Captive Magic (Mystic's End Mysteries Book 8) Read online

  Captive Magic

  Mystic's End Mysteries Book 8

  Leanne Leeds

  Badchen Publishing

  Captive Magic

  Published by Badchen Publishing

  4500 Williams Dr., Suite 212-269

  Georgetown, TX 78633 USA

  Copyright © 2021 by Leanne Leeds

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For permissions contact: [email protected]

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Keep Up With Leanne Leeds

  Find a typo? Let us know!

  One

  It felt like there were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Their deaths crossed over a span of two hundred years. Two hundred years of damage from one woman’s curse on this little town. Damage continued by her descendants—culminating in my mother.

  A curse I—and my two newly-discovered sisters—had been working diligently to reverse, bottle by bottle. Even though we, technically, were descendants of the first traitor witch, too.

  In reality, we’d found only twenty-six ghosts since we began—the last twenty or so discovered over the past few months in rapid succession. Twenty-six women of Mystic’s End, Arkansas. It was an achievement, to be sure, since the strange curse with murky origins had been plaguing the town for years. I wasn’t sure why my arrival in the town had sped up its unraveling so quickly. It didn’t seem like my being a descendant of the curser and inheritor of the power of the cursee should have broken the whole thing wide open.

  But, well, it did.

  “I’m telling you, there’s gotta be only one bottle left,” Miss Bessie (d. 2020) told the group while exchanging a look with her daughter, Mary. Mary (d. 1990) wore a pinched expression while glancing out over the crowded room. “There’s barely a shield left on this town. You can wave your hand right through it,” the old woman reminded them. “One more, and we’ll all be able to fly to Hawaii for the holidays. Mark my words.”

  “I’ll mark your words, Bessie, but that doesn’t mean there’s only one bottle left,” Catherine Richter (d. 1972) responded. “There could be two or three. Perhaps it’s just a small number with little energy to power the anchored spells.”

  “And perhaps the old woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Plum Korzybski (d. 1981), a striking young woman with a shock of midnight blue hair, retorted hastily. “Wasn’t she the one that thought Gabe had to marry Fortuna? If you ask me, she’s out of her depth. Her opinions carry no more weight than anyone else’s. I don’t know why everyone treats her like the expert here. We were the ones in the damn bottles.”

  Miss Bessie looked offended.

  “Ladies, perhaps we can dial back the animosity?” I called over the din of disagreement. “Bickering over how close we are to breaking the curse completely will not get us any closer to our goal. One bottle at a time. That’s how we’ve gotten this far; that’s how you’re all here. That’s what we need to focus on. Agreed?”

  “No. We need to focus on getting Anna out of that stupid white rock she’s in,” Plum disagreed.

  “I agree with Plum,” Spike added quickly.

  Of course, Spike agreed with Plum. Plum could suggest the moon was made of cheese, and Spike would nod his head in total agreement. Ever since the punk rock girl had popped out of her bottle, my original mohawked ghost roommate followed her around the way sunlight tracks the shadow of a cloud.

  “There is one thing they’re right about,” Dalida said as she leaned forward.

  “Which they? Miss Bessie, or the other ghosts?”

  “It might be time to see if we can chisel Anna out of the selenite,” Angie, my younger sister, finished for Dalida. “If the shield keeping the ghosts here has become thin, we might be able to bust her out of that thing.”

  “I hear you, but I’m still not sure about that.” I shifted in my chair, turning away from the room filled with ghosts. “She’s alive in that thing, Angie. What if we hurt her?” I shook my head, no. “As horrible as it is that she’s still in it, I don’t want to take the chance. Do you really want to explain to Martin that you stabbed his mother accidentally? How do you think that will affect your relationship?”

  Angie frowned. “Well—no, I guess not.”

  Dalida sighed. “Maybe Fortuna is right. It feels slow, I agree, but we’ve made such incredible progress over the past couple of months. I mean, look at all these people.”

  The three of us turned and looked at the bickering, arguing, frowning ghosts.

  Later that night, Chris and I sat around a crackling campfire. I wasn’t exactly sure where we were. This place, a cave somewhere deep in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas, was a refuge precisely because it was hard to find. It was far from Mystic’s End, and the walls sparkled with crystals embedded in the mountains, blocking it from prying magical eyes. Chris and I used it frequently to get away from it all.

  He passed me a plate holding my weekly Beef Wellington, a side of buttery mashed potatoes, and perfectly broiled asparagus. Though we’d long passed the point of bribery in exchange for a date, the vampire had promised me fancy weekly restaurant food if I agreed to go out with him. I would not turn down my favorite dish.

  “It’s still hard to get used to,” I told him between unladylike bites. “You not eating, I mean.”

  “There’s only one thing in this cave that I can eat now,” my vampire boyfriend told me with a gleam in his eye.

  My fork stopped mid-lift. “Okay, that was kinda gross.”

