Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies

  Loves, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Allies

  The Lily Singer Adventures Book 3

  Lydia Sherrer

  Chenoweth Press

  To my fans, whose expectations of a sequel saved me from the

  “binge-watching Netflix” monster

  Contents

  I. Episode 5

  1. Thicker than Blood

  2. The Supreme Art of War

  3. Garden City

  4. Bachelorhood and Its Pitfalls

  Epilogue

  Interlude

  Red Hands

  II. Episode 6

  1. Big Girl Pants

  2. When All About You

  3. The Advantages of Being Crazy

  4. All the King's Men

  Epilogue

  Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus: Legends

  Afterword

  Also by Lydia Sherrer:

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Part I

  Episode 5

  The Economy of Force

  1

  Thicker than Blood

  What kind of music do cats like? Under normal circumstances, this would be a difficult question to answer—one which scientists and cat experts have, no doubt, puzzled over for decades. Lily Singer, on the other hand, didn’t have to puzzle. In fact, she didn’t even have to ask. She was informed, loudly and unequivocally, that cats prefer jazz, specifically ragtime. This was the obvious answer, she was told, because country was too whiny, rock too angry, pop too undignified, and classical too boring—though it was an acceptable substitute. The expert in question? Sir Edgar Allan Kipling, magical talking cat extraordinaire. What, exactly, made Sir Kipling an expert on cats’ taste in music Lily had no idea, but she’d learned it was best not to argue with one’s cat. At least, not if you disliked losing.

  So it was that she spent the first half hour of their drive shuffling through radio stations until she found one that met Sir Kipling’s exacting tastes. How he even knew about jazz, or ragtime for that matter, was a mystery to her. Up until several weeks ago, he’d been a normal cat. At least, as normal as a wizard’s cat could be. For Lily Singer was not just the archives manager of Agnes Scott—a private women’s college in Atlanta, Georgia—she was also a wizard. And being a wizard meant odd things often happened. In Sir Kipling’s case, a mysterious entity had gifted him with human intelligence and the ability to be understood by, but only by, his mistress. That same entity had helped Lily, her mentor Madam Barrington, and her witch friend Sebastian Blackwell stop the theft of a powerful magical artifact, with the side benefit of defeating a greater demon intent on eating them.

  Yet Sir Kipling hadn’t been the only one to come away changed. The entity’s otherworldly touch had made her ward bracelet—the wizard equivalent of body armor—more powerful than any magical artifact she’d ever seen. She’d been told the bracelet would protect her, and protect her it had. Not just against demons, but against her estranged father, John Faust LeFay.

  She’d spent years searching for him, allowing a rift to form between herself and her mother and stepfamily in the process. Yet in the end it was he who found her. She discovered, too late, why her mother had left him in the first place. A powerful wizard in his own right, her father showed his true face when he attempted to use her in a magical experiment that could have driven her insane—if it had worked. Rescued at the last minute by her friends, Lily was left devastated, wishing she could erase the knowledge of who her father really was: an egomaniacal sociopath. The truth may have freed her, but with that freedom came a burden of responsibility. It was, in fact, the reason for her current road trip with her musically opinionated cat.

  They were on their way to Bertha, Alabama, to see her family for the first time in seven years. This reconciliation or “strengthening of the ranks,” as her mentor called it, was the first step in preparing Lily and her allies to stop John Faust’s insane plan to repopulate the world with wizards so they could “benevolently” rule mundane society. Completely aside from her father’s questionable ethics—the ends justify the means, all is permissible for the greater good—she was quite sure any wizard interference in mundane affairs, or vice versa, would end in disaster and bloodshed. Even if John Faust’s desire to preserve the dwindling wizard race was a worthy cause, his methods and ultimate goal were untenable.

  Of course, stopping John Faust was easier said than done. Besides being exceptionally intelligent, highly skilled, and downright rich, he was also a respected member of the wizard community—well, respected by some, feared by others. Any attempt to recruit allies against him would be met with scoffing or outright hostility.

  Lily hadn’t known any of this herself, unfortunately. Her mother, Freda, had spent the past seven years colluding with Madam Barrington to keep Lily as far away from other wizards as possible, all in an attempt to keep her hidden from her father. Their attempt had backfired rather spectacularly, of course, but as angry as it had made Lily, she couldn’t blame them for trying to protect her. The dynamics of current wizard society were something her mentor had only recently explained, now that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. It made their prospects look pretty bleak, though when Lily made a comment to that effect, Madam Barrington had cryptically implied they weren’t as friendless as it might seem. But before they did anything else, she first insisted Lily go visit her family.

  It wasn’t that Lily didn’t love her stepfather and stepsiblings. She was just so…different. She didn’t fit into their country way of life. They were perfectly content to drive tractors, raise crops, and enjoy the simple but rigorous life of Alabama farmers. Lily, on the other hand, disliked working outside. Knowledge was her milk and honey, and all she’d ever wanted was to read, study, and be left alone. Growing up on a small peanut and cotton farm with four younger siblings to take care of didn’t afford much alone time. She’d been happy to leave and was apprehensive about returning.

