A week went by with no developments in the murder case. Ken made it through the full moon without changing. Derrick got a date with the hot detective. My café went back to normal, but I got nowhere on the secret. I did get invited to Sunday brunch by Bran’s Aunt Trezel at the mansion. I took it as a good sign.
I wore a green sundress and brought a bottle of wine. The invitation said Ladies Brunch, so I didn’t expect to see Bran or the usual guy I knew in the family.
The butler showed me in, and I spotted Bran in the front sitting room. He came over.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
He kissed my cheek. “I’m not totally sure. Checking you out? Pulling you into her circle? It’s not a bad sign, I don’t think.”
“If this is your aunt, I’m terrified to meet your mother,” I said.
He smiled. “She’s actually nicer. Aunt Trezel is harder to impress. Parents know kids make mistakes, and they love us unconditionally, even in this sort of family. But Aunt Trezel just moved on if she found a place unpleasant or disagreed with people. She gets her way or she goes.”
“Not sure if that’s good or bad,” I said.
“It’ll be fine. Just enjoy,” he said.
I nodded and followed the butler to the fancy dining room. The table and chairs were ornately carved, and the dishes looked priceless. About a dozen women chatted as they sipped mimosas. Aunt Trezel noticed me.
“Claudia, don’t you look nice. It’s so kind of you to join us. I do a little brunch when I drop into town. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” I handed her the bottle.
“So nice. Everyone is here, now. Grab a drink and fill up a plate. Ladies, we’re eating,” she said.
I felt like the guest of honor or the subject of their study, since all eyes seemed to be on me. I filled my plate and went for coffee and OJ without alcohol to stay on my toes. I took an odd seat in the middle.
“Claudia is devoted to humans and helping them. Most of her magical family is gone, so naturally, she wants to protect the human ones. She and Bran met through Esme,” Aunt Trezel said.
“Bran always did have eccentric taste,” said another older woman. “Sorry, I’m Irene.”
“Would Esme normally be here?” I asked.
“She is always invited, but you can defend yourself. This isn’t a witch hunt.” Aunt Trezel laughed at her own joke.
The others laughed. I smiled and ate. If I was going to be criticized, might as well enjoy the food.
“You own a café?” asked another woman.
“This is our cousin, Yasmine,” Aunt Trezel added.
“Hi, yes. I own a café called the Witch’s Brew. I employ witches and vampires. We also make sure the vampires have blood options, so they don’t attack humans. And werewolves have monthly potions so they don’t shift.”
“Your parents were killed by a werewolf, we understand,” Irene said.
“They were. My mother believed there was good in everyone, so I think she was trying to help them. She may have let her guard down too much. My uncle came before the werewolf that attacked them made it to my room, thankfully,” I said.
“Indeed. A gypsy?” Yasmine asked.
“Yes, but left the traveler ways and raised his daughters outside. They’re in touch with the gypsy family and friends, but we weren’t forced to follow their traditional ways. The culture and history are fascinating, but I took Bran to a wedding where the brides were only seventeen. That’s old for gypsy brides. I couldn’t have handled that,” I said.
“No, you’d have five kids, by now, too,” Aunt Trezel said.
“Luckily, it’s not my culture. My father wasn’t a gypsy. But they are good allies to have in a fight,” I said.
“So maybe good friends. You trust the gypsies?” Irene asked.
“They’ve been hunting the killer vampires and weres for centuries. That’s something everyone needs. Witch or human, we’re all vulnerable to an attack,” I said.
“Your mother’s magic was far too strong. She wasn’t vulnerable,” said a mousy woman at the opposite end of the table from Aunt Trezel.
“Her magic was powerful, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone. My aunt is a full-blown hippie who wouldn’t hurt a fly. I would defend myself. But a werewolf bite happens in an instant, not like a vampire where it must drain you and force you to drink their blood. One nip from a werewolf and you’re taking a potion for the rest of your life. The gypsies do a great service, I think,” I said.
