Witch Way Box Set

by Jane Hinchey

  “Let’s not split hairs, hmm?” he replied. Damn it, he had a point. This wasn’t a matter of if he was a partner in a law firm or an employee. This was to prove he wasn’t involved in Bonnie’s murder. But so far, all we had to go on was what he’d told us.

  As if reading my mind, he held out his phone and we all squinted at the screen. “Flight manifest,” he said. “The pilot logs all jobs in the case files.”

  Gran rejoined us. “Jackson’s on his way,” she said, clearly distracted with something on her phone.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, watching as she held up her phone and took several selfies.

  “Chap Snatch!” She beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Monica slung an arm around her shoulders. “That would be Snap Chat, Gran.” She looked at Gran’s screen and grinned. “Oooh, he’s hot. You guys should see this.”

  I rolled my eyes. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen. Jenna took a peek and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Nice one.” She high-fived Gran and I shook my head.

  “Please don’t encourage her!”

  I took the sticky note with Blake’s name on it from him and tore it up, tossing it in the bin. He was no longer a suspect. Not in this case anyway. I still wanted to know more, like how he knew my dad. And was my dad the silent Jones in his law firm? So many questions. But they would have to wait—our number one priority was finding Bonnie’s killer and clearing Gran’s name.

  While the others gathered around Gran’s phone and sent Snap Chats to whatever hottie was on the other end, I pulled Blake to one side. “When Jackson gets here, something’s going to happen.”

  “You’re assuming he’ll drop what he’s doing and come running because Gran called?”

  “Oh, he’s on his way,” I said, full of confidence. “Gran would have told him the murder club is in session.”

  “You said it wasn’t a murder club,” he pointed out.

  “It isn’t.”

  “But you just said—”

  “It’s what Gran calls it, okay? And that’s not the point. The point is, whenever Jackson and I are together, in my bookstore, a ghost appears. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “I’m not scared of ghosts.”

  “Well. Good.” I wish I could say the same because despite having the ability to summon Whitney without even trying, just the thought of a ghost sent shivers down my spine. You’d think by now I’d be used to it, but I doubted I ever would be. “Anyway, her name is Whitney.”

  “The Whitney Sims case?” he asked, and I looked at him in surprise.

  “You’ve heard about it?”

  “Came up in your Gran’s research. So, she’s haunting you?”

  “Not exactly. She just likes to hang out. She’s not malevolent.”

  I heard a car pull up outside followed by a knock on the door. “Here we go,” I whispered under my breath, flicking the lock and opening the door to let Jackson in. Five, four, three, two…

  “What did I miss?” Whitney floated down from the ceiling, heading straight to the crime board where she hovered, reading what was pinned there.

  “Bonnie Emerson died?” she asked, shocked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, locking the front door again.

  “I wonder who’s managing her estate?” Whitney tapped a fingernail against her lip. “Her house is prime location.”

  Whitney had been the realtor for Whitefall Cove before her untimely demise. Now we had a realtor from a neighboring town visit once or twice a week to take care of any real estate needs.

  “Can you talk to other ghosts?” Jenna asked Whitney. “Because those two”—she pointed to Jackson and me—“haven’t been able to make contact with her. Can you?”

  “Oh! Well…I’ve never tried. I guess I could give it a go?” Screwing up her eyes and holding her hands out, palm up, then pressing her middle finger to her thumb like she was meditating, Whitney boomed out, “Bonnie Emerson! I’m calling Bonnie Emerson. Come in, Bonnie!”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Seconds ticked by. Whitney opened her eyes and glanced around. “Nothing?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. We think she may have already crossed over,” I said by way of explanation.

  “Okay then.” She didn’t appear phased. “Hey! Did you have the book club without me?”

  “Book club got cancelled this week,” Jackson told her, “due to Bonnie dying. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything.”

  “Oh good! I’d hate to miss book club. You said you’d hold it here so I could come.” She pouted, then, losing all interest in us, she drifted up the mezzanine level and disappeared through a bookcase.

  “Has she gone?” Gran whispered.

