Midsummer Night's Mayhem (2 page)

With growing anticipation, Clover hurried back to the party to get everyone ready and get a good spot to watch the show. As she raced toward the house, she cut along the side of her garden fence to avoid a gaggle of young witches and wizards dashing around in a game of catch the mage. Mischief makers snaked through the garden hand in hand, forming a long chain, filling the air with screeching laughter, cackles, and calls. Whispers echoed, sounds shooting at her from all directions. An unruly hedge forced Clover to take a rarely used path and the long way back to her house. Her long skirt caught on a branch, forcing her to slow.

A twig snapped. A strange shriek carried on the wind.

Clover stopped on the trail and glanced at the old oak standing along her property line about twenty yards from the house.
What was that noise?
Her senses tensed, her intuition kicking in. Fireflies lit up the darkness in tiny blinks of light. The oak was majestic and still. She waited and listened. The laughter and music of the party flowed over her in waves. She shook her head. It was probably just her imagination or one of the witches in the game.

Clover walked in front of the band and the singer pulled her up onto the stage. The fairy king and queen were sitting on two golden thrones, watching the festivities. The drum began to rumble, drawing everyone’s attention, and the singer raised his glass.

“A toast to our gracious hostess and to the summer solstice. May it warm our hearts and spirits for another year.”

“Hear, hear!” the crowd chimed.

“To Clover Mayhem!” Honora yelled with her glass held high.

Climbing up on stage to be apart of the celebration, Vivi threw her arm around Clover’s shoulder. “To Clover and the summer solstice.”

“Has anyone found the fairy queen’s crown?” Clover asked.

A group of teenage wizards raced up on stage with a backpack and yelled in unison. “We have it! We found the crown!” But when one of them unzipped the bag it was empty, causing the wizards to grumble in disappointment.

The fairy bandit girl raced up on the stage, pulling a shy middle-aged witch who Clover recognized from the tavern and the healing ward. The witch worked two jobs to support her kids after her husband passed away a few years earlier. The witch shook her head and held her hands out. “I lost it. I found it and had it in my hands, but a mischief maker stole it back,” she explained.

“They tricked us, too,” the wizard holding the backpack said. “It was right here.”

But the fairy just laughed at them. The witch shrugged. Then the mischievous fairy pointed to the witch’s head and the golden crown appeared in a puff of smoke. The crowd cheered and the teenage wizards slumped, outwitted by the mischief makers. The king handed over the bag of gold to the astonished witch in exchange for the crown. Who said Clover couldn’t write her own happy ending?

With the sun finally set, Clover pointed dramatically upward, yelling, “Look to the sky for a surprise to cap off the night.”

Suddenly the darkness above erupted with an explosion of color and lights. After a few dozen starbursts, shapes began to materialize—magical fairies zinging across the sky with animals like foxes, wolves, and big cats chasing the stars. An archer cocked his bow at deer leaping through the darkness. A fiery phoenix wrestled with a golden hawk, the two birds tumbling through the sky in an acrobatic feat.

As the birds sparkled and disappeared, the next scene came into view, depicting the outline of three witches stirring a cauldron with the words Mayhem Sisters underneath. The crowd cheered, “Mayhem! Mayhem!” A shiver went up Clover’s spine. A tingle of intuition sparked a flash of worry in the pit of her stomach. She looked toward the old oak, but saw nothing. Vivi’s raven familiar, Rumor, cawed from his perch on the roof.

Clover stared up at the explosion of golden lights that filled the darkness, shaking off the eerie feeling. The show was perfect. The fairies drifted off into the woods and the illusion dissolved. The moon was clear and bright. But she’d be lying if she ignored the wispy clouds that cast shadows across the moon’s wide face. There was mischief in the air. She could feel it.

