone follow a man like that? There was nothing really imposing about him. He was average height and average build for a Normal in his forties. His sandy brown hair was thinning on top. His round black spectacles gave him an owlish expression. Standard khaki slacks and a navy windbreaker over his white shirt looked like every other dad at the local basketball games. Scuffed dark brown loafers completed his dad ensemble. If he wasn’t one of the top anti-supernatural leaders in the country, she would have mistaken him for an accountant.

Mary Levy joined Kirsten at the window. The ties of her prayer cap dangled over her shoulders, as startling white against her navy blue dress as her apron was. She’d given up on cleaning the tables, not that they really needed it. Her bucket of lemony sanitizer competed with the rich aroma of fresh ground beans. Beans that would go to waste. None of their usual weekday regulars were coming in. Not today. Not with the mob across the street.

“No good will come of this many angry English in town.” Mary shook her head.

Even though Mary was a month younger than Kirsten, the Amish considered her an adult. Sometimes, Kirsten was envious of Mary’s status in her own community. Other times, not so much. The two of them had been friends as long as Kirsten could remember, but the Levys never so much as commented on the Wilson family’s differences from other English. Maybe because Mary’s great-great-aunt had been a vampire.

The reporter from Cleveland rose from his table. He’d come in for a sandwich and attempted to chat Jo up. She could be incredibly charming when she wanted to be, but she delivered only stiff politeness to the reporter.

“Thank you, ladies.” He nodded to Kristen and Mary.

“Have a good day,” Kirsten automatically replied with a smile.

He exited the café to a series of boos from the crowd that drowned out the ringing of the bell on the door. That left Rose Gleason, Jo’s closest friend in town. She sat in the right front corner of the café, sipping her cinnamon latte, and also watching the protesters across the street.

Jo joined Kirsten and Mary at the left window, her attention on the crowd as well. “Let’s clean up and close up shop, ladies. We’re not going to get much more business today.”

“Isn’t that giving in to these assholes?” Kirsten stared at her great-aunt. It wasn’t like Jo to act intimidated by anyone.

You can protect yourself, Jo said silently. Hell, even Rose can swing her cane like a pro polo player. But Mary won’t defend herself if that crowd gets physical, and I don’t want to see her hurt.

She had a point.

Kirsten turned to Mary. “Let me give you a ride home.”

For once, Mary didn’t argue about being in a car. She merely nodded before she grabbed her bucket and continued wiping down the tables.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, everything had been swept, cleaned, and put away.

“Rose, I’ll drop you off at your place,” Jo said as three of them put on their jackets. Mary placed her black bonnet on her head and wrapped her black shawl around her torso.

“I walked up here by myself,” the seventy-year-old Normal snapped. “I can walk home.” Rose strolled the four blocks from her old Victorian to coffee shop every day there wasn’t rain, snow, or ice.

“Miz Rose,” Mary said gently. “Not even I’m foolish enough to walk home with those people across the street. There’s no sense courting trouble when it is avoidable.”

Rose glared at her overtop the bright orange rims of her spectacles. “Maybe a good whack over their heads would knock some sense into those idiots.”

“That’s assault,” Jo said. “And you know those assholes will press charges.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “What’re you going to do? Hex me if I don’t obey you?”

“Maybe I will, you old fart,” Jo growled. Even though they were born the same year, Jo aged more slowly being a witch, which meant she could have passed for Kaley’s mom.

Or Rose’s daughter.

Kaley leaned close to Mary and said not so quietly, “Is this what we’re going to be like in fifty years?”

“Probably.” Mary giggled. “But I will not be wearing such colorful eyewear—”

Glass exploded into the café from the left picture window.