by Ani Gonzalez
Kat looked around, clearly disoriented. "Crimson stains on the marble." She frowned at the balustrade. "I felt the staircase break. The wood broke." Her gaze clouded. "It crumbled under my hands."
"Get her to the bed," Yolanda interrupted from the hallway. "I'm going to make her a tonic."
Liam nodded and lifted Kat up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he carried her to the master bedroom.
"I didn't fall?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "There was no blood?"
His arms tightened around her. "No, there was nothing. You're going to be okay."
They entered the bedroom, Yolanda hovering anxiously, holding a cup with a tea-like substance inside.
"You're fine," he said as he set her on the bed.
But he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
It didn't help that he'd just spent a good half hour going over the house's less-than-illustrious history with Caine. PRoVE's extensively researched list of Hagen House victims and fatalities had been sobering. Sure, he'd known his house was cursed, but he hadn't quite processed what that meant. Nothing really bad had happened while he was fixing the house. There'd been a couple of accidents and a few mishaps, but that was it. The chandelier had fallen, but it hadn't hurt anyone. Kat's car driving itself hadn't fazed him, and neither had the glass shards on the floor. Stuff like that happened in this town all the time. He'd thought the house was essentially safe. He'd also thought they'd be able to break the curse.
But what if he was wrong?
He propped up Kat with a couple of pillows, then bent down and kissed her pale lips gently, a tight feeling in his chest.
He couldn't afford to be wrong.
Yolanda gave Kat her foul-smelling tea. She wrinkled her nose, but drank the beverage obediently. After a couple of sips, the color returned to her cheeks.
"What happened, Kat?" he asked gently.
She frowned. "I don't know. I started to feel woozy. The lights from the chandelier kept moving around. Then I saw the blood on the floor and I felt like I was falling." She paused. "It was so real."
"But what did it feel like?" Yolanda asked.
Kat didn't answer.
He frowned at the santera. "I don't think she needs to talk about that."
Yolanda raised a brow. "Perhaps not, but she should think about it."
With that cryptic comment, Yolanda exited the room.
He turned to Kat, worried that Yolanda's parting barb would distress her, but his wife smiled, looking at something behind him.
"So," she murmured. "Did you know that Gus is filming us?"
He instantly tensed. "You're kidding, right?"
He was going to have a chat with the PRoVE cameraman. And his knuckles were going to do most of the talking.
She shook her head, still smiling. "Nope. He probably thinks this is a video goldmine."
"Well, I'm going to have to kill him now. I hope they get that on film."
She giggled. "Don't. We'll never sell the house if there's another murder."
Her words made him laugh. She was going to be okay.
And he was going to make sure she stayed that way.
"Yeah, the house." He cleared his throat. "Let's talk about that."
Kat grimaced. The house was probably not her favorite subject right now. And what had Yolanda meant when she said Kat "should think about" how she'd felt? At the moment, he didn't want Kat to have anything to do with the house. If Violetta Santelli's vengeful spirit was still around, he wanted Kat as far away from her sphere of influence as possible.
"Maybe you should reconsider the whole moving in with Holly thing." he said gently. "Her place is quite nice."
Actually, his sister lived in Rainbow Acres, a small neighborhood in the outskirts of town that used to be a hippie commune. Her tiny house was a hexagonal contraption with typical 1970s design features, including brown siding, orange kitchen cabinets, and avocado-colored bathroom tiles. In spite of its horrid architecture, Rainbow Acres was quite popular with young families.
Mainly because it wasn't haunted, not even a little bit.
Kat jerked, her eyes widening. "Are you kicking me out? We have a deal, remember?"
He spread his hands out. "Just for a bit. Until things calm down."
Her eyes narrowed. "Until what things calm down?'
He gestured toward the stair landing. "These things. Until this feeling goes away."
There. He'd said it.
"There's something in the house, Kat," he confessed reluctantly. "Something that wasn't here before."
