Legends and luck, p.1
Legends and Luck, page 1
LEGENDS AND LUCK
A SPELLBOUND BOOKSHOP PARANORMAL COZY MYSTERY
BOOK 5
J. A. WHITING
Copyright 2024 J.A. Whiting and Whitemark Publishing
Cover copyright 2024 Signifer Book Design
Formatting by Signifer Book Design
Proofreading by Donna Rich (donnarich@me.com) and Riann Kohrs (www.riannkohrs.com)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
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
Thank you for reading!
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1
The crisp October air carried the scent of fallen leaves and salt water as Shelby Price and her cat Harper stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the Spellbound Bookshop. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar smells of autumn in Hamlet. The quaint New England town was just waking up, the sun peeking over the horizon.
Shelby and Harper admired the festive window display she had created for the upcoming Luck of the Sea festival. Colorful fishing nets draped artfully over stacks of nautical-themed books, interspersed with seashells, driftwood, and tiny model ships. A large poster announced the festival dates and promised fun for the whole family.
“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Shelby murmured to her cat, her fingers subconsciously reaching for the rose quartz pendant around her neck. The smooth stone was cool against her skin, a comforting gift from her mother and grandmother. She often found herself reaching for it when she needed a boost of confidence or calm.
“It looks really great,” Harper said. The cat didn’t communicate using audible words; she spoke directly to Shelby’s mind.
After a few minutes of looking at the display, the young shop owner and the cat went back inside. Shelby busied herself with her usual morning routine; plumping the cushions on the overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace, straightening the already neat rows of books on the shelves, and starting a pot of coffee. The rich aroma soon filled the air, mingling with the scent of the books and the vanilla candles she liked to burn.
Harper, a majestic long-haired gray, white, and black part Maine Coon, watched from her perch on the counter. Her fluffy tail swished back and forth as she observed Shelby's movements with keen interest.
“What do you think, Harper? Ready for the festival madness?” Shelby asked, reaching out to scratch behind the cat’s ears.
Since her fall from a ladder months ago, she'd been able to hear Harper's thoughts, a secret she shared with only a select few. It had been an incredible shock at first, but now it felt as natural as breathing.
“Be cautious, Shelby. The tides are turning,” Harper's voice echoed in her mind, and her green eyes fixed on the young woman’s face.
Narrowing her eyes, Shelby was about to ask for clarification when the shop door opened with a cheerful jingle. Her best friend Lucy Blake breezed in, the scent of fresh pastries following her like a sweet cloud. Lucy's chin-length blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, and her blue eyes sparkled with their usual energy.
“Morning, Shelby. Here’s a morning pick-me-up,” Lucy said, placing a takeout cup on the counter.
Shelby took a sip from the cup. “Thanks, Lucy. You're a lifesaver. How's everything at the inn?”
Lucy, a pastry chef, leaned against the counter, absently petting Harper. “Busy, busy, busy. I've been baking non-stop for days. I swear, if I see another pumpkin pie, I might scream.” She sipped from her own cup. “Ross says hi, by the way, and he wants me to tell you the B&B is swamped with bookings for the upcoming festival.”
She lowered her voice and glanced around. “Are you getting any ... you know, weird vibes about the festival?”
Shelby appreciated that Lucy knew about her paranormal skills and ability to communicate with Harper. It made things so much easier not having to hide or explain.
“Actually,” Shelby began, but she was interrupted by a sudden chill in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a shimmering form near the folklore section of the shop. Emily Harris, the shop's resident ghost, hovered there, her translucent form barely visible in the morning light. The spirit seemed agitated, repeatedly gesturing toward a leather-bound book on the table, Whispers of the Past: Hamlet's Forgotten Tales.
Shelby made a mental note to investigate later as the door opened again. This time, it was Fiona Medley from the Crow's Crossing boutique. Fiona swept in, her long skirts swishing around her ankles and her silver bangles jingling softly. In her sixties, her gray curls were piled on top of her head in an artful mess, and her eyes twinkled with positive energy.
“Shelby,” Fiona said, her voice warm and slightly husky. “I had a feeling I should stop by. How are your intuitions lately?” She emphasized the word “intuitions” with a meaningful look.
Before Shelby could respond, Patrice Nelson emerged from the back room, her arms full of new inventory. Patrice's short silver-gray hair was neatly styled, and her blue eyes sparkled behind her fashionable glasses. “Oh, hello everyone! Shelby, I've finished cataloging those old journals and books James Peacock donated. There’s some fascinating stuff about Hamlet's maritime history.”
Shelby smiled at the former history teacher. “Thanks, Patrice. I can't wait to take a look. Maybe we can use some of that information for the festival display.”