  He laughed. “I actually regretted it as soon as I said that. Double entendres being what they are, and all.”

  I put down my fork. “Okay, you’ve made it twice as gross as I originally thought it was.”

  “Sorry, I’ll stop trying to be amusing.” Chris’s expression grew serious. “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

  The answer was no, but I didn’t want him to worry about me.

  My three-story brownstone was filled with twenty-seven ghosts that always had opinions they wanted to share. My business, an art studio on the first floor, was effectively being run by my art student Azalea Cotton—because I barely had any time to spend on it anymore. Every other day I ran back and forth between the greyhound track and Mystic Moon Gallery to help Martin adopt out the last greyhounds. Between all that, I spent time with my best friend, reporter Pepper Stanford, at the library trying to figure out where the last bottle—or last few bottles—might be hidden.

  Oh. And the only time I could see my boyfriend was after the sun went down and before the sun went up.

  So, yeah. I didn’t even know what sleep was anymore.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I told him, smiling. “I’ll be fine.”

  Chris tilted his head. “That wasn’t an answer. I was worried about this.”

  “You were worried about what?” I asked him while conti
nuing to demolish the steak wrapped in mushrooms and pate and flaky pastry. “I’m sure I’m getting enough sleep. If I wasn’t, I would’ve vomited on you on the way here.” My vampire boyfriend could grab me and sail me across miles in just minutes—an experience that almost always left me with nausea and vertigo. “Almost sure of it.” I swallowed and smiled. He looked at me, still concerned, and I blurted out, “Fine. The ghosts are driving me nuts, I don’t even know what’s going on in my business, I can’t find the last stupid bottle, and I miss you during the day. Happy?”

  “I don’t know if happy would be the right word.” Chris’s intense, dark eyes flickered for just a moment with pain. “I am glad you told me the truth. Finally. Getting much faster at that lately, too.”

  “Watch it,” I warned him. I couldn’t resist teasing him. He knew me too well now, and it wasn’t always the most comfortable position to be in.

  He winked. “You know, we could solve this issue completely by simply turning you.”

  “Turning me into what?” I asked flippantly.

  “You know what. We’ve discussed it before. You would have boundless energy, a defined sleeping schedule. You’d keep your witch magic—your mother had vampire-witch hybrids that were incredibly powerful. It’s not all that bad, really. In fact, I’m quite happy they turned me into a vampire. It’s quite useful.”

  “Except for the whole drinking human blood thing, right?” I pointed to my Beef Wellington. “I’d have to give this up. Not only that, I wanted to go to Hawaii all my life. It’s a vacation I haven’t taken yet. All my life, Sparkles. I’m going to take that vacation, and it won’t be the same if I can’t go to the beach and sunbathe.”

  “Beaches are beautiful at night, you know.” Chris smiled widely.

  I put down my plate and looked across the fire at him. “Look, I know you’re playing this off like a joke, and I’m not offended by the suggestion. You’re charming about it, and I know you would never push me into doing something I hadn’t decided to do. I’m not against vampires. You are who you are, and I love who you are—” I tensed up once I realized I basically told this debonair vampire I loved him—something I wasn’t ready to say.

  Not a muscle moved on his face. If he caught it, he didn’t acknowledge it.

  I paused, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Look, me turning into a vampire is the paranormal equivalent of a marriage proposal between us.” I looked into his eyes. “And you know it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Chris responded. “It’s something I think would make your life easier.”

  “For the first time in my life, I like who I am. Heck, for the first time in my life, I know who I am.”

  “I would never want to change that.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. And I know that your suggestion is coming from a place of care for me, and I appreciate it. I really do. But that’s not the only place it’s coming from, Sparkles.” He opened his mouth to argue, but I raised my hand to stop him. “And even if I’m wrong about that? My convenience and getting more sleep are not why I would make that kind of decision. And you know it. You’re the only vampire I know, and you’re making the offer.” I tilted my head. “I wouldn’t enter into a tie like that lightly. You understand? We’ve only been dating a couple of months.”

  “Like I said, I would never want to push you into doing something you weren’t ready for. Luckily, I’m a vampire, and I have all the time in the world. Immortality has its benefits.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “As to the discussion at hand, if there’s anything I can do to help you with your burdens, you know you have but to ask.”

  “I appreciate that.” I held up my glass. “Any wine?”

  “How did it go?” My younger sister, Angie, sat on the bed, reading a magazine.

  Besides my three-story home being haunted by twenty-six women and one punk rock guy, my two sisters had moved in. Dalida, my fraternal twin, had been staying with me since our mother had blown up her living room—long story. Angie joined us within two weeks thanks to a profound case of FOMO—fear of missing out.

  “It’s always good to spend time with him,” I told her. Gideon, my greyhound, followed me around the bedroom as I put down my purse and stripped off the layers of warm clothes I always wore when Chris and I visited the cave. “He brought up my turning into a vampire again.”

