Unfortunately, the bookstore also comes with a mystery to solve.
When Mercy discovers that her eccentric aunt was murdered and an irate coven member turns up dead, she knows trouble is brewing. Especially when Mercy becomes the prime suspect in the crimes, and both casualties are linked to a mystically sealed book.
Determined to clear her name, Mercy enlists the help of a gorgeous werewolf and two quirky witches. But in a seaside town where secrets bubble like witch’s brew, Mercy could be the killer’s next target.
It was after midnight when a thunderous rap shook the door like an anxious fist.
Startled, the paperback I’d been reading tumbled from my hands and clattered to the floor. My fawn-colored French bulldog scrambled to her feet and started barking.
“Shush, Tricksy.” I rubbed her furry back. “It’s just someone at the door.”
Hmmm. Just someone knocking on my door in the middle of the night.
Tricksy quieted down, yet her brown stare stayed focused on the doorway.
Nerves fluttered in my stomach. My fingers automatically reached to twist my wedding ring, but it wasn’t there. For a second, I looked at my bare finger and unpolished nails, and those familiar feelings of loss, regret, and failure struck my heart, then ebbed away.
I repeated an affirmation I’d memorized from the audiobook, Positive Witchcraft, that I listened to in the car. “The past no longer matters. It has no control over me. What matters is the present.” I threw my legs over the side of the bed and pushed all thoughts of my failed marriage back into the darkest recesses of my mind.
Tension rippled in my shoulders as I crept to the door, with Tricksy following close at my heels. The hardwood floorboards creaked under my weight and moonlight seeped through the blinds on the windows, forming eerie shadows that slunk along the walls.
I didn't know who’d be at my loft so late. My mom was out of town, my ex-husband didn’t know where I lived, and I didn’t have any friends in the area besides the local librarian. And there was no conceivable reason she would be at my door in the dead of night—not even for an overdue library book.
Navigating between cardboard boxes and past a TV tray, I winced as I stubbed my toe against a stray suitcase. My furnished loft, situated above a detached garage, barely had enough space for a bed, armchair, nightstand, and bathroom. Leaning haphazardly against one wall, stacks of boxes served as a painful reminder of my impending eviction.
I’d spent the day packing, and all that bending over had left me sore and achy, making me feel like a thirty-year-old with the body of an eighty-year-old. More than once, I wished I could simply twitch my nose and have everything done in an instant. Alas, my witchy talents didn’t extend that far. As a practitioner of bibliomancy magic, my abilities were primarily linked to books.
After my divorce, instead of working with literature, I’d taken a job as a full-time caretaker for an elderly woman for a minor wage and this rent-free loft. She had died peacefully in her sleep a month ago, and I had two weeks to move before the family sold the property.
Currently, I was broke and unemployed. My checking account balance was a constant reminder that I wouldn’t have to worry about being the victim of identity theft.
I peeked out the window, careful to keep my face hidden by the blinds, and scanned the landing and staircase that hugged the side of the garage. In moments like this, I missed having a husband to check out late-night noises with, but at least I wasn’t entirely alone. My loyal companion, Tricksy, stayed close by my side.
The backyard and balcony appeared empty, the branches on the birch tree shivering in the wind. The only illumination came from the porch light, shining on a small package wrapped in brown paper with my name on it.
A little late for Amazon Prime to deliver.
“Hello? Who is it?”
Tricky whined and pawed at the door.
My witchy awareness didn’t prickle with forewarning and my dog wasn’t growling, so I grasped the smooth brass doorknob and opened the door. Cold air rushed over my body like icy fingers prickling my skin. The backyard looked shadowy and as dark as a velvet cloak.
As I stood in the doorway in my oversized T-shirt and leggings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
Suddenly, a black blur soared out of the trees, cawing raucously, and flew into the night sky.
I blew out a breath and glanced at my dog. “Cover me. I’m going out.”
Bending over, I picked up the lightweight parcel, scurried back inside, and shut the door. On socked feet, I went over to the bed and tore off the packaging. Inside was a letter and a black, leather-bound hardback. The gold lettering embossed on the cover read Secreta, the Latin word for secrets.
