The murky sunlight is struggling against low-hanging clouds, and I turn on a radio station playing twenty-four hours of carols. I pass various roadside signs advertising the Festival of Lights Walk, along with the usual advertisements about the winery.
The season should be a bonus for the Cross family’s business, since I managed to negotiate with another local company that produces high-quality chocolates, and the two have created a partnership with gift baskets. I’m getting Mama one with a combo of the vineyard’s award-winning merlot and the candy company’s brandy-infused chocolate turtles.
As I leave the city limits, houses become spaced farther apart and I pass horse pastures and barns. Even here, the holiday season is in full swing. White picket fences are decorated with garlands and wreaths. Grander displays meet the eyes on open lawns. Farmhouses have lights in every window, the horses in the pastures also adding to the ambience.
According to Logan’s mama, many details have been lost along the way, but the basic one remains. A witch came after her family two hundred years ago, and her great-great grandmother fought back. She managed to kill her and curse the woman’s ghost into the locket I now possess.
Unfortunately, the spell is about to expire. When it does, that spirit is coming after Logan.
The very thought of it makes my hackles rise. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him and his family, I only wish I had more time. So far, I haven’t found a single way to stop it.
“Persephone?” I call to my guardian angel. “I need help.”
Crickets. I’ve been begging her to show herself and do what she’s supposed to—guide me—since Halloween. What good is a spirit guide if she’s not around when you need help?
I hum along as I take the drive up into the hills. I pass patches of ancient trees before the view opens up showing me rows of grapevines, now dormant. Fog lingers here and wends its way amongst the various acres. I’m not surprised to see the entire grounds and house done in expensive and classy holiday trimmings. No jolly Santas stuck here.
I park in the lot near the store where the wine tastings and special events are held. The old speakeasy barn resides in the distance, the fog hovering around the weathervane at the peak.
The first wedding I did after returning to town was an impressive affair, even for me to pull off. Because of an angry ghost who ruined the planned Country Club proceedings, Rosie and I ended up doing it here in the barn.
Talk about ghosts…even this far away I see and sense some near the building. The lingering memories and loops of time overlay the present like a vintage black and white film.
Gathering my courage, I make my way to the wraparound porch. A luscious fresh swag of spruce and red berries graces the old oak door. Sprigs of mistletoe are artfully arranged in it, and a matching potted tree is festooned with lights and velvet ribbons sits next to it.
Winston, the butler, answers my knock and escorts me into the large entry, offering to take my coat. “Ready for the holidays, Miss Ava?”
It makes me uncomfortable to have people wait on me, but the two times I’ve been here with Logan, it made Winston ill at ease when I wouldn’t let him. I remove the necklace from the pocket before handing him the jacket. “I sure am. And you? Do you get to spend time with your family?”
A festive sprig of mistletoe with a red ribbon accessorizes his vest. “My vacation starts Friday. I’ll be heading to Ohio that night.”
“Happy holidays to you, then.” I thank him profusely and he wishes me a Merry Christmas as he shows me into the parlor.
The room is chilly, no fire in the fireplace, but there is a fresh tree in the corner decorated with velvet ribbons and costly ornaments. It’s beautiful and scents the air, but it lacks any personal touches and I wonder if Helen hired someone to decorate it.
Mama still to this day puts up the awful construction paper ones I made in elementary school. In amongst them, she hangs vintage baubles passed down from generation to generation. The Cross family has a long history, as evidenced by the rows of framed ancestor photos lining an entire downstairs wall, but there are no connections to the past on this tree.
Perhaps they keep a personal one in the less formal den.
Nearly ten minutes pass before Helen Caldwell Cross enters, her heels clip-clopping on the wood flooring. Dressed in pearls and a classic red dress, her platinum hair is curled and pinned high on her head.
She makes it obvious she wasn’t expecting company, even though she’s dressed in her Sunday best.
“I apologize for showing up unannounced,” I say as she motions me to a chair. “I thought you might like an update on my research.”
“Have you taken care of the problem?”
Helen is always direct, and it’s usually a trait I admire. Today, however, it would be nice to see some emotion from the woman. “Unfortunately, no. I’m at a dead end.”
Her lips thin. She paces to the rear window and peers out over her property. Pine boughs and mistletoe line the ledge. Rolling hills frame her profile.
Hands clasped, she pivots and gives me another harsh, impatient glare. “Try harder. We’re running out of time.”
Like I don’t know? “I’ve studied tons of books, combed through articles on the internet for hours, talked to friends on the Pacific Coast who are experts on things like this, and well…” I lift my hands in I don’t know gesture. “Even they're not sure what to do.”
I hold up the necklace, the locket catching light from a nearby sconce. “I’ve even tried reaching out to the ghost and get no response.”
Like a magnet, her gaze zeroes in on it, then darts away. “You have to do more. She’ll suck out his soul if you don’t!”
“Sounds awful, but how exactly can she do that?”
Helen braces a hand on the frame, jaw set. “This is your area of expertise, not mine. All I know is what I’ve been told.”
I lower the necklace and jiggle it in my palm. “Tell me the story again about how your grandmother stopped the witch.”
