Midnight Magic (A Ghost & Abby Mystery Book 1)

by Jo-Ann Carson

  “Eric, Eric,” Guiden said. “I only want what’s best for you and Abby.”

  Azalea was right. He shouldn’t have come. The sorcerer was in his head, manipulating his thoughts, freezing his words, reaching for his soul. “No,” Eric said.

  “I realize what I ask of you seems large, but trust me, it won’t be hard. To make it easy for you, we’ll start with a small contract. You’ll see how easy it is to help me.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Kill one man. It will be a bad man, a man who deserves to die. In exchange I will give you a week with Abby.”

  “A week? You said for every man I killed you would give me a lifetime.”

  “That was my first offer, but you refused it. My second offer is, shall we say, less generous.”

  Eric’s gut churned. “So you now offer me a week for every murder?” Why was he considering it? It was wrong, so wrong. It was as if he had two minds. One was abhorred by this whole discussion and wanted to run. The other found itself trapped in an unholy barter for lives. He was no longer sure it was magic that possessed his tongue, or his own wanting.

  “You now know the value of your time with Abby.”

  Eric nodded. “Who is this man you want dead?”

  “I will not tell you unless you agree to my terms.”

  “But I need to know who this man is before I agree. He must be worthy of death.”

  “Worthy of death?” The old magician cackled. “That’s a good one, coming from you. Did you not tell me no man deserves to die?”

  “Why don’t you use your magic to kill him? Are you not powerful enough?”

  Thunder sounded and lightning shot through the room. The magician snickered, as if he were a little boy. “Ah yes, I could kill a mere human easily, but it suits me to have you do the deed.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say it will be more terrifying for the man, and it will scratch an itch of my own.”

  Scratch an itch? “I do not understand you.”

  “And you never will, Viking. But just imagine for a moment. If you were to plan the death of a bad man, a truly bad man, would you not take some pleasure in it being horrible for him?”

  “Death and life are in the hands of the gods.”

  “Then why are you still here, Eric? If you truly believed that we have no stake in the rhythm of the universe, you would not be seeking my help.”

  “I will not be your assassin.”

  “Really? You came all this way to say no?”

  Eric grunted. Of course the wise magi was right. A part of him wanted to say yes. A big part of him. “Tell me about the bad man.”

  “Okay, how about this? You may choose your first.”

  Eric folded his arms. “You want me to be judge and jury over a man’s life?”

  “Come, come, Viking, this should not be hard for you. You have slaughtered at least a hundred men in battle without a thought.”

  “But they were the enemy.”

  “Well, if it helps, consider this man your enemy.”

  “Why? Why do you want me to kill just any man? What’s in this for you?”

  “Consider it practice. One day you will do a big kill for me and for that I will reward you with immortality.”

  “What big kill?” He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “A woman, a powerful woman, who keeps getting in my way. She protects a major portal to the human realm and won’t let me or my associates through.”

  A woman? A portal? Surely he couldn’t mean . . .

  “I will not tell you her name now, but the day will come when I will ask you for this kill.”

  Eric nodded. He must mean Azalea. He fell to his ghostly knees. “I cannot.”

  The light in the room flickered. “Perhaps not right away, Viking, but you will, and when you do, you will be truly immortal. You will have a heart that will beat forever.” He cackled.

  “It’s not happening. I would never harm a . . . a person who protects a portal to earth.”

  “Let’s just leave that on the table for later.” The magi tilted his head. “For now, I would be happy if you would kill another human for me. And for that I will give you a week with Abby.”

  Eric didn’t want to pluck a human life, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Many men were so evil they didn’t deserve to live. “And I can choose the victim?”

  “Yes.”

  Eric didn’t want to do this, but . . .

  30

  Ms. Dubois sat in the client chair. Her face shone with the expectations of great things. I hadn’t really thought about how I would explain what I’d gone through to get the diamonds, but noting her excitement I realized the details weren’t necessary. I opened the velvet pouch and poured the diamonds on the table.

  Charisma’s eyes doubled in size. “They must be worth millions.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You didn’t look into it?”

  “Not my job.” I shook my head. The pirate thought I should. For that matter he thought I should keep a few just because they were shiny, but that wasn’t me. “You wanted me to find the diamonds. I did.”

  “When I got your text, I couldn’t wait.” Her eyes stayed on the gems.

  “I understand,” I said.

  Slowly she reached out to touch one. As she picked it up, she sighed, but as it rested in her palm it vanished. Simply vanished. She screamed.

  I looked at the other diamonds. They were still intact. I reached for one, held it in my palm and stared at it. Nothing happened. It didn’t look any different. A shiny rock is a shiny rock. I handed it to her. “Try this one.”

  Her features softened as she took the stone in her clasp, but once there, it too disappeared.

  “What the hell? What’s going on here? What magic is this?” Her face turned crimson.

  I wish I knew. I stared dumbfounded at her empty palm. “Are you sure it’s not you who is doing the magic?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned ugly. “What’s wrong with these diamonds?”

