Basic Witch_Witches of Salem

3

Exitus.” Beau guided me into the lobby of Coven Headquarters and tapped his wand on the same wall Gil brought me through. The same shimmering golden doorway appeared. But when we stepped through onto the street, it was glaringly obvious that we weren’t in the same place.

We slid into a booth in the corner, and a middle-aged man approached, dropping two menus on the table with a smile.

“Hey there, Professor.”

“Evening,” Beau responded.

“Welcome to Darkwoods Diner,” the man said, eyeing me. “I’m Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Max. I’m Gemma.”

“Aren’t you a pretty thing?” Max leaned in, resting both hands on the table as he examined me. Beau cleared his throat, casting a dangerous glare. Max straightened but didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke. “Not often we get witches in here, especially not during a Sabbat celebration. What brings you in?”

“Food,” I answered. “Why else would we be at a diner?”

“Spunky, too,” he said. “I like ladies with spunk.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said. Mental note: be less spunky around Max.

“I thought you might be coming to check in on Mason, on account of the murder and all.”

“Word really travels fast in Salem,” I mumbled.

“Just here for a meal, Max,” Beau replied.

“Then I’ll let you folks look over the menu.”

“Wait,” I said. “Do you mean Mason Montcrief? He works here?”

“Indeed he does,” Max replied. “Best employee I’ve ever had. But of course that goes without saying. Everyone loves Mason. Even the werewolves. Shame about Morty, though.”

“Excuse me, did you just say werewolves?”

“Indeed. Just like yours truly.” He gave a hearty laugh, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Girlie, if you don’t want to be around werewolves, you shouldn’t be hanging out in The Fringes.”

“Can werewolves smell fear? Asking for a friend,” Titus said.

“Let’s hope not. Because if he can, we’re both in trouble.”

“Gemma is new in town,” Beau offered. “It’s her first night here.”

“Oh!” Max’s brows shot up, and he cocked his head. “Is she—?”

“Yes,” Beau answered. “She’s the one who found Morty. And she’s under the Coven’s protection, so you might want to spread the word that we expect Gemma to be treated with the utmost respect,” Beau warned.

Max tossed up his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Professor. I didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

“As if that would stop you,” Beau said. “Be a gentleman, and we won’t have any problems.” I felt a flush creeping up my cheeks. It wasn’t enough that Beau was blindingly gorgeous and oozed sex appeal. He had to be chivalrous and protective, too? Be still, my witchy heart.

“Message received, Professor,” Max conceded. “I’ll be back to take your order in a few minutes.”

I waited for Max to disappear into the kitchen before I smiled at Beau. “Thanks for that.”

“Max is pretty harmless overall. But he does have quite a reputation with the ladies. Not all of it good,” he said, passing me a menu. “Sometimes he just needs to be reminded to mind his manners.”

“Not so different from your average human male. So what exactly do they serve at a werewolf diner?” I asked, opening the menu and glancing over it.

“Darkwoods Diner is famous for its steak and burgers,” he said. “And pie. But I’m partial to their breakfast menu.” He flipped my menu over and pointed at the back page.

“Breakfast?” My eyes widened as I read the headline: Breakfast served 24 hours. I went silent as I scanned the page, taking in the wide selection of typical American diner food. Pancakes, French toast, omelets, steak and eggs. The works. I loved food in general, but breakfast was my happy place. Especially breakfast for dinner.

Max sauntered back to the table just as I closed my menu. “What can I get you, ma’am?” He exaggerated the word with a pointed look, and I could barely contain my eye roll.

“I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes, two eggs over medium—”

“Three,” Titus interrupted.

“—sorry, three eggs over medium, hash browns and—”

“Bacon! All the bacon!”

“—two sides of bacon,” I said. Max and Beau both stared in disbelief as I kept going. “And a water with no ice. And coffee. Black.”

“Sure you don’t want to add the first two pages of the menu to that order?”

“I haven’t eaten all day.” I glared at him. “And I’m sharing with my cat.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” he said with a chuckle. “You can afford the calories. And besides, I like a woman with a hearty appetite.” He scribbled my order onto a notepad and regarded Beau. “The usual? Scrambled cheese eggs, sausage, and toast?”

“Yes. Thank you. And black coffee.”