Her eyes were steady. "How do you know that? The curse has been here for a long time."
He shook his head, wondering how to respond to that. Sure, he'd grown up in Banshee Creek, but hocus pocus just wasn't his thing. He worked with wood and stone and concrete. "I re-built this house from the ground up. I put up new walls and floors. I redid the whole ceiling."
She stared at him.
"Stuff happened, sure." He grimaced. "It's Banshee Creek. We had accidents and delays. The chandelier fell three times and we had to put it back together. Poor Chad cut his arm. The excavator broke, twice, and those things are indestructible. We had a blizzard and the slush seeped in through the roof and ruined the new wood floors. Walter, was, well, Walter."
She stayed silent.
"The house didn't want to be fixed. It put every obstacle it could on our path. He took a deep breath. "But it wasn't evil. It wasn't angry. It was just sad and hurt and lashing out."
She nodded, as if agreeing with him. He couldn't see how that could be, though, because he knew his words didn't make any sense.
"When it was done, I thought I'd fixed it. It was stable and solid and safe. I swear, Kat, I thought it was safe. I wouldn't have brought you here if I hadn't thought that."
She smiled. "I know."
"I thought the whole marriage thing was a technicality. Something that would officially break the curse and show people that there was nothing to be afraid of." He glanced around the beautifully appointed master bedroom. "I thought I'd fixed it."
He felt her hand on his cheek. "I know," she repeated, wrapping her arms around him. "I know."
He buried his face in her soft, sweetly-scented hair, and let her embrace sweep away his fears.
"We're not moving out," he heard her say, her tone defiant. He didn't know if she was talking to him or to the house.
Or to something else.
Her tone grew more determined. "We're going to finish what we started."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KAT STARED at the quilt in her hands. It was bright purple with the words "Magic is Real" embroidered in silver thread, the letters surrounded by tiny silver stars and bright purple sequins. It was supposed to be a cheerful little piece of decoration, but she actually found it depressing.
Less than a week ago, she'd arrived in Banshee Creek as a skeptic. The ghost stories had seemed eccentric but harmless, and she'd thought of her curse-breaking marriage as a lark, a funny, profitable, story to tell her hypothetical children. Now, however, she knew that there was a dark side to the town and that its magic was horribly, terrifyingly real. She rubbed the back of her neck, where the muscles still ached from her fall two days ago.
One thing was certain. Ignorance truly was bliss.
She placed the quilt over one of the chairs and scanned the store, making sure everything was ready for the festival. The botánica looked neat and inviting, except for the pile of boxes next to the door.
The boxes she was taking home with her tonight.
But one thing at a time. Right now, she had to make sure the store was ready for the big day tomorrow. The town had come up with an impromptu "store warming" party yesterday and she'd spent most of the day cleaning up. The surprise get-together was a fun break. There had been pizza, wine, and cupcakes with little witch hats. The town had welcomed her and given her presents and frosted cookies with licorice broomsticks. It had been very sweet, even if
Caine had spent a whole hour showing her still shots from the video they filmed at the Hagen House.
That part had not been so much fun. There had definitely been a dark shape behind her right before she fell to the floor. Just the thought of it made her shiver.
She pushed the thought away and focused on her redecoration efforts. The new chairs looked plush and inviting, down to the embroidered red pillow that read "The Stars Made Me Do It." That had been a gift from Amy, who was hoping to attract a fortune teller to the botánica. She desperately wanted to upgrade her restaurant's fortune cookie inserts. The pizzeria had chipped in with a vintage Bell, Book, and Candle movie poster and a haughty Kim Novak holding a Siamese cat now looked down at her from the wall.
Everything was ready for tomorrow. All Kat needed was her very own Pyewacket, Ms. Novak's feline sidekick.
That wasn't a half-bad idea. If her plan worked, she'd seriously consider getting a cat. She was a witch now, so she needed a familiar, right?
