Spells of the Heart

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  COPYRIGHT

  TITLE PAGE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Magick & Magnolias

  Copyright

  Copyright © Ellen Dugan 2017

  Cover art designed by Kyle Hallemeier

  Cover image: fotolia: Andrew Kieseley

  "Legacy of Magick" logo designed by Kyle Hallemeier

  Editing and Formatting by Libris in CAPS

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any other form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Ellen Dugan

  All rights reserved to the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Excerpt of: Spells Of The Heart

  Copyright © Ellen Dugan 2016

  Edited by Katherine Pace

  Copy Editing and Formatting by Libris in CAPS

  Spells Of The Heart

  By

  Ellen Dugan

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my fabulous crew of beta readers: Michael, Ro and Shawna. Thanks for your speed reading skills, the notes, and of course for patiently listening to me while I plotted my way through this book. To Kyle for the amazing cover and for bringing Autumn to life. Thanks to Mitchell for the editing and formatting.

  Finally a special thanks to Barbara who helped a sister out when she got stuck on how to give Autumn and Duncan their HEA ending.

  Other Titles by Ellen Dugan

  THE LEGACY OF MAGICK SERIES

  Legacy Of Magick, Book 1

  Secret Of The Rose, Book 2

  Message Of The Crow, Book 3

  Beneath An Ivy Moon, Book 4

  Under The Holly Moon, Book 5

  The Hidden Legacy, Book 6: Featured in Bewitched & Beloved with Barbara Devlin

  A Legacy Of Magick Novella (October 2017)

  Magick & Magnolias (Coming 2018)

  THE GYPSY CHRONICLES

  Gypsy At Heart, Book 1

  Gypsy Spirit, Book 2 (Coming 2018)

  You have bewitched me body and soul,

  And I love, I love, I love you.

  -Jane Austen

  CHAPTER ONE

  “If I cast a spell on my contractor to make him finish the reno this week...” I wondered out loud, “would that be considered unethical behavior?”

  It was a valid question, I decided. Especially for a newer magickal practitioner like myself. Being a Witch didn’t guarantee that I would stroll through life without any challenges. Sometimes it meant quite the opposite.

  I pulled my car into the driveway, turned off the engine, and admired the view. The 1920’s Craftsman style bungalow I’d purchased six months ago was painted a bright cheerful yellow. It had crisp white trim, a sassy red front door, and a gray roof. The house was surrounded by charming perennial gardens, and it was located conveniently next door to my family’s manor home.

  However, the bungalow was inconveniently, and most definitely, haunted.

  This fact had created a never-ending horror story of delays and snafus with my renovation plans...not to mention a constant parade of spooked contractors and crews. Somewhere the old gods were laughing their asses off at me. You’d have thought I would have foreseen all the difficulties that I would encounter during the renovations, but no.

  I was currently on my third contractor, and my bathroom tile had been on backorder for weeks. Which had been yet another frustration to add to the string of problems and postponements with completing the lower level renovation. Recalling the past few months had me pressing a hand to my nervous stomach.

  My first contractor had mysteriously quit after the tear-out portion of the original kitchen and dining room had been completed. He’d left me a note saying the crew was too nervous in the house to continue working in it. So I’d gone for a second company, and I’d had to wait a month before they could get started. They managed to do the framing, wiring, drywall and the floors…but they too had walked off the job before the reno was complete. They even refunded some of my money since they wouldn’t finish the job, and they refused to give me a legitimate reason why.

  That’s when the rumors had started around town. Every time I walked into a home improvement store, the staff gave me a wide berth. Apparently the crews had been talking, and word had gone out that the bungalow was haunted or, depending on who you asked, cursed.

  Finally I’d found a third contractor from the next town over, but once again had to wait weeks for him to schedule me in. My newest contractor, Mr. Brown, had called me at work today, notifying me that he’d installed the appliances and that the kitchen was done. I’d squealed into the phone I’d been so excited. He was beginning the tile work on the new bathroom today as well, and it should be in working order by tonight.

  So, today marked an important step for me. A second working bathroom, and as of this afternoon, the kitchen renovation was complete! I couldn’t wait to do some real cooking. I’d been using an upstairs bedroom as a makeshift kitchen since I’d moved in.

  Crossing my fingers for luck, I climbed out of the car and walked up the short curving sidewalk to my door. The front porch steps were lined with pots of colorful annuals, and I noted as I went by that they needed a good soaking. The early September temperatures were still warm and we’d been having a dry spell. Still, the shade of the covered porch was welcoming, as was the white painted bench and small table that I’d added to create a seating area.

  I let myself in, sighing in relief at the air conditioned coolness. I grinned at the empty but clean front room, and walked straight to the back towards the kitchen. What I saw there made me misty.

