Bonbons and Broomsticks (BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 5)
Bonbons and Broomsticks
BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries ~ Book 5
By
H.Y. Hanna
Caitlyn is settling into her new life as a novice witch in a quirky English village—although she’s finding the hardest magic to master is making caramel sauce without burning it! Then two men are murdered, and the village gossips jump to blame a mythical black hound seen haunting the British countryside. Caitlyn isn’t so sure, however, and she decides to do a little magical sleuthing of her own.
Luckily, she has her very own shape shifter to help her (even if he does come in the shape of a toothless old vampire) not to mention her naughty kitten, Nibs and a whole shop of enchanted chocolates. But her investigation soon leads to unexpected revelations about the mysterious runestone necklace that was found on her as a baby.
Can Caitlyn find the killer and maybe unlock the secrets of her past too? And will she ever convince the dashing Lord James Fitzroy to accept who she really is?
BEWITCHED BY CHOCOLATE Mysteries:
Dark, Witch & Creamy (Book 1)
Witch Chocolate Fudge (Book 2)
Witch Summer Night’s Cream (Book 3)
Blood, Sweets and Tears (Book 4)
~ previously published as Witch Chocolate Bites
Bonbons and Broomsticks (Book 5)
Author’s Note:
This book follows British English spelling and usage.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) - EXCERPT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
“Caitlyn? Did you hear me? Come over here and stir the cauldron.”
Caitlyn Le Fey started guiltily and blinked as she came out of her thoughts. She looked across the dimly lit kitchen, to where an old woman with flashing dark eyes, a hooked nose, and wild grey hair stood by a large black cauldron hanging in the fireplace. It looked like a scene straight out of a children’s fairy-tale: the sinister old witch hunched over her bubbling cauldron, conjuring potions and spells… except that this old woman was her grandmother and the cauldron held nothing more sinister than simmering caramel sauce.
Not that her grandmother was any ordinary old woman, of course. The Widow Mags was regarded with fear and suspicion by the village residents, not just because of her intimidating looks and cantankerous manner, but also because of her reputation as the “local witch”. Oh yes, they whispered. That had to be the explanation. How else could the chocolates in her shop taste so amazing? They had to have been bewitched by dark magic.
The irony was, there was no magic involved in the making of the chocolates. Those delicious truffles, chocolate bars, and bonbons were simply the result of the best cocoa beans, the freshest cream, and purest ingredients, all expertly combined with the Widow Mags’s chocolatier skills—no artificial charms, potions, or spells included.
Well, okay… maybe a bit of magic is used sometimes to save time and effort, thought Caitlyn with a smile, glancing at the mixing bowl on the table next to her, in which a spatula was moving around and around completely by itself, bewitched to stir the melted chocolate within. But it’s really no different to the modern appliances used in many kitchens…
“Are you deaf, child?”
“Oh! Sorry…” Caitlyn sprang up and hurried over to her grandmother. She gripped the ladle and began stirring the bubbling caramel.
“Good, good…” said the Widow Mags, watching her. “Not too quickly… Slow and steady…”
Caitlyn inhaled deeply as a sweet, buttery aroma rose from the cauldron. “Ohhh… this smells amazing! What’s in it?”
“Pure refined sugar, fresh butter, vanilla extract, double cream, and some flakes of sea salt… which should all combine to turn into soft, chewy salted caramel when cooled. That’s if it hasn’t burnt in the pan, waiting for you to come over.”
Caitlyn ducked her head. “Sorry, Grandma—my mind wandered for a moment.”
“Humph…” The Widow Mags gave her a disgruntled look. “Your mind seems to be completely lost in the woods, if you ask me! You’ve been mooning about, in a world of your own, ever since you got back from Huntingdon Manor last week.”
Caitlyn winced inwardly at the mention of that day. The memories she was constantly fighting to suppress rose up to swamp her, and in a second, she was standing on the steps of Huntingdon Manor again… and there, smiling down at her in a way that made her heart race, was its handsome owner, Lord James Fitzroy…
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he’d said, as he followed the butler into the house to take an urgent phone call.
And she had stood dreamily on the front steps, thinking of that look in his warm grey eyes, until a movement overhead had caught her eye…
Caitlyn had frowned, squinting at it… It looked like—yes, a pair of flying glasses! The Widow Mags’s runaway spectacles, in fact. She uttered the counter-spell, breaking the enchantment, and laughed with elation as the flying spectacles transformed back into an ordinary pair of reading glasses again. She’d done it! She’d finally been able to make magic do her bidding…
Then she turned around and saw James standing there, staring at her…
“Who are you? What… what was that?” he asked, his eyes filled with shock and horror.
“I…” Caitlyn’s voice seemed to have died in her throat. What had he seen? How much could she tell him? Did she dare tell him the truth about herself? She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to!—but she was terrified. She had only just begun to hope that James might have feelings for her… would those feelings be destroyed if he learned that she was a witch?
