Magical Mishap Mysteries
In Scarecrow Springs, the truth is stranger than fiction...
With a passion for spellcraft and eerie curiosities, Penelope Primrose’s idea of a good time is hexing dust bunnies and haggling over haunted hatboxes in her curio shop, Thirteen Treasures.
But when a shady artifact expert turns up dead at her annual costume party, it proves some deals really are to die for. Now the (distractingly handsome) gargoyle sheriff is giving her side-eye, and the local wyrdlings are already gossiping.
Accompanied by her snarky cat, Malarkey, and her friend Willow, Penelope risks becoming the town’s social pariah faster than she can say ‘hocus-pocus.’
After all, nobody ruins her Halloween and gets away with it!
Between a cousin who’s more bitter than her own potions and suspects more colorful than a bag of Halloween candy, Penelope’s got more than nightshade in her cauldron.
Can Penelope catch a killer before they strike again, or will this Halloween haunt her forever?
If you like witchy heroines, furry, talking sidekicks, and a dash of romance, then you’ll love this delightful whodunit.
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READ AN EXCERPT
I wobbled precariously on a rickety step-stool, struggling to suspend a particularly stubborn fake spider web. The sudden fluttering of wings made me yelp, my arms pinwheeling. My heart jumped into my throat and I almost toppled over, grabbing the nearest shelf and rattling several crystal balls, but thankfully not breaking anything.
Peering through the window, I scowled at a large raven. My cousin Hazel’s insufferable familiar—Bruja—sat on the ledge, eyeing me with a judgmental stare as if I was the worst witch she’d ever seen.
"Aww, hello there, Bruja. Checking out the competition for Hazel?" I gave my feathered visitor my brightest smile, as though I hadn't almost demolished half my inventory. "You're always welcome to pop in for birdseed."
Bruja responded with a sharp, mocking caw.
With a shrug, I returned to my decorating. The October breeze drifted through the open window, bringing with it pirouetting maple leaves and that delicious hit of Halloween magic. Even my wind chimes got into the spirit, tinkling what I could’ve sworn was Monster Mash.
I hopped down from the stool, surveying my handiwork with a critical eye. Then I flipped the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’ at Thirteen Treasures, a favorite hangout for those who loved all things spooky and weird.
"Hmm. Do you think we need more cobwebs for the party, Malarkey?"
“Perhaps.” My cat familiar, sitting on the shop's main counter, stretched as if auditioning for a cat food commercial. Her collar flashed from a contented teal to an exasperated orange.
That color-changing collar of hers was better than any Magic 8 Ball when it came to getting her opinion on, well, everything. One minute it appeared yellow because I remembered to buy her treats, the next it flared red because I dared to organize a shelf without consulting her first. Living with Malarkey was similar to the world's most opinionated mood ring.
Grabbing my feather duster, I twirled it like a magic wand, swiping at grimy tomes and curious trinkets that hummed with preternatural energy. Inhaling deeply, I appreciated the peculiar bouquet of my curio shop that reminded me of a library that had eloped with a fortune teller's parlor, honeymooning in a haunted house.
Nothing like a whiff of the arcane to start the day off right.
I paused beside a replica bust of Edgar Allan Poe. "Looking rather dusty there, Eddie. You need a quick spruce-up, and you'll be back to pondering the mysteries of the universe in no time."
"Ah, having a heart-to-heart with our resident wordsmith, are we?" Malarkey said.
I spun around, feather duster in hand. "What can I say? He's an excellent listener. Plus, he never complains about my dusting technique."
Malarkey's tail pointed toward a shadowy corner. "That forgotten area over there might enjoy some attention. The dust bunnies are forming their own social hierarchy."
"Ah, my vigilant guardian of cleanliness. Whatever would my shop do without your expert guidance?"
"Devolve into a realm where dust bunnies reign supreme, no doubt. But watching their tiny power struggles might be entertaining."
Past shelves crammed with oddities, my duster tickled the noses of shrunken heads and swiped across rows of first-edition horror hardbacks.
Dusty or not, this was my domain, my little corner of the supernatural world. I was as much a part of this shop as the creaky floorboards. I took pride in curating a collection that would make even the most seasoned connoisseur of cursed antiques raise an eyebrow in appreciation.
Achoo!
Another sneeze escaped me when Malarkey jumped down and weaved around my legs, practically tripping me in a move that was equal parts affection and attempted murder.
“Hey!” I said, stumbling. “I swear, if I end up haunting this place because of you...” I narrowed my eyes at Malarkey. “Wait, is that your endgame? A feline coup?”
I could imagine the cat on a throne of rare books, issuing decrees to a legion of devoted rodent subjects. Malarkey might be cunning, but world domination was probably not on her agenda...probably.
Malarkey stretched again, arching her back. “And why not? Cats are known as solitary creatures.”
Walking over, I set the duster aside and scooped up my cat. “But who, dear Malarkey, would serve your royal highness her gourmet tuna?”
“For that essential service, I will spare you.” Malarkey purred, snuggling into my embrace. “And we have Halloween preparations to oversee, and you know how I love a good party.”
