~
My afternoon was as idle as idle could be and mostly spent poring over my list, which was growing every day. Painting the exterior of the house came after more than twenty other urgent bullet points that included checking out the kitchen plumbing and finding the source of the clanking pipes. There was also cutting the grass, which had shot up. I wondered who had been doing it over the past twenty years that the house remained empty. Maybe that had been under a spell too. Re-grouting the bathroom and a bunch of problems that seemed to be cropping up all over the house were added. Pulling a face, I wrote, paint entire inside of house. After a thought, I added porch swing to the bottom of the list.
I sank back on the sofa, tapping my pen against the pad of paper, and wondered if, since magic had kept everything pristine for so long, would it be possible to use it for the house’s upkeep too? I had no idea if there were rules on that kind of thing. Surely that would mean every witch could have a perfect house? I had absolutely no idea.
By late afternoon, I was so bored that I was actively looking for things to do. I really needed some kind of purpose in life, I decided. So I started cleaning the kitchen countertops with hot soapy water. The new Stella might be awfully house proud, more through boredom than by design, but it didn’t take the place of getting out there and doing something.
I didn’t even have my studies to keep me distracted. They ended abruptly with Eleanor Bartholomew’s attack and now there wasn’t a witch for miles. At least, that’s what I thought. I was sure I hadn’t come across any and I could recognise the vibrating signature of my own kind’s magic now.
Besides, I didn’t even know if I wanted to continue in training, especially if that meant getting caught up in witch business again. From what I had learned about the Witches’ Council – some sort of quasi-governing body that monitored and assisted our kind – I found them mostly weak and inept. They were certainly to blame for a chunk of my past troubles, even if they had been there in the moment that I really needed them. Or rather, Étoile had been there and I owed her big time.
I huffed and scrubbed harder. It all seemed like so long ago when I was alone and terrified, then gradually happy, and finally, in the arms of the man I adored. It had all ended too quickly, too abruptly. I channelled my anger into scrubbing the counters furiously.
When I could almost see my reflection in the super clean surfaces, I finally wrung out the sopping cloth and laid it over the sink edge to dry, scowling at my face in the kitchen window.
My top was clinging to me in wet patches. Nights at Annalise and Gage’s house were as casual as casual can be, but I still couldn’t turn up as a wet mess which meant I would have to tackle my washing. Boring.
Tugging my laundry basket through, I sat on the kitchen floor, separating colours from whites and made untidy piles next to the washing machine. That was also on my “must replace” list, thanks to the ominous rattling sound it made every time it spun a cycle. I suspected corrosion was catching up with it thanks to, like everything else, being part of the stasis spell. I bet homeowner’s insurance didn’t cover it, I thought with a snort. I shoved the first set of laundry in and turned the sink faucet on so I could wash the few leftover dishes that languished there.
The surge of magic that bloomed into the kitchen through the open doorway nearly knocked me for six. It wasn’t the force of it, and I didn’t sense any malevolence, but I was so surprised I dropped the glass I’d been washing. It splintered into a bunch of little pieces on the floor. I looked from my feet to the doorway, my body rigid with anticipation.
“Hello?” called a small female voice from my living room. “Is there anyone there?”
Slowly, carefully, I stepped over the shards and edged towards the voice, panicking all the time. I didn’t get the feeling I was about to come to harm, but one could never be too careful. So I prepared to shimmer out of there the moment things looked dicey. Teleportation certainly had its advantages.
“Where the hell am I?” demanded the girl standing in the centre of my living room. She was in her late teens with glossy dark blonde hair that hung about her shoulders in a feathery cut. She was dressed in skinny jeans, acid pink heels and a white jacket that sat on her hips with a little pleated flounce. She clutched a thick book in her arms that looked heavy and old against her new and shiny self.
“You’re in my living room,” I replied, bracing myself for whatever would come next.
“Am I in England?” she asked in disbelief as she looked around in distaste at my furniture. “I did not think England would look like this.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Huh?” The girl looked around again, then gave me the once over. “You are Stella Mayweather?” she asked.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I asked first!” I thought she might stomp her foot. I certainly felt like it but I settled for glaring at her instead. Obviously, it was the more mature option.
“I’m Chyler,” she said at last, and dropped onto my sofa, the book perched across her knees.
“What are you doing in my living room? How did you get here?” If my wards were dogs, they’d be in the doghouse right now. How had she gotten in here when I’d done everything I could to keep everyone out, especially people who could just flash in, like she had, in the blink of an eye.
“I said the spell,” Chyler replied, patting the book like she couldn’t help it, “and I just ended up here. You are Stella, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said after assessing her for weapons. She looked too scared to be thinking about hurting me and I didn’t think the super tight jeans could conceal anything.
“Yes!” Chyler’s fist pumped the air. “I just knew it! The book said it was you and now here I am.” She beamed at me.
“What book?”
“This book. It’s the family spell book,” she said, slowly, like she had to spell it out. Groan. One bright blue nail tapped the aged leather exterior of the book. “You don’t have one?” she asked, catching my frown.
I shook my head. “But what are you doing here?”
“I need to hide,” Chyler said and all the confidence seemed to drain out of her. “I asked the book and it said you would protect me. It gave me the spell to find you.”
“The book just... told you?” I tried to not let the disbelief show on my face.
“Usually I have to ask it really nicely; but this time, it practically demanded to help,” said Chyler as if chatting to a book was a perfectly normal event. At least, she didn’t seem to think it was abnormal, which it totally was. “It even had a picture of you.” Chyler thumbed through the thick leaves and finally flipped the book open. She held it up to me, the spine pressed against her middle as she balanced it in both hands. Sure enough, there was a pen and ink drawing of my face looking solemnly back at me. “Cool, right? I’m on the run,” she added helpfully.
“From whom?” I couldn’t help but ask, but maybe, given the knowledge I’d received in the past few months, I should have been asking what rather than whom.
“The Council, of course,” said Chyler, her face returning to glum. “They want to kill me and you’re the only one who can stop them.”
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About the author
Author and journalist Camilla Chafer writes for newspapers, magazines and websites throughout the world. Along with the Lexi Graves Mysteries, she is the author of the Stella Mayweather urban fantasy series as well as author/ editor of several non-fiction books. She lives in London, UK.
Visit Camilla online at www.camillachafer.com to sign up to her newsletter, find out more about her, plus news on upcoming books and fun stuff including an exclusive short story, deleted scenes and giveaways.
You can also find Camilla on Twitter @camillawrites and Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/CamillaChafer.
Other books:
The Complete Stella Mayweather Series (Urban Fantasy)
Illicit Magic
&
nbsp; Unruly Magic
Devious Magic
Magic Rising
Arcane Magic
Endless Magic
Lexi Graves Mysteries:
Armed & Fabulous
Who Glares Wins
Command Indecision
Shock and Awesome
Weapons of Mass Distraction
Laugh or Death
Kissing in Action
Trigger Snappy
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