by Fitz Molly
Her plaintive meow echoes in the small space and we both laugh. Runa joins in the fun and licks our faces.
Together with the dog and cat, we settle in front of the fireplace. For the first time since my father’s passing, I truly relax.
The holidays will be happier this year. For me, Runa, and the rescues as well, the new additions to our family bringing stability and safety.
As Jinx cuddles in Broden’s lap, I slip my arm through the crook of his elbow. He smiles at me and I feel my father’s spirit draw near.
The farm is my home, and I will continue to take care of Magick Mama, the animals, and the folks who visit, for as long as I’m able to use my wits, wisdom, common sense…and a little magick when necessary.
Want More?
Want more from Snow and the rest of the Once Upon a Witch gang?
Get started with BOOK 1 IF THE CURSED SHOE FITS or catch up with the full series HERE!
Learn more about the author and see her other awesome books HERE.
Magic and Mystery
Izzy Wilder
About This Single
My name is Esme Hightower, and I talk to dead people, but not all spirits play nice. Will I be able to solve the mystery of the stolen urn before a not-so-friendly ghost causes chaos throughout Fiddlehead Creek?
Where It Fits
MAGIC AND MYSTERY can be read as a stand-alone, but chronologically fits as the PREQUEL before BOOK 1 HAVOC AND HAUNTINGS… Enjoy!
Chapter One
The moonless night sky, in addition to the dim, flickering yellow street lights, made the walk to town a spooky one. Of course, it didn’t help matters that I was on my way to the Johnson mansion, an old Victorian house built in the mid-eighteen nineties. It was one the most haunted places on the Halloween Haunted House Tour, and I would be in there alone while awaiting this year’s thrill-seekers. You see, my Aunt Matilda is a well-known psychic, and she’s been hosting the Johnson tour for as long as I can remember. However, last night she tripped over Ghost, her aloof black cat, who spends most of its time hiding from the spirits that inhabit my aunt’s large plantation house. The feline’s unexpected appearance resulted in Aunt Matilda twisting an ankle and thereby handing tonight’s duties over to me. It should be a piece of cake, though. After all, I had the spiel down pat—Augustus Johnson, the original owner of the house, had an affair with the housemaid, and the two conspired to do away with his wife by adding a large dose of arsenic to her tea, but Gladys Johnson never left. Her spirit remained to haunt them and all those who entered the house.
Should be an easy-peasy tour. What could go wrong? Besides, Aunt Matilda wasn’t the only psychic in the family. I was one too. Okay, maybe not officially. Here in Fiddlehead Creek, a tiny little town in the Peach Plains Region of Georgia, you had to be certified to be a psychic, and that went for witches and mystics too. I was a long way from achieving that goal. In fact, next week, I was leaving for the City of Angels to pursue my acting dream. But I could do this. I had to. I couldn’t let my Aunt Matilda down.
As I approached the house, I shined the light from my cell phone at the porch stairs. The last thing I needed was to trip and twist my ankle. The wood creaked with each step, and before I put the key in the front door, I could see that it was slightly ajar. My heart raced, and I clenched my keys, ready to use them as a weapon if need be.
The house had been purchased recently by the historical society, and they would soon be turning it into a silver museum. You see, Augustus Johnson had owned a silver company, and his private collection, which had been included in the sale, was the largest in the state. A huge celebration party was scheduled for this Saturday night—Halloween. Everyone who was anyone would be there, so nothing could go wrong tonight. Nothing. Or my name and Aunt Matilda’s would be mud.
I slowly opened the door the rest of the way, my gaze scanning the entry foyer for a shadow or any kind of movement. If someone was there, I was ready to hightail it off the porch, but only silence rang eerily in my ears. Still, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling of foreboding that tightened my chest. Quietly, I stepped inside and slid my hand along the wall in search of the light switch. As soon as I found it, the room was bathed in an otherworldly orange glow. Quite appropriate for a ghost tour, but the creepiness of the old fixtures only added to my unease.