“We’ve been over it several times.”
She doesn’t like to discuss witches and magick, but I have to force the issue. “There has to be more to it, and anything you can remember might help.”
Helen stalks from the window and drops into a deep burgundy colored couch, crossing her legs and leaning on the arm. She stares into the fireplace, face rigid. “I’ve told you everything.”
I don’t argue; I simply wait. I’ve learned she resists being forced, and is stubborn as the day is long, as Aunt Willa used to say. If you give her a bit of time and space, though…
“The witch threatened our family,” she begins, reciting facts she’s already shared. “My great-great grandmother, Birdie May—a God-fearing woman—stood up to her. Things…happened.”
“Fill me in on those ‘things.’”
She huffs and fidgets, not taking her gaze off the cold fireplace. “The two of them were enemies from the start, and fought a lot.”
“Over what exactly, do you know?”
“Land, I believe. Eventually, it led to the death of the witch on Christmas Eve, and my grandmother wasn’t about to let her ghost haunt our family, so she cursed her into that to keep us safe. It’s been two hundred blessed years of safety and protection from”—she points a well-manicured finger toward the locket—“that horrible, horrible person. Birdie made sure she couldn’t harm her loved ones and burnt all of her stuff, even those disgusting dolls.”
My intuition perks up. “What kind of dolls?”
A twitch of her fingers. “You know. The kind they stick pins in. The witch had lots of them that she used to curse people. She had one of Birdie.”
I set the locket on the coffee table between us and eye it speculatively. “Like voodoo?”
Helen flicks invisible dust from her dress. “My grandmother burned them along with the other tools.”
“Tools?”
Another huff, lips set defiantly. “A knife, I believe. Candles. You know, witchy
stuff.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
Her eyes, so much like Logan’s baby blues, meet mine. Hers are cold and unforgiving. “I didn’t think it consequential.”
Maybe it isn’t, but the doll angle gives me something more to check into. If Birdie’s enemy was into black magick or voodoo, this is a fresh avenue to research in regards to the curse. “How did your grandmother kill her?”
Helen returns to staring. “No idea.”
“How would she know the means to curse the ghost into an object?”
“She used the power of the Lord.”
Of course, she did. If only that could help me now. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
A shake of her head causes frustration to rise once more. There’s more to this story, I’m sure of it, and the facts could be key to breaking the curse and sending this spirit onto her next incarnation.
If that’s even possible.
“Why Logan?”
I’ve asked her before, but she’s always ignored the question. Today, I don’t plan to let her off the hook. “I need to know for sure why he’s the target.”
Her erect posture deflates slightly at the mention of him. “The witch wanted a son and my great-great-grandparents had seven. She believed they took the land from her family so she wanted a male heir as payment. My grandmother wasn’t about to give her any such thing.”
“That was two centuries ago. How can you be sure when she’s freed that she won’t come after you or your mother, since you’re both alive?”
Helen glances at me as if I’m daft. “She’ll come after the youngest male descendant of the maternal Caldwell line.”
Once again, I feel as though she’s leaving out important details. I sit forward, placing elbows on knees, and give her an earnest look. These few crumbs of new information may not change anything, and I need her to understand the seriousness of failure. “Helen, are you sure there’s a spirit trapped in there? If there is, and you’re holding back other information, this could end badly.”
Her gaze follows my finger as I point to the locket on the table.
Fear shows in her face when she turns back to me. “The curse is real, and I’ve told you everything. You have to stop this. You understand family curses, and I’ll give you whatever you want, just…” Her eyes tear up and her voice quivers. “Please save my boy.”
The Holloway family’s curse could’ve killed my dad, but I managed to break it, and that gives me a unique status in her eyes. My success may also give her false hope that I can keep her son safe.
Luckily, my father is still alive and kicking, and can return to Thornhollow with no deadly consequences. I understand how terrifying this must be for her, and yet I don’t understand why she’d withhold information.
The sound of my cell, still in the pocket of my coat in the hall, breaks the tension. It’s Logan’s ringtone, and I sigh, remembering the second reason I’m here. “I need money.”
His mother blanches, and I figure she’s assuming I’m milking her because of her wealth. Dignity aside, I have to ask for financial assistance because we’re out of time and I can’t be polite anymore, no matter how much Mama and Aunt Willa pounded southern manners into me. At least with Helen, I know she’ll be discreet and no one will find out if I ask for a loan.
“I can’t focus on this when I’m unable pay rent to your son.”
Her lips twitch.
“Look, Rosie and I’ve had some financial struggles since I took over my aunt’s business, but by January things will get better. There will be more cash flow, and I’ll pay you back. Right now?” I shake my head. “I have bills and not enough funds. I can’t even cover Rosie’s salary, and it’s Christmas. She deserves a bonus. She has a son, too, one she needs her paychecks for in order to buy gifts. I’m sure you understand.”
In reality, I doubt Helen has ever struggled in either capacity. However, appealing to the mother in her is my best avenue.
Her hand grips the arm of the couch, her knuckles whitening. She pushes upright, and as I see the hard look in her eyes, I think she’s going to throw me out.