He came swiftly towards her and grabbed her hand, turning it over so that he could see the glasses. He stared down at the worn plastic frames, lying lifeless in her palm. Caitlyn saw bewilderment cloud his face and doubt fill his eyes.
“I… I could have sworn…” he muttered. Then he dropped her hand and gave her a sheepish look. “I think I must be hallucinating... I thought… I thought I saw these spectacles flying through the air and you—” he gave an uncertain laugh, “—but of course, I can’t have. Spectacles don’t fly!” He passed a hand over his face. “I must be more tired than I realise. My mind is playing tricks on me.”
He started to turn away but Caitlyn caught his arm impulsively.
“No, wait—!” She swallowed. “What if… what if you’re not wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. James had given her an easy way out, a ready-made explanation that he would
readily accept… so why didn’t she just embrace it gratefully and let everything be swept under the carpet?
But it was as if a mad impulse had awakened inside her—like a child who had been warned that a hot flame could burn, but who couldn’t resist reaching out to touch it anyway. She licked her lips and said:
“What if you did see the spectacles flying?”
James gave a rueful smile. “You’re going to be teasing me about that forever now, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m serious,” Caitlyn insisted. “What if what you saw was… was real?”
“Real?” James chuckled. “You mean, there really was a pair of flying spectacles? And what were you doing? Conjuring up a spell to capture them?”
Caitlyn took a deep breath. “Yes.”
James stared at her.
“It was actually a reverse Levitation spell… because the spectacles were just normal reading glasses to begin with, and they were bewitched to fly… so I performed a counter-spell…”
“A counter-spell,” James repeated blankly.
“Yes.” Caitlyn gave him a hesitant smile. “James… I… I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long… I… you see, I’m a witch.”
There was silence. James looked at her. Then he looked away. Then he looked at her again. Caitlyn recoiled from the disappointment she saw in his eyes. Her heart sank.
“James—” she started to say.
“No, don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t keep talking such nonsense.”
“What…? What do you mean?” Caitlyn faltered. “It’s not nonsense. I’m telling you the truth.”
James’s grey eyes had gone cold. “I thought you were different, Caitlyn. I never thought you’d turn out to be one of those silly girls who believed in all this paranormal rubbish… messing around with Ouija boards and crystals and voodoo mumbo jumbo… jumping on the trendy witchcraft bandwagon and pretending you’re a witch—”
“But… but I’m not pretending!” Caitlyn cried. “I really am a witch!”
James gave an impatient sigh. “There are no such things as witches. They’re simply the product of folktales and superstitions, made up by simple folk who didn’t have the benefit of a scientific education.”
“But—”
“Look, an old woman who is experienced with herbs and spices might use some to cure an illness or save a crop from pests—and in the olden days, people would call her a witch, because it looked like she’d performed magic. But nowadays, we know it’s the chemical compounds in the herbs that healed the sick or protected the crops and livestock.”
“But it’s more than that!” Caitlyn burst out. “I mean, yes, I know a lot of so-called ‘witches’ were simply old women who lived alone and their skills as herbalists were misunderstood… but there is real magic as well. Magic that can transform things, bring things to life, make things fly. You saw it just now: you saw me—”
“Stop.” He held a hand up. “Please, stop. I can’t bear to hear such ridiculous nonsense coming from your lips.” He made an involuntary movement, an expression of dismay on his face. “My God, you sound exactly like her…”
“No, wait—you have to listen to me,” Caitlyn cried, catching hold of his arm. “I never believed in witchcraft and magic before either! But when I arrived in Tillyhenge, I learned the truth: that the reason I’d always felt different and struggled to fit in wasn’t just because I was adopted… or because I was really English, despite my American upbringing… it was because I was descended from a long line of witches—witches who have a special affinity for working with chocolate! And the Widow Mags… and Bertha… and Evie… they are my family.” Caitlyn gave him a hesitant smile. “I never dreamt that when I came to England to search for answers about my past, I would stumble into a new world and discover my real identity… but it’s true. Magic is real. It exists. Look… look, I’ll show you…” She glanced around, then picked up a leaf from the ground. Holding it up in front of James’s face, she said, “I’ll change this into chocolate… watch!”
She took a deep breath and focused on the leaf in her hands, summoning her will and trying to imagine the waxy green surface transforming into smooth milk chocolate. It was difficult, though, with James standing there watching her; her mind felt fuzzy and unfocused, and she found it hard to concentrate. The leaf quivered in her hand but remained unchanged.
James sighed. “Caitlyn—”
“No! No, just wait… let me try again…” Caitlyn said desperately. She bit her lip and stared at the leaf harder, almost trembling with the effort.
Nothing happened.
She wanted to scream with frustration. How many times had she done it—tapped something carelessly and transformed it into chocolate? It was the one form of magic that she seemed to have mastered. And yet here… now… it was failing her.