  “I have no idea.” I counted them into groups of five. Altogether there were thirty. My arms pebbled with goosebumps. Thirty would have been okay with me, except that that was the number we had started with. Somehow the vanishing diamonds had reappeared in the pile. Had the guardian spirit pulled a joke on us? Or was it the grimoire? I swallowed. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what’s happening here.”

  “My great-grandmother was known to dabble in the black arts. Could she have cursed the diamonds?”

  Cursed? That could explain it. Blame could rest with the grandmother and her spiritualist circle. Maybe it was a family curse and she was being slapped by the universe for something her great-grandmother and her warlock lover did. I tried to keep my face straight as I considered this. “I think it’s possible.” But what could I do about it?

  “What do you think, Blondie?” said Spark.

  I could give it a try. I picked up all the diamonds and closed my hand on them. In my head I asked them to be cleansed of past sins. How did I know that this was what I needed to do? I didn’t. It just felt right. Instinctual.

  “I thought you understood all things supernatural.”

  “I never said that. You said that.”

  “You opened up an office in the attic of the most magical building in town. Doesn’t that say it all?”

  “Listen, lady.” I couldn’t stop my mouth. “It says that I can’t afford better.”

  A quiet cackling started inside my head. Darn that Spark. “I like it when you get mad. Tell the bitch off,” she said inside my head.

  I groaned and folded my hands as if I was at a 1960s soirée for debutantes. “I’m sorry. That’s harsh. I’m feeling a bit stressed.”

  “Stressed? You? This fortune of diamonds would have financed the rest of my life and now I have nothing. Nothing!”

  “You have the manor.”

  “It’s an ugly old place and
it’s haunted. Who would want that?”

  Spark spoke up inside my head. “Take it. Take it for you and the big, bad boy.”

  It was hard keeping a straight face when she spoke inside my head, but I did. “It’s not so bad.”

  “The last time I was there, a bucket of green goo fell on my head. I heard moans. Lots and lots of moans and crying and the sound of a chain rattling.”

  Aslog had put it on thick. I fought against a smile. “It might be different now.”

  “I’ll never set foot in that place again. Never.”

  Spark pinched my ear.

  “I rather like the place.”

  “You can have it.”

  Really? That would be cool. “Wait. I can’t take your manor.”

  “I’ll write it off as payment for your services, instead of the ten thousand. That is if you can give me the diamonds.”

  They felt warm in my hand. Did that mean something? I took one and held it out to her.

  She put in her palm. We both stared at it, waiting for it to disappear, but it didn’t.

  “Look, it stayed this time.” She pushed a wisp of her perfect hair out of her face.

  I nodded. My heart jumped into my throat as she picked up a second diamond. I could barely breathe. I could own a house, a big house! They both stayed. She picked up another and another.

  I wanted to relax, but I had that horrible waiting-for-the-other-diamond-to-drop feeling in my gut. It didn’t help that good-old Sparky was singing in my head, “Home, home on the range.” Since when did a manor in a sea-side town equate to a ranch? Sheesh.

  It took both her hands to hold the diamonds. Her watery eyes had the dazed look of a drug addict, only the drug of choice sparkled. The look might have been okay on a young girl at Disneyland, but on her the spaced-out expression looked on the side of demonic. I rubbed at the spot between my eyes where a headache brewed. I wanted this darn job to be over, but if the diamonds disappeared again it wouldn’t be.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, as if she read my mind, “I am a woman of my word. I will have my lawyer draw up the papers today. Graystone Manor is now yours. I don’t want to deal with it. Here is the rest of your pay. From her purse she pulled out an envelope filled with cash and handed it to me. “I trust another five hundred will do.”

  “Yes,” I managed to say as my heart jack-hammered in my chest. “Thank you.”

  31

  After Charisma left, I started talking to myself again, my other-self. “Hey, Spark, what do you think of that? We own a house.”

  “It’s a mansion, Blondie.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I agree. It’s a big step up from my rented bungalow with the leaky roof. That’s for sure. But it will be a lot of work. It’s full of cobwebs and dust.”

  “If I’m reading your mind right, you’ve never been short on elbow grease.”

  I winced. “Okay, you’re right. Though I’m not sure I like you reading in my head. So what’s the deal with you? What do you want from me?”

  “No deal.”

  “Seriously, will you pull my ear and bug me for the rest of my life?”

  “I’m here. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. What exactly are you?”

  “I’m a touch of naughty magic that slipped into you when you played with the spell in the back yard.”

  “Naughty?”

  “Oh, yeah. I like naughty. The naughtier, the better.”

  “Do you have magical powers?”

  Spark laughed. The sound tickled my eardrums from the inside.

  “Should I be scared?”

  “Listen to yourself. Stop thinking what you think you should think, and listen to your heart, see through your heart, act through your heart. Enough with rattling in your brain for answers. It gives me a headache and, frankly, it’s boring.”

  “I. . . I do use my heart. Don’t I?”

  Spark tugged my ear again. “Get a grip, Blondie. You work in a house filled with eccentric ghosts. You just put two draugrs into the ground. You’ve traveled back in time for super-hot Viking sex. I wish I had been here for that! And you’re in love with the corpse of a bad-boy.”

  “Your point?”