  I shook my head. “Nah. She’s reading.” I’d discovered Whitney liked to snuggle in amongst the books, that it was her version of reading, and it suited me just fine.

  “So, what’s this all about?” Jackson stood with feet planted and arms crossed over his chest.

  “We were putting together a timeline and it came up that maybe the police had Bonnie’s grimoire in evidence,” I said.

  He looked at me, annoyed. “If we had it in evidence, I wouldn’t have been looking for it.”

  “Whoa, dude,” Monica drawled. “What’s with the attitude?”

  “What attitude?” he snapped. “You called me down here to ask stupid questions about a case that is, quite frankly, none of your business.”

  “Now listen here, sunshine.” Gran stepped right up to him, tilted her head back to eyeball him, and wagged a finger in his face. “You weren’t invited. You chose to come. And that’s fine, you are always welcome, but don’t you be telling me this isn’t any of my business. “You”—she punched him in the chest with her finger—“arrested me. For. Bonnie’s. Murder.” She emphasized every word with another jab to Jackson’s chest.

  Jackson wrapped his hand over Gran’s and looked down at her, his face softening. I don’t know what had gotten into him lately but he sure wasn’t acting his usual self.

  “You’re right. I apologize.”

  “Accepted.” Gran smiled and held up her phone for him to see. “Have you ever talked to the lady in here? She knows everything! I think her name is Susi or something.”

  “Siri. Her name is Siri.” Jackson chuckled, his eyes landing on me. We shared a smile before he looked away, his attention drawn to the clue board.

  “Vernon Garza and Bernice Kemp were at the movies at the time of the murder. A double feature. Witnesses put them at the theatre,” he said to the group in general, telling them what he’d told me the night before, at the ball. Monica put a line through both their names.

  “That leaves Gladys Marquez and Kristen Lane,” Jenna said.

  “Gladys was home at the time. She lives alone, so no alibi. She had been over to Bonnie’s house earlier in the day to deliver some eggs. She didn’t hear or see anything at the time of death,” Jackson supplied.

  “What about Kristen’s boyfriend, Cody? He seemed pretty angry when I ran into him and Kristen last night.”

  “Is he a witch?” Blake asked, and we looked at him. “Think about the orb,” he said. “It’s reasonable to suggest that whoever is using the orb is behind the murder. But keep in mind that it’s an assumption. It could be a misdirect. Therefore, if this Cody person is a witch, does he have the power and skill to use an orb?”

  “Gran, didn’t you say that calling an orb takes a fair amount of power? Skill?”

  “Sure does,” she replied, distracted with her phone again. My god, she was worse than a teenager with that thing.

  “So maybe your culprit isn’t even on the suspect board?” Blake suggested. “I’d start with making a list of the witches who have the talent and knowledge for orb spinning, and start investigating from there.”

  “I hate to admit it,” Jackson grumbled, “but that’s a good point. This has to be magic-related. The grimoire has been stolen. Only a witch would benefit from that.”
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  “What if…” I was thinking out loud. “What if whoever is using the orb is looking for the grimoire?”

  Jenna almost jumped up and down with excitement. “Yes! That makes sense. The murderer kills Bonnie and takes her grimoire. And now…who? Who is using the orb to find it? Her coven?”

  “That’s where I’d start.” Blake nodded.

  “I’d start with the senior members,” I said. “Gran said it’s old magic. The younger witches possibly don’t know about it.”

  “It could be a group thing, though,” Monica pointed out. “You said the orb was brighter at your house, Harper, that it was dim at Bonnie’s. So maybe the coven is getting together and putting in a group effort.”

  “Wait. The orb was at your house?” Jackson was appalled.

  “Yes. And it moved like it did at Bonnie’s.” I mimed—as best I could—the orb, round and bobbing as it moved across the floor.

  “And you’re okay?” His concern was touching.

  Until I said, “Blake helped me get rid of it.”

  “Of course he did,” Jackson muttered under his breath and I narrowed my eyes. There was that jealous tone again.

