Magical Mayhem, page 1
MAGICAL MAYHEM
NIRANJAN
First published by Geetha Krishnan 2022
Copyright © 2022 by Niranjan K
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Niranjan K (Geetha Krishnan) asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
Editing by Fair Editions
Cover Design by SP Designs
Formatted by Fair Editions
I have mentioned some amazing books by some great authors in this book. Some of those books are still being queried, and some are in various stages of writing and publication.
Running Bet Trilogy by Nico C Grey
The Barlow Curse by O.R. Faulkner
Child of Prophecy Series by Audrey Simmons
Necromancer by Steph
Dragons and Discord by Nola
DEDICATION
To Nola with the pink hair
Happy Birthday
You’re always an inspiration
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
EPILOGUE
MAGICAL MAYHEM
One
T
he house was large, but quite unimpressive at first sight. It was too dilapidated, and the portico flanked by stone pillars looked like it was ready to fall on the head of whoever crossed it the next time. Overgrown with moss and lichens, it was hard to see what colour the columns once might have been. The paving stones were cracked with grass having found purchase everywhere.
Nola made a face as she approached it. She couldn’t feel anything. Haunted buildings had an unmistakeable feel, and this didn’t have it. Pausing before the stone steps that led to the rotting front door, she dug out her phone and called Ric.
“Dewberry agencies,” Ric spoke, cheerful as ever, and she couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face.
“Are you sure about Harkridge?” she asked, maintaining the professional distance that she needed. “Nothing feels off here.”
“Did you go inside?”
Nola huffed. “Not yet.”
“You know the policy, Nola. We investigate.”
“Fine,” she muttered, wishing for the umpteenth time that her powers were anything but what they were. Detecting the presence of the supernatural, communicating with them, persuading, and at times forcing them, to cross over all sounded good on paper, but was much more difficult in real life. It made her chosen career easy, but most days Nola wasn’t sure if she chose the career or if it chose her.
The steps were broken with grass and vines creeping out of cracks. The pillars in front were overgrown with creepers, and darkened with dust and grime. The front doors might have been handsome once, but the wood was rotting away, and the carvings that might once have decorated them sanded away by time till only some contusions were all she could see. The chains that were wound around the handles had rust freckling them. The padlock looked new.
If this place falls apart when I’m inside, I’m going to haunt Ric forever.
She shook off thoughts of Ric, even if they were justified. Dating the boss was always a bad idea, but did it count if it happened only once? She definitely wanted more, and Ric had said he did too. Neither of them wanted it to affect their work, but she couldn’t deny her feelings for him.
I should focus.
Which was more sensible than dwelling on their only date even if it happened only two days ago. Huffing in annoyance, she took the key from her pocket, and inserted it into the padlock. The rusted chains protested her attempts to remove them from the even more rusted door handles, and Nola could only be glad for her utilitarian gloves as she finally pushed open the door and stared ruefully at all the grime on them.
The inside matched the outside, with a large empty hall greeting her like the maw of a beast. There was a staircase on her right, and a doorway opposite it. As she moved further into the house, she could see that two doors sat opposite each other beyond the staircase and another was facing her. All the doors were hanging from their hinges, the wood almost completely rotted away. There was a space in the wall on her right where there must once have been a built-in shelf. The marble floors were caked over with dirt, more grass and unfamiliar plants growing from the cracks, and the same was true of the stairs as well.
She hesitated. She could still feel nothing. If there was anything remotely supernatural here, she would have known. Her magic didn’t really need her to be inside the house.
We investigate.
The padlock was new, but the chains had not been removed from the handle anytime recently. Was there a backdoor through which some kids could have snuck in? She went towards the door facing her. It was two half doors, and both were unlatched and one fell on to the room beyond at her touch, the sound of the crash echoing all around.
“Fuck!”
Her exclamation was just as loud in the empty house, echoing from the grimy walls. She stepped in to the room gingerly. There was a small room to her right, and a larger room beyond, again on the right. There was a ledge running all the way hugging the left and far walls. Behind her was again where a built-in shelf must once have been, with broken ledges and rusted metal frames. She entered the large room, and again there was an alcove to her left and another door. To her left was another wall shelf space, and in front of her was another ledge. She went through the door and found the backdoor. It was rotted away, but there was a steel door built beyond, and she pushed it, but it would not budge.
No one could have entered that way. She examined each room, finding no entry points anywhere. The windows were large, but all had iron bars, and though they were rusted, none gave any indication that someone had pried them apart to gain egress.