2

C
lover woke to a wicked sunbeam hitting her in the face, her eyes squinting in protest. A dry stickiness coated her tongue and sandy crust collected in the corners of her eyes, but other than a kink in her neck, she felt good. A smile crept across her face. Memories of the night before flooded back. The party had been a rousing success. The illusion and fireworks had gone off in spectacular fashion, and the music and dancing roared on into the wee hours. She’d ended the evening having a chat on her front porch with a few diehard party guests around four in the morning, talking and laughing, until falling asleep curled up on the wicker sofa on the porch. Some kind soul had thrown a blanket over her.

Movement echoed from inside the house, so she gathered up the blanket and wandered in to find Derek Goodman, her trusty assistant, already hard at work, cleaning up the kitchen, which was not in his job description, but Clover had given up trying to keep him from helping out, especially since she was an official disaster at cooking and cleaning. His wand was raised and a scrubbing spell flew from his lips. Seconds later, the pile of dirty dishes in the sink was washed, rinsed, and drying in the rack. Derek was priceless.

He was also the order behind her creative chaos. He managed her secret writing career as the famous word witch Cassandra Reason, author of the magical romance series,
Spellbinders
, making sure her books got to the printer on time, organizing all of her press, keeping her professional and personal life thriving. She didn’t know where she’d be without him.

Derek’s blond hair was shaggy and windblown, a look a lean young wizard like him could totally pull off. His jeans were comfortably worn, and he was still wearing a T-shirt from last night that read: My familiar is a party animal.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll clean up later,” Clover said, grabbing a mug out of the cupboard. “You did enough yesterday to help out.”

“If you insist,” he said, pocketing his wand. His blue eyes sparkled. How he had so much energy this morning, she’d never know. “Does that mean you don’t want a fresh cup of delicious coffee I brewed up?” He shifted the pot out of her reach.

Clover’s blurry eyes widened, and she thrust her cup out in front of her like a hungry bird. “Let’s not go too far. I’ll beg for coffee if I have to. I never made it to my bed last night.”

“That could be a good sign?” Derek smiled playfully.

“It’s a bad sign for my beauty rest. It turns out the wicker sofa on the porch isn’t made for a good night’s sleep. The last few hours of the party are a blur of merrymaking. I must have nodded off and didn’t wake up until this morning.” She held the dark elixir up to her face, took a deep sip, and let the warmth ooze through her body.

After Derek filled his cup, they both settled down in chairs at the farm table positioned in the corner of her big country kitchen. Clover’s shirt was covered in mystery stains and the hem of her skirt was frayed and rimmed in dirt—casualties of an outdoor summer party.

“From what I saw everyone had a great time. The mischief makers were a blast and the fireworks were mind-blowing. You got me once again. I didn’t have a clue. The Linders totally rocked the sky with seriously cool elemental tricks.” Derek stretched and cracked his back.

“I have a gift for spotting talent.” She winked at him. “Plus, it’s nice to pull one over on you every once in a while.” Surprising Derek each year was part of the fun. “You can’t know all of my secrets.”

“I guess not, but I do know the big one, which we pulled off for another year. Keeping your identity secret is not easy. Luckily, no one found the hiding place for your writing materials. I just wish we didn’t have to stuff everything in the closet.” He sighed.

“It’s only once a year, and I don’t mind hiding Cassandra Reason in the closet if it means I can open up the house to guests and still remain anonymous.” A minuscule few of her party guests knew she was the famous witch and that was the way she wanted to keep it.

“We’ll unpack the work stuff later. Technically, we’re still on vacation.” Derek stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles.

“Exactly. I need to clean up the yard and garden first. I wonder how many sleeping bodies we have outside,” Clover said. Many party guests camped out under the stars instead of making the trip home late at night.

“It was a nice night, so I’m sure we have more than a few. A couple of tents popped up behind the garden, but I’m not sure if they’re still there.”

A scratching sound from outside caught their attention. “I bet I know who that is.” Clover jumped up and opened the back door. A burnished red-coated fox with a white throat and pointy ears trotted into the kitchen like he owned the place. “Rusty, good boy.” She ran her hands through his fur and gave him a good scratch.