  “We need to ward your house.” I’d finally gotten Gran’s attention away from her phone. “Are we done here? Good. Let’s go, Harper, we’ve got witch business to attend to.”

  I hid the clue board behind the bookcase, ushered everyone out, and locked up. Archie sat by my feet as I stood on the footpath outside.

  “You go on home and I’ll meet you there,” Gran instructed, and despite her ridiculous outfit of a canary yellow tutu, fishnet stockings, black wellies, and an orange halter top beneath an oversized raincoat, she’d never looked more serious.

  “Am I in danger?” I asked, and she paused from digging in her purse to look at me, her face softening.

  “You’re a little vulnerable, that’s all, dear. Silly me, I should have thought that your new place would need a good cleansing and warding.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t need cleaning. The realtor made sure it was cleaned before I moved in.”

  “Not that type of clean, love. We need to clear out all of the old energy. Even more so since an orb has been inside.”

  “Oh, you mean with sage and chanting…that type of clean.” I nodded my head, finally understanding.

  “Exactly. You go on home. I’ll gather up the rest of the coven and meet you there in a little while.”

  I didn’t argue. I was exhausted and a quick nap sounded wonderful right about now. “Come on, Archie.”

  Unlocking my car, I held the door open before sliding in behind the wheel. It felt odd not heading toward Gran’s house but instead, in the opposite direction. The lighthouse stood on the bluff, the cove to the left and the township of Whitefall Cove tucked in behind the horseshoe-shaped bay. I had my own private road. No other buildings were out this way, and the public carpark stopped two hundred meters from my cottage, meaning any tourists had to walk past my house before they reached the lighthouse. Thankfully, the path wasn’t directly outside my windows, so I still had privacy.

  After parking my car in the garage at the back of the cottage, I opened the back door, turning to look at Archie who was now seated in the middle of the path, refusing to move.

  “Okay, look,” I told him. “I’ll check, make sure no paranormal entity is inside first, okay?”

  Meow.

  Chuckling, I stepped inside, pausing to see if I could sense the orb in the house. Nothing. “All good,” I called to Archie, who immediately trotted past me with his tail in the air.

  After checking his food and water bowl, I stretched out on the sofa and was soon asleep, not waking until Gran was knocking on the door.

  Struggling to sit up, I wiped the drool from my chin, checked to make sure I didn’t have dribble on my shirt, then crossed to open the door. Lined up outside were Gran, Annie, Agnes, Jennifer, and Leah. The full contingent of the Sisters of the Sacred Flame Coven.

  Annie carried a basket that was emitting tantalizing smells and she smiled as she hurried past me to the kitchen. “We figured you haven’t had the chance to food shop yet, so we brought supper. By the time we’ve cleansed and warded, we’ll all be hungry.”

  I glanced out the window, noticing the sun dipping behind the lighthouse. We had a couple of hours of daylight left—the day had gone by so fast, I’d lost track of time.

  Agnes carried a sports bag that she heaved onto the table with a clang, before she unzipped it and started hauling out witchcraft supplies. Six bundles of sage. Six bowls. Pouches of herbs. Candles. Little plastic pouches of…stuff.

  “Archie, go explore outside, but don’t wander off, okay?” Gran addressed my cat. “I’m not sure this smoke is good for felines.” Archie head bumped her shin before heading out the front door that stood open.

  I rubbed my hands together. “So, what’s first?”

  “Cleansing! Getting rid of all the old energy,” Annie said, handing us each a bundle of sage. “I want every corner of this house covered, from top to bottom. You know what to do, Harper?” she asked, as I took the sage from her.

  “I think so,” I replied. “Waft the smoke while chanting.”

  She nodded. “Close. First, light your sage bundle.” With a snap of my fingers, a flame appeared, lighting the sage.

  “Now, blow out the flame so all you have is smoke.”

  I did as instructed.

  “First, we are going to cleanse ourselves. It’s called smudging. Use your hand to waft the smoke over your body from your feet up to your head and then back down again. Repeat after me. Air, fire, water, earth. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel.”

