Coffee Grounds and Ghostly Hounds, Mystic Brews #4 ebook

“Freeze, scum!”

I had the spell runes fixed firmly in my mind. Energy hummed within me making my arm tingle. My wand spit an emerald bolt at the male figure jogging away from me. The impact of magic on him sent sparks dancing along his back, down his arms, and around his torso. But he kept moving.

Jason pulled to a stop, turned around, and shook his head. Static energy crackled through his long hair.

“Still too weak. And do you have to call me names each time?”

Frustrated, I turned my head and stared out at the countryside below, trying to centre my thoughts. The ridge we were on was more of a gentle rise to a mostly flat area surrounded by trees and underbrush. A few paths led up here from various directions. I stood at the tallest point, a cliff face fifty feet down to a rocky floor. Rolling meadowland surrounded the ridge. Meadowland where sheep occasionally grazed under the watchful eye of Alun Jones’s farmhand, Jason Harper, who was now up here as the target for my spells.

“I doubt you’ll see old Trimbolt’s treasure from up here,” said Io, my mentor and uncle.

“What’s a Trimbolt treasure?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted the distraction, but the freeze spell wasn’t working well.

“It’s an old wives’ tale.”

Jason chuckled. “Old man Trimbolt supposedly hid a treasure in the mire’s muck. Or that’s what Alun and his wife tell me. They warned me off of it. Said best to leave it there and not wake any evil that’s guarding it.”

“Why do treasures always come with something evil or deadly?” I shook my head but kept staring at the section they called the mire. Low growth, a few stands of trees. Splashes of colour. From this distance of a league or so away, it looked pretty and serene.

“I don’t want to get stuck in the mud or eaten by one of the nasties out there, so Hurricane and I stay on this side of the swamp.”

Hurricane, his boxer, watched Jason, then dropped the front of his body, hindquarters raised.

“Not now, buddy,” Jason said and rubbed the dog’s head. “Play time in a while.”

“Did you have to get the one with a dog to be your victim today?” Punkin, my mocha-coloured tabby cat and snarky-talking familiar, complained yet again.

“Gemma Yardley volunteered Dewi. She said we could use Yardley Manor,” I called over my shoulder. Punkin sat on a warm rock in the sunlight. It was one of the few sunny days we’d had in Wales this fall.

“Gemma would have that annoying fluff ball with her,” Punkin groaned. He shivered, then stretched and shook himself. “Whatever did I do to get cursed with that pompous Parisian of a pooch?”

Io laughed. “You honked in his carrier. Vivian Bentwhistle was very bent out of shape about the ordeal.”

“Nice pun,” Jason said. “Bentwhistle, bent…”

Io grinned, then pointed to the clearing. “Let us try again. Punkin can let a little more of your magic through.”

“I changed nothing from last time,” the fuzzbutt grumped. “It’s all her.”

“How long have you been a familiar?” Io crossed his arms and stared at Punkin.

“First time.” He innocently licked a paw, then wiped his face with it. We stared at him, waiting. “What? I’m a pwca, not a cat. Pwcas are not familiars… normally…”

“Just help Ebrel control her spell energy,” Io said.

Jason glanced at me, bending forward as though he were about to run a race. “Ready?”

“You won’t get away this time, miscreant,” I growled in my best imitation of a cartoon superhero. I whipped my wand up and dropped into a stance like I was holding a sword. Neirin and Elain often duelled with blunt swords in their weapons hall. I tried to imitate Neirin’s stance.

“Go ahead,” Io said.

Jason jogged away. I pushed spell energy into my wand and formed the image of the spell in my mind.

“She’s got the spell correct,” Punkin said. “Energy level is appropriate.”

I followed Jason with my wand. “Freeze.”

This time I only muttered the phrase. I wanted to concentrate on the spell.

My wand spat, and the energy bolt flew out. I hiccuped. Just a small one. But it was enough. My energy bolt veered off target, into a tree off to the side. A second later, a small shape thudded to the ground.

“What was that?” Jason asked.

“Sorry, I hiccuped.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Io added. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose” 

Io pointed toward the tree. “Let’s see what you hit.”

“A squirrel,” Jason reached into the scrub under the tree and pulled out a fluffy-tailed reddish-furred tree rodent, frozen stiff.

Punkin chortled. “Ebrel Dymestl, scourge of swanky tree rats.” 

“Hush, you, or no espresso tonight.”

“Do you remember how to unwind the spell?” Io asked.

Jason set the frozen squirrel on the ground in front of me.

“I think so.”

“Do you still have to hiccup?”

“Not now,” I said. My chest felt normal. “I don’t normally get the hiccups.”

