Magical bookshop owner, Mercy Brew, agrees to host a book signing for a romance writer with more enemies than fans. But when the event takes a murderous turn, Mercy’s dreams of a successful grand reopening crumble like an ancient tome.
Now Mercy and her intrepid friends must solve the mystery faster than the killer can write a sequel. And as the plot thickens, the suspects pile up higher than a stack of paperbacks, and a murky chapter in the author’s past is revealed.
Can Mercy read between the lines to find the murderer?
Bellamy Deveraux stood in the center of my bookshop with his fists clenched at his sides and uttered an aggravated huff. “If Agatha Brew wasn’t already dead, I’d kill her!” His voice echoed throughout Bewitching Books, rising above the soft classical music playing in the background.
I placed my lunch bag, umbrella, and a to-go container of tea on the glass sales countertop. “Stop worrying so much. We’re totally prepared for the grand reopening.”
A deep frown tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I’m not talking about that. We’ve got a bestselling author strutting in here tomorrow for a book signing, and guess what? Agatha, bless her witchy soul, scheduled it ages ago and then goes and dies without making any preparations.”
“Now be nice,” I warned, but not very sternly. “She might hear you.”
My late Aunt Agatha, whose murder I’d helped investigate, had seen her killer swiftly tried and imprisoned for life. However, her spirit remained, claiming unfinished business—whatever hocus-pocus that meant. Now my goal was to send Aunt Agatha soaring on a broomstick into the light, or wherever witches retired to in the afterlife.
Bellamy ran a hand over his short, black curls. In his mid-twenties, he was a charismatic blend of Hispanic and African-American heritage, with smooth tawny-brown skin and expressive ocher eyes. “Mercy, what are we going to do? This my first day back on the job, and Paige Fever is gonna be here in less than twenty-four hours.”
Trying to remain calm, I gazed at my bookstore, breathing in the heady fragrance of old paper, vanilla, and musty wood. Yes, I would totally bottle and dab ‘new paperback’ scent to my pulse points if I could.
A knot formed in my stomach. “Tomorrow, huh?” I peered out the two display windows flanking the entrance, where a light drizzle blurred the streets and buildings. “You’re right that might be a problem.”
“I had no clue Paige Fever was even gracing us with her presence until her assistant blew up my phone this morning.” Beaded bracelets on his wrist jangled as he laid a hand flat against his chest. Clad in cuffed trousers and a floral-patterned shirt layered over a white tank top, Bellamy was a poster boy for bohemian chic. “How are we supposed to host a major event with zero notice?”
“Looks like we’re going to have to figure it out.” My voice was steady, but uneasiness churned within me. “We don’t have much choice.”
We both grew quiet while we contemplated the dilemma, like an overzealous librarian had just shushed us. Pages of a book rustled as I walked past the occult section. The longer I owned this magical bookshop, the more lively it became.
I let out a sigh, my fingertips tracing over the worn grain of the countertop. “Let me think…”
A book signing could be a big part of my grand reopening and draw in more customers and solidify my presence as a resident and respected business owner in town—something I wanted very much. And most importantly, I wanted to honor Aunt Agatha’s legacy. The bookshop was like a symbol of my dreams and ambitions. So, maybe this last-minute event might not be so terrible after all.
Bellamy leaned into a bookshelf. “We’re talking about Paige Fever here, Mercy. She’s not just any author—she’s a brand, and if we mess this up, our reputation could take a hit we can’t afford. And I like this job.”
“I know…” I said, feeling the weight of his words.
He was right. The stakes were high. The shop was more than just a business; it was a dream, a community hub, and my livelihood. One wrong step could jeopardize everything I wanted for the future of my bookshop. It was more than just a book signing or reopening. It was a turning point, a chance to show the town that I was here to stay, that the shop wasn’t just surviving, but thriving. It could be the stepping stone I needed to cement my place, my identity in this tight-knit community. And I wasn’t the kind of woman to back down from a challenge.
“If we can pull this off, we could put this little bookstore on the map,” I said, the edges of my worry tinged with a glimmer of hope. “It’ll secure your job here and my businessowner status.”
He sighed and gave me a sidelong glance. "I admire your optimism, honey, but this isn't exactly like planning a book club meeting. We're racing against the clock here, and even with my extraordinary charm, I'm not sure we can conjure a successful book signing out of thin air."