  We followed suit.

  “Now I want you to spread out throughout the house, wave the smoke into all corners, across doorways, into the shadows, and keep repeating the incantation. Do not extinguish the sage. I want a bundle left smoking in each room once we’re done. Take one of these bowls with you to put it in, so we don’t burn Harper’s new home down.”

  I headed upstairs. I was keen to smudge my bedroom, to make doubly sure any negative energy the orb had left behind was well and truly dispelled. Leah took the second bedroom and we both smudged the landing and bathroom. I left my sage burning in my bedroom while Leah left hers on the landing, with the bathroom and spare bedroom doors open for it to waft inside.

  Back downstairs, the others were just finishing up. The windows and doors were open, and the smoke was drifting through the room. It reminded me of the dry ice at last night’s ball.

  Annie rubbed her hands together. “Right, now we need to ward the property. Harper, I’ll need you inside. Sit over there.” She pointed to the sofa and I dutifully crossed to it.

  She handed Gran a feather. “Alice, you are air.” Gran nodded and headed outside.

  She poured sand into Agnes’ outstretched hand. “Agnes, you are earth.” Agnes joined Gran outside.

  “Jennifer, you are fire.” Annie handed Jennifer a candle, who carried the lit candle outside and stood with Gran and Agnes.

  She handed Leah a chunk of ice. “Leah, you are water.”

  I watched from the sofa as the four women began to walk the perimeter of the house, each of them chanting, depending on their element of air, fire, earth, water. “By air, I ward thee. Guard this space from all ill will and all those who wish us harm.”

  Annie turned back to me. “Now, I want you to strengthen the ward. Close your eyes, palms up. Visualize pouring your energy into the wards.”

  I did as instructed, feeling it like a physical manifestation. Like a rainbow streaming through a window after a summer rainstorm, my magic whirled around the house, strengthening the ward forming, combining with my coven’s and binding tight.

  “Excellent.” Annie beamed at me. “To maintain the ward, every time you come in or out of your house, I want you to lay your hand on the front door and pour a little energy into the ward.”

  “I can do that.” I nodded, pleased with myself. This was the
first time I’d used my magic in such a way. Lately, it had been spellcasting under supervision at Drixworths, and mundane stuff, like moving objects around. Nothing like this. This felt tangible, purposeful, and I liked it. I liked it a lot.

  “This will keep the orb out?” I asked, stretching as the others made their way inside.

  “Yes”—Annie nodded—“and anything else of a magical nature. It won’t keep out a physical intruder.”

  “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” I muttered, before placing my hand on Annie’s arm. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. We are family. Together, we are stronger.” I liked the sentiment.

  “Where’s that food!” Gran demanded, stomping across the floor in her black wellington boots even though it wasn’t raining—it wasn’t even cold. With spring right around the corner, the weather was getting warmer and warmer every day. “I’m starving!”

  I left the others in the kitchen, happily poking around in the cupboards and serving up the meal of roast chicken and salad, with freshly baked bread and a fruit platter for dessert. Stepping out on the front verandah for a quiet moment, I spotted Archie sniffing around the gate post, saw him sense my presence, and begin to trot toward me with his tail in the air. Pulling out my phone, I texted Blake.

  “Have you heard from my dad?”

  “No. Why?”

  I gazed at the horizon, of the township of Whitefall Cove spread out before me—it looked like a postcard, a picture-perfect postcard. The sun was setting, and a riot of oranges, pinks, and purples streaked the sky, breathtaking in the display, bathing the town in an ethereal glow. From here, I could see the curve of the bay, could make out the dots of people strolling along the sand at sunset. And all I wanted to do was share it with my parents.

  My phone ringing jarred me out of my musings.

  “I said, why?” Blake didn’t even give me the chance to say hello.

  “Because I haven’t heard from Mom or Dad since the night he called you. They were getting on a plane, heading home. That was two days ago.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. There are no direct flights from Australia, and if they’re traveling at the last minute, I’d imagine there is a fair amount of plane hopping going on.”