Just Your Average Small Town Cult (Lainswich Witches Book 14)

by Raven Snow

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  “Just Your Average Small Town Cult”

  A Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery

  Lainswich Witches Series Book 14

  Raven Snow

  © 2017

  Raven Snow

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images & are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.

  Edition v1.0 (2017.10.26)

  http://www.ravensnowauthor.com

  Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: Renee Arthur, Dick B, Jim T., Claire Boland, Michele Beschen, VMH and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.

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  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  “It’s important,” said Rowen, trying to catch her husband’s gaze over the top of the cardboard box she was carrying.

  “If it’s that important, I’m the wrong person to ask,” Eric shot back, walking ahead of his wife. He was carrying two boxes of his own, one stacked atop the other. With his height and build, it was no great task.

  Rowen picked up her pace. “You’re the perfect person to ask. The other Stonewalls won’t give me the time of day.”

  “It’s about three-fifty,” muttered Jasper Stonewall. “I mean, I take your point, but it’s not like my family hates you.”

  “There you go. Hassle Jasper. He’s the real Stonewall. He’s even got the family name. Me? I’m a Greensmith. Or did you forget?” Eric put his own boxes down and turned to relieve Rowen of hers.

  Rowen pulled the box out of reach and shot her husband a dirty look. The contents of the box jingled and clanged. “Will you two stop squabbling already? Be careful. These things are priceless.” Aunt Lydia took the box from Rowen with a dirty look all her own. It was unusual to see eccentric, wild-haired Lydia being so responsible and yet there she was, carefully placing the box on a nearby table. The contents of the box weren’t particularly valuable to anyone who wasn’t part of the family. It was all old photos and knick-knacks. There was an old, rusted incense sconce, bells of various sizes, and a stack of thick, black books. All these things had been taken off shelves or from the backs of closets in the Greensmith home. It had mostly been Lydia’s idea to bring them here, to Odds & Ends, the metaphysical shop she ran with family.

  “This old stuff has been through worse. I’m not going to drop anything and, even if I did, it wouldn’t break,” Rowen assured her aunt, just in time for a loud shattering sound to come from elsewhere. Jasper stood sheepishly over a box he had just brought in. He’d probably let the thing go from too great of a height when putting it down. Lydia shouldered past him in a huff. She ignored his apologies as she rifled through the box’s contents, looking for whatever had been broken.

  “So, what about it, Jasper?” asked Rowen, starting in on the poor guy before he had a chance to recover and smooth things over with Lydia.

  “Huh?” Jasper turned to Rowen, those big gray eyes of his wide and confused. As always, he was overdressed. Well-tailored trousers and a red vest complemented his lithe frame.

  “Eric here is unwilling, so are you going to drag your parents up here for the Tricentennial? They’re part of Lainswich’s history as much as we are.” Rowen wasn’t sure why she was so set on having the Stonewalls come for the festivities. At first, she had just been looking for an excuse to nose around her husband’s family tree. They had discovered not all that long ago that he had a couple of Stonewalls as grandparents. He hadn’t spent any time with them growing up, only seeing them once or twice in passing at family gatherings. Still, he was technically a Stonewall. Magic could very well run through those veins of his. Rowen had thought she sensed some of those witchy instincts in him a few times. “Your parents have at least talked about it, right? As proud as they are, how could they not be?”

  “I… ah…” Jasper faltered, trying unsuccessfully to divide his attention between Lydia and Rowen.

  “Leave him alone,” said Margo without even looking up from her phone.

  Rowen turned to her cousin. “You know, you could be helping carry things in.”

  “I’m texting.” She still didn’t look up from her phone. It probably spoke volumes that she had taken the time to, at the very least, verbally defend her boyfriend. Like Jasper, she was perpetually skinny and overdressed. Today she was wearing impractically high red heels and designer sunglasses. It was a wonder she could even read her texts. “It’s important,” she added, expression impassive but thumbs flying across the keys.

  Lydia breathed a very dramatic sigh of relief. “It was just a picture frame. That can be replaced.” She clapped Jasper on the shoulder, like she had just pardoned him or something. It made one wonder what she would have done had he broken something more valuable. “My niece is right, though. You really should talk to your parents. As much as the town tries to deny it, witchcraft is an important part of its heritage. Your family may live in Tarricville now, but they will always be a part of Lainswich.”

  Jasper smiled at that. “It’s nice of you to say. They’ve talked about it some, I think.”

  “Oh?”

