Bright Young Witches and the Merry Dead

by Beth Byers

  “By Jove! Would you look at that? Martha! Martha! Come see!”

  Three ghosts entered the room and the fellow in the wall lifted both hands. A full shelf of books flew at Ariadne. She flinched that time but she felt the magic click into place, and again, the book settled on the ground.

  “It’s a Wode!” a female ghost declared. “A real Wode! Huzzah! It’s about time. We’re falling to pieces over here.”

  Another book was lifted and Ariadne slowly took hold of the cross around her neck that had settled over the top of her pentacle necklace. “If you want to remain on these grounds, in your grave, you will stop.”

  The ghosts gasped, along with Margot and Hadley.

  “You wouldn’t!” Margot gasped. “Move their bodies? It’s sacrilege!”

  “There’s a good girl,” said the winking ghost, eyeing Margot with approval.

  “I would,” Ariadne replied evenly. “We’ll find out why you’re so restless and help you feel yourselves again, but you’ll exercise a modicum of self-control and stop terrorizing the breathing denizens of this house, or I’ll take steps you won’t like.”

  “You would unhouse our bones?” thundered the female ghost. “How dare you even say such a thing!”

  “I would,” Ariadne said precisely.

  The woman’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of Wode are you?”

  “One who won’t be pelted with books in her own house.”

  The first, winking ghost burst into laughter. “She’s got us there, Martha!”

  “She’s got you there, George,” Martha replied sourly. “I didn’t do any of those things. Foolish man tormenting that poor Humbert fellow with howling.”

  “You won’t unhouse us if we’re good?” George demanded. “I can probably be good.”

  “Stay out of private rooms, no throwing things, no creating traps,” Ariadne specified.

  “But I could sit in this room?” the winking ghost asked.

  Ari gestured to a chair. The ghost eyed her. “Generally, nature witches hate ghosts.”

  “Ghosts are part of the circle of life,” Ari replied, “and my sister is a necromancer.”

  There was low ghostly muttering that sounded like the wind in the leaves mixed with otherworldly howling as the ghosts departed, fading from sight.

  The elder Mr. Blacke met Ariadne’s gaze. “Neatly done.”

  “But you wouldn’t have unhoused them really?” Margot demanded, as shocked as ever.

  “I would have,” Ariadne replied. “Ghosts can see the truth in our hearts if they have the wit to do so.”

  “But those are my ancestors. You can’t…you can’t…”

  “I can,” Ariadne told Margot. “If you would like me to give them permission to terrorize only you, I could do so.”

  Margot’s gaze narrowed, but she shook her head.

  Ariadne turned to the elder Mr. Blacke. “Thank you for helping my family today.”

  “Lucian asked me to step in,” Mr. Blacke said with a nod to his son, “but I am glad I did. You needed me.”

  “I did,” Ariadne replied. “Much thanks.”

  She finally had the chance to look about the room, allowing herself to take in the details. The grandeur and luxury were obvious even with a half-glance from the corner of her eye. Once again the ceilings had been painted by master witches with both artistic skill and knowledge of the craft. As she began to walk through the library, the candles in the chandeliers burst into life, outshining the electric light.

  Ari shook her head as she took in the library. It was more than overstuffed chairs with a few unused, pretentious tomes. Books lined every inch of the walls, as well as back-to-back shelves throughout the room. It was a multi-story room that allowed the books to rise more than twenty-feet into the air. She could sense the power of the books and saw the pentacle in the wood before the fire. Much of the wood flooring was dark. Black walnut perhaps, but there were wards and pentacles made with lighter wood.

  “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” Hadley asked kindly. “I’ve missed it here.”

  Ariadne glanced at him and smiled softly. He was a distant cousin, but he was a Wode and his early memories were here. This was his home more than hers in many ways. “It’s amazing.”