The fox was Clover’s familiar. Every witch and wizard had at least one familiar during his or her life, forming a close bond, an intuitive understanding, and friendly companionship. And though foxes were mostly solitary animals, Rusty had connected with Clover when he’d been abandoned as a sickly runt of the litter in the woods behind her house. She’d fed him scraps and let him sleep in an old garden shed for his first winter in the wild, and once he got to know and trust her, he joined her in the house, preferring the comfort of a warm and cozy fireplace. That was four years ago, and since then he’d officially moved in, the two forming a mutual understanding, giving each other space.

With a nagging whine, Rusty shook off Clover’s hand and pawed at her feet in an attempt to focus her attention. Rusty was many things, but a whiner he wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Clover’s brow pinched.

Rusty’s energy was tense. His bushy tail whipped against her legs as he raced around her and then paced in front of the back door and barked, his deep black eyes welling with concern. She’d never seen him this agitated.

“He wants us to follow him outside.” Derek bounded to his feet.

Clover grabbed a light sweater. “Something’s definitely not right. Let me grab my potion stash just in case.”

From the kitchen counter, she snatched up a velvet pouch filled with glass vials containing a lemony revival potion, a fiery hangover cure, a minty tummy tamer, and her favorite, a disgusting tasting potion that miraculously cured splitting headaches. Being an experienced party hostess, Clover was prepared for everything from bee stings and sunburns, to overindulgence and heartburn. Plus, having a sister who owned a potion shop had its advantages.

Once Derek opened the door, the fox sprinted down the back steps and up the garden path, pausing to glance over his shoulder to make sure that Clover and Derek were following him. Clover slipped her sweater over her bare arms as a chill raced over her skin when the crisp morning air washed over her.

“Maybe someone damaged your property,” Derek said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried along beside her.

“I hope that’s all it is. Damaged property, I can handle. Sick or hurt party guest, not so good.” She scanned the yard, her pulse rising. There were a few scattered tents set up in the grassy area of her yard. Besides tables, chairs, a few bits of trash, and random pieces of discarded clothing, Clover didn’t see anything unusual, nothing out of place or broken.

Rusty headed for the old oak tree. Clover’s senses went on high alert. She remembered the strange noise she’d heard last night right before the fireworks display, and she quickened her pace, running up behind her familiar as he reached the tree. Her stomach jumped. There was a wizard slumped against the rough bark. He looked peaceful with his head resting against the tree, a shirt balled up under his head for support. His mouth hung open loosely. Her first impression was that he was sleeping after a long night of singing and partying. Rusty crouched on his belly and whined the saddest sound she’d heard in a long time. Clover paused. The bag of potions fell from her hand to the ground, the colorful bottles spilling out.

She recognized the wizard immediately.

It was Oliver Yearling.

Clover darted to his side. Once up close, she realized his eyes were open, staring vacantly up at the sky. His skin was cold and damp with dew. “Oliver! Oliver!” her voice shrieked.

He didn’t respond. Her breathing came in short gasps, her heart beating like a drum. Panicking, Clover lunged forward and shook the wizard by the shoulders, desperately trying to wake him up, but it was no use. He wasn’t dozing soundly under the old oak. The ground seemed to sway beneath her feet, a plummeting feeling in her stomach brought Clover to her knees.

“No, no, no!” Her breath caught in her chest as the truth shot through her.

Her neighbor was dead.

Suddenly Derek was by her side, pulling her away from the body, huddling a few feet away. “What should we do? Should we call a healer?” Derek asked.

“He doesn’t have a pulse, and his skin’s ice cold.” Reality shook her to the core. Her legs began to tremble. “I think it’s too late for a healer.” Clover swallowed a lump in her throat.

“We’ve got to do something.” Derek nervously ran his hands through his hair, his face ashen. “Should we call Oliver’s son? I’m not sure where he lives.”

Her mind raced. Clover took a few deep breaths to collect her thoughts. This wasn’t the time to crumble. “No, we need help. We don’t know what happened or how he died. Where’s my wand? I need my wand.” She patted her skirt and pulled her wand out of her pocket.