“I’ll have this right out,” Max promised. He returned moments later with our drinks and a small bowl of water for Titus.

“This seems like a great diner,” I said. “Is it always this empty late at night?”

“Never,” Max said. “But between Samhain and the full moon, a lot of folks are otherwise engaged. Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’d be in a heap of trouble handling the customers all by my lonesome.”

“Did Mason leave right after he got the news about Morty?”

“Leave? He was never here. His shift didn’t start until an hour ago. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “No reason.”

After Max disappeared, Beau narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Not much,” I said. I didn’t know Beau well enough to say what I was really thinking. Everyone on the Council seemed to think Mason was the obvious heir to Morty’s fortune. If that were true, and Mason wasn’t at work when it happened, then that would give him a motive and the opportunity to kill Morty. But as much as I loved watching crime dramas, it wasn’t my job to figure out who killed Mortimer Montcrief. That was a job for the admittedly inept Detective Otto.

I raised my coffee cup to my lips, inhaling deeply, and let the sweet, rich aroma wash over me. "It’s no pumpkin spice latte, but it’s good.”

“Pumpkin spice latte?” Beau tilted his head with interest. “What’s that?”

“It’s this seasonal drink at Starbucks—that’s a coffee shop—and to be honest, it’s terrible for you, way too much sugar. But it also tastes like autumn in your mouth. So I let myself have one every year on Halloween. I was planning to go get one after work today, but—” I shrugged, “—I ended up here instead.”

“Interesting,” Beau said. “I don’t know anything about pumpkin coffee, but we do have a coffee shop. I’d be happy to show you where it is.”

“That’s sweet, but diner coffee is okay for now. I’ll just get my pumpkin spice fix once I get back home.”

“Gemma,” he looked at me with a solemn expression. “I don’t think you understand. Salem is your home now. There’s no going back to the human realm.”

“What do you mean?” I set my cup down on the table with shaky hands as I stared back at him. “Why can’t I go back the same way I came in?”

“And here we go!” Max appeared, setting a stack of plates on the table one by one. To his credit, he even delivered a small saucer for me to share my food with Titus. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Beau replied.

“I’m fine,” I said. I slipped one egg and two pieces of bacon onto the saucer and began tearing the bacon into small bites. I was too distracted by the revelation that I was trapped here to focus on my own food.

“Salem is cursed,” Beau began. “No one can leave. We can travel to other places within the magical realm,” he said.

“Centuries ago, the land that now makes up Salem was werewolf territory. Legend has it that a powerful witch crossed over from the human world to escape persecution by religious fanatics. She, along with the other witches she called into Salem when she crossed over, formed a protective shield around the town, ensuring that no humans could follow in their pursuit of the witches. They built the town of Salem, and it was gradually populated by other magical creatures from the realm. Over time, the werewolves grew resentful of the witches encroaching on their territory, and a violent battle ensued. The witches won. After the Battle of Salem, the wolves were pushed out into the area we now call The Fringes. And here we are.”

“So the natives were displaced by immigrants? There’s a shocker,” I said. A curse, huh? Now seemed as good a time to stress eat as any. I set about slicing my pancakes in half, then stacking one half on top of the other and cutting the double stack into bites before drizzling syrup over them. I was just about to slide a fork full of delicious diner breakfast into my mouth when I caught Beau watching me, a small smile playing on his luscious lips. “What? The pancake to syrup ratio is better this way,” I explained.

“I see. You’re an interesting woman, Gemma Bradbury.” He smirked and bit off a piece of toast.

“That’s a stretch,” I said. “This place is crawling with supernatural creatures. Wings, magic, shifters. The whole shebang. I’m just—” I shrugged— “me. Nothing super original to see here.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said. “I suspect that once you’ve been around Salem awhile, you’ll find you’re anything but ordinary.”

“So you’ve told me how Salem was created,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain how I got here. Or why I’m stuck.”

“Something to do with the Vortex Years,” he said. “No one fully understands the reasoning or magic behind them,” but scholars like me have been studying the Vortex Years for centuries. Every seven years, during the eight Coven Sabbats—Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Midsummer, Lughnasadh, and Mabon—the veil between worlds is lifted, allowing those with magical blood to cross over from the human realm into Salem. From what we’ve gathered, this Salem connects with every town or city called Salem in the human realm. Many have tried to leave, but vortex pull appears to be a one-way ticket. Once someone enters Salem, they can never leave.”