  “We used to hang mistletoe in every doorway,” Hadley reminisced. “Grandfather was desperately in love with Grandmother, and he would take her in his arms and kiss her soundly at every chance. Margot and I would groan, but he’d only wink and laugh. We wound pine boughs along all the mantles, doorways, and around the banisters of the stairs. It smelled like the grove in here when we were finished.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Ariadne told him. “We should do those things. As many as we can. What else did you do?”

  “They’d move the sofas into the ballroom on Christmas Day and light a massive fire. There would be eggnog and mulled wine, and we’d dance and perform spells and nibble on our favorite foods as we spent the day circled together. Then at midnight as the holiday came to a close, we’d light candles for our dead and parade through the grounds, the back garden, the graveyard, and end at the pentacle where we would give back to the spells as a family. It was draining and magnificent. We’d be exhausted afterwards and go to our beds, where a book would be left for each of us next to a domed platter. That way we could sleep late and read happily while the servants also slept late. I loved that slow waking, knowing that breakfast buns and fruit were waiting with a book that had been chosen specifically for me.”

  Ariadne knew he wanted nothing more than to recreate the holidays of his past. She felt the same and was haunted, not by the ghosts in the house, but by the memory of the hearth where she’d been raised. They too had exchanged books on Christmas Eve and lingered over them on the subsequent days. Similar but different and still magical.

  “What kind of nibbles?” Ariadne asked. “What did you like to eat?”

  “Potted shrimps, ginger biscuits. The puddings were always my favorite,” Hadley admitted. “A flaming Christmas pud. A yule log. Spotted dick. Perhaps a good madeira cake.”

  Ariadne raised her brows. “I don’t know what any of those except the yule log are, but if we can incorporate some of our favorite treats, I think we can do this. I don’t know how to make anything but our favorites. Have you ever had pumpkin pie?”

  “You cook?” Margot scoffed.

  But Ariadne wouldn’t be shamed. Making food for her family was one of the joys of her life. Medea’s favorite pumpkin pie. Circe’s beloved chocolate layer cake. Lemon cake for Echo. Cass preferred the butter cookies. When Ari was little and someone cooked for her, it had always been gingerbread with a creamy frosting.

  “The siren in our family was our German grandmother through our father. She made the most wonderful butterball soup. Have you ever had it?”

  Hadley shook his head. “I’d like to try it.”

  “Then I’ll make you some,” Ariadne told him. She glanced at Lucian and Mr. Blacke. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  Before Mr. Blacke could say no, Lucian said, “We’d like that. Dominic is still—out of sorts. Sybil is spending the holiday with her husband’s family. It’s only Father and I knocking about with my children.”

  “Then do come,” Ariadne told him. “Though I have no idea what we’ll manage to pull off.”

  She thought to invite them to stay for dinner but she knew cooking that evening would push the limits of her flagging reserves. There were no servants except the caretaker. “I suppose that there isn’t a cook if things have been haunted or I’d invite you to join us tonight.”

  “I’ll do it,” one of the ghosts said, appearing as suddenly as it had departed. “I’ll take care of the meals.”

  Ariadne met the ghost’s gaze. It was doubtful that the ghost could cook for the living, but who knew with all the magic running wild. She considered, then addressed the living brightly. “If you want a ghost dinner, please join us tonight.”

  Chapter 4

  ARI
ADNE EUDORA WISTERIA WODE

  Martha the ghost, it seemed, could cook. She could also bake. She could whip up favorite foods as easily as the one called George could throw books, so Ariadne left her to it in the kitchen and went to clean up.

  Ariadne had found the master suite but refused to examine it in more detail when she realized it was even more ridiculous than the London master bedroom. She bathed in the massive pool that was supposed to be a bathtub, washing both little sisters along with herself.

  As they dried and went to find their clothing, they discovered that their trunks had been unpacked, their clothes had been put away, and an evening dress was unwrinkled and ready for Ari. She debated whether it had been the magic of the house or a ghost that had been in her knickers, took in the soft wild rose scent of her dress, and decided she didn’t care. While they’d been playing in the bath, the oversized, dark room had been freshened and it shone with light.

  “Is Faith all right?” Ariadne asked Cassiopeia, refusing to reflect on the room’s magnificence.

