Mountains, Mystery, and Magic

by Samantha Eden

  That was what a ghost was. It was what I was looking at right now when I saw the visage of Fallon Fulcrum floating in front of me. It wasn’t Fallon herself. She had already gone wherever it is we go after this life. Even witches didn’t have the answer to that. This was just a semi-corporeal memory, and that was what made me so nervous.

  Memories could be a lot of things. They could be happy or sad. They could be downright nasty, and judging by the look on Fallon’s face, I was going to assume this was one of the latter memories. It wasn’t going to be much fun.

  ‘What do you think she wants?” Charlotte asked. Looking back at my cousin, I realized she had skulked behind me and was hiding there. Guess I wasn’t the only Lockheart witch around these parts who didn’t take well to the idea of ghosts.

  “It’s not a she. It’s an it,” I reminded her, steeling myself and cementing my stance. “And I’m not sure, but I do know that this can’t be a coincidence. Whoever burned the address on Riley’s arm must have known about this ghost.”

  “Or maybe the ghost itself did it,” Charlotte suggested, still basically using me as a human shield.

  “Could be,” I answered, eyeing the ghost as it turned and floated off toward a house on the side of the road Charlotte and I were walking down. “Only one way to find out, though.”

  Charlotte sighed from behind me. “We’re going to have to follow it, aren’t we?”

  “We’re going to have to follow it,” I confirmed, nodding as I set off after the ghost. As it floated, I watched it move toward a modest blue and white house at the end of the street. Since this street had been rezoned since the days when it was called Walnut Grove, I couldn’t tell whether this house was the old 1969 address or not. Still, given the fact that I had been led to it by the effects of magic lightning and I was, at this moment, watching a ghost fly into it, I felt more than comfortable hedging my bets.

  “Any idea whose house that is? And would you mind not clutching onto my back like grim death? We’re witches, Charlotte. If this thing starts acting up, we can fight it.” I, of course, didn’t mention the fact that I was more than a little uncomfortable myself. No need to let my cousin known that everyone was afraid tonight.

  “No clue,” Charlotte asked, though she kept her spot behind me. “And that’s not so easy to do when the thing you’re hiding from actually is grim death.”

  “She’s not death,” I said, shrugging away from the woman and turning to meet her. “She’s not even a ‘her’. She’s not real. Grandma Winnie taught you that.”

  “Grandma Winnie talks a lot. I’m not sure why I’m expected to remember all of it,” Charlotte said. “That ghost might not actually be Fallon Fulcrum, but if I remember correctly, it has a lot of power and it can act like Fallon Fulcrum.”

  “So?” I balked.

  “So, Fallon Fulcrum hated my guts!” Charlotte answered. “She blamed me for things that weren’t my fault.”

  I glared at her.

  “For things that were only partially my fault,” she amended.

  I continued to glare.

  “Okay. They were mostly my fault, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to die for them!” Charlotte cried.

  “You’re not gonna die,” I answered, sighing at the woman. “Whatever beef you and Fallon had with each other, it’s over now. This ghost is here to guide us to something. Though, to be honest with you, I can’t imagine what that something might be.” I shrugged. “Again, only one way to find out.”

  Before Charlotte could open her mouth to contest the move, I walked toward the small house. I slowed down as I heard her coming up behind me. Just because I felt like I needed to do this didn’t mean I needed to do it alone or that I wanted to walk through that door first. Whether I liked it or not, the truth was, Charlotte was a stronger witch than I was. I had laid off the magic for five years, and tarot card reading aside, my skills weren’t up to snuff right yet.

  “There might be a spell on the house,” I said as she neared me.

  “There isn’t,” Charlotte said. “I already checked.”

  “G–good,” I answered, a little shocked that Charlotte had managed to do something that would have caused me to break a sweat without my even noticing. “Now, all we have to do is break in and see what the big deal is.”

  As the words were leaving my mouth, though, I saw a figure pass by the window.

  I froze. “Darn,” I muttered. “We can’t go in there unless you want to freeze time again.”

