3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  Zinnia looked from Zoey to me. "Zara, your daughter is lovely, and so sharp."

  I ruffled Zoey's red hair. "Sharpest pencil in the pack," I said proudly. "Time for official introductions. Aunt Zinnia, meet Zolanda Daizy Cazzaundra Riddle, Zoey for short." I looked into my aunt's hazel eyes. "Since you're my mother's sister, that makes you Zoey's great-aunt, and her your great-niece." I put my hand beside my mouth and stage-whispered, "She's very concerned about what she should call you."

  Zinnia's hazel eyes seemed to glow as she beamed at Zoey. "Just call me Zinnia. No need to call me great until I've done something of greatness to deserve it. Such respect must be earned."

  Zoey shuffled from one foot to the other shyly. "How about Auntie Z?"

  Zinnia's hazel eyes darted between us. Her nose wrinkled and one of her eyes twitched. "That sounds an awful lot like something familiar. But I can't quite recall."

  "Anti-Z," I said. "That's the name of the zombie anti-virus they used on Wicked Wives."

  My aunt made a strangled sound. "That horrible TV show?"

  Zoey looked down at the floor. "I'll just call you Zinnia," she said glumly.

  Zinnia looked at me for guidance. As far as I knew, she didn't have any children. She was unaccustomed to the teenage roller coaster ride of high hopes and dashed expectations. I gave her a quasi-helpful shrug.

  After a moment, she nodded. "Zoey, if it's what you want, then you should call me Auntie Z," she said. "I insist."

  I gave her a smile and a nod. If this had been a test, she'd have passed with a B+.

  She thrust the floral-patterned lamp at us. "Happy housewarming. I'm sorry it only scores seven out of ten for bludgeoning."

  Zoey squealed and took the lamp, hugging it to her chest. "Auntie Z, I love this," she gushed. "We went shopping downtown last week, and I tried to find a lamp, but none of the ones we saw had any character."

  "It's all yours," Zinnia said. "I bought your mother a pair of boots earlier this week, so you may have the lamp. It's a family heirloom."

  I swung my arm in faux-disappointment. "Aw, shucks," I said. "I'll have to make do with visiting the lamp in your room, kiddo."

  The three of us exchanged friendly, cautious glances. We were still standing in the entry way. I knew it would be polite to invite her in and offer her a drink, but I was frozen. I hadn't realized how badly I craved familial connection until I'd gotten a taste. I'd never given much thought to my estranged aunt, but now I was nervous that I might screw up dinner so badly she never wanted to see us again.

  Zinnia's eyes locked on mine, and I got the strangest sensation she was reading my mind. I'm nervous as well, her eyes seemed to say.

  She stretched out her arms. "We ought to hug now," Zinnia said. She waved her hands, and a force not unlike gravity sucked Zoey toward one outstretched arm and me into the other. Zoey held out the lamp so it would be crushed in the fray. We squeezed each other in a friendly three-person hug.

  I extricated myself and suggested Zoey take Zinnia on a tour of our new house.

  "It looks grander than I remember," Zinnia said, glancing up at the antique hanging light fixtures and ceiling trim.

  Zoey said, "Mom told me you knew the former owner."

  "I didn't know Winona Vander Zalm as well as I would have liked, I'm afraid. But that's all in the past. I plan to get to know my lovely niece and my equally-lovely grand-niece quite well."

  Zoey hopped up the stairs, lamp in hand. "Come and help me find the perfect place in my bedroom for the new lamp."

  I took the bottle of wine my aunt had brought and told her to go ahead.

  Zinnia gave me a worried look. "Do you have a corkscrew?"

  "I'm a librarian," I said. "If you ever need a corkscrew, a USB stick, or a new cat, just ask a librarian."

  She frowned. "I haven't heard that before." She sniffed the air. "You don't have a cat."

  "Allergies," I said. "Go on up and look around while I uncork this and let it breathe."

  While they climbed the stairs and toured around the upper floor and the attic, I went to the kitchen to check on the food and final preparations. The lamb had already marinated in rosemary and herbs. It would take almost no time to cook in my pre-heated oven. Everything had come together as if by magic, and I couldn't wait for our guest of honor to take her first bite.