After kissing the top of Malarkey's head, I placed her on a table. She settled, and my nose tickled. I sneezed three times in quick succession, cursing my stubborn cat allergy. With a sigh, I scratched behind her ears, and she leaned into my touch. Despite countless attempts, I still hadn't found a spell to alleviate these infernal sneezing fits. Regular meds never worked on magical cat allergies.
As I resumed dusting the shelves, I inspected a framed family photo on the wall. Sometimes it felt as if I was trying to fill my Scottish relatives’ pointy shoes while wearing mismatched socks. Sure, my tarot readings were spot-on, but I hadn’t quite mastered that effortless air of mystique the other Primrose women had possessed. Still, I hoped to make my mark on the supernatural world, even if it meant occasionally setting my own eyebrows on fire in the process.
What was a little singed hair in the pursuit of magical greatness?
Crossing to the door, I stepped outside onto Main Street. Scarecrow Springs had transformed into a Halloween spectacle. The small town was home exclusively to Wyrdlings like me—the fate-touched and magically inclined. Thanks to powerful protective enchantments, our community remained invisible to humans, letting us live our wonderfully weird lives in peace. And the residents put their whole hearts into everything they did, especially holiday decorating.
"Yoohoo, Miss Primrose!" Mr. Thimbleton called from his magical supplies shop across the street. "Your decorations are positively spellbinding this year. Let me guess, you've been raiding my inventory again, haven't you?"
"You're too sweet! Your shimmer-webs are simply irresistible. I couldn't help snatching them up to add an extra touch of charm to my shop.”
With a wave and a smile, he stepped into his store, yet I lingered a moment, scoping out the competition.
The post office had outdone itself with misty ghost figures that played peek-a-boo around the entrance. Over at Madame Paige's Bookshop, the display window was full of leather-bound books with attitude problems—they kept snapping at anyone who got too close, making the local kids squeal with delight. Every porch glowed with jack-o'-lanterns and scarecrows reclined on their hay bales as if posing for a harvest festival photoshoot. The air hummed with an undercurrent of magic and the aroma of spiced pumpkin from the bakery.
I turned to head back inside, then froze.
In the gnarled oak tree, an unusual number of ravens had gathered, their iridescent feathers glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“Hi, my ominous friends. Come to deliver a cryptic message or admire my creepy collection of curios?” I tilted my head. “I'm flattered, truly. But I can't have you stealing all the attention from my paying customers. Unless, you're planning on making a purchase. I've got a lovely assortment of shiny objects that would look simply wonderful in your nests."
The ravens stayed silent, their stillness unnerving as that time I’d accidentally animated my shop's mannequin. My cousin’s raven, Bruja, still sat on the window ledge, but she ignored the others. Guess she wasn’t part of their gang.
Then my smile faltered. Ravens weren’t exactly on my top ten list of cheery omens. The last time there’d been this many ravens in town, my favorite broomstick had snapped mid-flight and my hair had turned an alarming shade of green for a week.
Coincidence? Maybe. But count me curious about those gathering ravens—was a Hitchcock moment brewing, or a squawk-off challenge?
Malarkey meandered outside. “Hmmm…”
I reached into my pocket, took out a stick of black licorice, and bit off the end. Yum. “Those ravens are absolutely fascinating, right? In folklore, they're basically the harbingers of doom.”
Malarkey yawned. “More like feathered snacks with delusions of grandeur. You witches and your superstitions. Next, you’ll say black cats are bad luck.”
“Ah, but not you, Malarkey. In some cultures, black cats are considered good fortune. Though in your case, I’m wondering if I should’ve opted for a goldfish instead,” I teased, finishing my licorice.
She huffed. “Who else would keep you from hexing yourself at least once a week?”
I laughed. “True. Although last Tuesday’s mishap was entirely the fault of that genie lamp. Who knew ‘polish me’ could be so easily misinterpreted?”
I glanced at the birds once more. Raven mysteries and cat conspiracies? Sign me up faster than you could say, abra-cat-dabra!
We stepped inside the shop, the air heavy with the perfume of aged wood, leather, and a hint of patchouli. Halloween decor adorned every surface, from the cobweb-draped bookshelves to the old-fashioned apothecary jars filled with glowing ectoplasm. Someone had—most likely Malarkey—scattered vintage postcards across the counter, so I hurried over to re-stack them. The shop's main counter and cash register sat further back, creating a natural boundary between the browsing area and the more private spaces of the store.
The door swung wide, and a gust of autumn leaves swirled inside, heralding the arrival of my best friend, Willow Greenbriar. She breezed in, a vision of autumnal splendor in her flowing dress of russet and gold. The earthy fragrance of herbs and damp leaves clung to her hair and clothes.
Through the open doorway, the murder of ravens had doubled in size, their black wings casting strange shadows across Main Street. The birds turned their heads in perfect unison to stare directly at my shop. In all my years of living in Scarecrow Springs, I'd never seen anything quite like this.
"Well," I said, forcing brightness into my voice despite the growing knot in my stomach. "Guess this means my Halloween party is going to be extra memorable this year."
I had no idea just how right I was going to be.
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