Four Witches and a Funeral (Wicked Society Book 3)

by Daisy Prescott

  Huzzah! He does remember.

  His brows pull together so tightly they almost form a uni-brow. “The library and the book fight with Stanford. I was there. I helped.”

  Madison’s eyes bug out. “I saw you. A younger version. In the tuxedo.”

  “And Alice in her black, silk gown. Of course. Why didn’t I put it together that it was her you saw.”

  “Because we all assumed she was older? Aren’t all ghosts Victorian?” Sam muses. “No one expects modern ghosts.”

  “What’s she doing now?” Geoffrey walks toward me.

  “She’s sitting on the window seat, a few feet in front of you.”

  He slowly makes his way closer.

  “A little to the left,” Madison guides him.

  Surprising me, he sits down, and I have to shift a little not to be smushed by him.

  “You’re sitting side by side, although she’s twisted to face you.”

  “Thanks for the play-by-play,” Geoffrey tells her but he’s turned toward me.

  “What if I can transfer my power to you?” Madison asks Geoffrey.

  “How?” He doesn’t say it’s impossible, which I know is what he’s thinking. Not because I can read minds, but because I know him so well. His tone is sharp, hiding his hope.

  “I don’t know.” Her brows pinch together. “Can we share powers?”

  Geoffrey places his hand on his thigh, palm side up. It’s an invitation.

  I rest my own hand over his and interlace our fingers. Closing my eyes, I focus all of my energy on the point where our skin makes contact.

  “She—” Madison begins her narration but I press my index finger against my lips to tell her to hush.

  “She’s holding my hand, isn’t she?” Geoffrey whispers. “I can feel something, a tingling current of electricity.”

  Squeezing his fingers as hard as I can, I nod. Tears fill his eyes and I find my own vision going blurry.

  His eyes search for mine and it’s beyond frustrating he can’t see me. I lift his other hand and press it to my cheek. In the background, Sam and Madison’s footsteps fade as they leave the room.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. “Every single day.”

  Hot tears slide down my cheeks. “I never left you. I could never leave you.”

  We sit together for a long time.

  “I’ve been helping them to find answers. Did you know someone put a curse of silence on me? I can’t figure out how to break it or work around it.” He sounds lost. “After you died, your locked disappeared. I thought it was lost forever until Madison found it. Turns out her grandmother had kept it hidden at her farmhouse after seeing it in the jeweler’s window.

  “Once we located the black book and brought it to the archives, I knew I could do something useful by adding my notes and updates. History is a living entity and should never be locked away or forgotten. How will we learn from our mistakes and the sins of our fathers?”

  “I know it was you,” I tell him though he can’t hear me. “I believed you’d never give up.”

  “Madison is so close to figuring out the links. Once she can identify your murderer, everything will click into place. And then, I’ll be free to join you,” he whispers this last sentence.

  He can’t mean what I think he does.

  “I’ve only been half alive ever since you died. Knowing my work is done means I can move on. The Society will be in capable hands with Andrew and Tate. Once Madison and Sam graduate next year, they’ll join them. Four powerful witches will do more good than one brooding witch ever could.”

  His words stun me. He’s been doing all this not only to avenge me, but to reunite with me? Geoffrey’s going to die?

  I don’t know how I feel about his plans. I would never ask him to cut short his life. What if the answers he seeks allows me to pass through this stage and he ends up a ghost alone? I didn’t chose to be a ghost. I’m not sure if I can stay a ghost forever.

  Unable to even deal with the thought of any of this, I disappear and go hide out in my teenage bedroom.

  Thirteen

  After two days of sulking, I return to the brownstone in time for breakfast. I find the group around the formal dining table. The scents of coffee, maple syrup, and warm butter fill the room.

  “Remember when I used to get headaches?” Madison asks. “I haven’t had one in ages and this morning I woke up with the feeling of an hammer banging on my forehead. That can’t be good, can it?”

  I’ve been poking her all morning. This is the day we get answers. If we don’t act, we’ll miss the window.

  Making the gesture for a poke to the forehead, I try to let Madison know I’m the cause of her headaches.

  She tilts her head to the side and studies me but doesn’t announce my presence to the rest of the group. I mouth a silent “thank you” and sit in the chair at the opposite end of the long table from Geoffrey.

  “Stanford is being released from the hospital this afternoon. Could that be it?” Andrew asks her, concern heavy in his eyes.

  “Is he?” Geoffrey inquires, sipping his coffee. “Is anyone being charged with his attack?”

  “I believe Mrs. Putnam has been brought in for questioning this afternoon based on what Stanford has told police so far.” Tate sets down his fork in a pool of maple syrup on his empty plate.

  “What a vile woman,” Geoffrey says, his tone bitter. “I remember her at the club the summer I met Alice. Always moaning about the family lines being diluted and how our kind needed to stick together. She was horrible, especially to Alice.”

  His words spark memories of that summer. At nineteen, I was still rebelling against my family and our history. Unused cogs in my mind grind together as missing pieces of the past click together.