“Like Hotel California.”

“But you don’t need a hotel. You’ll be staying at Morty’s apartment.”

“No, it’s a song about—” I paused. “I guess you don’t exactly have access to the Eagles here.”

“Oh, yes! We have eagles. And hawks. And ravens. And owls. All kinds of birds, really.”

“No, The Eagles are a band. From America. In the human realm.” It felt weird to already be referring to the only place I’d ever lived as “the human realm. “So every seven years, a bunch of new witches move to town?” I asked. “Why is everyone acting like my arrival is such a big deal?”

“We don’t always get new people. Sometimes we go several cycles without any arrivals,” he said. “Today was the first day in this Vortex Year. And you’re the first arrival. But you also share a name with the town’s founder.”

“You mean the witch you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes,” he said. “Her name was Mary Perkins Bradbury, and she narrowly escaped a fiery fate during the Salem Witch Trials. The Coven believes you might possess the power to free Salem.”

“That’s crazy talk,” I protested.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I have no doubt you’re an extraordinary woman. But we’ve had Bradbury witches cross over before. And yet the curse remains.”

“So why would I be any different?”

“You may not be,” he said. “But you can’t blame them for having hope. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world without hope, even if that hope is misguided.”

I nodded as I pushed my empty plates toward the edge of the table and moved a very sleepy Titus onto my lap. I stroked her neck, more for my own comfort than hers, and wrapped my free hand around my coffee mug. It had been empty for a solid ten minutes, but it felt good to anchor myself to something real as I tried to process everything Beau had just told me. I stared at the mug, silent, as I pondered my next steps.

“Listen, Gemma.” He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “I know this is a lot to take in. But I’m sure you’ll come to love Salem in time. And anything you need, I’ll be here for you.”

“If I really am stuck here,” I said after a moment of reflection, “I guess I should learn how to be a witch.”

“We can start your lessons as soon as tomorrow,” he offered.

“Deal,” I said. “But there’s also that pesky little problem of me being accused of murder. If I’m going to live in Salem for the rest of my life, I’d prefer not to be behind bars.”

“I’d like to tell you not to worry, that Detective Otto will suss out the real killer,” he said. “But the truth is, he probably won’t. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I said. “I have a feeling my best chance of exoneration is to find the murderer myself.”

“I would tell you to let the Chief’s office handle it, but we’ve already established that’s not the most promising path. And even if it was, I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

“You’re a perceptive guy,” I said. “I’m not about to let my forever fate rest in someone else’s hands.”

“No,” Beau said, gazing at me thoughtfully. “I don’t imagine you would.”

I sat back in the booth, considering my own words carefully. As a quintessential people pleaser, I’d been content to let other people dictate my actions for years. Well, maybe content was an overstatement. More like, scared that people wouldn’t like me if I stood up for myself, which in turn bred a simmering resentment over my self-inflicted situation that eventually came boiling to the surface in an epic volcanic eruption that incinerated everything in sight. And then, once I was satisfied I’d burned every bridge in the vicinity, I’d pack up and move on to somewhere, something, someone new.

But this situation was different. I could feel my resolve strengthening within my core, demanding that I face this challenge head-on. Was this a side effect of being a witch? Maybe crossing over into Salem had changed me somehow.

“So talk to me about Mason Montcrief,” I urged. “Did he have a good relationship with Morty?”

“Ask anyone in town, and they’ll tell you Mason is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet,” Beau said. “As for his relationship with Morty, it was as good as could be expected. Mason did his best to be there for Morty, running errands and fixing things up around the property. Morty was always cranky about it, insisting he didn’t need anyone’s help. But Mason didn’t mind. He still dropped by Montcrief’s every day to check on him.”

“It sounds like Bennett was right,” I said. “Mason should be the rightful heir to Montcrief’s.”

“I don’t disagree with you there,” Beau said. “But the powers that be in Salem are quite particular about following the rules, even though the constant bureaucracy seems to slow everything down. They’ll have to confirm Morty’s estate plans with the Hall of Records, which…” he sat back and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. “... is about as expedient as a drunken snail.”

