Three’s A Wrap

Chapter 1

Chloe Landry

“Were you speaking Latin again?” my mother asks, her tone somewhat patronizing over the phone.

The Belfry market square of London blares outside the large and ornately framed window, cloudy morning light dimly filtering over me as I sit on the floor of my mother’s antique shop. A large pyrite quartz crystal glitters in the light while incense burns in one corner, sweetening the air.

“No, Mum, I wasn't conjugating verbs. The bracelet just latched on and won't let me go,” I answer, cursing when my phone falls off my lap as I pull at the band, my arm now raw from trying to pry it off.

“At least there aren’t demons this time,” she mutters. “What bracelet? What does it look like?”

If only I had accidentally brought forth a demon again, things would be so much simpler.

But that was last Halloween, and part of the whole reason why Mum isn’t here taking this thing off me now.

After years of mini catastrophes, I decided this year I'm handling Murphy's Law Day on my own, no matter what happens.

So many regrets.

I tug harder, gritting my teeth as I strain, the white of my knuckles showing from how hard I’m pulling.

“Ouch, bloody hell! Why can’t I have a normal Halloween for once in my life? It looks like a metal bracelet from Hell.”

My shoulders slump when all I manage to do is break the skin around my wrist with a fingernail.

A witch summoning a demon isn’t that big of a deal, but for a witch without any magical abilities, it’s a miracle. I shouldn’t be able to conjure demons, and jewelry shouldn’t be attacking me.

“It’s going to be fine, Chloe,” Mum says, as someone speaks in the background. “Grandma Lu says to send her a picture and to call Delores, she’ll be able to get it off in no time.”

“Ugh, do I have to?” I groan and fall back, laying spreadeagle on the beige carpet.

The last thing I want is my cousin to come help me. It’s not that I doubt her abilities, far from it. It’s that she’ll make it a point to bring it up for the rest of our lives.

“Yes. Now send your grandma a picture.”

I snap a picture of the stupid bronze bracelet and click send just as my phone chimes with a message. I hold it above my head to read it.

Grandma Lu: I called your cousin and told her to come help you.

I quickly shoot back a reply.

Me: Awesome.

Grandmother Lulu is my favorite person in the world, but she’s also sweetly na?ve when it comes to Delores. My cousin can be a bit of a know-it-all, resulting from being predicted to be this generation’s most powerful witch.

Grandma Lu: That’s an Egyptian piece and it was a cuff the last I saw it. I remember it being in the shop before you were born.

Grandma Lu: Remind Delores to do a protection charm before she touches it. After that, she should be able to do a location spell easily.

My gaze rolls to the bumpy white ceiling as I shake my head.

Me: Sure thing.

It’s actually not a bad idea to make sure she does a protection spell. Magic is touchy and the last thing I want is it to somehow conjoin the spectacular Delores and me together forever, or something else equally heinous that would make me not want to live a long and fruitful life.

Grandma Lu: And get up off the floor, you’ve no idea how old that carpet is.

“Freaking witches,” I grumble, but move to do as she commands, throwing myself into the nearby shop chair, as the sounds of murmured voices increase across the line.

Witchy Business is notorious for being one of the oldest occult shops on this square in London, going back hundreds of years, so she’s not wrong.

And it’s easy for her to say everything’s going to be fine, because things like this would never happen to Lulu Landry.

As two of the head witches of London, both my grandmother and mother have always been able to perform spells on the fly with ease and without repercussions.

Me, on the other hand, I’m like a walking magnet for magical disasters. Specifically on Halloween, which is why I’m here stocking the storeroom while my uncursed family members vacation in Cabo safely.

Someone somewhere better be getting a laugh out of this.

“Oh yeah. I remember seeing that a few times in the storeroom. Is there an inscription anywhere on it?” Mum finally says, reminding me she’s on speaker on the floor.

“No, I already told you. I didn’t notice any strange markings at all, and there’s no inscriptions. Nothing to identify its maker or magic,” I reply, turning it towards the light filtering through the shop window.

“Did you try to do magic again? You can tell me if you did.”

I wince. I’d scried one more time, but I can’t see how that would cause this.

On every witch’s eighteenth birthday, a scrying spell is performed to locate their mate.

The spell is a simple, harmless one, and more than one witch without magic has been able to locate their mate on strong magical nights.

Most witches find their one true love after their third attempt at the magic.

Yesterday marks the thirteenth time I’ve scried for a mate, since my eighteenth birthday almost a decade ago now.

“Yesterday. I tried yesterday,” I murmur.

At the reminder of my magical failings and presumed forever single status, I tug at the hem of my black get-witchy-with-it shirt and pull my knees to my chest in the chair. My socked feet indent the soft brown leather.

I’ve had lots of magical mishaps over the years, accidentally summoning a demon only being one of them, but never have had an inanimate object adhere itself to me like this.

I had admired it more than once and thought it was really pretty, until it magically seized itself to my arm.

It rose from a box while I searched for Halloween decor in the back room, attacking me and fastening itself to me before I knew what was happening.

I guess I should really be used to this kind of mess by now.

“I’m so sorry my love,” my mum says in that soothing motherly way.

I sigh, and the old desk chair squeaks when I glance out the window, noticing a group of costumed passersby.

At least I managed to get the closed sign up before a bunch of trick-or-treaters showed up wanting candy.

It’s really popular here in the city, especially with teenagers and happy nightclubbers.

My arm throbs painfully as the bracelet tightens down a bit. I shake my hand out, flexing it this way and that.

I swipe up my phone from the floor and hold it to my mouth. “It’s getting tighter.”

“Delores will fix it.”

“Ugh. Don’t you have anything that can help?” I reply, pulling at the bracelet again.

“Your cousin will sort it all out in no time.”

“But—”

“After she leaves, call me. I love you,” Mum says. The line goes dead.

Ugh, okay.

Don’t panic, Chloe. No big deal.

I can handle Delores long enough to get this stupid thing off my arm, right?