Who would want to get in here anyway? Pranksters might, but why go to all this trouble? She went back to the main hall and looked at the staircase. The balustrade was wooden, with rusted iron railings. The staircase itself was marble that was chipped and cracked and, like the rest of the house, had plants and grass growing out of the cracks. It looked thoroughly unsafe, but there was nowhere else to investigate.
She made her way up gingerly, not touching the railing, but staying closer to the walls. Her steps were muffled by all the accumulated grit. On the first landing a door faced her, which she pushed open and found nothing. The windows here also showed no signs of tampering. She went up the stairs again till she reached the top. On her right was a wall with two doors. On her left was the railing, from where she could see the hall below. The first door opened on to a room with windows which had no bars and no panes. The dust on the sill as well as the floor was undisturbed, however. The next room also had no signs of forced entry. She moved along the corridor—if it could be called that—to find another door on the right leading to yet another room.
How many rooms does this place have?
Opposite that was yet another room. She rolled her eyes as she moved farther and to another door which led outside on to an open terrace. There was a flight of stairs here, leading to yet another larger open terrace. Nola was exasperated. This was a bust. Either their client who claimed to see whatever it was they thought they saw was drunk or hallucinating. There was nothing supernatural here, and likely not even something natural.
Making her way downstairs, she paused once again in the hall, noticing only then that the dust lay pristine, undisturbed. Her footprints were not to be seen anywhere. She looked down at her boots, caked with dirt and grime, and her gloves too, but the house showed no signs that anyone had trudged through its cavernous depths.
This can’t be natural.
Yet, there was no supernatural explanation either. Her gift had never failed her. Magic had no exceptions. Nola frowned, but took her phone and snapped a picture of the floor and the stairway. She walked to the front door which remained open, and went outside, stopping as she stared at the sight that greeted her. She pinched herself, and winced at the pain.
How can this be real?
Heart hammering, she went down the cracked stone steps, not bothering to close the doors, and looked around, tamping down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Snow covered the ground, crunching underneath her boots as she walked, the trees all bare of leaves. Less than an hour ago, she had
Nola ran a hand through her hair, disarranging the pink curls from the tight braid. She grimaced, remembering too late all the grime on her hands. She had seen a lot of weird things in her life, but this was a first. At least it wasn’t trying to kill her. It was just snow in the middle of summer when there had been none an hour ago, snow which was also not leaving any footprints.
She took a few more pictures, sending them to Ric with the message: Lots of weird shit. Don’t think it is my area of expertise though.
The reply came the next moment: Leave immediately. Drive safely. I’ll tell the client.
Nola frowned. Something was definitely wrong here, though she couldn’t figure out what. The investigator inside her was awake and wanted to find out more. Still, if this wasn’t related to the supernatural, she’d be wasting her own time and the firm’s. Besides, she had got her orders, and Ric was the one paying her. She sighed hurried to where her car was parked by the side of the main road.
Two
F
iona was bored. There was nothing on TV, and the library was out of bounds due to the ghost haunting it. She still hadn’t recovered fully from her cold, and was not yet allowed to leave her room. Not that there was anything to do outside. She stared morosely at the snow that carpeted the grounds. She hated winter, and everything associated with it. Everyone was so eager to celebrate the solstice, but to her it was a reminder of the day she had lost her Chosen.
A knock on her door. She turned to it, rather listless and said, “It’s open.”
Greg entered the room, seeming to fill it with his burly frame and wide smile which brightened the room even through all the facial hair. “Just thought I’d check how our invalid is doing,” he said, advancing into the room.
Fiona scowled at him. His cheer was always infectious, but she was in the mood to mope around today. She didn’t want to feel better, or at least not mentally.
“Go away,” she muttered. “You will catch my cold.” He wouldn’t, but she just wanted him gone so she could wallow in self-pity and despair.
“When have I ever?” he asked. “I assume you are still feeling poorly. Shall I ask cook to send you some broth?”
“I already had food,” she mumbled, as she sat down on the bed, and looked at her hands, clasped tight on her lap.
The bed dipped as Greg sat down next to her and placed his large hands over hers. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he said gently.
Guilt reared its head, reprimanding her. Beck had been Greg’s sister and Fiona knew how close the two were. She wasn’t the only one grieving here, and yet she had always been concerned only about her own grief.
“Sometimes I wish she had become a ghost,” she said, her voice low. “I miss her so much.”
It was a terrible thing to wish for, from everything she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Greg said nothing, just squeezed her hand softly. She placed her head on his shoulder, wanting the comfort of his physical proximity. Greg’s magic wouldn’t allow him to catch any illness in any case. If only Beck had the same magic. Hers was healing, but not for herself.