  “Freeze time twice in a day?” Charlotte balked. “Who do you think I am, David Copperfield?”

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to wait. Hopefully, whoever this person is will leave soon and we can just—”

  “Break into his or her house?” Charlotte asked.

  “That’s just an ugly way of putting it,” I responded, wincing.

  “It might be ugly, but it’s also accurate,” Charlotte answered.

  “I guess,” I answered. Looking up onto the front porch, I saw a handmade sign hanging above the door. It was beautiful, and carved into the wood and painted red were the words, A Man’s Treasure is Not in What He Carries With Him, But in Who He Carries Beside Him.

  My heart skipped a beat. “I know,” I said, my mouth going dry.

  “What?” Charlotte asked.

  “Go home, Charlotte,” I said, turning to my cousin.

  “What?” Charlotte balked. “Why would I do that?”

  ‘Because I know who this house belongs to,” I answered. “And I have to do this by myself.”

  21

  “Um, how about no?” Charlotte said, folding her arms over her chest and staring at me intensely. “If you think I’m going to let you walk into some weird dude’s house in the middle of the night all by yourself and just leave you to the fates, then you’re stupider than Savannah and I say you are behind your back.”

  I glared at her. ‘First of all, that’s really hurtful. Secondly. I’ll be fine. You see that board hanging beside the door, the one with the quote on it?”

  “The one that looks like it was made by middle schoolers?” Charlotte asked, still all huffed up.

  “Exactly,” I answered, my voice getting a little louder than it perhaps should have. “It looks like it was made by middle schoolers because it was made by . . . well, it was made by high schoolers, but we weren’t very artistically advanced.”

  “We?” Charlotte asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “I made that,” I said, nodding firmly. “Along with Riley, Emily, and even Fallon herself.” I leaned closer. “Do you remember Mr. Rickman?”

  “Mr. Rickman?” she asked, biting her lower lip and looking up as though she was trying to remember the name. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He was our eleventh-grade Art teacher,” I answered.

  “I skipped that class,” Charlotte said.

  “The entire year?”

  She shrugged. “It never appealed to me. Besides, that was during my Days of Our Lives phase. You know I had to catch my stories.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered. “In any event, Mr. Rickman was the single greatest teacher I ever had. I can’t tell you how much he shaped me. In fact, he was the one who pushed me toward becoming a chef.”

  “Wait,” Charlotte said. “Is he the teacher you invited to dinner that one time? The one with the dimple in his chin?”

  “Yeah. That’s him,” I answered. “That’s Mr. Rickman.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Charlotte balked.

  “I did,” I said, blinking all confused at her. “I said so many, many times.”

  “Yeah, but you called him Mr. Rickman,” Charlotte said.

  “Because that’s his name,” I said.

  “His name is Dimple Chin,” Charlotte said. “And he’s fine.”

  “I would hope he’s fine,” I answered. “But, as you just saw, there’s a ghost in there with him, so—”

  “Not that kind of fine, stu
pid,” Charlotte said, slapping my arm. “He’s fine.” She shook her head. “Nope, I can’t let you do this by yourself.” She wiggled her fingers and a mirror appeared in the sky, floating in front of her. “Let me just make sure I’m up to the task.”

  “Would you stop that?” I snapped, wiggling my own fingers and causing the mirror to disappear. “I don’t need you coming with me. Mr. Rickman is harmless, and besides, thanks to your soap opera addiction, he doesn’t know you. If he’s hiding something, I’ll have a much better chance of getting it out of him without you there.”

  “You’d have had a much better chance of getting it out of him with Tawny in your possession, but you used up all her reserves on the cop,” Charlotte answered. My mind flashed to Riley, to the image of him lying unconscious in that bed. It took all I could do not to yelp out in pain. “As it stands, I’m going to be invaluable to your little mission.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “Well, you’re probably going to go in there all straight-laced and proper,” Charlotte said, sneering like the idea of being polite was a four-letter word. “You’ll be all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ’may I ask you a question?’ ”

  “And I’m assuming there’s something wrong with that?” I asked.

