Magic Happens: Fairyland Investigations Book 1 Read online

  Magic Happens

  Fairyland Investigations Book 1

  Voldane Pelt

  Sarah Biglow

  New Night Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 New Night Publishing

  Published in the United States of America by Voldane Pelt Copyright © 2021 by New Night Publishing.

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication maybe reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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

  ISBN-13: 978-1530493616

  ISBN-10: 1530493617

  Cover design by: Deranged Doctor Designs

  Printed in the United States of America

  Voldane Pelt’s dedication:

  My mom had the unenviable task of raising a headstrong arrogant child on her own. She worked three jobs so I could have books and go to good schools when the local ones were not adequate. She was there every time I have ever needed her even when I did not deserve it.

  She put up with all my crazy ideas for over forty years now. This book and the others I have written and am writing are all thanks to her patience and willingness to be the best mom possible. Without her, I would not be who I am today and who I might be tomorrow.

  I love you, mom and hope you always know that and how much I appreciate everything you have and do for me each and every day.

  Voldane Pelt

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  “I can’t believe that son of a bitch Scanlin emptied my bank account and maxed out my credit cards!” My hands thumped the steering wheel in frustration as I continued speaking to myself.

  “You would have accepted his lame excuses if he hadn’t dumped you right after he stole from you.” Mom’s sarcastic voice that sounded shrill in my ear lost nothing for lacking a body. Even though she’d been missing and presumed dead for over a year, Mom still got her nagging jabs in.

  I ignored Mom’s unwanted sarcastic—if not entirely unjust—comments before continuing my tirade while driving down Bentner Ave. The sun was shining, and it really should have been a nice drive. But this was just something else Scanlin ruined for me.

  “Then he had the balls to dump me with the lame excuse that I wasn’t doing it for him. Doing it for him? Mr. Pencil Dick couldn’t ‘do it’ for me, not even with Viagra. I am so done with men. I’ve never found a good one in longer than I care to remember.”

  My voice had an eerie echo in my convertible with its top up and all the windows closed.

  “You don’t find a good man. You make him!” Mom’s cackle made her sound like a witch from a Hollywood movie. Maybe they’d even stolen it from her—well, if anyone was dumb enough to steal from Mom, anyway. No one except me could hear my mom’s voice since she’d disappeared a few years ago. With her now presumed dead, I’d probably also lost the chance to sell her cackle.

  Being an Earth Witch limited my dating choices, too. Even though Denver had a good Supernatural population, the dating pool there was very scarce. ‘Supernaturals’ included all of the magic using species, such as mages, Astral and Earth Witches, demonologists and all the rest.

  Then you had the genetically Supernatural species, the trolls, Orcs, elves, and so on. Considering how many of us there were, my dating options should have been way off the charts.

  Well, that was until you considered the myriad of differences in physical form between many Supernaturals, that would make physical love limited with those in a homosapianish form.

  Then magical type also played a role. It still saddened me that such a mundane prejudice had become so deeply embedded in the Supernatural population, that an Astral Witch forming a romantic attachment with a lowly Earth Witch—who required blood and actual earth to release her magic—was all but forbidden. The list of who was socially, physically and magically compatible with me reduced my dating options to the realms of being utterly pathetic.

  Plus, since Scanlin had got me blacklisted, most Supernaturals wouldn’t even buy my charms or amulets, let alone consider dating me. And the ones who still wanted to date a blacklisted witch were bad news. Mundane serial killers were child’s play compared to Supernaturals who all loved to play with the dark forces. So, growing up as the daughter of one of the most notorious Astral Witches of the millennium made finding good dates either almost impossible, or far too easy. It was always one end of the spectrum or the other, no middle ground… Even worse, the ones who would date me had an agenda. It was always Mom’s daughter they were interested in, not me.

  This was all a part of the problem with being born to someone so high up in the Supernatural community; not only was I never allowed to mix with the ‘Mundanes’, as we called them, but I also was barely allowed to mix with Supernaturals either! And I’d never known any different, but at times, I still felt like one of those girls snatched off the streets by a weirdo when she was really young, then released thirty years later—to find everything was strange, and that the ‘real world’ didn’t make sense at all.

  As a teenager, I rebelled at dating anyone of whom my mom approved, kind of a pushback against the whole way in which I was forced to run my life just because of being a Supernatural. I felt constantly told what to do, feeling shadowed, pursued, observed, and to some degree, oppressed by being one of them, and by never being allowed to forget it.

  I was always sick of getting told to live this way, not that way, to do this and not that, and to be told how I ought to think and feel—about everything.

  I was permitted to go here and mix with him, but not her—and so it went on.

  And so here I was, an adult in her twenties by all accounts—but hell, I didn’t even know my own goddamned neighborhood because of all this! Being a Supernatural kept me sheltered from the homosapiens world, and from the normal things other normal women did all the time.