  Even so, she missed her family more deeply than she cared to admit and was worried how they would react to her visit. What if they wouldn’t forgive her long absence? How was she going to explain about wizards and magic? Should she even try? What if they thought she was abnormal? What if they rejected who she’d become? These doubts, and more, were why she’d never come home. It was easier to keep her distance and bury her loneliness than to deal with the possibility of rejection.

  “You know,” came a silky meow to her right, “you really should stop worrying. It only makes you cranky.” Sir Kipling twitched his whiskers, not lifting his head from where he lay curled up in the passenger seat. He was quite the picture, his large, fluffy gray body taking up a good part of the seat while his white-tipped tail hung over the side, slowly flicking back and forth.

  “How in the world would you know if I’m worrying?” Lily asked, annoyed.

  “You smell different.”

  “I smell—” Lily stopped herself, and sighed. She should know by now not to try to fathom her cat’s maddening ability to know far more than he ought. He claimed it was all part of being a cat, which was hogwash, in her opinion. She was sure the entity who had given him human-like intelligence had given him far more than that, but so far Sir Kipling was playing dumb. So Lily simply grumbled about his “cat magic” and left it at that.

  Silence returned to the car. Lily had turned off the radio to give herself room to think—all right, worry—and she stared blankly at the road. The passing scenery, a mix of coniferous woodland and verdant peanut and cotton fields, offered no comfort. It was only a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Atlanta to Bertha, and they were approaching the end of the journey. As familiar landmarks became more frequent, her apprehension g
rew, exacerbated by Sir Kipling’s exaggerated sniffs and whisker twitches. Of course, such behavior didn’t make him appear quite as disapproving as he probably thought it did, owing to the white circle of fur around his right eye and the splashes of white on his nose. They made him look like a crotchety old gentleman with a monocle, twitching his mustache, an amusing picture if Lily could have looked at it instead of at the road ahead.

  In no time they were passing Eufaula. The sight of it recalled vivid memories of her and Sebastian’s “virtuous” break-in of the Shorter Mansion museum during their attempt to undo the Jackson family curse. And, of course, of Sebastian’s theatrical “escape” kiss. It had been suspiciously enthusiastic for being only a ploy to throw off the security guard. At the time she’d put it down to his generally over-the-top nature, but ever since he’d helped save her from her father’s clutches, she’d wondered. Of course, it wasn’t the kiss itself that made her blush now as they drove past the quiet Alabama city. It was the memory of how it had made her feel. Feelings she had promptly, and appropriately, quashed.

  “You should have asked him to come with us.” Sir Kipling commented, once again out of the blue.

  Lily pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and kept her eyes fixed on the road. Sometimes she wondered if her cat could read minds. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh please. Don’t insult me,” Sir Kipling meowed. “Your body temperature just shot through the roof and you’re blushing. You’re thinking about Sebastian.” It was not a question.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lily protested, attempting a casual tone. “I could be thinking about any manner of embarrassing things.” Self-conscious but trying to hide it, she reached up to tuck a wayward strand of her chestnut hair behind an ear. Most of it was caught up in the usual bun at the back of her head, but there were some strands that just refused to stay put.

  “I suppose you could be,” Sir Kipling admitted. “But you’re not, because you also smell—”

  “Alright, fine!” Lily interrupted, having no desire to know what she smelled like when she was thinking about Sebastian. “So I was thinking about him. But only because I’m relieved he’s not here. He would just make things worse. Imagine trying to keep him out of trouble and deal with my family at the same time. What a disaster.”

  “Mmm,” Sir Kipling murmured, obviously unconvinced. “Of course, his absence also conveniently lets you avoid confronting your feelings.”

  Lily looked away from the road long enough to glare at her cat. “Who elected you matchmaker? I’m dating Richard, for your information—”

  “You mean that lawman who suspects you’re lying about everything? At least Sebastian already knows you’re a wizard.”

  Sir Kipling’s comment earned him another glare as Lily’s insides squirmed. “Sebastian is an uncouth reprobate with entirely too many secrets of his own. In any case, he’s taken up with that witch, Tina. If you ask me, they deserve each other.” Lily knew her words were harsh, but Sir Kipling’s barb had stirred an uncharacteristic defensiveness in her.

  “I see. So, since when does one coffee translate into ‘dating’?” He asked, eyes still closed.

  “Well, there would have been more,” she pointed out, “but things got in the way.” Things like being kidnapped by her father, to be precise. She’d only just recovered from that fiasco when Agent Grant got back in touch, hoping to schedule another date. They’d settled on next Friday evening. Or at least she thought they had. She’d written it down on a slip of paper by the phone but hadn’t been able to find it the last time she’d looked. She would look again when they got home. That is, if she survived the weekend with her family.

  “If you say so,” her cat said, dropping the matter, much to Lily’s relief. Faced with the dubious task of navigating familial relationships, this was no time to face the complicated tangle of emotions that were her feelings for her troublemaking friend.