  Jasper nodded. “They’re going to pay for the hospital’s float. In the parade, you know? The hospital has our name attached t
o it, being Stonewall Memorial and everything.”

  Lydia made a face like she had tasted something sour. “That won’t do. A hereditary witching family like them making such a fuss about handing down their traditions but afraid to acknowledge their past?” She shook her head. “That won’t do. Tell them I said so. Or don’t. Maybe I’ll just tell them myself. They could even set up in here with us. I think we could make that work.”

  Rowen wasn’t so sure about that. Odds & Ends was a small shop. Much of it had already been transformed into what would soon become a little museum of sorts. They were located in downtown Lainswich, so the parade would be running by them. It had been Lydia’s idea to let people come through and see a little piece of Lainswich history, Greensmith history. Of course, that also meant much of the family had been roped into helping set up, and that meant condensing much of the store’s stock against back walls and into corners. There wasn’t room for all the stuff Lydia had brought in to put on display, never mind the things the Stonewall family might add to their little exhibit.

  “I’ll talk to them about it,” said Jasper. It was easy to tell that he was only saying that so that people would stop giving him a hard time.

  “You should call your great grandparents.” Rowen started back in on her husband. She couldn’t help it. This felt like such a good opportunity for him to learn more about his heritage. Why didn’t this stuff matter as much to him?

  Eric rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring his wife as he went to help Lydia. “Let me get that,” he said, trying to take the box with the broken picture frame from her.

  “Are you sure?” Lydia let him take it but hovered close. “Be careful. Don’t cut yourself now.”

  “I won’t,” Eric assured her, pulling the box’s contents out object by object. He took the largest pieces of glass out and set them aside.

  “Oh.” Lydia released a dreamy sigh. She reached for the picture as soon as Eric had pulled it from its busted frame. “I just love this. It’s one of my favorites.” Lydia was prone to hyperbole, but the loving expression she was looking down at the picture with was such that Rowen couldn’t help but draw a little closer. Even Margo tried to sneak a few peeks past her and over the tops of her shades.

  “Is that you and Grammy?” asked Rowen.

  Lydia nodded. “It’s all of us back then. The whole family.”

  The picture was in black and white. Rowen recognized the porch of the Greensmith house in the background. She recognized the gray wood, its paint peeling even then. The garden out front was more robust. Even in black and white, it was easy to imagine the various shades of the flowers. In front of it all, stood Rowen’s late grandmother. Grammy looked much younger here, her hair darker and piled on top of her head in a bun. All around her stood her children. Aunt Lydia and Nadine looked to be elementary school age. They were holding hands and wearing matching dresses, though the ever-slim Nadine stood at least a head taller than her stocky sister. Uncle Norman was smaller than the both of them. His attention seemed to be somewhere in the distance, as was that of Rowen’s own mother, Tiffany. The picture seemed a bit prophetic. Norman and Tiffany had always been distant from the family. Norman had only come home to recoup his losses after all his get-rich-quick schemes had failed, and no one could really predict where Rowen’s mother was. Tiffany had always been a free, wandering spirit— even if that meant shirking her motherly duties. It wasn’t so bad. Rowen had come to terms with it quite some time ago. As far as she was concerned, she was lucky to have a large and loving family even without the presence of her mom.

  “Can I get a copy of this?” asked Rowen, nodding to the picture. “It can wait until after the Tricentennial.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Lydia took the picture from her. “I’m going to put this in the back for now, so that it can stay safe until we get a new frame for it.”

  “I’ll buy you a new frame!” Jasper called after her, his expression still a sheepish one.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Margo told him, returning her focus to her phone. “It’s fine. Accidents happen.”

  As if on cue, Rowen felt one such “accident” coming on. She hurried to a nearby shelf, where the divinatory stock had been condensed and relegated. She made it just in time to catch a crystal ball as it toppled from its display stand and rolled right toward the floor. “Stop that,” she snapped, quietly. Margo still overheard her.

  “You still haven’t sent that spirit on her way?” asked Margo, raising a judgmental eyebrow in Rowen’s direction.

  The spirit in question was the deceased, Natalie Marie May. She had been hanging around for a few months now, ever since Rowen had promised to deliver a message to her sister in return for information that had aided her in the solving of a mystery. Delivering a message wouldn’t be a big deal… if the message wasn’t an angry and insulting one, full of hatred. Honestly, Rowen had hoped Natalie would just sort of move on under the assumption that Rowen would make good on her word. But no, Natalie was too vindictive for that.