The house was furnished with a variety of antiques and old furniture, making me feel like I’d stepped back in time. I checked the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Everything was as it should be. The silver collection was under lock and key in the vault at Fiddlehead Bank and would be brought over sometime on Saturday, so at least I didn’t need to worry about that. Perhaps someone on the historical committee had stopped by and forgot to lock the door. That would explain it being open a tad. It was pretty windy tonight. I was grasping onto any explanation I could think of, hoping to calm my jittery nerves as I headed upstairs to the second floor.
There were four bedrooms and a bath. All looked fine. No boogeyman hiding anywhere, thankfully, so I headed back downstairs to the kitchen where I took the pamphlets that Aunt Matilda had given me about the house out of my purse, and then set them down on the table in a neat pile.
I was just about to go check my appearance in the small half-bath off the kitchen—after all, that’s what any fashionista would do—when I thought I heard someone cry, “Help.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I’d always had a wild imagination, but this was wilder than usual, and it was beginning to freak me out. I stood perfectly still, barely breathing in fact, my ears primed for any other sound. A second later, I heard the cry again, only this time louder, and it sounded like it was coming from the basement. My heart thundered against my chest so hard that it felt like it would burst right through. Who could be down there? A million different thoughts shot through my mind, each one more awful than the last. I should go down there… I had to go down there… But I was terrified of basements. Always had been. Well, ever since I got locked in Aunt Matilda’s by a ghost. I was only eight years old, and it taught me that not all spirits played nice. Could a ghost have locked someone down in the Johnson basement?
My hands trembled as I turned the doorknob, and then reached for the light switch. Nothing came on, though. Figured, the light was burned out. At least the glow from the kitchen would keep me from falling, but it didn’t keep my knees from feeling like jelly as I made my way down the rickety stairs.
I waited a moment at the bottom for my eyes to adjust to the inky darkness before going any farther.
“Help me, please. I’m over here.”
The voice came from the left, and as I inched over in that direction, I spotted a crumpled form near a utility rack. “What happened? Are you okay?” I asked while offering my hand.
“I think so, but I’m sure I’ll have a nice lump where I got hit on the head.”
As I helped the woman over to the stairs, I got a better view of her face. “Rayanne Phipps?” Rayanne was the only living descendant of Augustus Johnson and was the prior owner of the house.
She stared at me, recognition lighting her eyes. “Esme Hightower! Thank goodness you heard me. Who knows how long I could’ve been down here otherwise. But what are you doing here? I thought your Aunt Matilda was doing the tour.”
“She had an accident, so I’m filling in. She’s fine, though. Nothing serious. I don’t know if I can say the same about you, though. What happened? You were hit on the head?”
“Yeah, but can’t say with what. Whoever it was came up behind me and knocked me out before I could turn around. But even worse, they took the urn that had held Augustus’s ashes.
Oh, yuck! I tried not to grimace as I asked, “Who would do something so morbid?”
“I have no idea, but the historical society won’t be happy if the piece isn’t added to the silver collection.”
“Did anyone know it was here?”
“No one that I know of,” Rayanne replied. “Even I wasn’t sure where it was, but se
eing as the basement was the only place I hadn’t looked, I thought I’d stop by before tonight’s tour. I found it on the top shelf of the rack and was going to clean it so it would be ready for the Halloween party on Saturday when I got whacked on the head.”
I gasped. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“No kidding, and I have a feeling this headache is going to last for days.”
“You should go to the hospital and get checked out. You could have a concussion, and that’s something to take seriously.”
Rayanne rubbed the back of her head. “There’s a nice lump there already, but I’ll be okay. I will need help up the stairs, though, as I’m pretty dizzy.”
With my arms wrapped around her, we took slow, careful steps until we reached the kitchen, where I ushered her into a chair beside an old oak table. “I’m going to call an ambulance,” I said, noticing the blood matting the hair at the back of her head.
“Who needs an ambulance?” The voice was smooth and silky and very familiar. I spun around as Guy Casanova, Fiddlehead Creek’s chief of police, and my soon to be ex-boyfriend entered the room. I’d been putting off breaking up with him. However, I needed to do it soon—before I left for L.A. Long distance relationships never worked, but every time he gazed at me with his sexy dark eyes, just like he was now, I chickened out.