“It’s so unfair,” she whispered again. “She died because her magic healed all those others.”
Again, a terrible thing to say. Beck had saved the life of six people, even though she didn’t have to. Yet, Fiona wished she hadn’t done it. If she hadn’t, she would have been with them now. Six other families would have been grieving instead. Yet, how was it Beck’s responsibility? Just because she had the gift to heal didn’t mean she had to. She had drained herself so much that even her body hadn’t remained. Fiona and Greg had hoped for a long time that she was alive, despite all the evidence to the contrary including the footage from the car AI that showed Beck simply vanishing five minutes after the accident when she collapsed.
Greg put an arm around her shoulders and held her. “I sometimes wish it were me there instead.” His voice was low, but raw with pain. “I would have healed.” He paused. “But then I think of all the others who lived because it was Beck there . . . Ashton, Lindsay, Bernie. Laura . . . little Melody, and Wren . . . and I think, she would have been happy if she could know how many people she had saved.”
Fiona sniffled. Even as her mind acknowledged the truth of Greg’s words, her heart fought. It didn’t care how many others lived. It cared only that Beck was gone.
I’m an utterly selfish person.
“No, you’re not,” Greg said, making her realise she had spoken her thought aloud. “You’re grieving, and in pain.”
“It’s been almost a year,” she whispered. Several of her relatives and acquaintances had implied—and some had outright told her—that it was time she moved on, stopped mourning.
“It can be a hundred and won’t make any difference,” Greg said. “We both know that. Neither grief nor healing has a timeline.”
He gave her a hug before letting her go and getting up. “I’ve to go. Someone is coming to get rid of the ghost. Hopefully, it will leave quietly. I don’t want the library to be damaged.”
She dredged up a smile for his benefit. Beck always used to tease Greg about how he avoided books. Illiterate was her nickname for him when he exasperated her beyond the ordinary. Fiona wished she had some books in here at least. It wasn’t safe to remove any books from the library, however, since they didn’t know which one the ghost was tied to. It could have been one of the new ones, but there were way too many. Even if it was safe, there was no way for her to get one now. In spite of her magic, she hadn’t tried to summon anything, not after the incident three months ago, when she had tried to summon a fruit and had smashed the entire bowl. Her magic had been unpredictable ever since Beck’s death.
Once Greg was gone, and the door closed again, she lay down, staring at the ceiling, trying to distract her thoughts away from Beck. They weren’t quiet and she wasn’t certain if anything would help distract her today.
The door opened, and she sat up, frowning, as she saw that no one was there. Greg had closed it. She was certain of it. The wind couldn’t have blown it open, even if there was one. Someone had turned the handle and opened it. Was it a ghost? Did it decide to move away from the library? She hoped not. She had read enough to know getting rid of a ghost that haunted a whole house was much more difficult that getting rid of one that haunted only one room. There was no one there, however, and ghosts were never invisible. She stared in horrified fascination as footsteps appeared on the rug, indentations of boots which disappeared on their own.
She stilled herself, forgetting to breathe as the footsteps stopped and retreated. The door was closed again, and silence fell. The hammering of her heart was drowning out almost every other sound, but she still heard sounds of other doors opening and closing.
She ran to the window and flung it open, drawing in air in gasps. The crisp cold was just what she needed right then. Her breath stopped again as she saw footsteps in the snow, as if someone was walking away from the house, though there was no one to be seen. They stopped and resumed again, towards the closed gates.
Fiona pulled the windows shut and closed her eyes, fighting the scream that threatened to break from her.
The room was suddenly intensely cold and she felt a prickling as if someone was behind her. She closed the window, and moved away to a corner, her back against the wall, and eyes darting over the empty room and the closed door. There was no one, but she felt eyes on her. Something brushed her arm and she let out a scream.
Three
N
ola was surprised to find that everything was the same on the main road. There was no snow, and the balmy summer breeze gusted her loosened hairs into her face. She blew them off her face, not wanting to touch them with her dirty hands again. Her hair was a mess on the best of days and she didn’t want to add grime to the mix of tangles and curls that would never behave.
As she drove, she couldn’t help thinking back to Harkridge. What was it back there? Mysterious changes in weather, and footsteps that refused to appear. Unusual sights and sounds reported by neighbours and owners. The place fit all the signs of the supernatural. Except there had been nothing supernatural about it. She parked her car in her usual spot in front of the large building where her company had its office. Just as she exited the car, something fell with a heavy thud on to the hood of her car.