Instead, she marches to an antique desk. From a drawer, she withdraws a blue bag and returns.
Unzipping it, she yanks out a stack of bills in a white paper sleeve. They’re hundreds.
Breaking the sleeve, she meets my gaze. “How much do you need?”
Chapter Three
Back in my car, I find Tabby waiting for me. One marmalade colored paw touches the necklace when I toss it on the passenger seat. “How did you get here?”
She blinks her gold eyes at me but doesn’t answer. Occasionally, even in cat form, she speaks. She seems to enjoy her feline form more than her human one.
I saw her shapeshift once, and I have to say, I’m rather glad she doesn’t do so often. Otherwise, she’d freak me out more than she already does.
She was a powerful witch in her time, though we don’t talk about that in our family. I grew up believing, much like everyone else in town, that the founder of Thornhollow was simply an herbalist and midwife. Turns out, there was a lot more going on with her than most knew. Then or now.
She’s not the only one I hear talking to me, and I believe some of that is due to the fact I had a near death encounter after I arrived home. Logan actually saved me and brought me back to life, so our relationship truly is complicated. I feel like I owe him on many levels—Tabitha too, unfortunately—and even breaking the curse that’s haunted his family is not quite enough to reverse that.
Stashing the money in my purse, I start the car, ignoring the ghosts hovering nearby. Some are from the speakeasy era who are more aware than their counterparts simply going through the time loops. There are at least two that need help crossing over, but I don’t have the availability or energy to worry about them today.
It’s not like I simply open the door to heaven and push people through. Every ghost has a story, a reason they're anchored here, and I have so much on my plate at the moment, I can’t take on even one more mystery to solve.
As Tabitha bats the locket onto the foot mat, I shoot her a look and pull around the circular drive. I’m thinking about how I’m going to pay Helen back. I’ll need to advertise my wedding dress line extensively, and that takes funds. I’ve learned the old adage you need money to make money is true.
The weight of owing so many people so many things weighs heavy on my shoulders and I nearly miss the flash of Logan’s red car shooting up the lane until it’s nearly too late. He’s coming to see his mother—or maybe chasing after me.
He didn’t know I was coming here, so he must be checking on her. He’s good like that, and it warms my heart when I think about how loving and devoted he is to his family.
He slows, and I see his driver’s side window beginning to lower so he can speak to me. A big smile is on his face, and I swoon a little, knowing I’m totally in love with this guy.
But self-preservation kicks in and I panic. I can’t expose why I’m here and I hate lying to him. To anyone.
My mind blanks. Still, I slow, waving jerkily, breath caught in my throat.
“Hey,” he says, his smile making my stomach do somersaults. “You okay?”
“Yes, of course!” I’m nodding like a looney person. “Why?”
“You look pale.”
“Didn’t sleep great.” This is true. “Haven’t had enough caffeine.”
He glances toward the house. “Visiting Mother?”
I swallow the pit in my throat. “Going over a few details for the ball.”
Internally I cringe—his mother has nothing to do with the big event.
Wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes as he surveys my face. “I didn’t realize she was helping you.”
“Oh, you know, her taste in décor is extraordinary.” This too is truth, but what I add is not. “I wanted her opinion on the table centerpieces.”
From the long pause, I know he knows I’m lying. I
stay as far from his mother as I can, regardless that he and I are dating.
“The gift baskets!” Helen and I actually discussed them two weeks ago, but Logan doesn’t know that. “We discussed what to include in the ones for the fundraiser.”
He nods, buying this one. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with all the end of year stuff. I should be helping you with the ball.”
“I’m sorry about being late on rent. I have it, just…things have been…”
“Crazy,” he finishes for me. “I know.”
I reach my hand across the expanse between us. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up after Christmas.”
He takes my hand and squeezes. “I’m holding you to it.”
Out on the main road, I turn on my Bluetooth and instruct it to text Helen, relaying the lie that we were discussing the ball and gift baskets if Logan asks.
As I make my way toward town, I use it again to call my friend, Winter. She and her sisters are the witches I know in Oregon, and whom I rely on to help with all things magical.
They have an amazing shop filled with crystals, body products, tarot cards, and crafts. I’m so proud of all the work they’ve done, and how they’re expanding their line and services.
I wish I could fly across the country to see them. With all this stress, being wrapped in sisterly hugs, and maybe having Summer do an energy session on me, sounds like my version of heaven. I’m completely out of balance, my nerves getting the best of me, and as Winter answers, the sound of her voice grounds me, keeping me from having an anxiety attack. “Happy Yule,” she says.
“Happy Yule and Merry Christmas. Are you super busy?”
She chuckles with sarcasm. “Autumn’s plans for the expansion are undergoing another addition, if you can believe it.”
“I can.” Thinking about all the amazing work they do for others lifts my spirits. “I can’t wait to visit when it’s complete.”
“Did you break that curse yet?”
“You’d be the first to know if I did.” Absentmindedly, I glance at a Christmas display in the Stockard’s yard of two snowpeople locked in an embrace. The male holds a sprig of mistletoe above the female. “I’m still not sure what to do, but I did discover the witch used dolls. Any thoughts on that?”
Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Page 2