“Well, on the positive side, this will be perfect for Bewitching Books’s reopening party,” I said with a small, determined smile. “Let’s get to work, Bellamy. We have a signing to prepare for.”
Bellamy placed both hands on his hips. “All righty. I’m liking this can-do attitude.”
“We’ll need a table, chairs, and snacks.” Grasping my chai tea, I sipped it, leaning an elbow and hip against the counter. “I can get The Trusty Teapot to provide pastries and refreshments. We can borrow folding chairs and a table from the town hall…what else?”
Bellamy’s frown melted away. “A chair fit for the queen of paranormal romance—no, make it a throne!”
I laughed. “I’m sure a regular chair will be just fine for the author’s derriere.”
“Excuse me, but Paige Fever is a fae and like royalty,” he said, lifting his chin.
“Is that so…” I eyed the box of paperbacks on the floor with Paige Fever’s name on them and took one out. The cover featured a handsome wolf with a flowing mane howling at the moon and the title read: Tales of a Lusty Lycanthrope. “Werewolves?”
He winked. “Who can resist a sexy wolf?”
I set the paperback on the heap and ignored his implication. Bellamy was referring to my friendship with Vaughn Wulfstein, a firefighter, a local handyman, and a very hot werewolf.
LuciFur meowed from the display window, and I strode over to stroke his soft fur. After my aunt had passed away, this sleek Bombay cat had become one of my familiars.
“Hello, LuciFur,” I said, scratching under his chin. “I brought a tuna sandwich for lunch, and I’m more than happy to share.”
LuciFur purred and slow blinked at me.
I moseyed back over to Bellamy, who had squatted on the floor beside the counter sorting books. Bellamy pulled back the lid, and the tomes floated upward before zipping to their genre section of the store and slipping into the empty gaps on the shelves.
Owning a magical bookshop was a dream come true for me—a bibliomancy witch. Mages and witches like Bellamy and I were essentially humans sprinkled with a dash of magical flair. Each witch or mage had only one or two primary abilities, but we all practiced the Mystic Arts—a benevolent magic fueled by natural energies and used for selfless purposes. And all supernatural beings referred to themselves as ‘peculiars’ and secretly lived among humans.
The door swung open and Jasmine Bloom breezed inside with her contagious smile, wearing a jean jacket over a floral dress and slouchy brown cowboy boots.
“Howdy, Mercy,” Jasmine said, her blonde mane was styled in a French braid. “Hi, Bellamy.”
After exchanging hellos, Bellamy carried an empty box through the stockroom and out the backdoor to the dumpster in the alley.
“I was on my way to work and thought I’d stop by,” Jasmine said. “Are you nervous about reopening this week?”
“A little,” I admitted. “And Bellamy just informed me a famous author—Paige Fever—is going to do a signing in the bookshop tomorrow night.”
“Oh, my daisies! I adore her novels.” Jasmine clapped her hands with a grin, practically bouncing on her toes. “I read on her website that Paige married her publisher, Isaac Wellington, the one from Story Siren Publications. And get this, she’s actually from our town. Paige must be around forty now, which makes her about ten years older than us. Oh, and her parents used to live here, but sadly, they passed away.”
I took another sip of my tea. “I had no idea she had local ties,” I said, the warmth of my tea seeping into my hands as I cradled the cup. “I’m just hoping the bookshop can handle such a famous author and all the fans she’s likely to attract.”
My friend fiddled with her braided hair. “Wanna hear some local gossip? Rumor has it Paige left town twenty-five years ago under mysterious circumstances. Vanished during her senior year of high school. People say Paige transferred to a private school, and others think she went to live with her grandparents because she didn’t get along with her folks.”
“Huh. A mystery,” I said, smiling.
“And I know much how you like those,” Jasmine teased and fluttered about like a restless butterfly. She grabbed a book, flipping through the pages before closing it again. “Where’s Tricksy?”
Jasmine was inquiring about my significant other, my French bulldog and other familiar. “It’s such a nice day, I left her napping in the doghouse at home.”
“Well, I'm excited. Now, I’d better get to my landscaping job—bye!” Jasmine waved as she slipped out the door.
A moment later, a tall, slender woman with a chilling blue gaze and flaxen hair styled in a pixie cut stepped into the bookshop, and a younger woman followed her inside.
“Who is in charge here?” The taller woman demanded.
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