Witchy Dreams

by Amanda M. Lee

  Caleb was back in the kitchen in seconds. “Charlie’s right,” he said grimly. “The house is fully engulfed. Call for a fire truck. Tell them to hurry.”

  “Where are you going?” Kate asked, her heart rolling when she saw Caleb scurrying toward the door.

  “I have to see if I can help her.” Caleb briefly glanced between his wife and daughter. “It will be all right.”

  Charlie remained on the kitchen floor, staring blankly at the wall. She looked smaller than her ten years, vulnerable even. She also looked abandoned and alone.

  “It’s not going to be all right,” she intoned, pressing her eyes shut. “It’s already too late. Mrs. Fitzgerald is gone.”

  “You can’t know that,” Caleb hedged.

  “I know it!” Charlie’s temper flared and at the light fixture over the sink exploded. “I know it. It’s already too late. I’m always too late.”

  One

  Present Day

  It took every ounce of energy I had not to use my rather impressive and yet woefully uncontrollable magic to fling my coffee mug at my new boss’s head.

  Okay, that could be the nerves talking. Myron Biggs is not a bad man. That’s what I kept telling myself when I caught him staring at my chest … and my butt as he ushered me into his office … and then my cleavage when he leaned over to ostensibly make me feel warm and welcome in my new work environment.

  He’s not a bad man. Really. That line was stuck on repeat in my mind while my heart begged to differ. My foot wanted to agree with my heart and kick him. This was probably not the best way to start a new job.

  “I think you’re going to fit right in with the team,” Myron offered, his smile more “cat that ate the canary, the canary’s family and the canary’s neighbor’s family” than “I’m going to win boss of the year accolades in the near future.” His eyes lit up as they locked with mine. “I think you’re going to offer a youthful vibe to our team that is sorely needed and missed.”

  The words themselves weren’t terrible. The fact that he was staring at my breasts when he said them, on the other hand, was enough to make my stomach roll. I had my doubts that he could pick me up out of a police lineup if a murder conviction was on the line, but believed completely he would be able to identify my breasts in a sea of strippers at a porn convention.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and quickly counted to five to calm myself, fixing a pleasing smile on my face as I maintained my world-famous calm. “Yes, well, I’m looking forward to being part of the team. Hopefully my teammates won’t stare at my breasts as much as you. Fingers crossed!”

  Whoops. Did I say I had world-famous patience? That was my mother, may she rest in peace. I’m the exact opposite. It’s more like I have a notorious reputation for foot-in-mouth disease. That’s the same thing, right?

  My name is Charlotte Madison Deborah Winifred Rhodes (my mother was one of four sisters, and simply refused to favor one over the others), but everyone calls me Charlie. I’m a recent graduate of the Gendry Metaphysics Institute.

  Yes, that’s a real thing.

  I have a degree in parapsychology, focusing on psychokinesis and paranormal phenomenon.

  Why did I pick that field? Because I have psychic dreams and relatively regular flashes that show me the near future or various times from the past. Oh, and I can occasionally move things with my mind – only when I’m upset or angry, though – so there’s that to contend with, too. I’m like the Hulk if he were mixed with Carrie and there was a lot of pig’s blood at places other than the prom.

  No, I’m not delusional. Wait … that does kind of make me sound unbalanced, doesn’t it?

  On top of all that, this is my first official job that doesn’t involve asking, “Do you want fries with that?” at the end of every conversation.

  I’m only mildly nervous. Okay, I’m completely nervous. My palms are sweaty, my eyes refuse to focus and I’m fairly certain I’m suffering brief bouts of deafness because I hear only half of what Myron Biggs is saying to me. Wait … he’s talking again.

  “I was not looking at your breasts,” Myron sputtered, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “If you think that … .”

  “I must’ve been mistaken,” I said hurriedly, forcing my temper to remain in check. The last thing I needed was to cause Myron Biggs’ head to explode. That’s never happened, mind you, but it’s one of my biggest fears. Other people worry about car accidents or ghosts (for the record, I would love to meet a ghost, and expect to do that one day in the near future thanks to this job), but I worry about magical abilities that I can’t always control and hide from everyone for fear of being burned at the stake or locked away and studied like a lab rat. Yeah, I’m a massive coward. Sue me. “I’m just really nervous and tend to blurt out random things when I’m in a new situation. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Biggs narrowed his eyes, understandably dubious. “How can you guarantee that?”

  “Because we’ll never be in this situation again.”

  He stared me down for a long time, finally shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “You have outstanding academic records, and my nephew insisted you were the one for the job. I allow him to be in charge of all the hiring for the Legacy Foundation. He wanted you … so here you are.”

  “Chris Biggs is your nephew?” I probably should’ve put that together before now. That’s the nerves again. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Yes, well, the Legacy Foundation was started by my father thirty years ago and it was always very important to him. Since his death, my brother and I have focused our interests on other parts of the business,” Biggs supplied. “The foundation is almost entirely funded by private grants, and believe it or not, it’s funded well. My father included a stipulation in his will that the Legacy Foundation continue after his death, so my nephew took over operations about five years ago. He’s very … passionate … about the endeavor.”