“It sounds like Morty was a pretty wealthy man.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “And Mason worked here, which doesn’t strike me as a glamorous life. Is it possible Mason killed him to gain access to his money?”

Max, who was diligently cleaning the table a few booths down from us, paused and shook his head. “No way,” he said. “Mason loves working at Darkwoods Diner. Morty always pushed Mason to follow in his footsteps and take over the shop, but Mason wanted a simpler life. Real point of contention between them, too. No way he’d kill Morty just to get his hands on the very thing he always turned his back on.”

I frowned. I swore I was speaking quietly enough to keep our conversation private. “How did you—?”

Max wriggled his eyebrows and pointed to his ear. “Werewolf ears.”

“Oh. Right.” I flashed an innocent smile.

“Hey, Max? Y’all obviously think Mason isn’t capable of killing Morty. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Maybe it’s best we keep my initial suspicions to ourselves. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Mason before we even meet.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks. I’m good at keeping secrets. You remember that, in case you ever want to keep something else just between us. If you know what I mean.”

Ew. I bit back my immediate reaction, smiling once more. “I’ll keep that in mind, Max.”

Beau was silent, but his tightly clenched jaw betrayed his annoyance. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin, depositing it on the table as he stood. He extended his hand to help me up, and I took it, nearly crashing into him as I slid out of the booth with as much grace as a newborn deer.

Beau was quick, catching my elbows to steady me as he grinned. “If Detective Otto had witnessed that near-disaster, your story about tripping over Morty might seem more plausible.”

“Ha-ha,” I replied. My tone may have been sarcastic, but every inch of my body danced with electricity as I realized just how close Beau and I were standing. I felt my face flush, and I lowered my gaze, as we walked to the door.

“Oh, my Bast! You like him!” Titus exclaimed.

“Hush. I do not.”

“I bet he doesn’t cuddle like I do.”

“Don’t be weird. No one is cuddling anyone.”

I was too embarrassed to admit it, even to myself, but the cat was right. We had only been here a few hours, but I already had a hopeless schoolgirl crush on my new professor.

"Do you mind if we walk?"

"Not at all," I said. "If I'm going to be stuck here awhile, I might as well get to know the town a bit."

He held open the door, and as I brushed past him, his delicious, masculine scent wafted into my nose. I thought I might melt into a puddle right at his feet. Instead, I plastered my best casual smile on my face and hoped he hadn't noticed me breathing him in.

Beau offered me his arm—apparently a common custom for gentlemen in Salem—and I looped mine through his, resting my hand on his wrist.

I fell into step with him, Titus sulking as she followed at our feet. We rounded a corner and found ourselves surrounded by a gloomy forest on one side and a row of dilapidated warehouses on the other.

"Are The Fringes always this spooky?" I asked. "Talk about the perfect setting for a slasher film."

“The Fringes can be intimidating at night, but I think you'll find the area more welcoming in the light of day." He pointed to the bare black tree trunks rising up from a blanket of gray fog. "However, those are The Darkwoods. Best avoided entirely.

A cold wind whipped through the trees, sending a shiver through my body. "I'll take your word for it."

Beau cupped his free hand over mine and slowed to a stop. "You're freezing," he said.

"Maybe a little chilly. I didn't have a chance to pack a jacket before being ripped from my home by the magical bookcase from hell."

He frowned, shrugging off his coat before draping it over my shoulders. "You'll need a coat. An entire wardrobe, in fact." He furrowed his brow. "And a bank account. And money."

"I don't even know where to begin," I said.

"I think the Coven is taking care of the logistics, but I’ll check in to make sure they expedite things.”

“Thank you.”

“It's been years since someone crossed over into Salem,” he said. “I forget how jarring it can be."

"That's an understatement."

"You'll want some help settling in. I'll introduce you to some fellow witches tomorrow, and we'll make a list of what you need."

"A cup of tea, a hot bath, and a warm bed would be more than enough for tonight," I said.

"Simple requests," Beau said. "Consider it done." He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me close to him as we began walking again.

And it wouldn't hurt to have you as a snuggle partner, I thought.

“Hey! I'm your snuggle partner!” Titus whined.