With shaking hands, Clover pointed her wand skyward and sent up a beacon high into the sky. A glowing red orb pulsed in the morning glare, alerting the closest police station to the emergency. Beacons were sent only in dire emergencies. Unfortunately, they’d have to wait for help to arrive from Willow Realm, since the Meadowlands was too small and spread out to have its own police department.

Clover’s gaze couldn’t help but drift across her yard to the distant house, the roof peeking between the branches of an overgrown tree—Oliver’s house.

“Should we cover the body so he’s not just lying out in the open like that?” Derek asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“No, I don’t think we should disturb him. I know it sounds cruel, but we should leave him where we found him. I probably shouldn’t have touched him, but I had to try.” Walking a few yards away, Clover crossed her arms over her chest. The circumstances were unimaginable. Oliver had died at her party, in her yard, and even though they weren’t friends, she wouldn’t wish this on anyone. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I saw him last night, snooping around the house like a nosy goat and now look.” Her throat tightened with emotion.

“He wasn’t a young wizard, Clover. Maybe it was just his time.” Derek shrugged, grasping for an explanation. Baring complications, witches and wizards could reach a ripe old age of five hundred.

“Oliver wasn’t that old, no more than three hundred. He only acted like a crotchety old wizard. It doesn’t make sense.” Clover chewed her lip. She brushed a hot tear from her cheek, sorrow and dread colliding inside of her. “I have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling, about this.”

Rusty barked. She bent down, extending her hand, and the fox trotted over to her side. He rubbed his snout on her leg, comforting her.

“Maybe he had a heart problem,” Derek suggested, but neither of them believed that. He turned his back on the body, his face looking a little queasy.

Probably hearing the commotion, a few of the wizards and witches who’d camped out overnight crawled from their tents to see what the emergency was about.

“They must have seen the beacon.” Clover’s eyes went wide. Nervous energy flared inside her. “What am I going to tell everyone? Just announce my neighbor’s death?” She staggered, the reality overwhelming her.

Derek braced her with a firm hand. “Don’t worry. You stay here. I’ll talk to them and get them to pack up,” he said and raced off before any of them could get too close to the body.

Clover glanced at her dearly departed neighbor. Besides the shirt balled up under Oliver’s head there was nothing but an amber-colored beer bottle on the ground next to him. He was wearing long khaki slacks, a button-up shirt, black socks, and shoes. Oliver didn’t do casual. She was surprised he hadn’t worn a tie. He was the only wizard she knew who always dressed up, no matter the occasion.

Emotions churned in her stomach—fear, guilt, worry. Her mind spun. How could this have happened in the middle of a party and no one noticed? Had he died in his sleep after everyone had gone to bed? She should have been more aware. It was
her
party, but she’d never had trouble in the past. And then the inevitable occurred to her. Had the Mayhem curse finally caught up to her?

She couldn’t help but think her luck avoiding the Mayhem family curse had finally run out. Clover had always felt like the lucky one, dodging the curse, unlike her sisters, who were always knee-deep in drama. The Mayhem family curse began generations ago when great-great-grandmother Rosemary had a feud with a disreputable trader of witches’ familiars. Rosemary had freed the animals from the terrible conditions on the trader’s farm and turned him into the police. The animals were safe, but before the trader was sent to prison, he laid a curse on Rosemary and her descendants—a curse of mayhem—and it had meant pure trouble for generations.

Rosemary had wanted to give the trader less satisfaction from his black magic, so she took the curse as her name to claim it, forcing the majority of the mayhem on herself in hopes that life would grow easier for her descendants. The curse lessened with each generation, but mayhem was always lurking just a whisper away. And today it had found Clover, ready or not.

She had to do something more than stand in her garden. She met Derek on the path as she headed back to the house, and he informed her that the lingering party guests were packing up their gear.

“I’m going to need a messenger,” she said. When in doubt, the one thing the Mayhem sisters did well was band together. “I want to tell Vivi and Honora what’s happened. Soon this place will be swarming with police. Everyone will be talking and mourning Oliver.”

Clover shuddered. She had a bad feeling that the mischief hadn’t ended with last night’s party.