  Biggs said “passionate” like someone else might say “loony.” I didn’t bother to point that out. “Well, I happen to be passionate about it, too. I look forward to being a contributing member of the team.”

  Biggs’ smile was tolerant, but just barely. “Yes, well, I’ll call my nephew so he can collect you and start your tour. I’m sure he will be able to answer any questions you have.”

  CHRIS BIGGS was nothing like his uncle. While Myron boasted snowy white hair, perverted green eyes and a mouth that made me want to vomit because he constantly used his tongue to lick the corners, Chris was the exact opposite. He had a friendly and open smile, chiseled cheekbones, broad shoulders and warm green eyes that reminded me of a walk in the meadow.

  What? He’s young and hot. He almost looks like a male fashion model, with that perfect blondish brown hair and those broad shoulders and that tight little … um … where was I again? Criminy, I’m allowed a little work crush. Sue me.

  “I’m so glad you arrived when you did,” Chris enthused, gesturing wildly with his hands as he led me down a basement hallway. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Legacy Foundation was housed in the basement – where else would they hide the paranormal investigators, right? – but it was still disappointing when Chris led me into the elevator and pressed the button for the bottom floor.

  “I’m glad to be here,” I enthused, taking a moment to study the ridiculously attractive lines of his face. I surreptitiously glanced at his left hand for a wedding ring, my heart settling a bit when I saw it was bare. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was open for offers – or that I would make them – but the realization filled me with warmth.

  “I thought we would start off with a brief tour of the facility and then introduce you to the other members of the team.”

  “That sounds great.”

  The tour was like most tours … boring. I’d seen the state-of-the-art equipment before and I couldn’t exactly work myself into a frenzy when I saw the new all-terrain vehicles they were outfitting for jobs in remote location
s. The EDI meters, infrared lights, EMF detectors and EVP recorders were nothing new. I’d been outfitted with all of them multiple times while in college and working an apprenticeship for a semester in London. I was most interested in the people, and I wasn’t disappointed when Chris led me into a large conference room where a group of bored-looking drones munched doughnuts and discussed the day’s events.

  “This is the team.” Chris grinned broadly as his gaze bounced between faces. “Team, this is Charlotte Rhodes. She’s our new associate.”

  “Charlie,” I corrected automatically, my cheeks burning when a couple of curious stares floated in my direction. “I go by Charlie.”

  “Charlie.” Chris’ grin widened. “So, we’ll start over here. This is Hannah Silver. She is an M.D. with a Ph.D. in cryptozoology and hominology. Her focus is on animals in the wild, and she can conduct an autopsy and DNA scan in a pinch. She’s utterly brilliant.”

  I didn’t miss the goofy smile Chris shot in Hannah’s direction. It looked as if I wasn’t the only team member with a crush. I couldn’t blame Chris. Hannah boasted silvery blond hair tied back in a bun, long legs and a slim frame. She managed to look smart and somehow busty at the same time. She must use a lot of underwire. No woman that thin should naturally have boobs that big. Despite her body, she looked as if she belonged in a white lab coat making important decisions to save the human race. It was probably the glasses, I told myself. They were simple black frames, and she looked effortlessly chic in them.

  I extended my hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Hannah’s smile was legitimate, but she seemed distracted. “Chris, did you get my request for a new microscope? I need it before we head out on another job. The lens on my last one broke.”

  “I got it, and it’s being sent down from the seventh floor even as we speak.” Chris beamed, his expression wistful as he stared at Hannah. She seemed oblivious to his affection as she bobbed her head, happy to be getting a new toy, but unaware Chris was apparently hopelessly in love with her. “It should be here any second.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chris watched her shuffle away from the table for a moment before shaking his head and returning to the introductions. “This is Laura Chapman. Her father is Ben Chapman. He’s one of the vice presidents in the company and he heads the accounting division. As for Laura, she’s into metaphysical and holistic life coaching.”

  Hmm. That’s a thing? I didn’t know that was a real thing. The look the auburn-haired beauty shot me left no doubt about whether or not I should voice that opinion. I didn’t bother shaking Laura’s hand because I could tell it was the last thing she wanted. Instead I merely shoved my hands in the pockets of my cargo pants and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Laura curtly nodded her head. “And you. I understand you focused on telekinesis while studying. Any particular reason why?”

  The question was abrupt and took me by surprise. “I’ve always had an interest in that field,” I answered evenly. “Aren’t you interested in telekinesis?”

  “I don’t believe it really exists,” Laura replied, not missing a beat. “I look forward to lively debates, though. The whole point of this group is to discover what is real and what is legend, right?”

  She didn’t believe it existed? I could show her a thing or two. Of course, because I keep my abilities to myself – and plan to do so for the foreseeable future – there was no way I could do that. “Yes, well … .”

  Laura was already across the room talking to Hannah by the time I regrouped.

  “Don’t worry about her.” Chris forced out a dry chuckle. “Laura takes some time to warm up to people. She’s a little … cold.”

  That was a nice way of putting it. “That’s okay. Hannah seems like a dream. I don’t think one personality makes up an entire group. If that were the case, well, things would get boring pretty quickly, wouldn’t they?”