  “Yeah, but did he do it on one knee with a ruby ring?” Angie chuckled. “If he didn’t? I say no way.”

  Across the room on her bed, Dalida clucked her tongue. “You just can’t get rid of the gold digger thing, can you?”

  “I don’t need to dig gold, sister dear. I have Scrooge McDuck levels of my own, and when Martin asks me to marry him, will have a combined net worth of…of…” Angie looked up at the ceiling and counted on her fingers. After a few moments, she shrugged and gave up. “Well, it will be a lot. I just think if Sparkles wants our sister to join him in some immortal bloodbath, he should make it a little romantic and propose formally. Like a normal person.”

  “But he’s not a normal person,” Dalida told her. “He’s a vampire.”

  “I’ve heard nothing about vampires bursting into flames as soon as they cross the threshold of a jewelry store. I’m just saying.” Angie turned and snapped her fingers at Gideon. “Dog, get your nose out of Fortuna’s purse!”

  Gideon, his face buried up to his ears in my leather handbag, yanked his head out with a bag clutched firmly between his teeth.

  “Oh, shoot, I forgot about the bacon Chris gave me for him.” After a tug-of-war that was harder than it needed to be, Gideon was happily scarfing down bacon slices while I picked up pieces of the ripped white paper bag from my bedroom floor. “Look, it’s not about a ring or a formal proposal or anything like that. Chris and I have been dating for just two months.”

  “Martin and I have been dating for three,” Angie interjected.

  “And Gabe and I have been dating for two,” Dalida added. “And you’re a telepath to boot. What’s your point?”

  “Would either of you turn into vampires for them?” I put on my pajamas and sat down on my bed. “First, I don’t know if I want to be a vampire. Sure, lots of stuff about it is kind of cool. But then you add in that killed by the sun and drinking blood thing, and suddenly? Not so cool.”

  Dalida shook her head. “If you don’t do something, you’re going to collapse from exhaustion. You’re burning the binding candle at both ends, here, Fortuna. I know I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it—you don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

  “I’m not doing everything by myself!” Sure, in the past, I had problems with letting other people help. Or allowing them to participate. Or telling them what I was thinking. Or, um, listening to other people.

  But that was in the past!

  “You and Pepper are buried in that library with Irma all afternoon. You go off with Chris every other night searching for bottles—”

  “That’s just because he’s faster!” I said defensively.

  “You’re working with Martin on the greyhound adoption when any of us could do that. I mean, really, Fortuna—that doesn’t even involve any magic. That’s just organization.”

  “And Martin has hundreds of employees, any of them could do it,” Angie added. “He told me you insisted you work on it.”

  “I pushed for it; I want to see it through.” My answers were getting less and less emphatic because I realized they were less and less defensible. My sisters, both, also knew me a little too well.

  I was a bit of a control freak.

  “Let me take over the greyhound adoptions,” Angie said as she scratched her greyhound’s ears. “I know just as much about them as you do. I have one, too, and it will let me spend more time with Martin. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  I looked down to find the eyes of Angie’s greyhound looking up at me. While my younger sister thought she knew just as much about greyhounds as I did, I knew one more thing than she did. I knew that her adopted greyho
und was Ella Grayson, Angie’s former friend (and sociopathic murderer).

  And I knew that because I’d accidentally turned Ella Grayson into Angie’s greyhound.

  Well, the dog wasn’t Angie’s greyhound at the time. It was just dumb luck that my own sister adopted her.

  I kept meaning to tell her.

  I just never had time.

  I sighed.

  “Okay, fine, you’re right, I’m spread a little thin,” I admitted, plopping down on my bed. “If you can take over the rest of the greyhound adoptions, that would be great. I think there are only ten dogs left.”

  “Done!” Angie chirped.

  “What can I do?” Dalida asked.

  I sighed. “Corral the ghosts. Keep every day from turning into the world’s worst, and longest, and most annoying board meeting ever. I feel like we are on the verge of having committees.” I ran my hands through my hair and stared at my twin sister. “I don’t want committees.”

  “I can do that,” she nodded. “Do one thing for us, though.”

  I tensed. “What?”

  “Shut the lights off and get some sleep.”

  I crawled to the head of my bed and jumped on the mattress, pulling a tangle of sheets and soft cotton blankets out from under me. “Done,” I told them, yawning. I wrapped the bedding up over my shoulder as Gideon wiggled his warm body underneath my arm. With a deep breath, I was asleep in seconds.

  Two

  “But where did they go?” Keziah (d. 1873) asked me the following morning before I’d finished my coffee. Actually, I’d barely taken a sip of my coffee. You would think after staying here for a few months, the witch ghosts would pick up on my needing to be halfway through a mug first thing in the morning to be useful. But apparently, they hadn’t.