Wisteria, Witchery, and Woe by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod [MacLeod, Shéa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal cozy mystery, witch mystery, cozy mystery with witches, witches, magic, murder mystery
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2019-09-09T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Lene stood in the doorway of her spell room, eyeballing her collection of tarot decks. Why not consult the cards to see what they had to say about the deaths?

And Lucien, a small voice whispered in her mind. She ignored it. Her attraction to him was ridiculous. He was not her type.

Okay, he was totally her type. Tall, dark, and mysterious, not to mention hot as Hades, with enough intelligence and creativity to make him interesting. Yep, she was definitely gone over Lucien Antonelli, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

She needed Emory. While she was typically better at the cards, when it came to herself, they didn’t often cooperate.

She sent Emory a quick text. Moments later she got a cheerful invite to tea and a tarot reading. Now maybe she’d get some direction. Maybe the cards would reveal what the heck was going on with Lucien. She was convinced he wasn’t a killer, or at least not a cold-blooded murderer, but there was still that odd thing between them. She had no idea what to do about it.

She was generally a pretty fearless person. Case in point: breaking into Magda’s house and facing down a demon with nothing but a bar of soap and some hairspray. She never let fear stop her from doing what she was drawn to do. It was part of who she was.

Love, on the other hand, was another matter. Love made you stupid. It made you lose yourself. She wasn’t about to let that happen again. Love was the most dangerous thing there was, in her opinion, and it scared her to death.

Emory lived in a large, ramshackle Victorian a few blocks away from Main Street and their shops. The wrought iron fence that surrounded the front yard had been recently painted black and the squeaky gate fixed. Noah’s doing, no doubt. Rose bushes heavy with summer blossoms spilled over the fence and crowded the narrow walk, greeting visitors with their heady perfume.

The broken board on the porch had been replaced, and the steps no longer creaked ominously, although the whole thing was still in need of a paint job. Emory had set out large pots filled with fresh herbs, and the brass knocker, shaped like an owl, had been polished within an inch of its life.

The next door neighbor was cooking a curry, and the rich spices tickled her nose. She raised a hand to ring the bell, but the door swung open and a beaming Emory offered her a tall glass of iced tea. It held a sprig of mint instead of lemon, just as Lene liked it.

They hugged like it hadn’t been just this morning since they’d seen each other, then she liberated the tea and sniffed it suspiciously. Emory had a habit of putting spells into her food and beverages.

Emory laughed. “It’s just tea. And a little honey to sweeten it. No spells, I swear.”

Taking a sip, she followed Emory into the living room, a large space with original wood floors, an enormous fireplace, and crystals in every nook and cranny.

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