  “There is if you want results,” Charlotte said. “I’ll strut right up to Dimple Chin. One minute around me, and he won’t know what to do with himself. After all, sexiness is my—”

  “Sexiness is not your gift!” I said. “Stop saying sexiness is your gift!”

  “Looks like somebody is a little jealous of somebody else’s obvious gift,” Charlotte murmured.

  “Look,” I said. “It’s late, and I don’t want him to feel overwhelmed. I know this man. I have a reason to be here, even if it is a flimsy one. Your tagging along will just make things look suspicious.”

  “So, I’m just supposed to let you go in there by yourself, all unprotected?” Charlotte asked.

  Just then, Randolph came trotting up to us. He settled at my feet, rubbing himself against my leg and curling into a ball in front of me, looking up at Charlotte like he was the answer to all my problems.

  “I’m not alone,” I said smiling. “See, everything is going to be okay.” I sighed at her. “If it makes you feel better, you can stay out here. Just hide over by those trees, okay?”

  “I guess that’s what my life has become now,” she groaned, marching toward the trees I’d pointed out. “Just watching other people do things from the safety and irrelevancy of a tree line.” She scoffed. “It’s pathetic.”

  “You’re not pathetic,” I said as softly as I could, given her distance.

  “I didn’t say I was pathetic!” she hissed back. “I said it was pathetic, though it’s good to know where your mind is.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turned toward the door. Spying down at my feet, I took a deep breath. “You ready, Randolph?” I asked.

  My cat stood up, and just like that, I felt a lot better, a lot more protected. Nothing bad could happen with Randolph around. I knew that just like I knew the back of my own hand. So, if that was the case, why was that hand shaking so much?

  “Get it together, Izzy,” I muttered to myself. Then, fearing that if I considered this for even another second, I would back out, I moved toward the door. I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but before I could bring it down, I heard a horrible scream come from inside.

  22

  Without allowing even another thought to enter my head, I grabbed ahold of the door handle. There was no time for knocking or pleasantries. Mr. Rickman was in trouble, and that meant I needed to act fast. Unfortunately, I found the door to be locked. “Stand back,” I said, looking over to Randolph, who lunged off the porch as fast as his four feet would carry him. Turning back to the locked door, I focused my magic on it and twisted my wrist. I closed my eyes, seeing the lock on the door as though I was standing inside the house. Taking a deep breath, I pictured myself turning the lock, letting my hand mimic what I was picturing. As I did, the lock turned, freeing the door and allowing me to open it. My eyes flung open, and even though I was in an emergency situation, I couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with myself. It might not have been as impressive as stopping time, but that was a pretty hefty act of witchcraft I’d just pulled off.

  Turning the doorknob and finding it cooperative, I pushed open the door.

  “Wait for me!” Charlotte yelled, running up behind me, with Randolph racing alongside her. She’d heard the scream and wasn’t about to let me venture into whatever was going on inside this house on my own.

  “Absolutely,” I murmured, because as much as Charlotte might have wanted to help, that wasn’t a drop in the bucket to how much I wanted her help. Running in the house with her, I heard another scream. It was a man’s, obviously Mr. Rickman’s.

  My heart leapt. I looked around the smallish house. It was a well put together but modest home. The living room was neat, with a couch along the far wall and a coffee table in front of it, books stacked up on the thing. That didn’t surprise me. Mr. Rickman was an avid reader. What did surprise me was something I saw sitting atop the fireplace mantle. Two photographs had been displayed in frames. One was of Mr. Rickman standing there, smiling for the camera with his arm around Fallon. The other was the same exact picture, only instead of Fallon, Mr. Rickman had his arm around Riley.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, the breath catching in my throat. Did Mr. Rickman stay connected with these two? He had been our teacher, after all. I suppose it would have made sense. Still, it seemed a little odd that Riley wouldn’t have mentioned it, knowing how much I adored the man.

