Midnight Magic (A Ghost & Abby Mystery Book 1)

by Jo-Ann Carson

  “And”—he narrowed his eyes—“I will explore every possibility to be alive again.”

  “Even if it means certain, final death? We’re talking total-black-out!” Red veins stuck out on her eyeballs. Not her best look.

  “You don’t know that. No one knows that for sure.”

  “Eric, give your thick Viking noggin a shake. Such a transformation has never been done successfully. You can’t trust anything Guiden says. He’s leading you on, making impossible promises. He wants something from you. His sorcery is dark and his intentions are evil.”

  “He knows arcane magic.”

  “Whoop-de-doo! Listen to me. He doesn’t care about you, or Abby, or anyone else. If he’s offering you something there will be a price to pay.”

  Eric grumbled. “You’re right. His terms for granting me immortality are despicable. I did not, and will not, agree to them. Ever.”

  “Good, then it’s over.” Her purpleness faded.

  Eric said nothing. He hated lying, especially to his shrink who had an uncanny ability to see right through him. Never would he have chosen her to be his psychiatrist in the afterlife, but death and shit happens. Whether he liked it or not, they were bound to spend time together until he took his final departure. Their relationship had never been easy. She had to be the worst nag ever.

  “What? It’s not over?” She hissed, a sound similar to that of a snake coiled and ready to attack.

  “He’s giving me a freebie.”

  “Do you have any brains behind that handsome face? There’s nothing free in this universe. A sorcerer, known to dabble in black magic, would never give you magic without expecting something in return.”

  He shook his head and spoke slowly. “There are no strings attached.”

  “And I’m Egyptian.”

  Eric’s brows knit. “I can’t see any harm in it.”

  Brunhilde sighed loudly enough to wake the living and her bear rambled up to her side from the depths of the cave. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  Eric told her the whole story and added, “So Abby and I will have a few hours together as live humans.” A part of him wouldn’t let himself smile, because, truth be told, he didn’t trust Guiden either. “I don’t think there’s any way he can hurt us.”

  Brunhilde scrunched up her face and then relaxed. “The beauty of his plan is that his gift is one you cannot refuse.”

  “Guiden admitted that he believes once I’ve tasted life, I will do anything for him to let me taste it again. But he underestimates me. I will never be anyone’s assassin.”

  Brunhilde grumbled and her bear stood on his back paws.

  Eric left without saying another word. Usually Brunhilde would get the last word, a habit left over from when she had been his mother-in-law, but not this day. A single tear ran down her face.

  6

  A tidal wave of relief flowed through my body as I climbed the front stairs to the teahouse. I had an hour of daycare left, and hoped to find Eric, or at least some news of him.

  The teahouse in Sunset Cove offered more than orange pekoe. It served a glimpse of the future in a china cup. Azalea ran a popular tea-leaf-reading business, and from ten in the morning until six every night people, mostly female, came hoping to find happiness in their soggy leaves. The clientele changed after dark when a group of restless souls gathered for a nightly poker game. A dead but feisty group, they considered the house their place, which wasn’t odd at all, as the old Victorian houme had a history for collecting the unusual. Built on an energy vortex, magic was magnified inside its walls. Or at least that’s how Azalea explained it to me. The house acted as a portal to other dimensions, and she did her best to keep a lid on it. The house certainly had its own personality. It opened its doors for people it liked and slammed them shut for others.

  The front door creaked open when I reached for the door knob. I patted the wooden frame as I crossed the threshold and whispered, “Thank you.” I had earned the good favor of the house when I took the night-janitor job. Many before me had not stayed on, but I did my best to make the house shine and that made all the difference. It liked being dusted. It wanted to sparkle. I know that sounds crazy. It wasn’t like the walls actually talked. It was just a feeling I got whenever I finished my cleaning shift, and everything looked good. If a building could sigh in appreciation, it did.

