by Tegan Maher
“Yoohoo!” a woman’s voice called. “Anything I can do?”
A middle-aged blond woman carrying a fruitcake in one hand and a jug of what looked like more eggnog in the other smiled at me as she came through the front door.
“Hey there!” she said. “I’m Coralee. You must be Kira. Shelby never told me how pretty you are.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “That’s not exactly something that just comes up. I did tell you how badass she is, though.”
I had to wonder just how much Coralee knew, but if what Shelby’d told me about the beauty shop owner was true, she probably knew quite a bit. I liked her right off the bat, though, and decided I was okay with that.
“Is that your rum cake?” Shelby asked, taking the fruitcake from her and putting it on the dessert table.
“Sure is, sweetie,” she replied, leaning forward to give my friend a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her makeup was picture-perfect, and I was pretty sure her big, feathery hairdo was frozen in place because it hadn’t moved an inch when she’d bent over. She looked like a model from the eighties, like maybe one of the Charlie’s Angels I’d seen on TV.
More people started filing in, and by the time four-thirty rolled around, the house was full of laughing, chatty people dressed in holiday finery. I met the infamous Bobbie Sue and her family along with Raeann and her boyfriend Dave, who was a medium. I’d met so many of Shelby’s extended family that I’d lost track of names. They all seemed like wonderful, down-to-earth people. After talking to a witch named TJ, I took a second to step outside for air.
The old buckboard from the barn was sitting in front of the porch, the gold jingle bells and the glitter on the bows glinting in the sun. Hay bales covered in Christmassy blankets lined the inside of the wagon to make makeshift seats, and two horses, one black and one sorrel, were harnessed to it. They had red-and-green ribbons woven into their manes, and their forelocks were tied with red bows. More bells adorned their harnesses, jingling whenever they shifted their weight.
“What do you think?” Justin, a freckle-faced young boy of about eleven, asked. “I did the manes myself.”
“I think they look amazing!” I told him. “You did a grand job.”
He beamed. “Would you like to go for a hayride? We’re just about to go on the first trip.”
“We sure would,” Shelby said as she and Cody joined us. He had his arm around her, and I was glad to see they were closer than ever. They’d had a rough go of it when Shelby’d first been recruited by the Celestial Academy, mostly because she’d been sworn to secrecy. In true Shelby fashion, she’d come clean with him in a matter of a few months, declaring that if they didn’t like it, then she was out.
Considering she was one of the most powerful witches in her generation, they hadn’t had much choice but to go along. Now that I’d met her family, something told me it was a genetic trait rather than a personal one.
I’d just climbed onto the wagon and taken a seat on a bale of hay next to Cody and Shelby when a green truck rattled up the driveway. Hunter, who’d been doing a final check on the wagon, turned toward it. The truck pulled up behind the wagon, and a tall, thirty-something man stepped out.
Bob materialized beside us and pointed a finger. “That’s him. That’s the one who kilt me!”
Hunter’s hand went instinctively toward his hip where I was guessing he usually wore his gun. Today, though, he didn’t have it. Though I was wearing my dagger in a hidden back holster, I didn’t feel the need to reach for it. There was no sense of threat whatsoever coming from the guy.
Once he got closer, I was surprised to see he was sporting one of the most impressive shiners I’d ever seen, and his lip was split.
“Oh, yeah,” Bob muttered, blushing. “Now I remember.”
Noelle had come out on the porch, and several other people had followed her. As far as I knew, everybody there knew about the Flynns and the ghosts. They were expecting other people, but the party didn’t officially start until six.
“Remember what?” Hunter asked, giving him the side-eye.
“This might have been my fault,” the ghost replied.
The man with the shiner stopped within a few feet of Hunter. Misery etched his bruised face. “Are you Hunter Woods, the sheriff?” he asked.
Hunter nodded. “I am. What can I do for you?”
“My name’s Pete Westinghouse, and I’m here to turn myself in. I killed a man yesterday.” He held out his arms, wrists together.
I was shocked when another ghost appeared. She was a matronly looking woman, and she was bathed in golden light. As an angel, I recognized a blessed soul when I saw one, and I nodded to her in respect.
“Sarah Louise?” Bob asked, silvery tears gathering in his eyes as he gazed at the woman.
“Yes, Bobby, it’s me. It’s time to tell these people what really happened so that we can go home.”
Apparently, Pete couldn’t see what was going on, because he continued to stand there with his wrists out. The rest of us could, though, and waited with bated breath to see what would happen next.
Bob turned toward the sheriff, shame on his face. “This was all my fault. I sold him a cow that turned out to be infertile. He came to the house to talk to me about it yesterday, and I let my temper get the better of me.” He turned toward Sarah Louise. “I’ve been a mean, bitter old man since you passed. Are you sure I get to go with you, even if I tell them what happened?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
Bob swallowed hard and the tears spilled from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “I just missed you so much. Then the kids quit comin’ around, and instead of takin’ the hint, I just let the bitterness eat me up.” He turned toward Hunter. “When he demanded his money back, or another cow, I got so mad I punched him in the nose, then followed it up with one to the eye. He fell, and I reached down to pull him up so I could punch him again, and he grabbed the pipe wrench from the counter behind him and whacked me with it. I don’t remember nothin’ after that, but I had it comin’. He was only defendin’ himself.”