  I hate you. Go find my sister came the thoughts of Natalie, loud and clear in Rowen’s mind. It wasn’t the first time she had heard those words.

  Rowen still had no intention of repeating all the nasty things Natalie had told her to say. To show up on a stranger’s doorstep with that sort of message was a sure-fire way to get arrested. “Why don’t you go haunt her and get the message across yourself?”

  “Why don’t you force this chick to move on?” asked Margo, before Natalie could answer.

  Rowen didn’t answer her cousin. She didn’t feel comfortable forcing Natalie to leave. Despite the ridiculousness of Natalie’s request, Rowen had agreed to it. It seemed cruel to forcibly make Natalie move on after lying to her.

  I’m going to keep breaking things until you do what you promised, threatened Natalie.

  Rowen rolled her eyes and left the store to retrieve another box. She wasn’t too worried about Natalie wreaking havoc. It took a lot of energy for her to interact with the physical world. After shoving that crystal ball from the shelf, it was going to take her a few hours to recharge her batteries, so to speak. She could really make a scene if she wanted, but that would leave her out of commission for days or weeks. She had only done that once or twice. It seemed she much preferred being a consistent minor annoyance rather than an occasional huge one. Honestly, Rowen wasn’t entirely sure which she would prefer.

  A car pulling up in front of the store drew Rowen from her thoughts. It was Rose’s car. She watched her cousin get out. It was surprising to see her here. Rowen had assumed she would be busy with work at the Lainswich Inquirer. It was the part paper publication, part blog she and her cousins ran together. “What’s up?” called Rowen.

  “Just thought I would stop by and see if you guys needed any help.” Rose shrugged. “It’s a slow news day.”

  “I think we’re about done taking stuff inside,” said Rowen, looking at the boxes that still remained in the back seat of Aunt Lydia’s car. “Right now your mom is mostly just going for a walk down memory lane. All this stuff is kicking up old memories.”

  “Well, just hand me a box then.” Rose went to the car door Rowen was opening. Before any boxes could be handed out, Margo stepped outside.

  “Rose. Good timing. We need to talk.” Margo walked down the sidewalk a ways, until she was well out of earshot of anyone coming or going from Odds & Ends. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

  Rowen looked at Rose to find her cousin wearing a frown. They went to join Margo. “What is it?” asked Rowen. If there was any bad news, she wanted her to come right out with it.

  Even this far from the storefront, Margo made a point to lower her voice. “I think Julia Martinez is planning something.”

  Julia Martinez was the lead correspondent and semi-official news director of Channel 2 News. She and the Greensmiths had a sordid relationship. They really shouldn’t have been rival news sources, but Julia had a tendency to treat them as such if it meant better ratings
. At the same time, she had asked for their help in matters more than once. She owed them—but only when it suited her.

  As the Greensmith in charge of public relations, Margo was the closest to Julia. The two of them tried to maintain a healthy working relationship. It probably didn’t hurt that they had compatible personalities. If it wasn’t for the unspoken rivalry, they would probably be the best of friends. Heck, maybe they were best friends. As difficult as Margo was to warm up to, maybe Julia was what constituted a friend in her world.

  “What do you mean she’s planning something?” asked Rowen.

  “I mean, she’s hinting at a big story.” Margo took a deep breath and started from the beginning. “Earlier today we were having linner.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow “Linner?”

  “Brunch for people who don’t willingly wake up before noon,” said Margo. “It’s professional lingo.”

  “Are you sure it’s not a dad joke?” asked Rowen. “I mean, are you sure it’s not something that Norman said?”

  “Whatever.” Margo waved a hand like that didn’t matter. “The point is, we were sitting down at a meal, and she was being very coy. She kept hinting at something. Sometimes she does that. I don’t know why.”

  Rowen was willing to hazard a guess as to why. “Could it be because you do that to her?”

  “Does it matter?” snapped Margo. “Either way, she’s got something. Do the two of you know of anything going on right now? Are you sensing anything coming Lainswich’s way? Any kind of trouble approaching?”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” said Rose. She had been adopted into the Greensmith family by Aunt Lydia. Because of that, she didn’t sense things like her cousins did.

  “And I haven’t gotten any gut feelings,” added Rowen.

  “Well, I’ve got one.” Margo didn’t say things like that often. She didn’t spend a whole lot of time participating in family spells or rituals. It was easy to forget that she was every bit as in touch with unseen energies as Rowen was. Then again, this could have been just her common sense talking. “And it’s telling me Julia is about to be lording something over us.”