  The smells of fresh baking emanating from the kitchen in the back almost covered the “eau de ghoul.” an unsettling mixture of musty history, moldy dark corners, lingering ghosts and the odd supernat. Its intensity increased as night approached and on rainy days. I didn’t understand what the weather had to do with it, but when the barometer dropped and thunder clouds approached, the smells peaked.

  Despite its odor issues I loved the teahouse. It took me in when I lost my husband and had nothing to feed my children. I had lost hope, but it welcomed me into a magical realm where everything seemed possible. Best of all, it introduced me to Eric. If I were to paint it human, it would be a wise grandmother in an apron with open arms.

  I sniffed the air again and my stomach grumbled. Blackberry scones and finely brewed tea. Lilith, the resident black cat, strutted through the crowd of women in the reception area to rub against my legs. I reached down and scratched beneath her ears, bringing on a loud purr. Joy, the twenty-two-year-old receptionist, a breathing goth dressed in a French maid’s outfit, looked up from her iPad and give me a wink.

  All was normal in the most abnormal home I had ever known.

  Chatter flowed through the hallway from the two active tea rooms. A group of women with red hats sat in the reception area nervously talking, anticipating their time with Azalea, the woman who could read their future. The tea-leaf business thrived.

  I headed to the back of the house and made myself a tray with a scone and a small pot of the house tea. I made my way up the stairs to my office in the attic.

  Eric sat in one of the client chairs with his feet, clad in leather boots, resting on my desk. Technically it was our desk as he was my partner. Whatever. I didn’t scold him. I loved his boots and I loved the man who wore them. I wanted to throw myself at him, but I didn’t. Touching a ghost, no matter how sexy they look, was a cold and creepy experience. I nodded and sucked in his distinctive manly scent.

  “My äskling, I missed you.” His arctic-blue eyes, even in their deathly state, had a heat that made my body purr.

  “And I you.”

  “How has your day been?”

  “We have a client!” The words spilled out of me. I couldn’t talk fast enough. I had so much to say. I told him about her visit and her weeping. He was listening so well, I told him about Graystone Manor.

  He sat up when I talked about the manor and his brows slammed together when I mentioned Aslog the draugr.

  I sped up, hoping to get over that nasty part, but he put up his hand to stop me.

  “Did you say a draugr?”

  I had expected him to be upset about my starting the investigation without him, as he has annoying, old-world notions about what women should and shouldn’t do that pretty much chained anyone female to the bedroom and kitchen, but he got stuck on the word draugr. I hesitated. “Yeah, she said she wasn’t a regular ghost.”

  “For fan I helvete!”

  “I’m guessing you don’t like draugrs.”

  His silvery-blue shimmer diminished for a second, which scared the bejesus out of me. I’d never seen his energy waver like that. “Eric, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “They are the most despicable creatures to roam the earth.”

  Great. I waited for him to say more, but he was looking around the room as if one might suddenly appear. “You are lucky to be alive.”

  “She stunk like rotting flesh. I thought I might die from her smell.”

  “Draugrs spend most of their time in their graves where they protect their treasure. Sometimes they rise from their death beds in wisps of smoke. They are animated corpses with superhuman stren
gth and magical abilities.”

  “Great, just what we need in the cove: a dangerous living corpse with bad breath.”

  He nodded. “Dangerous. My äskling, they are so dangerous. Few mortals are allowed to live once they’ve seen one. Tales of the draugr will terrify you.”

  More than being involved with a dead Viking? “Try me.”

  Eric grumbled, and the ghostly sound rumbled through the room. While I liked the low masculine sound of his voice, I hated his ghouly-rumble-grumble. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Although they retain some bits of their brain, they’re filled with hatred and hunger. They have no soul. They have no conscience. They suck the blood of men, or drive them mad. They deal in death.”

  “But you said they are magical.” I liked all the magical things I had seen.

  “Magical in the worst of ways. Their abilities are trollskap. Similar to witches and wizards they can shape-shift, influence the weather and see into the future. My guess is she let you live because she sees something in you that she can use.”