PRoVE had contributed a hand-made replica of the Santelli Sisters' vaudeville sign, a large wood hanging that promised "a cure for every illness and a remedy for every heartache." She stared at the sign, considering its promise. Yolanda had told her that she had the power, all she had to do was dig deep within herself.
Well, she was digging all right. The Ghost Festival was almost here and it was time to bring out the bulldozers, magically speaking.
The door chime rang out as the front door opened.
"That's a lot of Kosher salt, my friend," Amy drawled, as she entered the store carrying a large cardboard box. "You know we don't ice our sidewalks in August, right?"
Kat chuckled. Her friend was talking about the supplies piled up near the entrance to the store, and Amy was absolutely right. The plastic crates contained a truly ridiculous amount of grainy salt, as well as bags full of white and yellow rose petals and quartz crystals.
Kat wasn't taking any chances. The crates were chock-full of magical supplies. If her plan failed, it wouldn't be for lack of ammo.
"Don't worry," she reassured Amy. "I'm taking this stuff home. You won't find salt on the streets during the festival."
"Good to know. I don't want anything to spoil the grand opening tomorrow."
Wait, what?
"Tomorrow?" Kat couldn't hide her dismay. "I thought the festival started tonight."
And it was already mid-afternoon. Had she gotten the date wrong? She'd spent the last few days painstakingly researching her spell. The whole thing hinged on the mystical influence of the Ghost Festival. If she was mistaken about that...
It would be bad.
"The Banshee Creek festival starts tomorrow," Amy explained. "The gates of hell, however, technically open tonight, the first night of the full moon. The PRoVe guys are setting up for the first lantern ceremony later tonight. It's kind of a rehearsal, just the townsfolk. You're invited of course."
That was a relief. Amy's tone was mocking, but right now, Kat didn't think the whole "gates of hell" thing was a laughing matter.
She was counting on it being both true and timely.
"We couldn't have the festival on a weekday obviously," Amy continued. "No one would show up and that would be bad for business."
Kat smiled. Her friend, as always, was all business. "Of course, we can't have that."
Amy rolled her eyes. "Laugh it up, fuzzball. I intend to make a mint out of this festival and I intend to do so every single year from now on." She handed over the box. "And speaking of business success, here are your supplies."
Cat grabbed the box. Wow, it was heavy. "What's in here?"
"Promotional materials, hot off the printer. You should hand them out whenever you make a sale. Just stick it in the bag and hand it over. There's a flyer describing the different events and postcards with deals and discounts. Make sure they know there's a lantern ceremony every evening with a concert afterwards. PRoVE really hopes to make a splash with those."
She paused. "Okay, maybe 'make a splash' is not the best choice of words. The lantern ceremony is at the creek."
Kat laughed, picturing the PRoVE crew plunging, head first, into the creek. That would serve them right for taping her stairway collapse and putting it on the Internet under the title "The Hagen House's Plummeting Heiress." The idiots had even made a gif. Who the hell taped a case of life-threatening supernatural possession and made a funny animation out of it? PRoVE, that's who.
"I'm actually really excited about the first concert. The Space Cowboys agreed to cover one of my mother's favorite Chinese folk songs, "The Wandering Songstress." Their version sounds amazing. They think it's going to be the first single in their new album and they're doing the sound check tonight."
"That's fantastic," Kat said, enjoying her friend's excitement. "Anything else?"
"There's a list of safety precautions issued by Banshee Creek Fire and Rescue. You know the drill; offerings can only be made at the PRoVE-supervised altars. No burning of hell money or joss paper outside the designated areas. No private lanterns. No unlicensed exorcisms, blah, blah, blah. Spoilsports." She pouted. "There's also a Pu Songling buffet menu with a twenty-percent-off coupon. Make sure they know about that. I have a bazillion egg rolls in my freezer that I need to get rid of."
"Will do."
"Thanks." Amy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Do you have plans for tonight? You look dressed up."