As they all fell into conversation about the upcoming festival, a sense of unease zipped over Shelby’s arms. Between Harper's warning, Emily the ghost’s strange behavior, and her own buzzing intuition, she suspected this year's Luck of the Sea Festival might bring more than just tourists to Hamlet.
“So,” Lucy said, breaking into Shelby’s thoughts, “what's the plan for the festival? Are you doing any special events at the shop?”
Shelby was grateful for the distraction from her sense of anxiety. “I'm hosting a Local Legends reading night next week, and maybe a tour around town. Mayor Thompson asked if I'd loan some books for the festival's history exhibit.”
“Ooh, spooky stories by candlelight?” Lucy's eyes lit up. “Count me in.”
Fiona chuckled. “Just be careful which stories you choose to read aloud, dear. Some of our local legends have more truth to them than you might think.”
Patrice agreed. “Indeed. I've been reading through those journals, and some of the accounts are quite unsettling.”
Shelby was curious about what Patrice was getting at. “What do you mean?”
The older woman glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, before moving closer. “Well, there's one account from the 1800s about a series of strange occurrences during the festival here in Hamlet. Boats mysteriously untied themselves, fishermen's nets came up empty day after day, and there were sightings of... something in the water.”
Lucy shivered dramatically. “Creepy! What kind of something?”
Patrice shrugged. “The journal wasn't specific. It just referred to it as a 'dark shape' that seemed to follow the boats.”
Fiona's eyes gleamed with interest. “Ah, that would be the legend of Old Tom, the sea monster of Hamlet Bay. It’s said to appear every hundred years or so.”
Shelby felt a chill run down her back. “Every hundred years? When was the last sighting?”
Fiona and Patrice gave each other a quick look. “If the legends are to be believed,” Patrice said slowly, “it was about a hundred years ago … so we could expect a sighting just about ... now.”
Silence fell over the group, broken only by Harper's quiet purr.
Lucy was the first to shake off the feeling of dread with a nervous laugh. “Come on, guys. Sea monsters? Really? It's just a story to scare the tourists, right?”
Shelby wished she could share Lucy's skepticism, but after everything she'd experienced in the past few months, she wasn't so sure. She glanced at Harper, who was watching the conversation with unnervingly intelligent eyes.
“The sea holds many secrets,” Harper's voice whispered in her mind, “and not all of them sleep peacefully.”
Before Shelby could ponder that cryptic message, the shop door opened again. This time, it was Rachel, Shelby's part-time employee, rushing in with her usual whirlwind of en
“Sorry I'm late,” Rachel said, her cheeks flushed and her curls escaping from her hasty ponytail. “The line at Bread and Roses was crazy this morning.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And I'm sure it had nothing to do with a certain cute barista named Chad, right?”
Rachel's blush deepened, but she didn't deny it. “He said he might stop by later. You know, to pick up a book.”
Shelby hid a smile. She'd known for a while that Rachel's constant trips to the bakery next door had more to do with chatting with Chad than a desire for muffins or scones.
As Rachel settled in behind the counter, the conversation turned back to festival preparations. Shelby was only half-listening, her mind preoccupied with the strange warnings and legends she'd heard about that morning.
She glanced at the folklore section where Emily had been hovering earlier. The ghost was gone now, but Shelby could still feel a lingering chill in the air. Her eyes fell on the leather-bound book Emily had been so insistent about.
Making a decision, Shelby walked over and pulled the book from the shelf. It was heavier than expected, and the leather cover was smooth and cool under her fingers. She opened it carefully, the spine creaking slightly.
As she flipped through the pages, a loose sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Shelby bent to pick it up, her eyes widening as she realized it was a hand-drawn map of Hamlet's coastline, but there was something odd about it - markings and symbols she didn't recognize, and a section of the coast that didn't match any current maps she knew.
“What's that?” Lucy asked, peering over Shelby's shoulder.
“I'm not sure,” Shelby replied slowly. “It seems to be a map of the coast, but it isn’t drawn correctly.”
Harper let out a low, warning growl.
Shelby looked up, meeting the concerned gazes of her friends. She had a feeling this was the beginning of something - something she would be drawn into.
“I think,” she said to Lucy as she placed the book back on the shelf, “we might need to do some research before the festival starts. It seems there could be more going on here than just tourist season.”
Little did she know, as she looked around her beloved bookshop surrounded by friends, that by this time tomorrow, her world would be turned upside down, and the line between folklore and reality would blur in ways she never imagined.
The Luck of the Sea festival was coming, and with it, secrets long buried in Hamlet's history were about to surface. Shelby only hoped she was ready for whatever the tide might wash up.