  The original cabinets had been painted a crisp, clean white. I’d worked hard with the contractors, and we’d managed to add similar style cabinets to the newly expanded kitchen. They melded beautifully with the old ones. Glass-fronted cabinets shimmered to the left and right of the old farmhouse-style sink. The nickel-plated drawer pulls and cabinet handles were reproduction, sturdy, shiny and new. But they had the old look I’d been going for. My new white stove and dishwasher blended in exactly as I’d imagined with the lower cabinets.

  The fridge was a funky retro style—but was energy efficient and brand spanking new. It shimmered white, and while it had cost me a pretty penny, seeing it in place in the kitchen made me realize I’d been correct to splurge on it.

  The tile floor was new as well—there’d been no way to salvage the old floors, and it was now laid out in a soft gray and white checkerboard. The floor tiles were arranged in a diamond pattern, and they too had a retro look. The kitchen backsplash was a pale, gray subway tile with black trim, and the countertops were a solid surface composite material that was a warm smoke, slightly darker than the tile on my floors.

  “It’s perfect!” I said, jumping up and down in delight.

  I ran around for a good five minutes trying everything out. Opening drawers and cabinets, turning on the stove, flinging the refrigerator door wide...It was everything I’d hoped for. />
  “Vintage pieces combined with modern convenience!” I said out loud, running my hands over the pretty cabinets. “I’m so glad we salvaged as much of the original materials as possible.” I moved over to the new glass back door, delighted at the afternoon light that streamed in. I spun and took everything in from a different angle. The kitchen was large, warm and inviting, and I could hardly wait to add pops of bright color to it with my plates and red accessories.

  Pumped, I went to check on my new bathroom and stopped still in the doorway. “What the hell?”

  While the plumbing had been roughed in months ago, the new toilet, old-fashioned medicine cabinet, and antique sink lay on the floor, precisely where they’d been when I’d left this morning. The tiles had been delivered, but were still in their boxes, sitting inside the bare shower stall. Nothing had been installed and nothing had been done.

  I grabbed my phone ready to call the contractor, but before I could, I saw a note attached with blue painter’s tape to the back of the uninstalled toilet.

  I yanked it free. Dear Autumn, it began.

  The kitchen appliances have been installed, and this concludes our business here. I have refunded your money on the bathroom that we were contracted to put in—but were unable to finish. You will find your house key and my check in your mailbox, because I’m never setting foot in this house again.

  By the way, you may want to call a priest.

  Sincerely, Gerald Brown.

  “Son of a bitch!” I shut my eyes and stomped back into the living room to face off with the unwanted, and dead,roommate that had become a major pain in my ass.

  “Damn it Aunt Irene!” I yelled. “That’s the third contractor you’ve scared off!”

  As an answer, a light, ghostly laugh seemed to drift down the maple staircase.

  “What is wrong with you?” I asked, tucking the note in my pocket.

  Initially, I’d been surprised and then pleased when I’d learned that the bungalow had originally been built for another Bishop. First, Franklin Bishop and his wife had lived here, and eventually they’d given the home to my great-aunt Irene.

  Irene, a Witch with—according to family legend—a penchant for less than ethical spell-casting, had lived in the bungalow alone until the late 1980’s. After she’d passed away, the house had been sold to a different family.

  When the house had gone up for sale earlier this year, I had jumped at the chance to have it, thus putting the bungalow back in Bishop family hands after almost thirty years of different owners. I mean how perfect was that? I loved the architecture, the gardens connected with the grounds of the manor, I had my own place—and it was right next door to my family!

  And yes, I’d grasped pretty quickly that I wasn’t alone in the house. Not only am I a Witch and a Seer, I’m also a psychic sensitive. Which means I can see the past, present and future...and I’m also able to see, hear and interact with ghosts stuck in this realm.

  Whether I like it or not.

  But the idea hadn’t bothered me. I’ve dealt with some pretty incredible things since I moved to William’s Ford a few years ago.

  However, at the moment, if it would have been possible, I’d have throttled my dead relative. I marched to the front door, yanked it open and checked the mailbox on the outside of the house. Sure enough, an envelope was inside. I tore it open and found my spare key and a check from Mr. Brown.

  I shut the door behind me and sat on the floor of my empty living room in my purple cotton sundress, feeling frustrated, angry and disappointed. I dropped my head in my hands and let a few tears fall. “I am so angry with you right now,” I said, figuring she was listening. “Aunt Irene, why are you doing this to me?”

  I sat there glaring across the room at the door of that unfinished bathroom, and the scent of lilacs wafted through the air. That was Aunt Irene’s calling card of sorts. “Maybe I can tile the bathroom myself.” I watched those shows on HGTV. It didn’t look so hard...

  Suddenly, something skidded across the floor. I jolted when an old, faded red cookbook came to a stop directly in front of me. I recognized it instantly as the one I’d found hidden behind a panel in the kitchen pantry months ago.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked crossly.