Io raised an eyebrow and stared at me for a moment. “Could be the wibbly wobblies. If you start hiccups, we’ll have to stop your lessons for a while.”

“What’s the wibbly wobblies?”

Jason shook his head, also staring at me. “Witch hormones. All young fae get them to some degree or another. Usually fades in a few months.”

“Months? So you mean this is like puberty with acne and such?”

Io chuckled. “Well, not that bad. The wobblies are a side effect of coming into your magical majority. However, puberty is an apt metaphor.”

“What happens with these wobblies?”

“Surges and spikes in your power,” Io gave me a thin smile. “Probably nothing to worry about. Still, we best be careful.” 

“How can I be careful?”

“If you feel another hiccup coming on, abort the spell.” Io suggested. “Takes a bit of practise. Normally I would not teach the freeze spell this early in your training, but Elain and Rhodri insisted. You’re actually fortunate that Rhosyn taught it to me. Otherwise you’d be under the distracted eye of the lieutenant colonel himself.”

I still giggled at how the British pronounced his title as lef-tenant instead of the American lew-tenant.

“How do I abort a spell I’m casting?”

“I usually change the mental image of the runes to a flower,” Io said. “Don’t redraw a new glyph. Just flip to a flower.”

“How about a cup of coffee?” I could easily envision a cup of espresso. “I don’t think of flowers often.”

Io nodded. “Whatever works. Practise a few times. Draw the glyph in your mind for the freeze spell, then drop it for the coffee.”

I closed my eyes and did that. The fancy magical glyph formed inside a circle, all in glowing green energy. Once I had it outlined—it didn’t have any magic in it—I pushed it away and thought of the espresso I had made myself that morning.

I nodded, then tried again. Form the glyph. Replace it with coffee.

“Got it,” I said after a few more tries.

“How can you get it that fast?” Jason shook his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You make how many million cups a day? All of that latte art you do with the cream. Which one do you go for?”

“Funny guy… With Elain and Neirin out on a secret mission, I don’t have to make one for her. So I start the day with my most important cup. The one cup of espresso that means the most: my cup.”

“You could make your familiar one…”

“Shush, Fuzzbutt.” I gave him a grumpy look. “You don’t need coffee that early in the morning. I know you lick the cups when Nia and Mia clear the tables. You’d get drunk off those if I started you with a cup.”

“Do you feel up to fixing the squirrel?” Io directed me to get back on track.

“Poor little fellow.” I bent down, wand at the ready.

“Draw the counter glyph in your mind,” Io instructed. “He’s small, so you won’t need much energy to unlock him.”

I sent the jot of magic down my wand. No hiccup this time.

The squirrel flopped and flipped, its little legs scrambling in the air. Once it landed, it looked up at me and chittered. It ran up my arm and onto my shoulders, rubbing its fuzzy face against my cheek.

“Enough!” Punkin growled. “Be gone, swanky rat! Only one fuzzball allowed in this arrangement.

“Look out!” a high-pitched voice squealed, and the stench of brimstone hit me. I flung myself out of the way. The squirrel launched itself from my shoulders. It ran one way while Punkin and I rolled the other direction.

All I saw was the underbelly of a mechanical beast. Four fat rubber tires bounded through the air above us. To the back end clung a frightened green face and smallish person. An orc child, perhaps?

The four-wheeled ATV hit the ground hard, flinging the green-skinned figure about. He held on with both hands, clutching the cargo rack between the rear wheels. He wore a three-piece suit and patent leather shoes. Definitely not outdoor attire for this mucky section of Wales.

“Apologies, milady, milords,” he squeaked again. The human driver of the ATV jammed his handlebars to the left. The beast slid around, spewing mud behind it. Fortunately, that was away from us. Hurricane darted to the side to avoid the worst of the splatter.

“Fool!” Jason spat, his guitar once again in hand.

“Where’d that come from?” I pointed at his acoustic guitar. He’d been empty-handed a moment before. Jason ignored me.

“Same place you put your wand,” Punkin said.

Io had his wand in hand, pointed toward the newcomers, but he held it low. More at the ground in front of them. My wand was still in hand. I knew better than to point it at anyone I wasn’t going to fling a spell at.

The driver tipped his floppy hat at us. “Beggin’ yer pardons, y’all. Didn’t mean to give you a fright like that.” Unlike the green-skinned fellow on the back, the driver was dressed for an excursion. Jeans and muddy cowboy boots. A flannel shirt and a bush hat tied under his chin. Wraparound aviator sunglasses completed his outfit.

“You come blasting through here like that? You could have killed us,” Jason growled. His fingers danced on the string, and spell energy gathered around him. “Fool of an American. Think you own the world. You almost killed my dog.”

