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  Cast a Spell

  Private Eye Witch Cozy Mystery, Book 8

  Stacey Alabaster

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 Stacey Alabaster

  All Rights Reserved

  Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination and / or used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Tina Adams

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  1

  I wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that my birth mother was a dark witch, or the fact that my phone was being blown up by telemarketers that morning. Probably the former, considering that I couldn’t put May on mute. She was heading right toward me, and I was trapped inside the walls of a coffee house.

  May was strolling across the road in heels so sharp that one kick with them could land a person in hospital. I was not ready to confront her yet.

  I grabbed my super-hot triple shot latte and ducked my head so that she wouldn’t see me. Groaned a little and said to my very new boyfriend, Akiro, the owner of the coffee shop, that I wouldn’t mind getting out of town for a few days.

  Me saying that? That’s where all the trouble started. It was like the universe was listening in and about to answer my request in the worst way possible. But I didn’t know that at the time. I just knew that my phone kept ringing and ringing. And May kept stomping toward the coffee house with sharp eyes, searching for me.

  “You can hide behind the counter,” Akiro offered. “Just pretend that you are an employee.”

  I grinned at him as I scurried in behind the coffee machine to my place of refuge.

  “I have to warn you, though—I pour a rubbish shot of espresso.”

  Of course, a customer approached me at that exact moment and asked me for a soy vanilla flat white. “Oh, I’m not a barista,” I replied.

  “What are you, then?” she asked, staring at me with disdain. People were always so grumpy first thing in the morning before they’d had their coffee. I was coming to see that my boyfriend had the patience of a saint. I’d always wondered why he was so reserved, but now I saw that his guarded and controlled nature was a good thing.

  Oops. The woman with her hair still damp from the shower, dripping onto her work suit, was waiting for me to explain myself.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered back, musing as I pursed my lips and glanced at the ceiling. “I don’t really know who I am right now. But I mean, do any of us really know who we are? It’s not like DNA really tells us anything, does it? So, I suppose I am still trying to figure that question out.” But I could see she was not in the mood for my existential crisis. So, I just poured her coffee as best I could, and then handed it to her, hoping she would be out the door before she sipped it and realized that it was caramel and not vanilla.

  I stared after her. Pondered her question again. Since finding out I’d been adopted, I really had no idea who I was. Was I a witch? A part-human? Something else altogether?

  Oh well—at least I knew one thing. I was Swift Valley’s best detective. I was an amazing detective. And no one could take that away from me.

  Now, remember. The universe is always listening. And it has a pretty wry sense of humor.

  My phone would just not let up with the calls from the unknown number. Akiro suggested—not so gently this time—that I’d better answer it or put it on silence before the customers started to get annoyed with the incessant ringing. As if they weren’t already annoyed enough with my inability to tell vanilla from caramel and soy from almond milk.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll turn it off.” I was pretty sure it was telemarketing calls and nothing actually important. It was the same unknown Melbourne number, not local, and I didn’t know anyone in Melbourne who would ring from a landline number. I hadn’t been to Melbourne since I had taken my PI training course nine months earlier and had no intention of going back any time soon. I was just about to block the number, but something told me to take the call at the last second. I answered it with a fairly surly “hello,” and then quickly brightened up into a large grin when another customer approached the counter.

  Akiro kissed me on the cheek as I answered it, which cheered me up. Maybe running late wasn’t always such a bad thing. I just hoped that Vicky had already unlocked the doors to the detective agency, but she would be tired from a gig the night before and may still be in bed.

  There was a cheery but slightly fatigued voice on the other end. She didn’t sound any more pleased to be making the call than I had been taking it. “Hi, my name is Donna Carnegie. I am calling from ECL College.” I recognized the name. That was where I’d attended a four-week intensive course to get my PI license almost a year earlier. “We have some bad news, I am afraid. It is about your instructor, John Cassidy . . .”

  I gasped a little. “Is he dead?”

  This seemed to throw Donna a bit. Little did she know that this subject matter was par for the course in my world and didn’t throw me whatsoever. A couple of customers glanced over with curious eyes.

  “Er, no, he is not dead . . . but it turns out that he may not have been entirely honest with us about his qualifications before he accepted a job with us.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “And so, he was not qualified to teach at the time that he was your instructor.” She paused just a moment before dropping the bomb on me. “So that means the qualification that you received is not legitimate, I am afraid.”

  “So . . . does this mean that I’m not a real PI?” I asked, feeling my throat go dry. I had been having enough identity crises lately. Not this as well. Please, not this!

  “I’m sorry,” Donna said.

  I ended the phone call and just stared into the now-cold milk that I had been frothing for a customer who had already stormed out and said they could make better coffee from home.