  Another scream filled the air.

  “My guess is that the ghost of Fallon Fulcrum is really letting old Dimple Chin have it,” Charlotte said, obviously not having noticed the pictures. “Come on. It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.”

  Before the words had even left Charlotte’s mouth, Randolph rushed up the staircase and out of view.

  “Randolph. Wait!” I yelled. I wasn’t sure if ghosts had the capacity to hurt animals or even why a ghost like the one that came from Fallon Fulcrum would want to harm a kitty as sweet and good as Randolph, but I sure as heck didn’t want to find out.

  I ran up the stairs, breathing heavily and trying to keep my composure. As I’d mentioned, ghosts freaked me out, and it wasn’t like I was marching into battle with Joan of Arc at my side. Charlotte was way more afraid than even me. Still, I had to do this. I had to get to the bottom of it. Fallon was dead. Riley might have already succumbed to his injuries, though the idea of that threatened to tear my heart right in two. I couldn’t let Mr. Rickman be next. I couldn’t let anyone be next.

  Rounding the top of the staircase, I rushed toward what I had to assume was Mr. Rickman’s bedroom. Randolph was standing at the door, scratching it like he was desperate to enter, though, for the life of me, I wouldn’t know why. I was almost certain that when I opened this door, a ghost would scare the snot out of me. Why Randolph was in such a hurry for a similar fate was beyond me.

  Still, I nodded at my brave cat as I swung the door open. My chest tightened and horror filled me as I looked forward at what was going on. There, floating in the air in front of me, wasn’t just the ghost of Fallon Fulcrum. Mr. Rickman was floating there too.

  His face was filled with fear and his hair was a mess. That dimpled chin Charlotte had been such a fan of was cut, and the rest of his face held more than a few bruises. The room was a mess. Even the mattress was turned upside down. But more horrifying than any of that was the fact that Mr. Rickman was floating dangerously close to a window . . . to an open window.

  “Mr. Rickman!” I said loudly, holding my hands out toward him. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Mr. Rickman looked at me, his eyes widening and his facial expression graver by the second. “You shouldn’t have come back here, Izzy,” he said, tears streaming down h
is face. “None of this would have happened if you’d have just stayed away.”

  A pang of hurt ran through me. I wasn’t sure who was behind this or why they hated the idea of my coming home so much, but they were very hardcore about it.

  “I’m not going to let it hurt you,” I said, taking a deep breath as I stepped into the room. As I did, the temperature suddenly dropped about fifteen degrees. That was never a good sign.

  “You have to stop her, Izzy,” Mr. Rickman said, shaking his head. He swallowed hard and grimaced. He was obviously in pain.

  “You heard him, Charlotte,” I said, turning to my cousin. “We have to get rid of this ghost.”

  “No,” Mr. Rickman said. “You don’t understand. This isn’t what you think it is. It’s so much bigger. It’s all happening because of him, because of him and your grandmother.”

  “My grandmother?” I asked. “What does my grandmother have to do with any of—”

  Before I could finish the sentence, Mr. Rickman flew backward out of the window and fell. I heard a thud.

  “No!” I yelled. I ran toward the window but found myself being held back by unseen hands. “Let me go, Charlotte!” I said, staring forward as the ghost of Fallon Fulcrum disappeared in front of me. “Let me go!”

  “You don’t need to see that, Izzy,” she said.

  I reached back and snapped my fingers. Charlotte grunted, and the magical restraints dropped from me. I rushed toward the window, but it was too late. Mr. Rickman lay on the sidewalk. He was dead.

  I turned to Charlotte with tears in my eyes. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s happening,” I said, defeat filling me as I finally admitted the next truth. “And I don’t think I know how to stop it.”

  23

  I stood outside Mr. Rickman’s house until the ambulance arrived and took him away. My head was spinning, my heart was hurting, and I honestly had no idea how to proceed. This was my fault. At least, according to Mr. Rickman, it was. I had come home, and because of that grave injustice, people were dying left and right.