  A Fourth of July party at the summer house.

  Mrs. Putnam wandering around upstairs, knocking on the wood paneling.

  Me in my room, sneaking a cigarette out the window where I’d removed the screen for exactly that purpose.

  Angry words. Demands to know where the secret room was hidden.

  At twenty-one, I might have been more than a little rude to some random woman invading my room and telling me what to do.

  I also might’ve called her a magically barren hag.

  Still doesn’t forgive her shoving me out the window.

  Ahh, this is why no one uses the house anymore. The Winthrops are unsentimental and superstitious. Plenty of other properties in the family that aren’t associated with untimely death and scandal.

  Waving my arms, I get Madison’s attention. With my best charades skills, I mime out the last moments of my life.

  She follows along and gasps when I disappear out of the window only to pop back into the room a second later.

  “Alice remembers her death,” Madison tells the group.

  “Who pushed her?” Geoffrey stands.

  Madison stares at me. I draw a P in the air and then the rest of the letters.

  “Putnam.”

  “Does she also remember what happened to her bones? Are they with the other stolen bones at the Brahmin Club?” Questions flood out of Sam’s mouth.

  I stare at Geoffrey. He’s the only one of us who might know.

  “Geoffrey, she’s looking at you.” Madison’s attention bounces between the two of us.

  He walks over to the window and stares down into the private garden surrounded by a tall, brick wall. I join him and brush my hand against his. Below us, a pattern of slate rectangles cover the ground. With the exception of one corner where the large rectangle is broken into three pieces. As if someone tried to lift it and it cracked.

  “There was never a body in that casket in Mount Auburn. Alice was cremated. I stole her ashes and buried them in the garden for safe keeping.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear before continuing. “And I wanted you with me always.”

  I stretch up on my toes to press my mouth to his. His lashes flutter closed for a brief second.

&nb
sp; “So Alice isn’t a ghost because someone stole her bones?” Madison asks.

  “No, if that were the case, Giles and Martha Corey would be haunting your grandmother’s farm,” Geoffrey explains. “I’m not certain why Alice’s spirit is trapped in between worlds. Or why only Madison can see her. I hate that I can’t.”

  I squeeze his hand and rest my head on his shoulder, hoping he can feel me.

  “Does this have anything to do with Sarah’s prophecy?” Andrew stands as well, joining Madison. “About Madison and I somehow being the catalyst to fight the rise of dark magic?”

  A small crease appears between Geoffrey’s beautiful dark eyes. “When Alice and I fell in love, her grandmother made a comment about every generation having a great love that restored hope in the good in the world. We’re about fifteen years older than you. Perhaps you are this generation’s great loves. Times two.”

  His attention lands on Tate and Sam as well as Madison and Andrew.

  “The power of four,” Madison says quietly.

  “In most magic, odd numbers are preferred. However, in the case of love, even tends to work out better.” Geoffrey turns and rests his back against the tall window frame.

  “What now?” Tate asks.

  “Proving Mrs. Putnam murdered Alice will be nearly impossible, but the attempted murder of Stanford Bradford should be an easy case and a scandal her family will want to avoid. We now have the upper hand to force them to give up their power play to control all magic. Balance will be restored.” Geoffrey smiles and it’s clear this knowledge makes him genuinely happy. “Our work here is almost done.”

  Epilogue

  Today is a beautiful day for a funeral.

  Autumn colors tinge the foliage. A few leaves create a colorful confetti on the sidewalks.

  This is that beautiful in-between time that doesn’t feel like fall, but is too cool to still be summer.

  Samhain is coming. Soon the veil between the worlds will thin.

  It’s my favorite season.

  Made even better by the event this morning.

  Not only do most people not get to attend their own funerals, but most certainly don’t get two services.

  As my great grandmother would say, flibberty jibbets I’m tickled pink. Or some nonsense like that.

  I don’t remember my first funeral. Probably too overcome with my own grief and shock to really enjoy all the nice things people had to say about me. The crying and sobbing were probably lovely and most definitely disingenuinous.

  This memorial will be different because none of those annoying relatives have been invited. The ones who had nothing nice to say while I was alive. Her hair is too black. Why doesn’t she smile more? Who gets their ears pierced so many times? At least they didn’t have to buy a new black dress for her casket.

  Uff.

  I’m forever grateful that if any of them are ghosts, we’re not haunting the same places. I’d hate to spend eternity endlessly screaming like an annoyed banshee. Boring.

  Rather than exhume my casket from Mount Auburn and have to deal with the hows and whys my skeleton isn’t inside, we’ve come up with a brilliant idea.

  My ashes are being buried on the Corey farm near Martha and Giles newly restored graves.

  Forget Romeo and Juliet, which totally doesn’t have a happily ever after, Martha and Giles are my ultimate relationship goals. Old people love is the best. You’ve been through it all and then some.

  Kind of like Geoffrey and me.