“Someone hit Rayanne on the head and then locked her in the basement,” I replied, pointing to the blood in her hair.
“And they stole Augustus’s urn,” she added frantically. “You have to find out who took it. It’s an important part of the silver collection, and I need to have it back before Halloween night.”
Guy frowned. “This is Wednesday, and Halloween is Saturday. I doubt very much that I’ll discover who took it by then unless you saw who did it.”
Rayanne rubbed her temples. “No. I already told Esme, the person came up behind me. I didn’t see anything before everything went black.”
“Chances are it was someone connected to the gang of thieves who’ve been hitting places all over town. They already targeted two tonight; this makes number three. That’s why I stopped over. I wanted to warn you, Esme, to be careful with tonight’s tour, but it looks like I was too late. They were already here. They’re good at what they do and have left me no leads,” the chief said sadly.
Rayanne groaned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll catch them, but most likely, it’ll take longer than a few days,” he added.
Her gaze shifted over to me. “Esme, you’ll help, won’t you? You’re a psychic. Can’t you conjure up a spirit to tell us who took it?”
They were both staring at me, waiting for my response. However, it was for different reasons: Rayanne because she was desperate to find the urn, and the chief because he wasn’t a fan of the paranormal. He went along with it because he had to. Fiddlehead Creek wasn’t like most towns. Paranormal activities were practically an everyday occurrence here. Nonetheless, he hated it when I participated in them, leaving me in quite a pickle.
I chewed my bottom lip as I pondered what to do. One of them was going to be very upset with me.
Chapter Two
“Sooo, you will help, right, Esme?” Rayanne whined. Her voice had risen and was now annoyingly high-pitched.
I looked down at the floor, avoiding both their eyes. “Of course,” I mumbled, feeling Guy’s pointed stare without shifting my gaze. How could I not help Rayanne, or at least try?
“They’re a dangerous group, Esme. Look what they did to Rayanne. This is better left to the police.” There was no missing the tone of disapproval in the chief’s voice.
“I won’t do anything foolish. I promise. All I’m going to do is call on Augustus to see if he knows who took the urn. Anything I find out, I’ll relay to you immediately.”
His handsome features softened some, but I knew he still wasn’t sold on the idea. “I guess I’ll have to take you at your word.”
I shot him a narrowed, glinting glance. “You better. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”
The corners of his full mouth turned up in a slight smirk. “Are you sure you want me to answer that? Just last month, I had to rescue you from a bear shifter that was ready to attack.”
“That wasn’t my fault. He shifted without warning, and everyone knows that’s not right.”
The chief raised a brow at me. “Shifters, regardless of the type, are some of the most untrustworthy creatures around. I wouldn’t expect any of them to do what’s right.”
“Well, live and learn.” Despite spending summers in Fiddlehead Creek since I was a child, I still didn’t know everything about the town’s unconventional inhabitants. I was a city girl, came from Atlanta, where people were normal, or as normal as could be.
“Now that that’s settled, Rayanne, you need to have your head looked at. I’ll give you a ride to the hospital,” Guy said sternly.
She frowned. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“I do.” Once Guy made up his mind, there was no dissuading him. He turned to me. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” And then as if on cue, a group of giggling teenagers came in, indicating my first tour had arrived. “Rayanne, can you meet me at my Aunt Matilda’s house in the morning, say at eleven?” I was sure she wouldn’t mind if I used her reading room.
“That’s fine. Thank you so much, Esme. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
I let them out the back door instead of the front, where the teenagers had come in. I didn’t think the historical society would appreciate word getting out that Rayanne had been attacked, and Chief Casanova had to take her to the hospital.
Before heading down the hall to meet my guests, I grabbed a handful of pamphlets. There were three girls and two boys excitedly waiting in the foyer. “Hello, I’m Esme, and I’ll be your guide this evening. Is this your first time at the Johnson house?” I asked, handing each of them a pamphlet.