  “You’re strong and you’re brave. Why would you be afraid of little old me? I’m a part of you.”

  “You’re the unknown.”

  “Everyone deserves a touch of that.”

  She had a point. “Listen,” I said out loud when really I didn’t need to. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Boring. Just boring.”

  “I need to journal what happened.” Was it wise to write about the kinds of things I’d be experiencing as a PI in a town where supernatural things happened? Maybe not, but the log would be for my eyes only. I needed an account of the cases I worked on, so that I could look back and think forward about all that good-sounding stuff. It would allow me to gauge my progress and learn from my past. It would also give me an excuse to buy wine to celebrate the high points. I sat at my desk and opened my laptop.

  Thirty minutes later, as I stared at the crooked antique clock on the wall trying to find words to describe Aslog, I heard a knock on the door. “I’m not expecting anyone,” I said out loud.

  “Who are you talking to?” said Spark. “Answer the door. You never know who’s knocking.”

  I winced. Was that a warning, a threat or a joke? I’d figure that out later.

  I opened it to find a hot guy on my threshold. Hot as in obscenely HOT. Not just handsome, but Hollywood drool-worthy, ignite-your-hormones hot. He stood a couple inches taller than me and wore a tight black tee-shirt and faded blue jeans. The spiciness of his after-shave prickled my nose and, if I were honest, other parts of me. I was in love with a Viking, but window-shopping was not a crime in my book. As I took in his overwhelming presence only one thing bothered me: his lively eyes. They started out a warm, caramel color that could melt an iceberg if it had estrogen, but after looking me up and down once they turned to an eerie-black. Why are all the good ones dead or supernats?

  “Hubba hubba,” said Spark inside my head. “Now we’re talking. A live one.”

  “Hi, Abby Jenkins, I’m your new best friend,” he said.

  Arrogant much? “What do you want?” I said, holding the door half open as if it were a shield, knowing that it would offer little protection against supernats.

  “Mia Carina.” He gave me a wicked grin. Of course he would speak endearments in Italian and have a killer smile that made me think of moonlit nights and caresses. “I’m here to help you. You can call me Lord.”

  I gritted my teeth so my jaw wouldn’t drop.

  “The grand council sent me to check on you, and it’s my pleasure to, ah, check you out.”

  Okay, that sounded beyond cheesy. “Excuse me?” What was left of the proper-lady in me wanted to slam the door in his face, and I probably should have listened to her, but another part of me wanted to know more. Damn my curiosity. I held my stance.

  “I am the most powerful witch in the area and I’ve been sent to make sure . . .” he hesitated and glanced around the room “. . . that you’re making it through the change properly.”

  “Change?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Now my jaw dropped, because while I didn’t know—I really didn’t know—I had guessed.

  “Yes, you, my newly formed Galadriel, Baba Yaga, Deino, are now one of us.”

  I stared blankly at him as the realization sank deep into my bones, a realization I didn’t want. “One of you?”

  “You are a witch.”

  Sparky laughed inside my head. “Gotcha.”

  The man-witch pushed the door open, walked in and closed it behind him. “We have much to talk about.”

  “Wait. This can’t be happening. I’m Protestant.”

  Spark cackled.

  “I believe in an ordered, patriarchally divine-inspired universe.”

  His brows rose.

  “I don’t want to be a witch.”


  He chuckled, a sound so deep and rich it stirred a longing within me. “You are one of us.” His black eyes melted to caramel and his charisma grew so much I felt as if I could touch it.

  “I have three children.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They are not witches, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “How can I possibly raise children if I’m . . . I’m a witch.” No self-respecting parent group would let me cook hot dogs for lunch.

  He put up his hand. “Abby, you have nothing to be afraid of. Magic will enhance your life, if you let it.”

  “It sounds like a bad deal to me.”

  “You’ll learn to embrace it with time. We all do.” He waved his hand and small stars fell from above our head.

  “I’m too old for this. I don’t want to become a pyrotechnical artist. I want my life back.”

  “There are many things your magic can do for you, but the one thing it cannot do is give you your old life back. You have been altered forever.”

  “But?”

  “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

  “No. No way. No friggen, green-toads-and-sliced-newts way. I’m not a witch. I don’t like witches. I’m not playing.”

  “You asked for more control of your life while you prepared an ancient spell. What did you think you were doing? Take a breath, by the way. You look pale.”

  “I am breathing.”

  He reached for my right hand and as he touched me a lightning bolt of energy coursed through my veins. Okay, that was interesting, but mostly scary. He pulled my hand up. “Now say after me: ‘I swear on my honor as a witch to obey the council.’”

  My tongue wanted to move, but I wouldn’t let it. I grabbed back my hand. “What council? I don’t know them. I don’t obey anyone.”

  He chuckled again. A woman could spend her whole day bathing in his chuckles, but my anger pushed against his magical charm.

  “I’m not doing this. Flash your pretty eyes at someone else.”

  “Abby.”

  “Get out. Just get out.”

  Spark pulled on my ear. “You don’t want to be commanding a man-witch, Abby.”

  “I don’t care if you are the biggest, baddest warlock in the country, I’m not interested. I have a Viking.”