  “What’s wrong?” Akiro asked as I took my apron off and tossed it onto the counter.

  “I have to go back to detective college. The man who taught me everything I know is a fraud!”

  “Does this mean I will be a real detective too, and not just an assistant?” Vicky asked as we waited for the train to arrive at Swift Valley station. Our bags were packed and the detective agency, Sparrow Investigations, temporarily shut down. It wasn’t as though I could operate without a license anyway. I’d booked into the soonest available course with ECL College. Donna had assured me all my fees would be waived the second time around, but Vicky, who was a first-time student, would need to pay to get her license. It was three and a half hours to Melbourne, even on a train that didn’t make many stops, and so we were loaded up with snacks and magazines. Vicky had her guitar case as well, even though I wasn’t sure how much time she would have to practice that with all the studying she would need to do.

  “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” I said with a smile. I was bringing Vicky along more as company than anything else, and I’d offered to pay her fees from the business funds. Yes, she was going to attempt to take the course, and yes, it would be great if she could pass, but I wasn’t too confident about that. And I didn’t want to get her hopes up, either. I knew from previous experience taking the course with John. You had to have your wits about you to survive the four weeks o
f intensive training. There was the surveillance training, the driving exercises, the interrogation techniques—all these things required pure concentration and a lot of focus. And a pretty steel will.

  And Vicky could be a little muddle-headed. So, I wanted to be encouraging but still keep her expectations at a realistic level.

  “I don’t know why we are not just flying via broomstick,” Vicky said a little sullenly. Her favorite way to travel.

  “Because I thought it might be fun to travel the good, old-fashioned, human way,” I said as some other passengers wandered onto the platform, and I had to remember to keep my voice down when we were talking about witch stuff. “And I don’t think flying in on broomsticks would make the best first impression on our classmates. Remember. We are detectives only on this trip, okay? Not witches.” We didn’t know who we would be able to trust—or not trust—when we got to the city. We would be away from the rest of the coven, and thus be without their protection and backup. We had to blend in.

  Vicky nodded and cheered up when I told her I had splurged on first-class tickets, and so we would be heading for the top carriage, and we’d have a little cabin all to ourselves.

  “Okay. That’s better than a broomstick, then. Maybe. Just.”

  The train finally pulled into Swift Valley station, and we boarded to go down south. The journey was smooth as we bid farewell to the frosty mountains that we called home and entered the flatlands of the state. Vicky fell asleep at the half-hour mark just as she had started to strum on her guitar. I bought a sausage roll from the food cart that tasted like it had been cooking for the past three months, and the scenery rushed past me as we entered the outer suburbs of Melbourne and then, finally, the city.

  We had our first class the following morning. It was an early start time—eight a.m.—and so all I saw of our hotel room was the light in the hallway between the bedroom and the front door before I rushed out with Vicky trailing behind me. I grabbed a triple shot latte from the cafeteria inside the building of ECL College, and that reminded me that I hadn’t replied to Akiro’s early morning message. Oops. Sent him a quick text back and then found the right building for the first day of my second go at the course.

  Vicky looked a little nervous right before we walked in, so I led the way with my head held high.

  “Ah, I remember the smell of this place,” I said fondly as I found a seat near the front of the room and put my bag down, grinning with satisfaction. This was even the same desk that I sat in last time. Right up at the front.

  Vicky shot me a look. “Remember, this is the place that hired a fraudulent instructor and had to take back your certification. I don’t know why you are speaking so highly of it. In fact, I’m not sure why we didn’t come to a totally different college this time. I mean, can this place even be trusted?” She looked around cautiously at the rest of the students. I didn’t recognize any of them from my training group.

  “Oh, there is no way there’s any danger of the same thing happening twice,” I said, waving my hand dismissively as I smiled and introduced myself to the rest of the class. My old instructor, John, had been fired, and I was sure that the new instructor would have had his or her qualifications heavily scrutinized this time. We were the safest bunch of students that the college would ever have. The rest of the class introduced themselves back to me, briefly telling me where they were from and what they had been doing before this. I was surprised to find out that none of them were repeat students like I was, and they were all taking the course for the first time, like Vicky. Young and eager to join the world of the PI. Little did they know what they were in for.

  I smiled to myself smugly and sat up straight in my seat, happy in the knowledge that I was the most experienced one there, and thus that I would be coming out top of the class in every test.

  But there was another reason I was happy to be there. To tell you the truth, I was pleased to be back in the good old-fashioned world of humans. There were no witches around at all. Well, except for Vicky and me, of course. But we didn’t count. We knew how to keep our heads down and stay out of trouble.

  Sort of.

