Magic Word Read online

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright © 2022 A.S. Fenichel

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Penny Barber

  Proofreading by Oopsie Daisy Edits

  Cover by LoveTheCover.com

  Images from Depositphotos, Design Cuts

  First Electronic Book Publication September 2022

  First Print Book Publication September 2022

  Contents

  Magic Word

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Also by A.S. Fenichel

  About the Author

  Magic Word

  MINERVA

  While I prefer simple magics, and hide my more deadly skills, I can defend myself. My gift, shield magic, makes me impervious to dark magic, so my coven sent me to determine what evil lurks inside the Kent coven in the town of Maidstone. I’m to stay with a trusted nonmagical apothecary who has petitioned for entry to the Witches of Windsor. Jonah Allen lives outside of Maidstone. I’ll be safe at his home. I expect to find a bookish man bent over his concoctions, but instead, I find a hulking bear of a man who stimulates more than my intellect…

  * * *

  JONAH

  Though born to a powerful witch, I have no practical magic. Forced from my birth coven, I use my knowledge of medicines in nature as an apothecary, but living among ordinary people is a foreign, lonely existence. I’ve heard the Windsor coven is more open-minded about membership, and I have nothing to lose by requesting admission.

  * * *

  Windsor sends a powerful witch to stay with me while she investigates the local coven. One look at Minerva Honeywell shatters everything I thought I knew about witches. She’s kind and thoughtful, and I’m under her spell from the start. My future in her coven—and in her life—depend on us finding the source of dark magic and keeping it far from Windsor and the king.

  This book is dedicated to Dave. He is my forever.

  Acknowledgments

  It takes so many wonderful supporters and readers to write a book. Special thanks to Karla and Debbie for being the best friends any girl could want. Thank you to all the readers who loved Magic Touch and spurred me on to write more in this wonderful world of the Witches of Windsor. I am forever grateful.

  Chapter

  One

  MINERVA

  The countryside is not much different from what I left behind. The Surrey hills were lovely, and we stopped in a fine inn overnight. All new things for me, and I’m determined to enjoy it all. I’ll not let my reclusive nature keep me from what the world has to offer.

  As the coven carriage and borrowed driver take me and my snoring Aunt Bellamy across the countryside, I keep telling myself that traveling far from home is an adventure.

  My shield magic made me the sensible choice to investigate the evil lurking in Kent. That coven is likely doomed, but if there’s a chance of saving good witches, I must do my part. The great mother bade me go and stay with an apothecary who is not a witch. His good name will protect me, and my aunt agreed to serve as chaperone. Much of what I must do will be dark and dangerous, but I will find light where I can and joy when it’s offered.

  It’s late afternoon when we roll down a well-kept lane toward a sturdy stone house. The front door is open, as if in invitation. “This looks fine enough.”

  Aunt Bellamy blinks awake and looks out the window. “Oh! A fine prospect. Will the owner reflect the sturdy nature of the home, do you think, Minerva?”

  “Aunt, we are not looking for a man, but a place to rest our heads while we sort out what is happening in the local coven. I’m sure the apothecary has better things to do than worry over us.” I certainly hope so. It’s strange to invade a man’s home, especially a man we’ve not previously met.

  Trent, our driver, was a footman at my friends Esme and William’s home. He is well familiar with witches and was willing to take the job. Not used to the luxury of a driver, I open the door of the carriage myself before Trent can jump down to assist.

  “Oh, madam, wait.” Trent leaps from the seat and pulls down the step as if I might break an ankle getting out of a carriage.

  I laugh and take his offered arm. “Thank you, Trent. I shall endeavor to wait for you in the future.”

  Trent helps Aunt Bellamy down.

  She straightens her bonnet and clicks her tongue. “It’s a good sturdy home.”

  “Aunt, you might wish to remain here until I see if the gentleman is at home.”

  Ignoring me, she climbs the steps and makes herself at home in one of the chairs on the porch.

  “Shall I knock for you, madam?” Trent’s brown hair falls into his eyes, and he swipes it back. He is several years younger than me and has been very helpful on our journey.

  The sturdy wood door looks formidable, as do the heavy stones that make the house. The cozy arrangement of four chairs on the porch seems friendly enough. “I think I can manage it from here. You may wish to tend to the horse.”

  Trent nods before leading the horse and carriage toward a barn several hundred feet away.

  Pulling my shoulders back, I mount the three steps up to the porch. Certainly I can manage an old apothecary no matter what his demeanor. Besides, the great mother wouldn’t have sent us to Jonah Allen if he were not a man of good character.

  Poking my head inside, I knock on the open door. “Hello?”

