Free Spells and Scones by Bailey Cates

started to blow a raspberry but stopped himself. “Sorry. Respect for the dead and all. But isn’t there usually some kind of magical aspect to these, er, situations you get caught up in?”
    Situations.
That was one way to put it.
    â€œI don’t think Dr. Dana had any connection to the Craft,” I fudged, not quite able to bring myself to talk about Angie’s link to Mungo. “But you never know.”
    â€œYet you’re still involved.”
    â€œWho said I’m involved?”
    He looked skyward. “Oh, let’s see. You were there when someone was killed . . .”
    â€œDeck—”
    â€œ. . . again. And given how that’s worked out in the past, I’m pretty sure you’ll be up to your neck in suspects and magic in no time.”
    I put down my fork. “Hey, I know you don’t like it when I get involved with this kind of thing, but I can’t help it if I’m a lightwitch. Just like you can’t help, well, you know.”
    His look sharpened.
    My jaw set. If he was going to be like that . . . “Connell. You can’t help the spirit of your leprechaun great-great-whatever-uncle from borrowing your body every once in a while.” So there. And Lord knew, it was disconcerting when it happened.
    He sat back and crossed his arms. “For the record, when is the last time that happened?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s been a while,” I admitted.
    â€œIt’s been months, and you know it. I told you after the last time it happened that I confronted him. I explained how much the prospect of waking up next to him instead of me upset you, and he agreed to keep to himself.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Didn’t you believe me?”
    â€œIt’s not that . . .” I trailed off.
    â€œWhat, then? Connell might be a strange character, but he gets it. He likes you. A lot.”
    That was what I was afraid of . . .
    â€œDoes he still watch over you, though?” I asked.
    A rueful look descended on Declan’s features. “No way he’ll stop that. But it’s kind of nice, you know. To have met your guardian angel, in a way.”
    I was quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry. It was nice of you to do that for me.”
    â€œI did it for me, too. The point is, I know the lightwitch thing is part of who you are. An important part.”
    Shaking my head, I said, “Not necessarily. One of the lessons I’ve learned about being a lightwitch is that I have a choice.” I smiled. “Maybe I’ll just choose not to jump into the middle of things this time.”
    Mungo bounded to his feet and glared at me.
    Declan followed my gaze. “What was the deal with him tonight? He seemed to have some kind of problem with that woman. The one who found the psychologist.” His eyes widened. “The one who Margie accused of killing her. He’s a smart pup. Do you think he knew what she planned ahead of time?”
    I bit my lip. Could that be true? But my Mungo,
my
familiar, would have alerted me if he’d known a murder was about to take place. Then again, how would he know, even if Angie used to belong to him? He was, as Declan said, “a clever pup,” and I sometimes joked that he was a mind reader, but he couldn’t actually . . . could he?
    I looked over and saw him blink at me from the shadows.
    â€œEarth calling Katie,” Declan said.
    I rubbed my hand over my face and met his eye. “Angie Kissel was Mungo’s former owner.”
    My boyfriend looked nonplussed. “Oh. Well, I didn’t expect that. Is that the weird news you mentioned at the bookstore tonight?”
    Bless his heart. Declan might occasionally channel his not-quite-dead ancestor, but he didn’t practice magic and didn’t have a familiar. So he didn’t make the connection.
    â€œHe was her familiar,” I said.