“It… it should work,” she stammered “I don’t know why… maybe it’s just… I’m not focusing properly… I’m… I’m a bit nervous with an audience… but I promise, I’ve done it so many times…”
She trailed off as she saw the expression on James’s face. He’d said nothing, just stood there silently, looking at her. But the expression in his eyes made her flinch. It wasn’t disappointment—it was even worse than that. It was pity.
“I… I’m not making it up…” she said weakly. “I really… there is magic…”
She broke off as the butler appeared at the front door again, with another telephone call for the master of Huntingdon Manor. The look of relief on James’s face stabbed her like a knife. He cleared his throat, muttered an excuse, then disappeared into the house, leaving her standing alone on the steps…
Now, Caitlyn could still feel the sense of hurt and loss that had washed over her, almost as if she was still standing there on those steps, with the sky empty and grey above her and the wind rustling inconsolably through the nearby trees, and the acrid smell of burning in the air—
Wait… what acrid smell of burning?
“CAITLYN!”
CHAPTER TWO
Caitlyn looked down and gasped in horror. The beautifully bubbling caramel was now a charred sludge, with blackened crusts around the edge of the cauldron and smoke rising from the molten centre.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Caitlyn cried, grabbing the forgotten ladle and frantically trying to stir the sticky blackened mess.
The Widow Mags hurried over and snatched the cauldron off the fire, then turned to glower at her.
“That batch of caramel is ruined now! What on earth were you doing, child? You simply had to stir it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Caitlyn miserably. “I… I guess my mind wandered for a moment…”
The Widow Mags gave her a sharp look but didn’t say anything. Instead, she heaved the cauldron over to the large kitchen sink and turned on the tap. Steam rose in a hissing cloud as the cauldron filled with cool water.
“I can make up a new batch,” Caitlyn offered.
The old witch sighed. “Never mind. We can do without the caramel today. I’ll make more tomorrow.”
She returned to the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen and picked up her piping bag once more. But as she bent over the freshly baked chocolate ganache cake and began squeezing out the melted chocolate in intricate swirls, the piping bag slipped from her fingers. It fell to the floor and split open, splattering melted chocolate everywhere. The Widow Mags made a sound of frustration and bent down painfully.
“Oh, let me…” Caitlyn crouched down quickly next to her grandmother.
She picked up the broken bag and wiped the floor, then watched as the Widow Mags fashioned a new piping bag from a section of waxed baking paper. The old witch seemed to struggle as she tried to fold the paper into a cone shape, flexing her gnarled fingers and grimacing.
“Is it your arthritis?” asked Caitlyn tentatively. “Shall I—”
“I’m fine!” the Widow Mags growled.
She finally tucked the paper into shape, then turned towards
the bowl of melted chocolate on the table and poured a large spoonful into the paper cone. Twisting the top to seal the cone, she snipped the tip off the pointed end and bent over the cake once more. But Caitlyn could see that her grandmother’s fingers were stiff and awkward, struggling to squeeze the piping bag with the control needed to create the delicate chocolate art.
She opened her mouth to volunteer to help, then shut it again. She didn’t think she had enough skill to create those intricate chocolate swirls and decorations. She also wasn’t sure if her grandmother would appreciate her offer. Proudly independent, the Widow Mags hated showing weakness in front of others and, despite being a witch, she was just like many senior citizens who struggled with the fact that they could no longer do many things with ease.
“Why don’t you just use magic?” Caitlyn asked, puzzled. “Then you wouldn’t have to use your hands. You could just direct the piping bag to—”
“No. The arthritis in my hands… it affects that too,” said the Widow Mags gruffly, flexing her fingers again.
“Oh.” Caitlyn was taken aback. “I… I thought—”
“That magic is a cure-all?” said the Widow Mags dryly. “That is what people always think. But working magic is a skill, no different to learning to play an instrument or mastering fine carpentry or delicate needlework—it still requires a certain dexterity and strength, in your body as well as your mind.” She gave a defeated shrug. “Anyway, I have learned to live with the arthritis. It comes and goes… and the herbal tonics that Bertha prepares for me are a great help.”
As if on cue, the back door of the cottage swung open and a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman in a voluminous purple kaftan came bustling in, followed by a girl of about eighteen. It was Bertha, the Widow Mags’s oldest daughter (and Caitlyn’s aunt), and her daughter, Evie.
Caitlyn felt a rush of affection as she saw them. One of the nicest things about coming to England was discovering her new family and getting to know them. Well, her grandmother had turned out to be more prickly than she’d expected, but her aunt had been exactly the sort of gentle, maternal presence that Caitlyn had yearned for all her life. And as for her cousin, Evie… Caitlyn smiled as she looked at the gangly girl, with her frizzy red hair and teenage acne. Evie was like the little sister she’d never had, and although only four years separated them, somehow she felt immeasurably older and wiser.