  “She said she’s not doing anything other than eating bread and butter and sleeping for two days. She says she tired from Medea’s combativeness and the long drive, and Christmas means naps.”

  Ariadne didn’t see the need to argue. Instead she sent the girls with Echo down to the kitchens to eat and told the two girls they could sleep in her bed while she and their other two sisters joined the other adults for the meal.

  When she reached the dining room after getting lost three times and finally having to use a spell to get her there, she found the table was laden with a feast.

  “You’ll have to serve yourselves,” Martha told them with only her torso appearing in the dining room. “I can’t do everything.”

  “Well,” Ariadne said, pausing to enjoy the scent of the roasted goose. “We’ll manage. Thank you, Martha.”

  Ariadne met the gazes of Hadley, Margot, her two sisters, and the Misters Blacke. She pressed her lips together, but Echo couldn’t hold back her giggle.

  “We aren’t putting the ghosts to rest until after Christmas,” Circe said, leaning over to breathe in the perfectly roasted vegetables. Carrots, parsnips, potatoes both herbed and buttered. Asparagus swimming in a perfect hollandaise sauce. Flakey white fish baked with lemons. A shining chocolate tart loaded with fresh, inexplicable raspberries. A tray with a variety of cheese and savory biscuits.

  “Agreed,” Hadley said, and then shot Ariadne a look that said he expected her to snap at him. Instead she let Lucian seat her and directed Hadley to take the end of the table, opposite her. His gaze lit with happiness.

  “Why are the ghosts awake?” Ariadne asked Echo. “How can Martha create a feast in mere hours?”

  She shook her head and then said, “The only conclusion is the excess of energy. Most ghosts can’t leave the graveyard without feeding on the living, but they don’t need us when magic is crackling about the property.”

  “We should probably be sure before we put them to rest. Echo?”

  Echo nodded at the unfinished question, focused on the food spread before them, and Ariadne glanced down at the meal. She had no idea where the ingredients had come from or how Martha had put them together, but it smelled divine, and she was near-starving.

  “What are your plans for the Wode family?” the elder Mr. Blacke asked after they had served themselves.

  Ari glanced at him in surprise and then down to her plate before she slowly reached out for the wine glass. Martha had served mulled wine, and the warm, spiced wine was the best part about the moment. Ari could feel the razor sharp gazes of both Hadley and Margot waiting for an answer she had yet to consider.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was even, but she sipped deeply from her wine after she asked.

  “Being the head of the Wode family in America must have meant something more than being the eldest of the eldest,” Mr. Blacke said. “How did you cultivate your magic?”

  Ari pressed her lips together as Circe snorted. All eyes moved from sister to sister before they settled once again on Ariadne.

  “When my mother was alive,” Ari said, “we dealt in tinctures, potions, and whatnot. My Aunt Beatrix took that over while we were mourning and when it was time to step up again, I saw another opportunity.”

  Everyone stared at Ariadne, who sighed.

  “I crafted a spell that allowed me to age wines, whiskeys, and distill gin without blinding or killing my customers.”

  “You sold alcohol?” Lucian asked with fixed eyes and an even expression.

  “I believe,” Margot said snidely, “the term is bootlegger? Isn’t it? Alcohol is illegal in America, isn’t it?”

  Ariadne sighed. “It’s illegal to make or sell alcohol. The wealthy stockpiled before the law went into effect.”

  Circe swirled the wine in her glass. “The term is lady-legger if you’re like Ari.”

  “Lady-legger?” Mr. Blacke asked, distastefully. “You were criminals.”

  “I suppose,” Ari said.

  “I wouldn’t have thought Wode House would have chosen someone immoral.”

  Ariadne’s hand fisted under the table while Margot didn’t bother to hide her laugh.

  “Given that we all drink alcohol,” Hadley cut in, “perhaps we shouldn’t pass judgement on ignoring a law that none of us would keep either.”