2
The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when Shelby and Harper hurried down the staircase from their apartment into the Spellbound Bookshop. The events of the previous day weighed on her, particularly when Emily the ghost had pointed insistently at the old leather-bound book on one of the shelves. With her rose quartz pendant resting gently against the hollow of her neck, Shelby fumbled with her keys and finally got the door open.
As soon as she stepped inside, Harper let out a soft meow. The part Maine Coon cat's fluffy tail swished back and forth as she watched Shelby make a beeline for the folklore section.
“I want to look over that book Mr. Peacock recently donated to the store.” Shelby’s eyes scanned the table holding the historical volumes.
The old book was not meant to be sold but used by customers who wanted to read it in the shop. After a few months, Shelby was to donate it to the library or historical museum.
As she ran her finger along some of the old books, a knot of dread began to form in her stomach. The spot where Whispers of the Past: Hamlet's Forgotten Tales should have been was empty.
“Where is it?” Shelby muttered, squatting to check the lower shelves. “It has to be here somewhere.”
She began pulling books out frantically, stacking them on the floor as she searched. A few dust specks danced in the early morning light that streamed through the windows and made Shelby sneeze.
“Shelby,” Harper's voice echoed in her mind, “I don't think you'll find it that way.”
Shelby whirled around to face her feline companion, who was now perched regally on a nearby armchair. “What do you mean? Do you know where it is?”
Harper's whiskers twitched. “Not exactly, but I can sense something's not right. The book didn't simply walk away on its own. Maybe somebody took it.”
Before Shelby could respond, a chill swept through the shop, and Shelby's breath caught in her throat as Emily's ghost materialized near the empty space on the shelf. The spirit's translucent form flickered like a candle flame, her expression one of clear distress.
“Emily,” Shelby said softly, trying to keep her voice calm, “can you tell me what happened to the book?”
The ghost made no sound, but her hands started to gesture. Shelby felt a pang of frustration at her inability to understand.
“She's trying to warn us,” Harper's voice came again. “The book is important, more important than we realized, and now it might be in the wrong hands.”
Shelby's eyes widened. “Is she talking to you?”
Harper's tail twitched. “Not exactly, but I can sense her intentions and what she wants to say to me. Emily is still reluctant to communicate directly with you. She's afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Shelby asked, but Emily's form was already fading away, leaving behind only a lingering chill.
The opening of the shop’s door made Shelby jump. She turned to see Lucy entering with two takeout cups in hand. Lucy's hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she wore a flour-smudged apron over her clothes.
“Morning. I brought some caffeine,” Lucy said cheerily, but her smile faded as she took in Shelby's pale face and the mess of books on the floor. “What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
Shelby couldn't help but let out a shaky laugh. “Well, actually...”
Over steaming cups of coffee, Shelby filled Lucy in on the missing book and Emily's cryptic warning. Lucy listened with wide eyes, absently stroking Harper's fur.
“So, let me get this straight,” Lucy said, setting her cup down. “A ghost pointed at a book yesterday, and now it's missing? And Harper communicated with the ghost.”
Shelby knew how crazy it all sounded. “I know it's hard to believe, but—”
Lucy held up a hand. “Shelby, after everything we've been through, I'd believe you if you told me the books were dancing the macarena in here at night. But this... this seems concerning, and potentially dangerous.”
“What do you think I should do?” Shelby asked, grateful for her friend's help.
Lucy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, first things first, we need to figure out if anyone else knows about this book. Maybe it's just misplaced, or maybe someone borrowed it without telling you.”
As if on cue, in walked James Peacock. The former attorney's eyes lit up as he spotted Shelby, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile. He was dressed in his usual tweed jacket, and a colorful bowtie added a touch of whimsy to his outfit.
“Ah, just the person I wanted to see,” he said, his voice warm and jovial. “I was hoping to take another look at one of the books I donated. There’s some fascinating stuff in there about Hamlet's history.”
Shelby's heart sank. “Um, about that book, Mr. Peacock...”
James's bushy eyebrows pinched together as Shelby explained the situation.
“Missing, you say? That's quite troubling. That book contains some rather important information about Hamlet's past.”
“Important information?” Shelby asked, her eyes focused on the man.
James lowered his voice, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard. “Well, it's mostly local legends and folklore, but there are some accounts that ... let's just say they paint certain founding families in a less than flattering light. And there's a whole chapter on the curse that Captain Maynard Lock placed on the town.”
Lucy perked up. “A curse? Like, a real curse?”
James chuckled. “That depends on what you believe, but according to the legend, Captain Lock cursed the town after being wrongly accused of smuggling. The curse is said to bring misfortune every hundred years.”