  * * *

  We started off with cocktails—mojitos for the adults and cranberry juice for the minor. Zoey talked about Corvin, the funny little boy next door whom she'd decided to adopt as a little brother.

  "His name is Corvin?" Zinnia asked. "That's an unusual name. I believe it means raven."

  We were seated in the living room with our drinks and appetizers. I had the wingback recliner, positioned near the doorway so I could run into the kitchen to tend the food periodically.

  "Corvin even looks like a raven," Zoey said. "He's got shiny dark hair that's so black, it's practically blue."

  "Probably a shapeshifter," Zinnia said with a nod. "He's in the blue house next door? They've got a circle window in the attic. Shapeshifters are drawn to houses with non-rectangular windows." She crunched on a carrot from the tray of crudités.

  A shapeshifter? I could see why my mother referred to her baby sister as a kooky witch. The woman had mentioned shapeshifters with such a deadpan tone, I couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

  Zoey squealed with laughter. "You're so cool, Auntie Z! It's not fair that I'm only meeting you now. If I'd known you my whole life, I'd be so much more interesting by now." She looked right at me. "No offense, Mom."

  I held both of my hands up. "Don't blame me, kiddo. Your aunt had some sort of blowup with the rest of the family, and she took off like a leaf in the wind."

  Zoey turned back to her great-aunt. "What was the fight about?"

  With a sigh, Zinnia said, "It was a long time ago, before you were born."

  "You can't remember?"

  Zinnia leaned forward on the couch and stroked my daughter's cheek in a gesture that reminded me so much of my mother, my chest began to ache.

  "Let sleeping dogs lie," Zinnia said softly.

  "Promise you won't disappear again," Zoey said. "Promise."

  Zinnia made a strange series of movements with both hands and intoned, "I promise to stand by you, no matter what."

  An icy chill ran up my spine. Something strange was in the air, a pungent spice mixed with the cooking smells emanating from the kitchen. My skin prickled all over.

  The timer for the oven beeped, and I jumped to my feet.

  From that moment, I lost myself in the flow of preparing a sumptuous feast. The world turned soft, like I was looking at everything through sheer curtains undulating in a summer breeze.

  Guided by unseen forces that were much better at entertaining than I'd ever been, I served dinner. The compliments flowed along with the drinks. The wine Zinnia had brought with her went perfectly with the herbs in the dinner.

  I lost track of time because time was meaningless. All that mattered was the pleasure of good company and fine food. As soon as my daughter and my aunt finished their plates, I jumped into action, pushing more bites and nibbles their way despite their protests.

  Zoey kept digging into history, trying to unearth the reason for Zinnia's absence from our family.

  "Just give me a hint," Zoey pleaded. "I need to know what got you upset, so it doesn't happen again."

  "I can assure you it won't happen again," Zinnia said to her. To me, she said, "Don't you dare put another rib on my plate or I will forget my manners and stab you with my fork."

  Ignoring her threat, I shoved another rosemary-infused chunk onto her plate, along with a scoop of chickpea salad. I skilfully yanked my hands out of stabbing range.

  Zoey whined, "But how can I believe you if I don't know what it was?"

  "Because you're sixteen," Zinnia said. She hiccuped from the wine and looked mortified for a second.

  Zoey quietly stared at her aunt. What did her being six
teen have to do with anything? I didn't know any more than she did, but unlike her, I wasn't terribly concerned. I just wanted everyone to eat all the food I'd made. I snuck another rib of lamb onto both of their plates while they weren't looking.

  "How was your birthday party?" Zinnia asked. "Did you receive anything unusual?"

  Zoey answered, "I got some new sheets that are made out of bamboo. They're very soft."

  "What else? I'm not talking about physical objects." Zinnia narrowed her eyes and watched Zoey intently.

  Zoey frowned. "Do you mean a new kind of skill?"

  "Yes, yes," Zinnia said excitedly. "How did it manifest?"

  "I got that when I was thirteen. The cramps were pretty bad at first, but now I take a pill when they start."

  Zinnia's face fell. She looked over at me. "No gift?"

  "I'm not made of money," I said defensively. "We went shopping, and I let her pick out a bunch of stuff for her room. What else am I supposed to do? Buy her a new car? I'm a working single mother."