The tome quivered in my hands like a living entity, and I placed it on the bed to read the letter.
Dear Mercy,
We haven’t seen each other since you were a young girl, but I’ve kept an eye on you over the years, and I know I can trust you with my most sacred possessions. Therefore, I have teleported this mystically sealed book to you for safekeeping.
However, with the Secreta comes a word of warning…be careful who you trust. Your life might depend on it!
Blessed be,
Aunt Agatha
P.S.
Only you can open the Secreta with a specific incantation, which is…
The handwriting veered off the page. Odd.
My fingers tightened on the letter, the paper crumpling. “This is too weird. I haven’t spoken to my aunt in seventeen years, and she suddenly sends me this mysterious book,” I said to Tricksy.
My dog sniffed the hardback, then sat back on her haunches.
I flipped the letter over, hoping to find the spell to un-ward the hardback inscribed on the back, but it was blank. I checked the wrapping paper for the key and the incantation, but it was empty.
I reached up and touched my silver necklace, an amethyst crystal that was wire wrapped to resemble the Tree of Life. It had been a gift from Aunt Agatha the last time I’d seen her almost seventeen years ago. Now she’d sent me this strange book.
Scrutinizing the tome, I touched the lock attached to the cover that kept it closed tight and examined the lavender glow, encasing it with a protective barrier. The letter stated only I could un-ward it, but even as a bibliomancy witch, I needed the correct spell.
Since this book came from my estranged aunt, a dabbler in darker magic called Sorcery, I was hesitant to open it. That type of power was dangerous and addictive. I only practiced the Mystic Arts, a benign magic cast for selfless purposes. Sorcery was completely different because the practitioner used malicious intent in their rituals, potions, and spells. With my curiosity piqued, I wanted to uncover any mysteries locked within its pages.
On the bed, the Secreta pulsated with supernatural energy and whispered melodic words that I couldn’t decipher.
I looked at Tricksy. “Should I try to open it?”
My dog whined and scooted away from the book. She rotated in a circle and then curled up on the bed as if she wanted nothing more to do with it.
“It’s only a book, sweetie.” I soothed my dog by petting her head until her big brown eyes closed.
As I stood over the bed, I placed one hand on the cover and summoned my bibliophile magic. The room filled with the fragrant traces of sparkling blackcurrant, soft white musk, and aromatic amber. Being close to Tricksy intensified my power, her magical essence blending with mine.
Familiars, like Tricksy, were psychically bonded to their witches to assist them with strengthening their abilities. I’d found Tricksy wandering the streets in my neighborhood a year ago without a collar or chip, and I’d knocked on doors until someone told me that a family had moved away and abandoned her. As outraged as I’d felt, I had also been relieved—the Frenchie had already won my heart, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
An electrical discharge zapped my skin, and I flinched, shaking out my hand.
“Bell, book, and candle—that hurt.” I clasped my stinging fingers to my chest.
Even though there could be a million different incantations to unseal the book, I wasn’t discouraged. I loved figuring things out, like when I was twelve and finished the Magix, a magical Rubik’s Cube, in two days.
“What do you think’s inside, Tricksy? Forbidden potions? Dangerous spells? A secret formula for snickerdoodles?”
She lifted her face, looked at me, then rested her head on her front paws.
Hmmm. No telling what this spooky tome contained.
I reread the letter, then stared at the Secreta. It trembled on the bed like a small child left out in the cold. My fingers trailed over the cover, the leather binding warm to the touch. Even in the magical world, books were inanimate objects, but this one was obviously different, special. I folded the letter and tucked it inside my purse.
My phone trilled on the nightstand and I answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“I need to speak to Mercy Brew, please,” the caller said, who sounded like an elderly gentleman.
I glanced at the time on the alarm clock: twelve-thirty. “This is Mercy, but it’s awfully late to be calling—”
“This is Everett Bathory, Agatha Brew’s attorney. I regret to inform you that your aunt has passed away.”
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