“Which is why we let them live and tell fortunes and all that. Whether they have real powers or not,” Irene said.
“You want to genocide gypsies? Hitler tried that,” I shot back.
“We’re stronger than one maniac who was good at public speaking. But, no, I don’t want to eliminate the gypsies. They serve a purpose. I’m trying to feel out your loyalties,” she replied.
“My family has my loyalty. They are a mix of humans and magicals. Isn’t that normal?” I asked.
“Nothing about your life was normal, dear. Most kids don’t lose both parents so young. I’ve tried to find out the truth. The secret people are keeping from you,” Aunt Trezel said.
“And?” I asked.
“It is well buried. I need to confirm the whispers. But I need to be sure you can handle it. In the magical world, there is more competition. More jostling for rank than in a happy little Wiccan coven,” she said.
“You invited all of those new witches?” Yasmine asked.
“I did. None wanted to join us. Do you know what really happened to Trela?” I asked.
“The newspaper said apparent suicide,” someone randomly spoke up.
“The police visited me. I don’t think they believe that. I don’t believe it.”
“Why bother yourself with those people? Non-magical witches or very low magic ones are beneath your concern,” said the mousy woman.
“No one is beneath my concern. Humans are people. My customers are people. They’re important to me. I hope the police catch who did it,” I said.
The murmur of doubt filled the room.
“What do you know?” I asked Aunt Trezel.
“The spell that was used to kill her was one of those stolen from you. It belonged to your mother,” Aunt Trezel said.
“It was made to look like a suicide. You’re saying it wasn’t carbon monoxide poisoning?” I asked.
“I’m sure there was enough of that in her lungs to be the human cause of death. But the witch who killed her wanted to make sure she was dead with a spell. Human ways aren’t always totally effective.”
“So, you know who stole my spells? The retrieval spell worked. Who is the murderer?” I asked.
“We could get rid of her. She’d deserve it. Death sentence by witches’ council,” Irene spoke up.
“I’m not asking you to do anything. I just want to know who stole from me. Who wanted to hurt Trela? Kill her, I mean.”
“We can’t tell you. There’s no proof other than who had your spells. Someone else may have stolen them and used them.” Yasmine shrugged.
“Do you trust Amelia or Brenda?” Irene asked.
“I don’t know them well enough to trust them,” I replied.
“But you invited them into your coven?” Aunt Trezel questioned.
“We don’t exclude people unless they are negative or disruptive. Brenda would’ve eventually been asked to leave. But she’s starting up her own coven, so no problem there. Amelia is a solo practitioner. No new members.” I waved it off.
“But you warned them about Trela’s death.” The mousy woman sounded accusatory.
“If there is someone out there targeting witches, we should all be aware. I told Bran everyone in his family was invited to the coven meeting.”
“We don’t need it. But thank you.” Aunt Trezel sipped her mimosa daintily.
“You think I’m helpless,” I said.
“No. You repress your powers. You contain them. We can feel your full potential, but you don’t unleash it. You worry about the police and proving things the human way. It’s beneath you,” Irene said.
“One of my customers was murdered by a bad spell. That murderer is in the dungeons here,” I said.
“Because of Bran. Because of us. Human laws or technologies would’ve let her go,” Aunt Trezel added.
“We appreciate the work you do for vampires and weres. It’s very charitable. Keeping us informed on the humans and how they see or feel about the paranormal is good. But your potential is so much more. You contain yourself so you don’t show up your coven or your family. Don’t sell yourself short,” Irene said.
“I never thought about it like that,” I admitted.
“You might think we’re harsh or overconfident, but you have to believe in your own powers totally. How else can you trust your powers when you need them? Now, that Brenda is smug without enough power behind it.” Aunt Trezel sighed.
“She invited you all to her new coven?” I asked.
The nods and snickers were all the answer I needed.
“She might get some low-level witches but not what she wants. She might have enough of a coven to hold a game of bridge,” Yasmine said.
I relaxed and let my fears go. I could learn a lot from these women.