Hunter turned toward Pete, who still seemed oblivious to the ghosts. “Tell me what happened.”
Pete began his story, his voice thick with emotion. It matched Bob’s exactly. Hunter pulled in a deep breath, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Bob and Pete.
“You have to know I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just wanted my money back, or even better, a cow to replace the infertile one. You see, I’m starting a family, and we used the last of our farm money to buy her.”
The man was utterly miserable. One of my angel powers was to see inside people’s hearts, and this man’s was near broken with guilt and remorse.
“He’s telling the truth, Hunter,” I said. “There’s no evil or deceit in him.”
Bob floated forward, his expression earnest and full of regret. “I already did enough damage to too many people. Don’t put this one on my soul, too, Sheriff. Please, he doesn’t deserve to be punished for this.”
Hunter blew a breath out through his cheeks and turned his gaze to Pete. “I can’t officially clear you until the formal investigation is over, but from what I’ve heard, it sounds like a clear case of self-defense.”
Dumbfounded, Pete replied, “You mean you’re not taking me to jail?”
Hunter shook his head. “You’re local?”
Pete nodded. “Me and my wife and little girl have a farm halfway between here and Libertyville.”
“Then no,” Hunter said, “I’m not taking you to jail. I need your info, but I’m releasing you on your own recognizance. Go home and spend Christmas with your family.”
Unable to believe what was happening, Pete just stood there for a few seconds and let it sink in. “You’re sure?”
Hunter nodded. “Positive. Unless, of course, you want to go to jail.”
Pete shook his head before pulling a business card from his wallet and handing it to Hunter. �
�No sir. Not even a little bit. That has all my information on it. Address, cell. I’m an independent contractor.” He paused. “I can just leave?”
“Yep,” Hunter said after he examined the card. “You can just leave.”
This time, Pete grinned like a possum eating peanut butter and sprinted back toward his truck. “Merry Christmas!” he called over his shoulder.
As soon as his truck door slammed, we all turned our attention back to the ghostly couple. Sarah Louise held out her hand. “Ready, honey? There’s no need to be scared.”
Bob reached out and took her hand. “Like I told you fifty years ago, I’ll follow you anywhere, woman.”
He bent down and kissed her, and before our very eyes, the elderly couple’s years fell away. Wrinkles disappeared, and Bob’s stooped back straightened. Silver disappeared from Sarah Louise’s hair, replaced by golden locks that flowed to her waist.
She broke the kiss and turned to us as they faded away. “Merry Christmas, and may you all be blessed with as many years of happiness as I was.”
“Wow,” I said, swiping the tears from my face once they were gone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.” I turned to Shelby, who sniffed.
“Me either,” she said, smiling through her own tears. “But now you know how we Flynns do Christmas.”
I grinned at her as Hunter climbed up onto the driver’s seat of the buckboard and clucked to the horses. “Then count me in every year.”
Want to read more?
Thank you for reading this story, and I hope you enjoyed it. This one’s a little different because it’s a crossover story between three of my series. It was set in Keyhole Lake, the setting for my Keyhole Lake Mysteries series. Kira and Shelby both have their own stories, though. You can read more about Kira in my Southern Soul Hunter series, and you can follow Shelby on her adventures in my Celestial Academy series.
From me and all of my leading ladies, I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, no matter which one you celebrate!
About Tegan
I was born and raised in the South and even hung my motorcycle helmet in Colorado for a few months. I've always had a touch of wanderlust and have never feared just packing up and going on new adventures, whether in real life or via the pages of a great book.
I didn't want to grow up to be a writer--I wanted to raise unicorns and be a superhero. When those gigs fell through, I chose the next best thing: creating my own magical lands filled with adventure, magic, and humor.
I live in Florida with my two dogs, and when I'm not writing or reading, I'm chilling out by the pool, hanging out with my son, or binge-watching anything magical.
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Mystic Greetings
Leanne Leeds
Mystic Greetings
By Leanne Leeds
When Witch Fortuna Delphi visits Mystic’s End for the first time, she’s sure the quaint non-paranormal town will make a splendid home. But when the Christmas Festival in the town square goes off the rails, Fortuna wonders if everything about Mystic’s End is what it seems.
1
“Over there,” I told Gunther right after the exit for Mystic’s End appeared along the side of the highway. My stomach did little flip flops as we approached the road that would bring me to the small Arkansas town. “Gunther,” I said louder. “That’s the exit! Quick, get over!”
“I see it, Fortuna, relax.” His muscled frame shifted slightly in the driver’s seat. “I have plenty of time to get over. So, just relax. Even if I missed this exit? One would come along right after it. Breathe.” Gunther Makepeace was one of the calmest and most reasonable people I’d ever known. Even though he’d dealt with a fantastic amount in his life—being an ostracized half-witch, the son of a magical ringmaster, the heir of one of the last paranormal circuses—he always seemed logical, realistic, and cool-headed.
