Witch Haunt: A Dewsbury Down Paranormal Cozy by Mason Willow

Author:Mason, Willow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Jared departed to more pressing work, saying he’d think on it some more once we explained why his good news had received such a poor reception. Nibble took possession of my lap, getting double the treats as both Sian and I tried to throw off our shared mood.

“This is hopeless,” she exclaimed, waving my hands in the air. “If my body was easy to find, somebody would’ve stumbled across it by now.”

Petunia lowered her gaze to the floor, which I took as a sign of agreement.

“And I don’t know why you’re still skulking about here,” Sian continued. “If you hadn’t provided the ingredients, I never would’ve performed the spell and we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“Steady on,” I interjected. “That’s quite a reach.”

“Is it? I told you we shouldn’t let an elf get involved, but you convinced me against my better judgement. Once we believe our head can’t be—”

“My head.”

“Our head for the time being.” She paused, rubbing my temple. “Where was I?”

“You were blaming someone who tried to help you.”

“Yes! Next thing you know, Jared’ll be back here trying to sell us some made-up potion at grossly inflated prices. That’s just how they work.”

I knew Petunia’s glare was directed at Sian but since I co-occupied the same space, it felt a little personal.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“Oh, she did,” Petunia said at the same time Sian said, “I did.”

“Perhaps don’t alienate the only person who can help us.”

But my warning came too late. The elf was halfway to the footpath by the time I shoved Sian aside to chase after her and my entreaties fell on large, deaf ears.

I was fuming, but the witch appeared oblivious. “You should get to work,” she said, brightening as she issued the order. “Moping around here all day won’t get us anywhere. There’s a tincture to be made and an appointment to be kept.”

In all the excitement, I’d forgotten about our meeting to clear up my employment history. It felt unimportant now, but it wasn’t like there was anything else on my calendar. I trudged back inside to let Sian get on with the recipe.

There was no magic to cast, so once the liquid was poured into a bottle from Sian’s old stash, we headed out the door. Like most places in Dewsbury Down, our appointment was within walking distance and, soon enough, I was knocking on the man’s front door.

“Wow,” Sian said as her contact stepped outside.

She wasn’t wrong. Warren Moresby, a man she’d described as being ‘somewhat of a computer geek’ looked more like he’d stepped out of a survival show. The kind where he’d fight a bear in the morning, rescue wild animals in the afternoon, and cook up some freshly hunted game for dinner with a side salad of foraged greens and a homemade vinaigrette.

“Look at you,” she continued, giving a low whistle of approval. “Damn boy, but you grew up fine.”

Warren rubbed the back of his neck then pushed all his hair forward. The thick strands fell back into place except for one rebellious curl that stood at right angles above his left ear.

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