“Apologies!” squeaked the green creature on the back of the ATV. “Mr Chudderly is very sorry to have caused you any distress.”

“Enough, Eddie,” the man held up a hand to silence him. Even in the subdued grey skies of middle Wales, the driver’s skin seemed to have a ruddy complexion. His red hair poked out from under the cap. The hat was something I’d expect to see on an African safari. His clothing sported T3 buttons and the signature L label. Limited edition of the top-end designer. A large watch sat on one wrist. A turquoise and silver bracelet of American Western style was on the other wrist.

“My apologies, slim,” the man said. His accent was definitely southern US. Probably Texas. “The gnome that rented me this beast said it had one heck of a demon in it. He wasn’t wrong. It’s huge. Car-grade demon. Still trying to get it under control.”

“Did you rent from Gnarley?” Io asked and held a hand up toward Jason to calm him.

“I did.” The man snapped his fingers and held his hand over his shoulder, angled back at the greenish creature behind him. “Eddie has the paperwork.”

“Coming right up, Mr Chudderly.”

“Gobbos are great assistants. But Eddie takes his time. Slowest admin I’ve had.”

“Your files are most extensive.” Eddie dug through his jacket pockets. “Wild rides through the country wreak havoc on my filing system, Mr Chudderly. One moment, please.” Eddie pulled a leather-bound briefcase from a pocket that was way too small to contain it. He took a moment and shuffled through it. 

“He’s like an adopted son to me,” Chudderly said. “Picked him up back in the 1800s when I was over here after we in the US of A broke away from old King what’s-his-name over here. Gobbos are good clerks, but terrible ranchers. You should see him try to ride a horse, or lasso a calf.”

“Here it is,” Eddie interrupted, ignoring Chudderly’s appraisal of his skills. “Rental: one quad with high-performance demon.”

I knew he looked familiar. “G.R. Chudderly, of the Texas Chudderly empire?”

“At your service, little lady.” He swiped his hat from his head, held it in front of his chest, and bent a bow over the handlebars.

“The G.R. Chudderly?” Jason’s voice did a poor job of hiding his contempt. “The same Chudderly who has been buying up woodlands in the south of the US and driving pixies from their enclaves?”

“Mr Chudderly is exercising his rights as property owner to develop the land,” Eddie the gobbo said.

“Of course, they can return and rent a suite or purchase a condo.” Chudderly grinned. His large smile seemed to glint, even without direct daylight. “We improve the property, groom the trees and lands. Really improve the area. Best property anywhere. The best.”

“Their rent goes up a hundredfold over what they paid before,” Jason said and strummed a chord. More spell energy danced along the strings.

“Progress, young man,” Chudderly said. “Making the world a better place for all fae.”

“You mean for the rich,” Jason snarled.

“Stop it!” I looked between Jason and Chudderly.

“You look familiar, little lady,” Chudderly stared at me for a few seconds. “I know we’ve met.”

I tried to stifle my groan. “My father. I was visiting him two years ago when you two were working a deal in New York.”

Chudderly looked puzzled, then snapped his fingers.

“Storm’s daughter. You’re, uh…”

“April Storm, daughter of David Ignatius Storm III,” Eddie said, sliding the rental contract back into his briefcase. He clicked the case closed and slid it into his jacket. The fabric didn’t bulge. From the tingle of magic I sensed, he must have slid it into the same magical storage we used for our wands and other items.

“Are you here helping your father find property for investment?” Chudderly suddenly had a defensive tone to his voice. “We should set up a tee time for golf. Where is he staying?”

“Pops is still in New York,” I said with my customer service smile plastered on my face.

“Ah, then perhaps you and I should get a round in?” Chudderly had a gigantic grin, one I’d seen often on my father’s business partners and opponents. The smile that said one should lock up their valuables and read every word of fine print to see how you were about to get railroaded.

“I don’t have time to golf.”

“Pity,” Chudderly said. His thumb flipped a small lever on the handlebars. A puff of brimstone stench told me the demon in the quad was active. “We’re off. Got property to inspect.”

He twisted the accelerator under his right hand and spun the quad ATV around. Punkin and I both scurried toward Io to avoid the rain of mud the quad kicked up. Io had thrown a large shield spell up, as had Jason, to avoid the earthy rooster tail from the quad.

Eddie the gobbo slammed his green hands onto the rack behind Chudderly. He barely had time to shrug an apology before the quad bike raced off again. It took Chudderly and his assistant right into a man clad in a British redcoat. One I expected came from the time of the American Revolutionary War. The man wearing it faded from existence as the quad hit him. The ghost’s eyes were on me.

“Help me…” his ghost voice drifted away as the quad slid through him.