  I arranged all my pens and notebooks while we waited for the new instructor to arrive. “I kinda feel like I’m cheating, I have to admit. I mean, I did get perfect marks last time, and I’ve been working as an actual PI, solving murder cases and everything, for the past six months.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Well, then this should be a breeze for you.”

  I scoffed and flipped my hair back over my shoulder. “Less than a breeze. This is going to be like a vacation for me.” I even leaned back and put my feet up. Four weeks in the city, away from all the stress at home, with accommodations paid for with my rewards points and even the course costs covered. Sure, I’d have to crack a book a few times just for a refresher, but I was cruising. Now that the initial shock of John’s deception had worn off, I was actually looking forward to the next month.

  Vicky sat up nervously as our new instructor entered the room.

  He sprang right in wearing high-top sneakers and told us that his name was Eddie. Eddie Ian. He had a trendy sort of a mullet going on, and he was far younger than John had been. I wasn’t sure that he was even thirty. He kept using weird slang that I didn’t quite recognize. As the morning went on, it was clear that he was trying to be too buddy-buddy with us, trying to be too hip, saying that we were all on this ride together, and we needed to just relax and enjoy it. Sounds a bit crazy, but I kinda missed John Cassidy. I’d been his star student, and everything I knew was because of him.

  Hmm. I should remind myself that he was a liar and a fraud.

  I tried to concentrate on what Eddie was telling us. He was doing his best, even if he was trying a little too hard. It was day one of the four-week course, and so we were mostly going over admin stuff and filling in forms, including a disclaimer that we would not sue the college in the case of any harm coming to any of us. Hmm.

  Then I glanced over the course content, expecting the schedule to be the same as the first time I had taken it, starting with some easy stuff—theory, examples of cases, some textbook stuff. But I was shocked to see that Eddie had put defensive driving on the schedule for that very afternoon. Starting with the driving part of the course seemed like throwing us into the deep end a little. This guy was going completely off-book. I leaned over and whispered to Vicky, “I’m not sure this guy knows what he’s doing.”

  She shrugged and said that the old instructor clearly didn’t know what he was doing either, and maybe this was a better way to go about it.

  I sincerely doubted it. But I followed Eddie, along with the rest of the class, out to the race track nearby where we all had to take a turn doing a lap at full speed—and without hitting the witches’ hats. Or crashing. We all had helmets, ready just in case.

  There were a lot of nervous glances as we lined up and got ready to take our turn. This one girl, Savannah, who had long dark hair and who seemed quite nervous in general, put her hand up and asked if she was allowed to sit this test out, just for the time being. “Maybe I could make it up a little later? When I am feeling a little more confident?”

  Perhaps she had overestimated how laid-back and friendly Eddie was with the students, because he suddenly became quite authoritative, speaking in a stern voice that put her back in her place. “If you want to be a PI, then you have to be prepared to do stuff like this. Not all of it is easy. Not all of it is comfortable. And if you were out on a job, you wouldn’t be able to make this up later when you were feeling more confident.”

  Savannah blushed and looked at the ground. She shuffled her feet and looked very sorry for herself, while this other girl, who also had dark hair but shorter and shinier, laughed in a teasing way. I got the feeling she was the mean girl of the group.

  Savannah got even more embarrassed and started to blush.

  Poor girl. Well, some people were just not cut out to be detectives.

  To her credit, though, when her
name was called out, she got into the car and did a shaky lap of the track. However, none of the witch’s hats were left standing at the end, and Eddie frowned and made a note of this on his clipboard. I was pleased with the fact that so far, all the students had knocked at least one hat down. Given that I was an expert, I put my helmet on and got into the car, ready to impress the rest of the class with my quick skills around the track. And then proceeded to drive straight off the road within twenty seconds, coming to a skidding halt, four of the witch’s hats caught under my wheels. I climbed out to inspect the damage, hopping up and down.

  “Don’t worry too much,” Eddie said. “We were all first-timers at some stage.”

  “But I’m not!”

  He was already making notes. Meanwhile, Vicky was next up and managed a perfect lap—and she was the first to not hit a single hat.

  Eddie had the results up on his iPad once everyone had had a go. We all crowded around to check the results. And on the top of the leaderboard was Vicky’s name.

  “Where is your name?” she asked, scanning the list as I sullenly stood there and saw Ruby Sparrow right down the bottom.

  I stomped off and grabbed my backpack and headed back to the hotel.

  Maybe it hadn’t been such a bright idea to get all of my tips from a guy who wasn’t even a real instructor and who had been fired for fraud.

  “Hey, you’re not really mad about this, are you?” Vicky asked later in the hotel room when I still hadn’t spoken more than a few muttered words to her about what we were going to grab for dinner. She placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t help it if I was better than you. A lot better than you, in fact.”