  “Mhm. I can’t say I got the feeling she liked me.”

  “I will watch over you tonight as you sleep. Dream walking is one of their specialties. They love to drive people mad by stalking them in nightmares.”

  I didn’t bother mentioning that Aslog had already boasted of that ability to me. Given his anger, the less I told him now, the better. “Why would she want to stalk me?”

  “Curiosity? Jealousy? I do not know. They are cursed.” He looked out the window. “She may know something we do not. She has tasted your future.”

  “Uh, okay.” But that would be far from okay. Tasted? E-ew.

  Eric grumbled. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Listen, I think we can make this work. The draugr and us, that is. We want the same thing. Sort of.”

  “Explain.”

  “We’re all searching the manor for lost items. Once Aslog heard I was looking for diamonds, she relaxed and told me she was looking for a different kind of treasure.”

  “Ah. Did she say what?”

  “Nope. But she did say she would like to meet you.”

  He laughed. “I bet she would. Vikings have a long history with draugrs.”

  “Did you guys kill them?”

  “Occasionally, but it’s not easy. As they are already dead, normal weapons do not harm them. When they got in our way we wrestled them back to their graves and sealed them in for eternity.”

  “What do you suppose Aslog is looking for?”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Draugr are motivated by two things: greed and jealousy. In this case it would appear to be greed. It’s interesting she doesn’t care about the diamonds. Whatever treasure the manor holds must be more valuable than gems.”

  “So let me get this straight. We’re dealing with an immortal creature, a cross between a vampire and a sorcerer, with no moral code and a lust for treasure.”

  “You got it.”

  “Great. That’s just great. Tell me about your day, dear.” I leaned back, wanting a break from the manor and its grotesque inhabitant.

  Eric looked away and my gut clenched. I sat up. He never looked away from me. What the heck? “Eric?”

  “I did some traveling.”

  Oh no. Oh for the love of all that is holy, no. No. No. No. “You didn’t.”

  His beautiful blue eyes locked on mine and I knew the answer.

  “How could I not, äskling,” he said.

  “Because I asked you not to. I pleaded with you.” Tears welled in my eyes. “You can’t go chasing black-magic sorcerers for answers. You are dead. Accept it.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “I wish you weren’t dead, but you are. Dead is okay with me. How many times do I have to tell you that. I accept you as you are. I love you, Eric. Please, don’t throw away what we have.”

  “I did not chase black magic.”

  Hmm. He chose his words too carefully. I crossed my arms across my chest. “What exactly did you chase?”

  “Jar älskar dig.”

  “Just tell me.”

  7

  I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I had suspected Eric might do this, even though I made it clear I didn’t want him to. After all, it was just like Eric to tempt the fates.

  And he was tempting them. I had worried about him in those in-between moments, when feelings I didn’t want to examine in the light of day bubbled up and choked me, leaving a steady trickle of dread running through my veins. I tried to tell myself my mind was exaggerating, that he wouldn’t be that reckless. That stupid. But now, I had to face the truth. Eric had disappeared on a quest to become alive again, a quest that could end him forever. My stomach dropped like a stone in a bottomless well. No splash, no clunk, no drama. Just an endless descent. No good could come of this.

  “Eric, what the hell?”

  Someone knocked on the door, saving him from my wrath. I shook my head at the timing.

  “Come in,” said Eric who was smart enough not to smile.

  Joy, the receptionist, peaked her head in. “Am I disturbing anything?”

  I waved her in.

  Her straight, bottle-black hair cascaded over the shoulders of her French maid’s outfit like a sleek, shimmering waterfall. Her stormy gray eyes twinkled. “It’s Azalea’s birthday. We have an ice-scream cake.”

  “I had no idea.” I looked at Eric.

  He shrugged. “I can’t keep track of time.”

  Ghosts! There are some things about life they just don’t get. “I don’t have a present,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. The best gift is friendship.”