  The sudden ringing of her phone was startling in the heavy silence, and she almost dropped it in her rush to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey.” Her mother’s voice sent a comforting warmth through her tense shoulders, and she relaxed.

  “Hello, Mother,” Lily replied, lips lifting in an unconscious smile. Though her father’s schemes had done plenty of harm, they’d had one unexpected benefit: reconciliation with her mother. It had been such a relief to finally make things right. She still felt a tinge of resentment, but she knew her mother had only hidden the truth to protect, not hurt, her.

  “How far away are you?” Freda asked. After staying with Madam Barrington for a week and visiting Lily every evening, she’d left Atlanta the night before to prepare the house, and the family, for her daughter’s visit.

  Lily checked her map. “About thirty minutes or so.”

  “Good. Supper’s in the oven and Tom and the others can’t wait to see you.”

  At the mention of her stepfather’s name, Lily’s smile faltered. “Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

  “I love you honey. Bye-bye.”

  “I—love you too. Goodbye.” The words caught in Lily’s throat, but she forced them out anyway. Unlike her mother—who wasn’t shy about speaking her mind—Lily had never been good at showing affection. The words felt clunky and alien on her tongue. She was almost embarrassed to let them escape her lips.

  After recent events, however, she knew it was foolish to take anything for granted. She’d let resentment steal seven years from her relationship with the people she loved and wasn’t planning on giving it any more.

  If only she could figure out what to do with all those people now that she’d gotten them back.

  The dirt road leading to her childhood home was just as bumpy as she remembered. No doubt it had been leveled and repacked at least once since she’d left, yet the typical ridges and washouts had simply reformed. It was like driving over a washboard, and she hoped her aging Honda Civic could handle it. A mix of pine, maple, and oak trees lined one side of the drive, with a ripening field of peanuts on the other. All over, the reddish, sandy soil ubiquitous to the South peeked through sparse undergrowth, and a dust cloud of the stuff rose into the hot August evening, marking their bone-shaking progress. Her teeth rattled as they drove along, a fitting counterpoint to the jitter of butterflies in her stomach. Not even the sight of Sir Kipling’s alarmed expression as he gripped the seat with all eighteen claws could ease her nervous tension.

  When they finally rounded the last bend, a two-story farmhouse came into view, its long-ago whitewashed walls now chipped and fading. Yet despite its aged appearance, there were signs of repair, newer boards and paint contrasting sharply with the original construction. There was even a new room built onto one end of the house—probably an additional bedroom. Lily noticed the front porch steps had finally been replaced, much to her mother’s relief, she was sure. Broken-down cars and one aged, rusting tractor populated the yard, each surrounded by a ring of weeds and tall grass. Growing up, her stepfather had always talked about repairing them. He probably still did, for that matter. Their working farm equipment was tucked into sheds behind the house, alongside the chicken coop and various other outbuildings her family used in their peanut and cotton farming.

  As she pulled up to the house, parking beside her mother’s dented car and her stepfather’s dust-covered pickup truck, the yard erupted with life forms. The first to reach the car were the family dogs, two mutts that barked and leapt in excitement, their claws making scratching sounds against the car door. Lily had only a moment to register Sir Kipling’s reaction—back pressed to the seat and ears flattened against his skull—before her attention was pulled toward the crowd pouring out the front door. Her mother led the charge, with her stepsiblings close behind and her stepfather bringing up the rear. In typical southern fashion they swarmed her as she opened the car door, pulling her out and enveloping her in one hug after another, all exclaiming and talking over one another. Of he
r siblings there was Dru, the oldest and tallest, a more youthful version of his tanned and weathered father. Then came Sally, blonde hair bleached almost white by the sun that she loved to work in. Third was Becca, only a year younger than Sally but as different from her as night was from day, with dark brown hair and a fiery temperament to match her sister’s easygoing one. Last was little Jamie. Or at least, he’d been little when she’d left seven years ago. Now he was a lanky, chestnut-haired young man of fifteen. Of her four siblings, he was her only half sibling, the others being stepsiblings—offspring from her stepfather’s first marriage.

  Surrounded by chaos, smiles, and voices, it felt for a moment like she’d never left. Despite their differences, her stepfamily was still her family—the only one she’d ever known. Amid the rush of loud and crushing goodwill, she belatedly recalled the defining mark of their relationship: their good-natured disregard of her personal space. Ah, well, one couldn’t expect too much as an introvert in a family full of extroverts, and southerners to boot.

  Yet as they surrounded her, pelting her with one question after another, she could tell by their sideways glances that all was not as idyllic as it seemed on the surface. That was when she finally noticed Jamie had not joined the throng. Before she’d left for college, he’d been as rambunctious as any eight-year-old boy, always in the thick of things. But now he hung back, solemn face unreadable as he stared at her with grey-blue eyes. There was something odd about him, a sort of presence she couldn’t recall being there when he was a boy. She’d practically raised him, with Freda busy helping her stepfather on the farm. But he’d grown so much since then. He looked, and felt, like a completely different person.