  Per my request, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” blasts from the portable speaker sitting on the ground near my grave. Delighted, I clap and dance around the fresh earth like a dark-haired Stevie Nicks. Laughing, Madison and her Gran join me and the others follow.

  I also told her to play “Boys Don’t Cry” in honor of Geoffrey. I’m not sure he’s as amused by my playlist as I am. It’s his funeral, too, and maybe I should’ve let him pick his own song.

  Once I knew I couldn’t talk him out of dying, I refused to be a witness to his death. When the time came, I told him to find me in the library after it was over. Not going to lie, the wait felt like eternity, and at first I feared he’d failed in either dying or ending up in the right place. He finally showed up, wearing black jeans and a leather jacket, and I about melted into a puddle of ectoplasm at the sight of him.

  Dancing my way over to him, I grin from ear to ear. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I’ve never been happier than when he wraps me in his arm before dipping me back to kiss me. Oh how I’ve missed his kisses. This is what I’ve wanted for fifteen years.

  Kissing him is my idea of heaven.

  ★★★

  Thank you for reading Four Witches and a Funeral

  This is the last Wicked Society book. I hope you enjoyed the series as much as I loved writing about witches and magic in Boston.

  Please consider writing a review and sharing it on Amazon, Goodreads, or Bookbub. Even better, tell a friend who might enjoy this book, too. Thank you in advance!

  For more information and other books in the Love Spells collection, visit our website: www.lovespellsromance.com

  If you missed Get Witch Quick, the first book in the Wicked Society series, you can read it for free in Kindle Unlimited. I’ve included the first chapter at the end of this book as a bonus. Enjoy!

  Keep reading to meet Madison and Andrew in Bewitched, the witch story that launched both the Bewitched and Wicked Society series.

  Other books by Daisy

  Wicked Society

  Get Witch Quick

  Someday my Witch Will Come

  Four Witches and a Funeral

  Bewitched Series

  Bewitched

  Spellbound

  Enchanted

  Charmed

  Love with Altitude

  Next to You

  Crazy Over you

  Wild for You

  Up to You

  Wingmen

  Ready to Fall

  Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat

  Anything but Love

  Better Love

  Small Town Scandal

  Wingmen Babypalooza

  The Last Wingman (releasing 2019)

  Modern Love Stories

  We Were Here (prequel to Geoducks)

  Geoducks Are for Lovers

  Wanderlust

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  About Daisy

  Daisy Prescott is a USA Today bestselling author of small town romantic comedies. Series include Modern Love Stories, Wingmen, Love with Altitude, as well as the Bewitched and Wicked Society series of magical novellas. Tinfoil Heart is a romantic comedy standalone set in Roswell, New Mexico.

  Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog Mulder, and an indeterminate number of imaginary house goats. When not writing, she can be found in the garden, traveling to satiate her wanderlust, lost in a good book, or on social media, usually talking about books, bearded men, and sloths.

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  www.daisyprescott.com

  Bonus Chapter of Get Witch Quick

  If you missed the first book in the Wicked Society series, keep reading for the first chapter of Get Witch Quick!

  ★★★

  Early May

  Madison’s POV

  Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

  I know this because the commencement speaker yesterday told me so. Along with emphasizing the power is within us, Dr. Emile de Snoozefest shared other deep nuggets of truth such as the future is ours, the world needs us, and we should always keep learning. He didn’t mean me in particular. I didn’t graduate. More generic graduation words of wisdom, but the last two hit a little too close to my current reality and summer plans.

  Of course, I can’t talk about my internship at a secret society of witch
es. When anyone asks, I tell them I’m spending the summer in Boston working for a private archive. Cue the yawns of imagined boredom from my family. Why would I spend my last official summer of college in a stuffy library? If they only knew what they don’t know. Dr. Snoozefest shared that truth nugget, too. Makes my head hurt, trying to unravel that one.

  Before the rest of my life begins, I need to deal with today. If my future is anything like this morning, I’m going to be spending my days without enough sleep, in desperate need of more caffeine, and wearing yesterday’s clothes.

  Not sure how auspicious this is for the start of the rest of my life, let alone this summer. I’m grateful I packed everything from my dorm room and hauled it back to my parents’ house after finals. When I say everything, I mean everything, which explains why I’m wearing the same red floral sundress from graduation while I try to sneak out of my boyfriend’s bedroom with my shoes in one hand and my underwear stuffed in my purse. I’m nothing if not a classy lady.

  This is what happens when a carefully packed weekend bag is left behind.

  My grandmother’s warning about clean undergarments still echoes ominously in my head whenever I go out. Over the years, the importance of fresh underwear as a talisman to avoid the shame of a random EMT’s disgust has morphed into a bonafide superstition. How to prevent getting in an accident or suffering from a catastrophic calamity? Clean underwear. Like carrying an umbrella so it doesn’t rain.

  Also important to note, I might be a little hungover from too much champagne. It’s a classier hangover than one from keg beer drank from a red Solo cup from my early days at Hawthorne College. We all live and learn. I guess I now know what I didn’t know before. One point to Dr. Snoozefest!