  Joy had a point. Azalea loved her quirky community. I followed Joy down the stairs with Eric gliding by my side. As we got closer to the main floor the sounds of chatter, laughter and a classical guitar welcomed us.

  Several people, alive and dead, had gathered in the poker room. The pirate ghost danced in the center of the room. Headless Joe, a peasant from France in the time of the revolution, held his severed head and swayed to the music as blood dripped and evaporated from his maggot-infested neck. Standing next to him were Azalea’s dead biker brother, Rufus, and his sweetheart Charlie. She was the newest regular to the house. There were ten other spirits around as well.

  The only other live people at the party were Zane Reynolds, the local police constable, who tipped his hat my way and a man I had never met. The stranger stood over six feet and had a lean, gaunt frame. His narrow, rectangular face reminded me of Frankenstein. A look enhanced by his bolt-like nose ring. I had to look closer. His right brow sported two more bolts above dark-brown eyes the color of mud on a sunless day, which seemed shadowed either by a touch of make-up or extremely poor circulation. He looked deader than the dead, until Joy walked his way. Aha! His eyes warmed to a chocolate finish and a ghost of a smile edged its way across his gray lips. I suddenly liked this creepy monster.

  Romance in the teahouse? Oh, that would be nice. Joy took the bolt-monster’s hand and led him back towards the kitchen. I sighed at the thought of young love, so tender, so sweet, so innocent. And so damn naïve. I made a mental note to talk with Joy later.

  In one corner of the room hovered a dead guitarist, wearing a bull-fighting costume with two large holes in the front where a bull must have gored him. E-ew. I tried not to stare at his injuries and watched his fingers move. The music flowed. I bet the pirate found him somewhere.

  If two years ago anyone had tried to tell me I would be part of such a bizarre party scene, I would have told them they were crazy. And if they had told me I would be enjoying it, I would have offered them wine. But this was home for me.

  Joy handed me a full glass of red wine. I checked my cell phone. I had thirty minutes before I needed to get back to my kids.

  With his kinetic abilities the pirate lifted a glass of wine in the air. “A toast.”

  Win
e glasses, some real, some not, rose and the room stilled.

  “To Azalea, the woman who manages the classiest teahouse on the coast, the magical lady who protects us all.”

  I leaned closer to Eric. “Protects?”

  “Later,” he said.

  Azalea always looked elegant in a regal-hippy way, but tonight she looked more beautiful than usual. Her long white hair was twisted into a tidy knot on top of her head and held together by two jeweled pins. She wore a long, flowing dress with a floral design in pinks and green that brought color to her pale cheeks. Her tortoise-shell reading glasses, which had the habit of sliding down her narrow nose, rested on her chest on a long strand of colorful beads. Her mesmerizing eyes, that saw so much of the world, shone with happiness.

  Azalea carried an air of power and other-worldliness that sometimes made my gut queasy. Her gaze was particularly unsettling. When she looked at me, my nerves frayed as I had the sense she could see right through me. I have my secrets like everyone else. Despite her mystique, she was a good boss and I was in her debt for giving me a job when no one else would. But I didn’t really know her and didn’t think I ever would. Although I had worked for her for two and a half years and talked to her for hours, in many ways she remained an enigma to me. She was spookier than all the ghosts in the room put together. I loved her in my own way.

  “To Azalea,” we called in unison.

  Her face went beet red as a shy smile slid across her face. The magical warmth of the love of her friends spread through the room. It felt so right.

  After the toast and the birthday song, the cake was cut and the party broke into small groups chatting about this and that. The pirate swaggered our way. Beneath his leather coat, his white shirt was open, exposing a nicely toned chest. His long black hair was pulled back, revealing an effeminate face dominated by sinfully-dark-chocolate brown eyes and a killer, bad-boy smile. He told me no woman had tamed him yet, but I was sure many had tried. From the top of his head down to his awesome leather boots, he was one handsome rogue of a man.