  Zinnia shook her head. "Never mind. I thought perhaps she'd gotten one of the family gifts."

  "Like the lamp?" I asked. "Don't tell me there's a matching one out there." I shuddered.

  "Family gifts," Zinnia repeated at a louder volume, which didn't help explain anything. "From the family."

  "Sometimes I get ringing in my ears," I said. "Tinnitus. Do you mean something like that?"

  Zinnia ignored me and turned back to Zoey. "Have you experienced anything unusual since your sixteenth birthday? Any strange sensations?"

  "I'm a teenager living in a new town," Zoey said. "My hormones are raging, one of my boobs is growing faster than the other, and I can't seem to study for five hours straight like I used to. One of my legs will fall asleep, or I'll become overwhelmed by an overpowering desire to check my social media accounts. Do you consider any of that strange?"

  "Never mind," Zinnia said.

  I pushed my chair back and stood, shouting, "Toast!"

  My daughter and my aunt stared at me blankly. What was I doing? I shrugged. I had no idea what I was doing, but I did shout, "We need toast!"

  Zinnia picked up the empty wine bottle. "The wine's all gone, but we could still make a toast if you'd like. Do we have more cranberry juice for Zoey?"

  "Toast!" I couldn't stop myself from saying it. I no longer had control of my body. "Toast!"

  I turned and began to walk jerkily toward the kitchen. My body felt like it was attached to puppet strings. "Toast!"

  Zoey and Zinnia followed after me.

  "Is she drunk?" Zinnia asked.

  "She might be sleeptoasting," Zoey said. "It's her version of sleepwalking. She's been getting up in the middle of the night and making toast. Six nights in a row now. It's very strange."

  "Six nights?" Zinnia sounded both puzzled and excited. "I suppose it's possible," she muttered. "Maybe your gift transferred to her."

  "What gift?" Zoey sounded frustrated. She tugged on my arm. "Mom! Stop being so weird! What are you doing?"

  What was I doing? Just filling the sink with water. Hot, hot water. Nice and full.

  Then I was plugging in the toaster. Pushing down the handle. Letting it get nice and hot.

  I grabbed the red-glowing toaster with both hands and raised it high above my head.

  I heard my daughter cry out, "Auntie Z, what's happening?"

  She answered, "Witchcraft."

  Witchcraft?

  Something in my head like a switch flipped over, and I plunged the hot toaster into the sink full of water.

  Pain jolted through me. Someone screamed.

  The blackness rose up, like black velvet waves of calm. In my mind, I saw a wall of darkness, writhing with scorpions, pulsing with a life that could not be.

  I separated from myself. I soared up, away from the pain. I floated up into the night sky, where I admired the beauty of the twinkling lights. Then I caught a rising air current, and soared over the town on wings of pink feathers.

  Chapter 13

  Pleasant dreams of pink feathers and flying through fluffy clouds dissipated.

  My body felt heavy and rubbery, like a sack of raw, unbattered calamari.

  I was awake. In a bed. In a dimly-lit room that was, based on my bleary-eyed first impression, not my bedroom. Probably. I looked again. I'd been having this where-am-I feeling since the move, so I couldn't be sure. I was alone, and under the covers but still wearing the clothes I'd been wearing earlier that evening. By the look of the dark window, it was night time. The room was softly lit by a bedside lamp with a floral-print shade. The lamp, which was a taller version of the one my aunt had brought as a housewarming gift, cast splotchy shadows all over the walls, which were covered in rose-bouquet wallpaper. Nope. Not my new bedroom.

  Female voices floated in from the hallway. I tried to move, but my body made a cranky refusal. The rubbery calamari feeling in my bones changed to something brittle. I felt like I'd been taken apart and put together with staples and glue. And there was a smell in the room, or possibly inside my nostrils, like scorched peppermints.

  Croakily, I called out, "Nurse? Hello?"

  Zoey came running in, her pale cheeks glowing with rosy excitement. Clutched to her chest, she had a giant, leather-bound book—the sort of elaborate thing that looked like a prop from a movie about witchcraft.

  Breathlessly, she said, "Mom, is that you?"

  I groaned and peeked under the covers. "This body looks like mine, but we can't be too careful. Bring me a mirror."