  Ariadne cleared her throat. “To answer your questions as to my plans for the family, I haven’t begun to focus on that yet. We’ve not been in England for all that long and quite frankly, it’s been enough to handle the loose ends that have been left so far.” She turned from the elder Mr. Blacke to Hadley and asked, “What did the Wode family do before?”

  “Like all witch families, we did much of the same as others. Raised cattle and horses, grew hops, personalized spells. Like many nature witches, we used our powers and were rather successful.”

  “I would assume,” Echo added, “given the house and the grove. This place is magnificent. Mr. Lucian, what does your family do? When they’re not dabbling in things best left alone, that is.”

  Lucian paused, nodding slightly to say he understood her dig, and then answered, “We were often in partnership with the Wode, to be honest. Our status declined along with the Wode as we were bound tightly together. I suppose it will be good for all of us once the Wode family has returned to their feet.”

  “Then we’ll have to consider that after we’ve addressed what is happening here,” Ariadne said. “First get your house in order. Then, perhaps, look beyond yourselves to what else you can do for mankind.”

  This perhaps was intended for the elder Mr. Blacke. Ariadne didn’t hold the dark magic dabbling of his other son against him, but she did hold the way he seemed to judge her against him. He had no idea why she’d done what she had to make ends meet. How could any Englishman or woman when they agreed that the prohibition laws were senseless?

  HADLEY BERTRAND ALDER WODE

  “Margot,” Hadley hissed later that evening. “What is the matter with you?”

  She glanced up from her compact and lifted a brow before she snapped it closed.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he growled at her silent question. “You are deliberately alienating Ariadne and her sisters.”

  “They stole our inheritance.”

  “We didn’t earn it,” Hadley reminded her. “We have the same nature witch gift, but while Ariadne Wode was cultivating hers, you were flirting and shopping and I was drinking too much. She’s a better witch than either of us.”

  Margot sniffed and then muttered, “Delilah Wode was half a witch.”

  “Delilah Wode knew that none of us could handle the magic and she followed the advice of Grandfather and reverted to the ancient way, which is why Ariadne is the Wode instead of either of us.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Margot said.

  She scowled at him with that sour expression that he’d come to know so well. Her bowed mouth twisted into a frown, her blue eyes nar
rowed on him, and she pushed back her fringe. She had shingled her hair with a precision she’d never used in anything other than her lipstick and the way she drew on her brows.

  Hadley scowled. “You are making it impossible for me to form a relationship with them.”

  “A relationship?” Margot asked with an arched brow. “What is it that you are wanting?”

  “I want a cousin, Margot. Must you always be crass? We don’t know anything about those sisters, but we do know that they’re witches, they’re Wodes, and they inherited.”

  “You know,” she mused, pursing her perfectly made-up lips at him and examining him. “A little Christmas romance is what this situation needs. Those sisters are locked down, but the holidays tend to soften anyone up. Add in that Circe is desperate for love and Ariadne is well aware she isn’t suited for this job, and you have a chance even you couldn’t flub up. Once you get one of them, you’ll have all of them. They’re tight knit. For now anyway. I’m sure we could loosen that up once you have one for your own.”

  Hadley stared at his sister and then muttered to himself, and he left her bedroom before he strangled her. Instead, he focused on the holidays. He went down to the grove. Yes, it was haunted, but George and Martha didn’t seem so bad. And Ariadne had tamed the wild magic, so what was there to fear?

  Hadley moved through the wood with the machete that Grandfather had used when they’d gathered boughs so many Christmases ago. He started with the holly bushes and worked with gloves, piling stacks of boughs. They’d need some good pine boughs as well, but he did enjoy the colors of holly.

  He worked until he felt eyes on him. Hadley glanced back, wondering if Margot had come to apologize. She needed to. He was no more a commodity than she was, and he wouldn’t break the trust of Ariadne and her sisters by trying to creep into the family with a pretense of love.

  He didn’t believe any of those sisters would fall for such a thing. Circe especially. The girl had been burned by whomever she’d loved before and Hadley wasn’t stupid enough to ask about that.