  I waited, but nothing else happened. I picked up the old red book and frowned at it. “I had this packed up,” I muttered, wondering how she’d managed to get a physical object downstairs. “Is there a recipe in here for banishing Witch-ghosts?” I flipped through the pages like I was searching for one. “Because if there is, I’m gonna use it.”

  As if in answer, the book fell open to a recipe entitled: Banish Bad Vibes Brownies.

  “Funny.” Shaking my head, I stood and went into the kitchen. I decided to put the old cookbook inside the glass-fronted cabinet for now. As I closed the cabinet, I caught movement reflected in the seeded glass. I didn’t jump, but held very still and studied the figure in the glass. It was an older woman, striking, with salt and pepper hair. She was wearing a simple blue dress and was smiling at me.

  I moved slowly. Even though I knew she wouldn’t physically be there when I turned around, I looked for her anyway. The house was silent, and I was alone. “Is allowing me to finally see you, a way of saying you’re sorry?” I asked.

  There was no answer.

  A knock on the backdoor had me clutching my chest and spinning in surprise. My cousin Holly stood on the back porch, wearing shorts and a pink tank top, her red-gold curls exploding all around her face. She waved at me through the glass door. I flipped the lock on the door and let her in.

  “I came to see the kitchen and bath. Give me the tour!” She smiled and gave me a hug.

  “The kitchen is done, but the contractors walked off the job. Again.” I pulled the note out of my pocket and handed it to her.

  Holly read the note and snorted with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to maintain a sober expression. “I’m not laughing at you. But this line about calling a priest...that’s funny.”

  “What the hell am I gonna do, Holly?” I said. “The reno has taken twice as long as it should have because of all the delays and Aunt Irene’s ghostly antics.”

  “I wonder why she’s trying to hold things up.” Holly walked over to check the bathroom for herself.

  “Where in the world am I going to find a contractor who she can’t scare off the job?” I ran a hand through my hair. “What am I supposed to do, put in the contract, ‘Please don’t pay any mind to the ghost of the old Witch who used to live here’?”

  “I have a suggestion,” Holly said, coming back to stand by me.

  “Lay it on me,” I said, “because at this point I’ll consider anything.”

  Holly’s eyes met mine. “There is a contractor we both know, who could roll with whatever Aunt Irene threw at him.”

  “No,” I said, realizing where she was heading. “Aw, hell no.”

  “Yes,” Holly said just as firmly. “Autumn, you need to call Duncan Quinn.”

  ***

  Holly planted herself in my house, insisting on helping me set up the kitchen, and she wouldn’t budge. It always surprised me how stubborn my cousin could be. She’d given me a hand hauling my dishes and accessories up from the basement where I’d stored them, and we got to work. While I wiped down all the cabinets and started to place my dishes where I wanted them, Holly went and gathered up the food from the makeshift kitchen and brought it downstairs and tucked it into the pantry.

  She’d even transferred the items from the mini fridge into the new big refrigerator in the kitchen, and systematically shot down every reason I could come up with for not calling my former lover to have him finish the renovations on my house.

  We walked across the back yard towards the detached garage that I’d been using for storage for the past few months and went to fetch my antique kitchen table and chairs. My temper was starting to unravel from the quiet, polite argument she’d been hitting me with for the past hour. Stubbor
n red-haired Witch, I thought crossly.

  “Said the pot to the cauldron.” Holly sniffed at me as I shoved the garage door up.

  “What?” Thrown by the non sequitur, I blinked.

  “I’m not the one who’s stubborn.” Holly tossed her curls over her shoulder. “You are.”

  I huffed out a breath. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to.” She poked me in the ribs. “You still project your thoughts and feelings when you are angry or upset.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. “Try that lie again with someone who isn’t an empath.”

  I stepped into the garage and pulled the dust sheet off the red and white enamel table with the chrome legs. “I’m stressed out,” I said. “The renovations should have been completed months ago. And I’m very disappointed that the lower bathroom isn’t completed.”

  Holly went to the opposite side of the table and lifted. “So, call the one contractor who wouldn’t bat an eye at an interfering ghost on the premises.”

  We lifted the table and began hauling it across the lawn. “I haven’t seen Duncan in months.”

  “Not since the big museum fundraiser this spring.” Holly smiled. “Where he watched you the entire evening.”

  I stopped at the base of the back porch steps. “No he didn’t.”

  Holly merely raised her eyebrows. “Yes, he did.”

  “No he didn’t,” I argued, “and I would know, because I kept an eye—” I cut myself off.

  “Because you kept an eye on him yourself all night long,” Holly said.

  “I kept an eye on all the Drakes that night,” I countered. “Especially your arch nemesis, Leilah Drake Martin.” We carefully flipped the table on its side and began to maneuver it up the steps.