  She flung herself onto the bed next to me. The corner of the ancient-looking book jabbed painfully into my ribs.

  "Mom, you had us so worried! You were totally possessed!"

  "So you took me to a bed and breakfast?" I looked around at my brightly-patterned surroundings. Everything was covered in floral print, from the curtains to the bed linens. "Have I died and gone to heaven? Does heaven look like an overdecorated bed and breakfast? This is the sort of thing I'd expect in hell." My words sunk in. "Uh-oh. Am I in hell? Did I drink a bunch of Barberrian wine coolers and do something unbecoming of a lady?"

  "Mom, stop talking. I have something important to tell you."

  I struggled to sit upright. "Did you find the freight train that ran me over?"

  "You're a witch," she said. The book continued to jab into my ribs. She repeated the words slowly for emphasis. "You're. A. Witch."

  "Now, now. You may be unhappy with me for drinking too much at dinner and embarrassing myself, but we don't call each other names."

  She sat up, shuffled to the edge of the bed, and opened the big book on her lap.

  "Look," she said, pointing at an inky page. "This is you."

  I finally hoisted myself upright. Stars swam in my head. I leaned over to look at the book. The pages were yellowed and covered in swirling cursive. Zoey pointed to a drawing that looked like something an ancient monk would have created by hand, back in the days before the printing press.

  In the center of the page was a long-haired woman with her arms thrown high in the air. Around her floated swirls of text and beautiful, hand-drawn flowers. The look on her face was both serene and powerful. My pulse pounded in my head, but the pain in my body was all but gone.

  Zoey poked at the page insistently. "Don't you see? That's you, inviting the spirit of Winona Vander Zalm to enter you."

  I looked closer. "Is that a lamb roast in a pan in the foreground? And is that my pink leather purse on a counter in the background? This really is me."

  "It sure is," she said.

  "Do my eyes look that maniacal in real life? Whoever drew this gave me some serious crazy eyes. Did you do this? How did you get it drawn so quickly?"

  "This was drawn hundreds of years ago," Zoey said in a deadpan voice.

  I started to laugh. "Very funny. Was it a new friend at school? Someone with a gift for caricature?" I frowned at the image. "It must have been a hormonal teenaged boy. My boobs are not that big, and I don't wear plu
nging necklines open to my belly button."

  She sighed. "Yes, you do."

  "Only at Halloween or other costumed events." I ran my finger across the drawing to see if the fresh ink would smudge. It didn't. "But your friend is really talented. Tell him I'll buy a print of this for our family Christmas cards."

  "Mom, this is a very old book. Someone foretold your powers hundreds of years ago."

  "Is this payback for me talking about the house being haunted? Okay, you've made your point. Your mother had too much wine and passed out, and you've concocted this elaborate prank to make her think she's crazy." I used my foot to push her off the bed so I could get up. I got to my feet, swayed, and collapsed back onto the bed again.

  Zinnia appeared at the doorway, holding a glass of water. "Zara, you should be resting now," she said, her tone motherly and authoritative. "Drink some water and try to relax."

  I took the water and sucked it back. Wiping my mouth, I said, "I already relaxed a little too much. Sorry about the dinner party and whatever I did. Was I dancing on tables? My right butt cheek feels tender, and it only gets that way after dancing on tables or bowling, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't bowling last night." I squinted up at my aunt. "Did we go bowling?"

  "No," she said.

  "Well, I should get out of your house, anyway. This is your house, is it not?"

  Zinnia nodded. "This is my house."

  "Give me a quick tour as I make my way out, since I don't remember the trip in. Let's talk again during daylight. We'll have a nice, daytime family reunion and I'll only drink tea."

  Zinnia grabbed a wooden chair from the corner of the room and brought it over to the bed. She sat next to me, gently took my hand, and stroked it with her cool fingers. She did something with her other hand, a quick thing that looked like her fingers were dancing, and she made a sound that was halfway between a whistle and a hum.

  "Be calm," she said, and a wave of tranquility washed over me. My anxiousness to leave her guest room dissipated. There was nowhere else I needed to be, nowhere else I wanted to be. I could stay there forever. I would live out the rest of my days in that charming room, on that comfortable bed. Zoey stood at the foot of the bed, clutching the book, which was so large it made her look fourteen again.