“You literally sleep on top of my neck. I'm not sure I'd call that snuggling. More like strangling.”

“It's a love strangle.”

“I’d be safer sleeping alone.”

“I am a fierce protector.” She puffed out her chest and tail, making her furry black form appear medium-tiny as opposed to just regular tiny.

I stifled a laugh. But speaking of spending the night alone… "Beau?"

"Yes, Gemma?"

"You don't think Morty's killer will come back, do you?"

"I'm not sure. It seems unlikely the killer would return to the scene of the crime, at least so soon.”

“Unless they came back to hide something. Like the murder weapon,” I pointed out.

He frowned. “You’re right. I'd feel better if you had someone stay with you for a few days."

"Yeah?" Oh, sweet stars above. Say that someone will be you.

"Mortimer has a sofa. I can sleep there tonight," He cast a sidelong glance at me. "If you don't mind a strange man bedding down in your newly inherited apartment."

"No! Not at all. I'd love it if you slept over," I replied, not even masking the eagerness in my voice. Tone it down, Gemma. "I mean, after the day I've had, some company would be reassuring," I said. That's better. Play it cool.

"It's just..." he pressed his lips together, "I can't leave my familiar alone all night. I’d never hear the end of it. Would you mind if I brought him over? He’s a cat."

"Of course not. I love cats!"

"What about Titus?" He peered down at her.

"Titus loves cats, too. She'll be fine."

"Only if you're certain," he said.

“I do not! I do not love cats,” Titus complained.

“How do you know? You've never even met another cat.”

“I know enough to know I don't like them.”

“But you are a cat.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You will be nice, or I won't share my breakfast with you tomorrow.”

“See? This new cat isn't even here yet, and he's already coming between us. I hate cats. Hate them!”

I rolled my eyes at her and tilted my face toward Beau with a smile. “I’m certain.”

The walk back to Montcrief’s took longer than I expected, but I didn’t mind. How could I, when every step through the cold October air added to the time I spent cuddled up with Beau? It had been a long time since I’d had any real interest in a man. Beau had me feeling as giddy as a teenage girl on her first date. I wasn’t going to let anything—not even a pending murder investigation—ruin that feeling for me.

It did strike me as odd that Coven Headquarters was so close to both Montcrief’s and Darkwoods Diner, but the distance between the shop and the diner seemed so great. As we made our way back to my new home, Beau explained.

“Coven Headquarters actually doesn’t exist on the surface of Salem. It’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. The founders designed it that way—hidden in plain sight—to serve as a safe haven for the early Salem witches in the event of another werewolf uprising. So if you’re a witch—” he paused, throwing me an apologetic look—“a witch who has passed her Basic Witch Exams, at least—you can access Coven Headquarters from pretty much anywhere in town. All it takes is enough wall space to create a doorway, a wand, and the right incantation. The wards around Coven Headquarters can sense witch blood, and won’t open for anyone else.”

“So someone like me needs an escort to come and go from Coven Headquarters?”

“Until you’ve proven you can control your most basic powers, yes. But something tells me you won’t have any trouble finding volunteers to accompany you.”

“So how do all of the Council members get in? The ones who aren’t witches?”

“Council Chambers serves both as a meeting hall and a courtroom. It’s not actually part of Coven Headquarters. We just use the lobby to access different parts of Salem more quickly. You can leave headquarters the same way you enter, but having a clear intention is much more important upon exit. Visualize your destination in your mind’s eye, and leave no doubt about where you want to go. Otherwise, things could turn disastrous.”

I started to ask him to elaborate, but as we rounded a corner and came to a stop across the street from Montcrief’s, my mind flashed back to the memory of Mortimer’s body lying cold, stiff and lifeless beneath me.

And as a dark, hooded figure appeared in the doorway, his broad jaw stretched into a macabre smile against his bare, bone-white skull as he carried Morty’s corpse out into a wooden carriage, I was certain the chill spreading through my body wasn’t because of the weather. The figure paused to adjust the scythe strapped to his shoulder and caught my eye, his hollow sockets trained directly on my face. He lifted his free arm and wriggled his bony fingers in my direction, and my mouth went as dry as sandpaper.

Death himself had come for Morty. And from the looks of things, he’d set his sights on me, too.