  Most of the time, all I craved was to be like any other girl, to be able to be me.

  So, sadly, a habit that had begun as a teenager continued into my late twenties.

  That was when I had begun to go out in disguise to meet men as myself, not as the daughter of Mom, not as anyone but who I chose to be.

  And I made sure my dates were with men who did not know who my mother was, men who had no chance of knowing it or of uncovering it either.

  “Watch where you're going!” I yelled at the ugly brown minivan that cut me off as I tried to turn onto Paxton St.

  “I taught you never to yell at other drivers, dear.”

  My mom’s voice was so sweet that her condescension was nauseating.

  “You’re right, Mom. You taught me to spell them into the ditch or somewhere worse.”

  This once, my mom's voice tugged a grin onto my face even if
it didn’t last long.

  “Well, anyway. Scanlin asked me out while I was in disguise, and I admit it flattered me,” I said to Mom. “A goodlooking Supernatural with a nice car, wearing expensive Croco Maltini suits and flashing around plenty of cash. What more could an Earth Witch ask for?”

  “A conscience matters? More than a second grade education?” Mom snorted.

  ∆∆∆

  Anyway, I’d subsequently accepted Scanlin's invitation to dinner, and found him charming and debonair, and he’d made me feel like the most beautiful witch ever born.

  That had been about six months back and this dashing gentleman’s veneer went on to last all of three hot dates, at the end of which he convinced me to let him move in with me because they were ‘refurbishing his penthouse apartment’.

  Yeah, as if…

  The fact that I’d met Scanlin through one of my exes should have told me right off that he was bad news. Still, those first couple of months were great, and I suspected nothing.

  Fancy dinners, schmoozing with the Supernatural and Mundane elites. Politicians, powerful men and women in Mundane circles and Supernatural ones. He was on the way up, and I honestly thought I was a part of that. I didn’t realize how deep in the Grimm family he was getting.

  “What were you thinking, dating a demonist? Really, a fucking demonist? My daughter, I am sure I shan't ever be able to show my face in public again!” My mom would make everything bad in my life into an attack on her. But of course, since she had been missing for many years and presumed dead for the last year, her showing her face anywhere was a moot point.

  How many dead people really worried about showing their faces?

  I stifled an urge to giggle.

  With an evil smirk that would do my mom proud, I turned on the radio and tuned out my mom’s voice. I sighed as the first tune played happened to be a love song...

  Supposedly, my beau was only practicing demonism for research, but I found out soon enough after I moved in with him that he was a practicing demonist, something different altogether.

  Then, all those missing pets from the neighborhood were all blamed on me because he wasn't on the lease, and people were beginning to see his weird ways.

  Damn Scanlin for getting me blacklisted!

  Oh, and did I forget to mention that after he lived with me for a few weeks, we were forced to move? Any demonist with half a brain would work far from where they lived, wouldn’t they?

  But then, no one ever accused Scanlin of having even half a brain.

  This whole fiasco meant I had to pay for the move, too, since he claimed all his money was all tied up in his penthouse real estate. But of course, he would make sure I got it back.

  Fighting a lump in my throat as another love song played on the radio—Stand by Your Man, of all the stupid things to choke me up—I pulled over and parked.

  Struggling with the latch, I finally managed to open my car door to get some air, once again making a mental note to get that latch fixed. I climbed out and stood up, stretching and breathing in the air of Bumville, Supernatural Suburb of Denver.

  The Mundane smog and fumes left a bad taste in my mouth, and I frowned at the oily feel to the air. Normally, the magic surrounding all the Supernaturals living in Bumville cleaned the air but the air quality, even in Bumville, was worse of late.

  I leaned up against my old LeBaron with the duck taped convertible topper and glanced at the storefront window across from me. ‘Briers Leprechaun Tattoos, Sure to Bring You Luck.’

  And there I was, staring at my reflection.

  Average height, dark brown shoulder length hair with just enough curl to not be manageable. Brown eyes with flakes of green floating around in them made my eyes the one and only memorable thing about me. My legs were too muscular for most men to fancy. No matter how many sit ups and hours I spent tanning, my middle stayed soft and pale. Looking away from my less than average breasts, I took out my old fashioned flip phone as thunder rumbled, threatening a downpour and making me hurry as I dialed my old landlord.

  “Hello, Martin Residence.” The voice on the line threatened to curdle my stomach.

  Be strong, Aeshline! You really need a place to live after Scanlin got your condo transferred into his name and kicked you out.

  “Mrs. Martin, this is Aeshline Cavanelli. I was hoping my old apartment might still be available.” Lords of Green Earth had let her rent me my old place.

  I held onto my breath, exhaling softly, as if not to make a noise. I swirled spit in my mouth then spat it on the cement covered earth. Might not do any good but hells, I was desperate.