  Inside, the scent of fresh, yeasty bread makes my stomach growl. Sun shines through the windows, lighting a comfortable sitting room and hearth, complete with overstuffed chairs and a woven rug.

  “You are welcome to step through.” A deep voice hinting at amusement comes from behind me.

  Pushing aside my surprise that anyone might sneak up on me, I plaster a smile on my face and turn.

  The man is not a stoop-shouldered wisp of a man like most apothecaries I’ve met. Perhaps this is not Mr. Allen. Perhaps I’m at the wrong house. My stomach and more intimate parts tighten at the sight of the hulking figure.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Hands stuffed into the pockets of workman trousers, he raises his eyebrows. His shirt is white, crisp, and clean, but he wears no cravat, leaving his throat and vee of his chest visible. Oak-brown hair hangs loose to his shoulders. “I heard your stomach. Perhaps you might like a slice of bread. I’ve baked this morning and have butter freshly churned.”

  “A man as sturdy as the house, and he bakes. Hmf,” says Aunt Bellamy.

  I force my mouth closed. There is no way I am to stay in the home of this man. “I must have the wrong house. I will find my driver and take my leave.”

  The man crosses his arms over his broad chest, and his arms bulge. “Are you Miss Minerva Honeywell?”

  “You cannot be Mr. Allen?” I blurt it out before I can think of a more polite way to ask him.

  Aunt Bellamy chortles, stands, and shuffles closer to us.

  His head cocks, a frown pulls at his full lips, and
his dark eyes narrow. “I can, and I am.”

  I surge off the porch. “Trent!”

  My heart is pounding so hard, I find it hard to draw breath. Rounding toward the building I assume is the barn, I’m nearly at a run before a hand wraps fully around my upper arm. I slap Mr. Allen’s hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  He holds up both hands in defeat. Still frowning, he makes his expression less menacing. “I can see you’re upset. If you’ll tell me what has put you off, I’ll try to accommodate you. The great mother wrote that you needed a place to stay and perhaps help with some troubling signs out of Maidstone. Is this not the case?”

  I step backward so I don’t have to look up to meet his regard. “I cannot stay in that house with you. It would be completely unacceptable.”

  His lips twitch. The nerve of him to find this amusing.

  “Trent!” I call again.

  My driver runs out of the barn. Wide-eyed, he gapes, waiting for instructions.

  Mr. Allen holds up a hand to stall Trent. Looking at me, Mr. Allen says, “I will stay in the rooms behind my still room. It is out of the house. It will be as if I’m your servant. You have brought a chaperone. No one will think anything of it. I’m a very solitary man. I have an apprentice who comes to learn, and goes to Maidstone to sell my curatives. Most of my neighbors keep their distance as they believe me a witch. It is rather ironic.”

  His sorrow tugs at my heart. “I need no servant. I’m not a lady.”

  “I will see to your safety and the safety of your companion as I have promised the great mother. I will help you, if you desire, with the Kent coven. You will decide if I might be admitted to the Windsor coven or if I have no use.” Mr. Allen shoves at his already rolled up sleeves.

  Judging another by the look of them is unfair. Oh, but why must he be so large and handsome? This would be a simple arrangement if my body didn’t respond as if I were a wanton when I look at him. I’m a grown woman and can control such things. After all, he’s not even a witch, nor is he likely to find any interest in me. He has a need to be accepted, that much is obvious. I have a need of help with my assignment. I draw a long breath. “I know the great mother believes you to be trustworthy. Perhaps we might sit and talk on the porch so that I might get a measure of your character.”

  “And I yours?” His scowl softens into a smile.

  “Indeed.” I wish I could put a glamour on him to make him less attractive.

  He spreads an arm to indicate a chair at the side of the porch.

  “Mr. Allen, this is my aunt, Bellamy Honeywell.” I’m pleased with the steadiness of my voice. It’s far more in control than I feel.

  He bows to Aunt Bellamy who has returned to her chair. “A pleasure to meet you, madam.”

  “You look like your house. A good sign, in my opinion,” Aunt Bellamy says.

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” His lips quirk for a moment before returning to a neutral expression.

  Once we sit, I study the lines around his mouth and the deep one between his eyebrows. Pointing to the chairs and low table, I ask. “Do you have gatherings here?”

  “Have you had a vision?” he asks.

  People are often annoying to me when they think everything must have magical undertones. “The chairs on your porch are arranged in an intimate setting. I see the remnants of pipe tobacco in that dish. Your fingers are not stained from smoking, nor are your teeth. It does not take magic to see that you had guests.”

  His smile brightens to show straight teeth and a sparkle in his eyes. “Very observant. Indeed, I recently had a few local gentlemen come here for brandy and talk of the world. I enjoyed the company and left the chairs arranged for conversation.”