"This?" Kat swept her hands over her creamy white pants. She was wearing a replica of her wedding clothes. All white with pearls and swept up hair. True, she had on the frilly shirt she'd worn for the PRoVE shot instead of her plain silk one, but, still, she looked fancy. "I ran out of clean clothes."
That wasn't true. Yolanda said you had to respect the magic. You had to dress up for it. Sure, she wasn't wearing a pointy hat and robes, but she had still gussied up for the occasion.
And she had William Hagen's ring, the intricately decorated circlet with the tiny little white diamond in the middle.
White for purity. White for light. White for Obatalá, the lord of wisdom. And a bit of yellow in her tiger's eye pendant for Oshún, goddess of beauty and love.
"Don't stay up doing laundry." Amy headed for the door. "Get a good night's sleep. We're all going to be busy tomorrow."
"We sure are," Kat agreed, waving goodbye.
Good night's sleep?
Fat freaking chance.
She went back to the counter and opened her spanking-new spell book. Well, that might have been too grand of a word. It was actually a Harry Potter notebook with a large picture of Hermione on the front. Ms. Granger looked pretty badass and so did the sharp-eyed owl on her shoulder. Kat had seen the notebook at Banshee Creek Hardware the day before and bought it as a joke.
But what was inside was deadly serious.
This was the baddest, strongest spell she could come up with. She'd designed it without Yolanda's help, but she was sure it was correct. It fit everything that Kat thought had happened in the Hagen House when Violetta Santelli met her doom. The spell would counteract jealousy and anger and hate. It mixed Santeria, Wicca, Taoist magic, and a whole lot more and would, she was certain, get rid of the malevolent spirit haunting her house.
She paused. Her house? Where had that thought come from? The Hagen House wasn't hers.
But it felt right.
This was their house, hers and Liam's. Whatever was in the house was coming out, kicking and screaming, if necessary.
And it was happening tonight.
Kat had spent the past two days working on her spell. She'd interrogated Liam, teasing out exactly what they'd done to the house before she'd arrived. Then she'd dug through the PRoVE records with Cassie, cataloguing every misfortune that had occurred within its walls. She'd taken the file the private detective had given to Liam. She'd spent hours in the Banshee Creek library's dusty archives, freaking poor Holly out. She'd dug through police records in Loudon and Manassas.
She'd done everything but interview Yolanda herself
. She had a feeling that the old santera wouldn't approve of what she was planning to do.
But, like Yolanda often said, it wasn't enough to chant a spell and burn a bundle of sage. You had to know. You had to understand what caused the phenomenon in order to figure out how to counteract it.
Knowledge was power.
And Kat knew.
Or at least she thought she knew. That was the kicker. If she was wrong about that night in the Hagen House, this could turn out badly. The spell was designed to counteract a specific act. If her theory was incorrect...
But it wasn't. She could feel it in her bones.
Her Santelli bones.
She turned the page and reviewed the list of ingredients, crossing them out one by one.
There, she had everything. All she had to do was prepare the botánica for tomorrow's festival, close up, and head home.
The full moon would come out in three hours, and she had to be home before then.
She put out the stuff for the sidewalk sale and placed Amy's promotional materials next to the cash register. She checked that all her new jewelry pieces were displayed properly. She noted happily that she was going to have to spend serious quality time replenishing her inventory. She was almost out of stock.
But she'd have to do that tomorrow—if there was a tomorrow, that is.
She grabbed the largest box and headed toward the parking lot to Liam's truck. He hadn't been suspicious at all when she'd asked to borrow it for the day so she could clean up after the party.
Good. The last thing she needed was Liam interfering with what she had to do.
She heaved the box into the truck and returned for the rest. She actually didn't have to do much tidying up from yesterday's party. PRoVE had already taken care of that.
She had a different kind of cleaning to do now.
She'd been hesitant about doing the spell, but the party had filled her with determination. Her Banshee Creek neighbors had welcomed and encouraged her, almost like they expected her to stay.