I got a loud yes from four, but a short freckle-faced girl with bright red hair crinkled up her nose and said, “No. I come every year. Isn’t the old psychic woman, what’s her name, Matilda, supposed to do the tour? What good is it if we can’t contact a spirit?” She scowled at me with accusatory eyes.
Why does there have to be a trouble maker in every group? I plastered on a smile and replied sweetly, “Matilda is my aunt. She wasn’t able to make it tonight, so I’m filling in. I hope y’all won’t be too disappointed. However, I’m a psychic too—runs in my family on the female side—so I’ll be sure to welcome in a spirit or two.” As long as it isn’t Augustus’s wife, Gladys, everything should proceed smoothly. You would think Augustus and his girlfriend would be the spirits to stay away from, seeing as they did away with Gladys. However, the wife was one vindictive ghost and wanted the house all to herself. Aunt Matilda had told me many a story of her disrupting a tour that would send the guests fleeing. Her antics are the reason the house is on the Fiddlehead Creek Most Haunted list.
As I led them through the house, I recited its dark history, and when we reached the top of the stairs and were about to head down the hall toward the bedrooms, my stomach fluttered, indicating a spirit wanted permission to enter my realm. Who’s there? I asked internally.
It’s Augustus Johnson.
Are you alone? I relaxed a bit when he replied that he was. Will you please make your presence known to the group?
I’d be happy to.
“Y’all, we have a visitor from the other side. If you listen carefully, Augustus Johnson will let you know that he’s here.”
A moment later, the hall light flickered, and then the air in the room became ice cold.
“Did y’all feel that drop in temperature?” I asked.
The little red-haired girl quickly said yes, but I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t impressed. However, the others were now nervously holding hands.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” a pretty brunette asked.
“Yes
, it was. Would you like to continue with the tour, or have you seen enough?”
“More!” they all said in unison.
“Great.” I ushered them into the master with a huge four-poster bed. “This was Augustus’s and Gladys’s bedroom.”
“If the wife doesn’t appear, I’m going to tell everyone that this year’s tour was a flop.” The red-haired girl sneered at me.
Before I could respond, the girl’s pigtails shot up straight into the air.
“Ouch,” she yelled. “Someone’s pulling my hair.”
“I’d say your wish came true. Gladys is here,” I replied, not happy that the ghost had arrived.
“Tell her to stop it,” she cried.
“Gladys doesn’t listen to anyone,” I said. “All I can do is try to distract her. Let’s continue the tour.”
“I’ve seen enough. I want to go. Now!” The girl grabbed at her braids, but it did no good. The spirit had a strong hold on them.
The group bolted down the stairs, and when they reached the foyer, one of the chandelier globes hanging from the ceiling above them exploded, sending the teenagers screaming from the house. As they flew down the porch stairs, they almost knocked over Mark Lang and his girlfriend, Lorna Michelle.
“Everything okay in there?” Mark asked, his eyes focused like lasers on the front door.
“We had a couple of visitors from the other side during the tour, but isn’t that what y’all come here hoping for?” I tried to sound flippant, despite the slight quiver in my voice. I wasn’t prepared to deal with Gladys’s antics and hoped that would be her only appearance tonight.
Mark smirked and then said, “Spirits don’t scare me. How about you, Lorna? Are you game? I promise to protect you.” His laugh was as big as his frame. Mark was easily six foot three and built like a linebacker. I doubted a ghost would want to mess with him. I know I sure wouldn’t. It was a good thing we’d stayed on amicable terms after his brother Hawk and I broke up. Adam Lang, better known as Hawk, because of the giant tattoo of the bird he had across his shoulder blades, was my first love—high school sweetheart—and you know how that goes. You never forget your first love, and I never had, even though I hadn’t seen him in over five years. Apparently, after the breakup, Hawk got into a brawl and wound up spending the night in jail. After that, he enlisted in the army, and as far as I knew, was stationed somewhere abroad. Memories of long ago tugged at my heartstrings, and a lump formed in my throat. A part of me would always love him and would’ve liked to see him one more time before leaving Fiddlehead Creek.