Well, unless my friend—and his wife—Charlotte was in trouble.
Then his unflappable poise became decidedly flapped.
“That’s easier said than done,” I exhaled with some embarrassment. “I don’t have your grounded steadiness, dude. This is a big deal for me.”
“It’s just a town, Fortuna,” Gunther said as he smoothly changed lanes and flipped on his blinker to exit.
“It’s not just a town,” I whispered as I gazed out the window at the tall trees. “It’s the town where I was born. The town where someone abandoned me. It’s a town with all the answers I’ve wanted to know all my life.” I paused and swallowed. “Now that I’m so close? I don’t know that I should do this. Maybe this was a mistake.”
“The town isn’t a person, Fortuna,” Gunther said jovially. Catching my dark mood, his voice grew quiet. “Look, you don’t have to do this. You know you’re welcome to stay with us.”
“So you and Charlotte have told me at least a dozen times so far,” I pointed out without turning to look at him. As we passed the trees, I felt a strange yearning deep in my solar plexus to pull the car over, run out, and hug them.
Or maybe it was nausea.
“Well, perhaps on the lucky thirteen, I’ll get the answer we’re hoping for,” Gunther replied. “We’re going to miss you, Fortuna.”
I chuckled but didn’t answer—even though I would miss him and Charlotte, too. The Magical Midway was the first time I felt comfortable with people. Like I belonged. And I would miss that comfort a lot.
But moving to Mystic’s End just felt like something I had to do.
I appreciated Gunther’s attempts to get me to stay in Mickwac, Texas. It was nice to feel wanted, and I knew that Charlotte and Gunther were going through a bit of an empty nest thing. Very few people settled down in Texas with them after the Magical Midway disappeared. Still, there were enough people that a close-knit instant paranormal community was created in the small Texas town. I felt sure they’d be okay.
I wasn’t so sure about me.
“There’s a greyhound racetrack here?” Gunther asked, frowning as he glanced at a sign along the road. “Is that still legal in the human world?”
“Mystic's End is kind of famous for it,” I told him. “It’s a huge complex right on the edge of town with a casino and a bunch of restaurants. I think they even have a hotel.”
“You may not want to tell Charlotte that’s here. She’ll have the picketers arriving within a week to shut them down. Even sooner if she teleports them through the cauldron,” Gunther warned me as we turned onto an old country road. It wound its way through a dense forest, and the branches were so close in places it was like we were enveloped in a tunnel.
A sign announced that Mystic’s End Historic District was just three miles ahead, and my stomach jumped.
“Why am I so nervous?” I muttered to myself.
“The circuses really didn’t prepare any of us for life beyond them, you know.”
“Well, maybe not you,” I taunted Gunther a little. “You were born to them. I came from the human world. This shouldn’t be freaking me out so much.”
“Okay, then why are you so nervous?” he asked kindly.
“When I was making this plan, I was really confident I could pull this off. Move to a new town, start an art studio, live on my own,” I told Gunther. “I mean, the money you and Charlotte gave everybody to start a new life? With everything I have going for me, this should be a piece of cake. And yet—”
“Change is never a piece of cake, you know,” Gunther responded. “If you convinced yourself this would be simple just because you didn’t need to worry about resources, you may have been pulling the wool over your own eyes.” Only Gunther could make an accusation I was deluding myself sound kind. “ Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Holy moly. What on earth is that?” I asked as a huge gray building loomed into view on our right. Gunther leaned his head down and looked up the gentle slope.
“It
looks like a prison,” Gunther said.
“So on one side of town, there’s a gigantic prison, and on the other side of town, there’s a gigantic gambling establishment,” I remarked as we drove past a severe-looking guard at the prison’s barbed wire gate. He stared at us as we drove by. “I guess that’s convenient?”
“It must provide a lot of jobs for the town.”
“Not good jobs,” I pointed out.
“You’re changing the subject,” Gunther said.
I shrugged. “What was the subject?”
“You staying in Mickwac and not moving here all by yourself,” Gunther tried for the fourteenth time.
“Are you going to bring that up every five minutes?”
“When my wife extracts a promise out of me, Fortuna, I keep it. She sent me here to convince you to stay and, failing that, to make sure you were okay. I am still working on the first assignment.”
“Fair enough,” I told him as we pulled into the town square, and I looked up at the building I was considering buying.
“It’s been empty for many years,” Barbara Jordan, a local Mystic’s End real estate agent, said as her heels echoed off the walls of the neglected building. “That’s why the price of this place is so reasonable. And you’re right in the town square. You’ll get great foot traffic from the post office and the hair salon. I mean, what location could be better for an art studio, really?”
“Little Rock?” Gunther whispered under his breath as he walked past me, referencing the nearest major metropolitan area close to the small town. Even that city was relatively small compared to what I was used to—Little Rock and its surrounding area had less than a million people.
