The cozy, magical TikTok sensation, now in trade paperback with exclusive bonus content! When a guest dies in the B&B she helps her aunts run, a young witch must rely on some good old-fashioned investigating to clear her aunt''s name in this magical and charming cozy mystery. For four hundred years, the Warren witches have used their magic to quietly help the citizens of the sleepy New England town of Evenfall thrive. There’s never been a problem they couldn’t handle. But then Constance Graves--a local known for being argumentative and demanding--dies while staying at the bed and breakfast Brynn Warren maintains with her aunts. At first, it seems like an accident…but it soon becomes clear that there’s something more sinister at work, and Aunt Nora is shaping up to be the prime suspect. There’s nothing Brynn wants more than to prove Nora’s innocence, and it hurts her to know that even two years ago that might have been easier. Brynn, after all, is a witch of the dead--a witch who can commune with ghosts. Ghosts never remember much about their deaths, but Constance might remember something about her life that would help crack the case. But Brynn hasn’t used her powers since her husband died, and isn’t even sure she still can. Brynn will just have to hope that her aunts’ magic and her own investigative skills will lead her to answers--and maybe back to the gift she once thought herself ready to give up forever.

Autorentext

Auralee Wallace is the author of multiple novels, including the Otter Lake mystery series. She has an undergraduate degree in psychology and a Master's degree in English literature, and she worked in the publishing industry for a number of years before teaching at the college level. She lives in Ottawa with her family.

Leseprobe

Chapter 1

I'm going to kill her."

The corner of my mouth twitched, but I kept my gaze on my book. I was very cozy curled up in the green velvet sofa by the fire. I did not want to encourage the tear my aunt was working herself up to.

"I never should have agreed to this," she went on, completely ignoring the fact that I was ignoring her. She was also ignoring the annoyed cat on the chaise lounge behind her, thumping his tail. He was trying to sleep. "You know I can't tolerate the vast majority of people for longer than a day or two-"

I would have said a couple of hours tops, but who was I to quibble?

"-but to let that woman stay for five days? Madness."

I reached for my mug of Honeybush orange tea. It was very soothing. I probably should have made a pot to share. And I don't know if I would call it madness. The woman in question was paying for her stay while her historic home was undergoing some much-needed renovations, and when you run a B&B you have to expect that on occasion you are going to have demanding guests. Although some guests really were more demanding than others.

Case in point, Constance Graves.

Constance had been staying with us at Ivywood Hollow the past week, and it hadn't taken long for us to discover it was not going to be an easy stay. Evenfall, Connecticut, was a small town, so we knew Constance could be demanding, but we really hadn't been concerned. After all, we had always been able to win over hard-to-please guests in the past-we were very good at what we did-but Constance turned out to be a special case.

To begin, she insisted there be no other guests staying at the B&B while she was there. It was a completely reasonable request given she was willing to pay for all the rooms, and it seemed like it would make our lives a whole lot easier. Less people, less work, right? Not so. Not. So.

Personally, I knew we were in for trouble when I showed her where she'd be staying. The Rosewater Room. It's gorgeous. Four-poster bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Silk upholstered divan that was perfect for reclining when life became too much. What Constance saw, however, was the white Egyptian cotton sheets peeking out from under the damask comforter on her bed. They were too white. She was afraid of the glare they might give off in the morning sun. When I changed them to a lovely taupe, she found the shade a bit too muddy. I was able to get away with a blush-colored set, but I'm pretty sure that was only because she couldn't think of an objection to throw at them quickly enough.

And it didn't end there.

The meals were always too hot. Or too cold. Too spicy. Or too bland. And all these complaints usually came before she had even lifted her fork, if she lifted it at all. Oh! And her room temperature. We could never get that right. Seventy-four degrees at Ivywood Hollow Bed-and-

Breakfast did not feel like the seventy-four degrees she was used to in her house. My absolute favorite, though, was when she told me she found the antique blue inlay of the fireplace to be a little garish. I asked her if she'd like to change rooms, given she was paying for them all, but she told me with a drawn-out sigh that she'd suffer through.

I couldn't help but feel for her though. She was obviously unhappy, and someone that unhappy deserved a little leeway.

"I could push her off the balconette."

Or not.

I smiled at my aunt Nora. She couldn't help herself. She was fiery by nature. Constance had just asked for the flower arrangement in her room to be replaced because the fresh-cut hydrangeas were a little much, and it was a miracle Nora hadn't finished her off then and there. Most people had the good sense not to trifle with my aunt and her plants.

Nora, along with her sister Izzy and I, ran the B&B togethe