Хармони Харт - Basic Witch

I shrugged. “No reason.”

After Max disappeared, Beau narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Not much,” I said. I didn’t know Beau well enough to say what I was really thinking. Everyone on the Council seemed to think Mason was the obvious heir to Morty’s fortune. If that were true, and Mason wasn’t at work when it happened, then that would give him a motive and the opportunity to kill Morty. But as much as I loved watching crime dramas, it wasn’t my job to figure out who killed Mortimer Montcrief. That was a job for the admittedly inept Detective Otto.

I raised my coffee cup to my lips, inhaling deeply, and let the sweet, rich aroma wash over me. "It’s no pumpkin spice latte, but it’s good.”

“Pumpkin spice latte?” Beau tilted his head with interest. “What’s that?”

“It’s this seasonal drink at Starbucks—that’s a coffee shop—and to be honest, it’s terrible for you, way too much sugar. But it also tastes like autumn in your mouth. So I let myself have one every year on Halloween. I was planning to go get one after work today, but—” I shrugged, “—I ended up here instead.”

“Interesting,” Beau said. “I don’t know anything about pumpkin coffee, but we do have a coffee shop. I’d be happy to show you where it is.”

“That’s sweet, but diner coffee is okay for now. I’ll just get my pumpkin spice fix once I get back home.”

“Gemma,” he looked at me with a solemn expression. “I don’t think you understand. Salem is your home now. There’s no going back to the human realm.”

“What do you mean?” I set my cup down on the table with shaky hands as I stared back at him. “Why can’t I go back the same way I came in?”

“And here we go!” Max appeared, setting a stack of plates on the table one by one. To his credit, he even delivered a small saucer for me to share my food with Titus. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Beau replied.

“I’m fine,” I said. I slipped one egg and two pieces of bacon onto the saucer and began tearing the bacon into small bites. I was too distracted by the revelation that I was trapped here to focus on my own food.

“Salem is cursed,” Beau began. “No one can leave. We can travel to other places within the magical realm,” he said.

“Centuries ago, the land that now makes up Salem was werewolf territory. Legend has it that a powerful witch crossed over from the human world to escape persecution by religious fanatics. She, along with the other witches she called into Salem when she crossed over, formed a protective shield around the town, ensuring that no humans could follow in their pursuit of the witches. They built the town of Salem, and it was gradually populated by other magical creatures from the realm. Over time, the werewolves grew resentful of the witches encroaching on their territory, and a violent battle ensued. The witches won. After the Battle of Salem, the wolves were pushed out into the area we now call The Fringes. And here we are.”

“So the natives were displaced by immigrants? There’s a shocker,” I said. A curse, huh? Now seemed as good a time to stress eat as any. I set about slicing my pancakes in half, then stacking one half on top of the other and cutting the double stack into bites before drizzling syrup over them. I was just about to slide a fork full of delicious diner breakfast into my mouth when I caught Beau watching me, a small smile playing on his luscious lips. “What? The pancake to syrup ratio is better this way,” I explained.

“I see. You’re an interesting woman, Gemma Bradbury.” He smirked and bit off a piece of toast.

“That’s a stretch,” I said. “This place is crawling with supernatural creatures. Wings, magic, shifters. The whole shebang. I’m just—” I shrugged— “me. Nothing super original to see here.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said. “I suspect that once you’ve been around Salem awhile, you’ll find you’re anything but ordinary.”

“So you’ve told me how Salem was created,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain how I got here. Or why I’m stuck.”

“Something to do with the Vortex Years,” he said. “No one fully understands the reasoning or magic behind them,” but scholars like me have been studying the Vortex Years for centuries. Every seven years, during the eight Coven Sabbats—Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Midsummer, Lughnasadh, and Mabon—the veil between worlds is lifted, allowing those with magical blood to cross over from the human realm into Salem. From what we’ve gathered, this Salem connects with every town or city called Salem in the human realm. Many have tried to leave, but vortex pull appears to be a one-way ticket. Once someone enters Salem, they can never leave.”

“Like Hotel California.”

“But you don’t need a hotel. You’ll be staying at Morty’s apartment.”

“No, it’s a song about—” I paused. “I guess you don’t exactly have access to the Eagles here.”

“Oh, yes! We have eagles. And hawks. And ravens. And owls. All kinds of birds, really.”

“No, The Eagles are a band. From America. In the human realm.” It felt weird to already be referring to the only place I’d ever lived as “the human realm. “So every seven years, a bunch of new witches move to town?” I asked. “Why is everyone acting like my arrival is such a big deal?”

“We don’t always get new people. Sometimes we go several cycles without any arrivals,” he said. “Today was the first day in this Vortex Year. And you’re the first arrival. But you also share a name with the town’s founder.”

“You mean the witch you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes,” he said. “Her name was Mary Perkins Bradbury, and she narrowly escaped a fiery fate during the Salem Witch Trials. The Coven believes you might possess the power to free Salem.”

“That’s crazy talk,” I protested.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I have no doubt you’re an extraordinary woman. But we’ve had Bradbury witches cross over before. And yet the curse remains.”

“So why would I be any different?”

“You may not be,” he said. “But you can’t blame them for having hope. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world without hope, even if that hope is misguided.”

I nodded as I pushed my empty plates toward the edge of the table and moved a very sleepy Titus onto my lap. I stroked her neck, more for my own comfort than hers, and wrapped my free hand around my coffee mug. It had been empty for a solid ten minutes, but it felt good to anchor myself to something real as I tried to process everything Beau had just told me. I stared at the mug, silent, as I pondered my next steps.

“Listen, Gemma.” He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “I know this is a lot to take in. But I’m sure you’ll come to love Salem in time. And anything you need, I’ll be here for you.”

“If I really am stuck here,” I said after a moment of reflection, “I guess I should learn how to be a witch.”

“We can start your lessons as soon as tomorrow,” he offered.

“Deal,” I said. “But there’s also that pesky little problem of me being accused of murder. If I’m going to live in Salem for the rest of my life, I’d prefer not to be behind bars.”

“I’d like to tell you not to worry, that Detective Otto will suss out the real killer,” he said. “But the truth is, he probably won’t. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” I said. “I have a feeling my best chance of exoneration is to find the murderer myself.”

“I would tell you to let the Chief’s office handle it, but we’ve already established that’s not the most promising path. And even if it was, I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”