  Must he be so pleasant? This would be far easier if he were the stooped old man I imagined.

  “I have two bedrooms in the house. One for you and one for your good aunt. I’ll not be swayed. You will sleep in the house.” His voice softens. “I may not have been born a gentleman, Miss Honeywell, but I still would be offended if you were to sleep in an outbuilding when a perfectly good house is available.” His pale-green aura glows brighter as he speaks.

  Unsure about him, yet intrigued, I push. “What will you waver on? Are you the kind of man who feels he can order a woman about?”

  A full, round laugh pours from him. “I was raised by a formidable witch. I know better than to believe women are to be bossed. However, you were put under my protection, so I will see to your comfort. This is a fine house. The still room is merely adequate.”

  “Why are you no longer a part of your mother’s coven?” It might be rude to ask such a personal question when we have just met, but I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying, and that will tell me much about him.

  His expression is fierce for a long moment before it softens. “I see you wish to gauge my character and do not mean offense. My mother is a high priestess in Sheffield. When I reached the age of twenty, and still no magic had revealed itself, she told me to leave. She was embarrassed by her failure to produce a useful witch. I took the skills I learned about herbs and elements and became an apprentice to an apothecary in Cambridge. From there I traveled south and found a place here when the position became available.”

  While he spoke as if he were detached from the information, everything he said was the truth. My heart aches for all he has lost and how far from home he must feel. Still, I have my own safety and duty to consider. “Why do you wish to join a coven, and what makes you think the Windsor coven has use of you? We have some very fine healers.”

  He shrugs his wide shoulders. “Perhaps you don’t.” Standing, he turns away and presses his hands to the porch railing. The weathered wood creaks under his weight. “I was raised in a coven and miss that type of community. I heard a man was allowed to become part of the Windsor coven and that his origins were unusual. Perhaps it was foolish, but I thought it worth asking if I might find a home among you.”

  Damn my tears and my soft nature. I hazard a glance at Aunt Bellamy.

  She dabs her eye and nods.

  Rising, I stand beside him. “I’m sorry for all you have suffered, Mr. Allen. I don’t know if I will give a favorable account to my high priestess, but I appreciate your honesty, and you may count on my assessment being fair.”

  He huffs a quick, humorless laugh. “And you know I’m being honest because that is your gift?”

  “Yes. I would know if you were lying. I can feel it as some people feel the change in weather coming.” I want to give him some honesty in return.

  “I assume if they sent you to sort out all of Kent, you have other gifts as well.” Still leaning, he tilts his head and studies me. His hair falls around his face.

  “I’m not without power. I shall leave it at that until we know each other better.” I step back, as the heat of him is disconcerting.

  “A wise notion even if I mean you no harm. We should be better acquainted before secrets are shared.” He stands to his full, imposing height and offers a devastating smile.

  My heart pounds. “I thank you for your hospitality and accept the offer of this house for a time.”

  With a loud clap of his enormous hands, he says, “Excellent. Shall I show you around and make some tea to go with the bread that made your stomach growl?”

  I can already tell that Jonah Allen is a hard man not to like, so I will like him and nothing more. In truth, I can’t decide if I should run for the hills at the first opportunity. I thought I’d find a bespectacled, stooped shell of a man, mired in his concoctions, not this Goliath. “Tea and bread would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Not only did Mr. Allen make tea, serve it, and cut me and Aunt Bellamy each a lovely piece of delicious bread, but once we were settled, he made a fine dinner.

  Before we sat down, he took food out to Trent in the barn. Mr. Allen is a thoughtful man, and I’d not met any until Sir William joined the coven.

  Sitting across the table with a bowl of chicken and vegetable stew, I can’t
help staring at this enigma of a man.

  He swallows a mouthful and meets my gaze. “Dare I ask what you are thinking, Miss Honeywell?”

  “I was thinking that this is a first for me, and likely it would be for most women.” I like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I force myself to avoid looking at his full lips.

  “You’re uncomfortable eating with me?” He puts his fork aside and watches me, as if every word I might say will be the most important he’s ever heard. Perhaps he is getting ready to take his bowl and go to his still room.

  “You are a man of honor. I was thinking that having a man cook for me is unusual.”

  Aunt Bellamy says, “Indeed, I near my one hundredth year, and it is a first for me as well.”

  There again, his smile lights his tawny eyes before it ever reaches his lips. “My mother wasn’t much of a cook. I learned for the sake of my own survival.”

  I scan the width of his shoulders and chest. “You don’t look as if you were starved.”

  Sorrow flits across his face and is gone a moment later. “I suppose she did her best for as long as she could.”