  A long pause followed by the sound of a long inhale was all it took, and I swear I could not only see the plume of purple and pink smoke, but also smell it.

  Wait for it… yep, there it was, the long exhale while she made me wait. And wait some more.

  “Actually, I was about to run an advertisement for it. The last occupants moved out last week and left it in a mess. It will be a few weeks before it's cleaned and ready to rent. And the deposit and rent will be higher than when you moved out.” I could hear keys being moved and jangled around as she finished speaking. Then came the long inhale, and my eyes watered in sympathy for anyone near all that putrid smoke.

  “I was hoping to move in today. How much more deposit and rent?”

  Fucking Djinns! Even the ones with only a mediocre amount of talent would always take every advantage possible. They could smell desperation a mile away, and I sure was desperate.

  “Oh my. Well, you were paying $650.00 a month. What with you being on the blacklist and everything, I’m afraid you’ll now have to pay the blacklist waiver policy of $1000.00 a month. Considering all of that plus administrative fees, $2500.00 a month is the best I can do.

  “And even then, you’d have to wait until after I prepare the apartment before you could think about moving in.”

  The smug tone was far too knowing for my comfort. She was really hammering it home.

  Holy hells, she had to know. The damn Supernaturals in Denver gossiped like a bunch of old ladies! Even before Scanlin emptied my bank account, I could not have afforded that.

  Resisting the urge to smash my cell phone on the ground and live in my car, I took the bait. “Well, getting it prepared will not be cheap from what I heard, as it needs a complete redo. Probably take a few months before you could get any money from it.”

  She was not the only one who heard the gossip train.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I watched a horse and carriage go by, drawn by a centaur I didn't know. “I could do the preps myself and pay my old rent for the first month, then $750.00 a month.”

  ∆∆∆

  Later, standing in my old apartment doorway with an armful of my belongings, my smug feeling of success evaporated as I fought down a growing urge to lose my Pop-Tarts.

  Suddenly, a free month and after that, paying $2000 a month with the blacklist waiver fee still seemed as if a terrible deal. In fact, it was a stinking deal. But I took it in the end. I had no choice.

  Looking in at the small one bedroom apartment, I did not even recognize it. When I’d moved out, it had been a cute apartment, if still a little run down. My curtains, throw, rugs and cleaning had made it acceptable, if not the Ritz. Damn it, this had been my home! But I was back now, and would just have to make the best of things. I could pretty it up again. Slowly but surely.

  “I see you’re back. Figured you would be.” Mac was standing in his open doorway across the hallway, looking grimly in my direction. “Heard you're no longer with the demonist?”

  I knew he looked grim even without turning around.

  Dwarves could do grim better than almost anyone except gargoyles, and Mac could even give most gargoyles lessons in looking grim.

  He had stopped speaking to me as long as I was with Scanlin.

  “Who did she rent to? The Hells Angels?” I stumbled through the open doorway looking for somewhere to set my armful of spelling equi
pment. My old cauldron was my one and only heirloom. Balancing it was a challenge. A little dinged up and weighing in at sixty pounds, it was my inheritance from my great gran who had also been an Earth Witch.

  I felt my throat tightening as the smell of rotting food and urine washed over me.

  Everywhere I looked was trash and partially eaten food, and my pulse sped up as I panicked over how I would ever get the place livable.

  A few steps inside and I could see into the room that had once been the kitchen. Now, where the stove should be was full of greasy pizza boxes, and what looked like a pile of dirt. The fridge was missing the freezer door. I shook my head as I realized that was why my landlord insisted I sign off as taking responsibility for the appliances being in clean, operable condition and placed in the apartment as part of the new lease.

  I heard the floor groan as Mac stepped into my doorway. Dwarves may be short, but they weighed more than men twice their height. I looked around in growing desperation for somewhere safe to leave my cauldron full of spelling equipment.

  The trash everywhere, and roaches, were small potatoes beside the cost of replacing the appliances. The love seat was missing the cushions, and I could see fleas, silverfish and who knew what else crawling in the stuffing and rotting food. Was that a bedbug?

  Mac grunted from my doorway as he looked in the apartment. I could see he hadn't changed as he posed there, propping up my doorway. Chiseled cheeks, clean shaven while he was in exile. Brown hair tied back with a matching brown piece of cord. Broad shouldered and sharp eyes, the color of blue granite.

  “You can drop your stuff at my place until you get this shithole flushed out.”

  It relieved me to have one less thing to worry about. I nodded to Mac’s already retreating backside in thanks as I followed his short, broad frame back to his apartment. Still weighted down with my cauldron and spelling equipment, Mac carried himself like a dwarven prince, with his back straight, feet spread, and chin slightly lifted. Which made sense. He was a prince or would have been if he hadn’t slept with his stepmother when he was fifteen. In his defense, she too was only sixteen when it happened. In Underhill, they did things differently.