  “Definitely.” Chris patted my shoulder as he directed me toward the far corner of the room, where a black man in his fifties sat nursing a mug of coffee while a white woman, also in her fifties, studied her reflection in a pocket mirror. “This is Millie Watson and Bernard Hill. Bernard is our mechanic and general Mr. Fix-It. If anything breaks, take it to him.”

  I liked Bernard on the spot, and it had nothing to do with the way he winked and shot me a thumbs-up. Okay, almost nothing. “Hi.”

  “Don’t you worry, you’ll figure everything out and feel as if you’ve been part of the team forever pretty quickly,” Bernard offered between sips of coffee. “It might seem overwhelming now, but we’re pretty easy to get along with.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Millie interjected, sighing as she ran a hand through her bottle blond hair. The woman was eccentric looking. There was no other way to put it. She ratted her hair as if the 1980s trend never went out of style, wore the brightest red lipstick I’d ever seen – which happened to clash with her pink satin coat – and the black liquid eyeliner clouding both her upper and lower lids looked as if it had been drawn on while Millie was drunk. Given the way she smelled, I couldn’t be sure that wasn’t the case. “I happen to think we’re extremely difficult to get along with.”

  “That’s just you,” Bernard said, chuckling as he patted her hand. He seemed fond of the boisterous woman. “Don’t mind Millie. She’s hungover, and she enjoys taking it out on other people.”

  Well, that answered that question. “Are you hungover often?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “As often as humanly possible,” Millie replied, unbothered as she lifted her arm and sniffed her pit. “Seriously … it’s coming out of my pores.”

  “Drink something lighter next time,” Bernard suggested.

  “That’s probably a good idea.” Millie looked tired when she focused on me again. “Welcome to the team. I can already tell I’m going to like you more than I do Laura.”

  Chris’ smile, which had remained firmly in place for the entire tour, slipped. “Millie, you know you’re not supposed to cause trouble with her. She’ll report you to Human Resources – as she always does – and then Uncle Myron will come down and yell.”

  “You send Myron to me,” Millie suggested. “I’ll handle him. We both know he won’t fire me.”

  “He won’t?” Wrapping my head around the group dynamic was an ongoing effort, but I was keen to know the ins and outs of the relationships. “Why is that?”

  “Because he’s my ex-husband,” Millie replied, not missing a beat. “If he fires me he’ll have to pay alimony, and there’s no way he’ll do that.”

  My mouth dropped open as I considered the statement. “I … um … .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, patting my arm as he chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. Uncle Myron and Mille have a … unique … relationship.”

  “We do,” Millie agreed. “He hates me, but still loves me. I hate him, but tolerate him because I’m fond of the boy.” She jerked her thumb in Chris’ direction. “We have a very uncomfortable relationship, but I enjoy it because torturing Myron is one of my few joys in life. Well, that and Jell-O shots.”

  “Oh, well, that sounds fun.” At first glance I wasn’t sure what to make of Millie. Within a few moments of talking to her I knew she was bound to be one of my favorite people ever. She was refreshing … and not only because she obviously didn’t give a flying fig what anyone thought about the way she carried herself or dressed. “I’m very glad to meet both of you.”

  “Oh, you need to work on your lying, honey,” Millie tsked, shaking her head. “You’ll have to get much better at it if you expect to survive this group.”

  I’d been lying my entire life, keeping my abilities secret. I didn’t think I’d suddenly start having a problem now. “I’ll consider it.”

  “And here is the final member of our team,” Chris said, shifting his gaze to the open door where another man – this one taller and darker than Chris – stood in the doorf
rame. “Charlie Rhodes, this is Jack Hanson. He’s former military and handles all of our security.”

  “In other words, if he yells ‘duck’ do it and don’t ask why,” Millie suggested, winking at Jack. “Isn’t that right, hot stuff?”

  Jack, his shoulder-length black hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, ignored the question and focused on Chris. “We just got an assignment from upstairs,” he said, his face blank. “We have a job … and it’s hot.”

  Chris was suddenly all business. “Where … and what?”

  “Someone claims that Bigfoot is killing people in Michigan,” Jack replied. “Apparently the cops thought this was right up our alley and want us to lend our scientific opinion.”

  “Bigfoot?” Chris’ face split with a wide grin. “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m not kidding.” Jack’s dark eyes briefly landed on my face before shifting back to Chris. “Everyone needs to pack up. We’re out of here in thirty minutes.”

  “All right!” Chris pumped his hand in the air. “This is the big one, folks. This is what we’ve been waiting for. Grab your gear and meet by the elevator in thirty minutes. You got that?”

  Various team members murmured their assent as I focused on Jack. “You know how to make an entrance, huh?”

  Jack’s lips curved. “I don’t do subtle.”

  “Probably not. You said Michigan. Where in Michigan are we going?”

  “A little town called Hemlock Cove,” Jack replied. “It’s supposed to be wacky and weird. I figured that fits this group perfectly.”

  “It sounds as if that’s definitely the case.” I could barely contain my excitement. “Here we go, huh?”

  Jack didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic as I felt. “Yeah. Here we go.”

  Two