“Voodoo?”
“That’s my take on it.”
“Hmm. Sounds like Mamma Nightengale’s territory. Her mother and grandmother practiced it, although I’m not sure how much she knows. How about I have her call you?”
Tabitha meows, and I ignore her. “I’m desperate. Anything, or anybody, that has an idea, send them my way.”
We disconnect and I stop at the Bee Hive diner to grab some lunch. I’m starving.
As I park in front of the large glass window advertising today’s special, Queenie, the owner, is walking her last customer out. The two are talking a mile a minute and I smile as the woman leans over and hugs Queenie before they part.
“You take care, now, Bonnie,” she calls and the woman waves to her. “Happy holidays!”
On the sidewalk, I smile at her when she rounds on me. I make prayer hands in front of my chest. “Please give me something to eat for lunch. I’ve had a horrible morning and I’ll owe you forever if you take pity on me.”
“You already owe me your firstborn son.” She looks down her dark nose at me, her lips in a scolding frown. “Who do you think you are showing up at closing time and expecting me to feed you?”
This wonderful woman has been like a second mother to me through the years. “Someone you love regardless of my short comings?”
Her frown disappears and she pulls me into a bear hug, then ushers me inside. Flipping the sign on the door, she takes the daily lunch special flyer out of the window and tosses it on the counter. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
I take a bar stool at the counter, remembering when this was an ice cream shop. Brax’s mother has redone it in a down-home atmosphere and talks a mile a minute as she waves her fry cook away and whips up a huge plate of food.
The fried ham and cheese, coleslaw, and side of hush puppies makes my mouth water and I can’t eat fast enough. She slides a milkshake in front of me and I suck that up, too.
Queenie continues to clean and prep for the evening hours as she gives me the latest gossip. Since my mouth is full, I just nod and make noises.
“What about the ball?” she queries me. “Everything set for Saturday night?”
The backdoor squeaks as someone comes in and Brax’s voice shouts, “I’m here, Mama.”
The fry cook leaves, stating he’ll be back in two hours to start the dinner special. I finish the sandwich as Brax greets his mother, then me, his giant arms nearly squishing me in a hug.
He helps himself to a large iced tea. “Can I get one of those?” He points to the tiny portion of sandwich I haven’t finished.
“Ava was just about to fill me in on the ball,” Queenie says, wiping her hands on a dishrag. “Sit down and I’ll make it.”
I use a napkin to wipe my mouth and place a hand on my extremely full belly. “Everything for the ball is set. I wish you were catering.”
She waggles a finger at me. “My food ain’t for the Country Club.”
I sigh. “We have a few last-minute decorations, like the fresh mistletoe, and I’m waiting on a final count on the tickets sold, but otherwise we’re good to go.”
Brax dwarfs the stool, his big hands fiddling with his tea glass. “The most important question is, what are you planning to wear?”
Brax is always concerned about my appearance, maybe more so than my mother, if that’s possible. He’s been my best friend since we were toddlers and next-door neighbors. Our moms are also best friends.
Since he and Rhys bought the bed and breakfast last month, we’re once again living beside each other. “I sketched a dress for the event, but I don’t have the time or material to make it. I’ll scrounge through my closet and find something presentable.”
One dark brown eye winks at me. “Honey, if you’ve got a sketch, I’ll take care of the rest. What’s it look like?”
I pull out my phone and show him a photo of it. “Spaghetti straps, winter white chiffon, and a short raspberry colored velvet cape.”
He whistles under his breath and Queenie eyeballs the sketch. “Looks like flapper-style meets sophisticated Christmas.”
“The speakeasy wedding in October gave me lots of ideas for a whole line of Roaring Twenties wedding gowns. Thought I’d test drive one for the ball to see if it’s workable.”
“Workable?” Queenie smiles. “Honey, this is stunning. I can’t wait to see it on you.”
“Well, unfortunately, that’s not going to happen.”
“Sure, it will.” Brax is confident and Queenie is smiling as she returns to the kitchen side. “And I’ll do your hair.”
I give him a questioning glance. “The ball is in three days. What do you have, a magic wand?”
His broad shoulders shake as he laughs, his deep voice echoing off the high ceiling. Queenie puts together a sandwich for him, smiling at the sound. “I know a gal who can sew it up quick. It’ll be my Christmas present to you.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. You and Rhys come over Christmas afternoon and share some of Rhys’ good cooking with me and that will be enough. I’ve got plenty of old dresses that’ll work.”
Queenie brings his food and leans on the counter. She lowers her voice, eyes lit with expectation. “What about your mama and her secret beau? Do you know who it is?”
I frown. “What? Mama doesn’t date.”
One of Queenie’s brows lifts. “You sure about that?”
“Not possible. She and Daddy are still married.”
“They’ve been separated a long time, Ava.” Queenie straightens. “She’s lonely.”
My father, a former cop, actually dreamed of being a rock star. Because of the family curse only my mother and aunt knew about, and the possibility he could die young because of it, Mama chased him out of town and told him to follow his dreams.
“It would be good for her to find someone who makes her happy,” Brax says, but he’s studying me closely, registering my reaction.
“Who told you she’s bringing a date to the ball?” I question his mother.
She shrugs, fussing over a napkin holder nearby. “Heard it on the wind.”
Which means Mama told her. Just not who this beau is.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “How could she not tell me?”
One of Brax’s hands lands on my arm. “The kids are often the last to know.”
Queenie snorts and starts drying a glass. “She probably didn’t want to upset you. And she seems to be keeping it from all of us.”
“Who could it be?”
They both stare at me with blank faces. Out of the slim pickings of bachelors in town close to my mother’s age, none seem a good fit.
A knock breaks the silence. Queenie's brows draw together in the center of her forehead as she skirts the counter, muttering under her breath, “Closed sign means closed. What is wrong with people?”
“Just ignore it,” Brax advises.
“Oh dear.” She’s already at the door, and I hear her clear her throat. “Speak of the devil.”
I can’t see around her ample body when I swivel, but whoever it is, it can’t be good by her tone. Probably one of the regulars who saw Brax and I, figuring they can take advantage of Queenie’s soft heart.
Milkshake in hand, I take the last sip, thinking about interrogating Mama.
Queenie opens the door. “Well, now,” she says, all fake friendliness. “Look what the cat dragged onto my doorstep.”
For half a second, she’s still blocking my view, then she steps back. The person is backlit on the stoop. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus, for my mind to register who I’m seeing.
“Hello, Queenie,” the man nods at her, then glances my way.
He meets my eyes with a big smile. “Hello, Ava, girl.”
Shocked, the last person I expected to see today stepping into the diner, I drop my glass.
“Daddy?”
Chapter Four
My father takes three long strides across
the tiled floor, pulls me off my stool, ignoring the shattered glass at my feet, and hugs me like he hasn’t seen me in an age.
He hasn’t. In fact, with him on the road with his singing career so much in the past few years, we’ve barely connected in person. Video chats, calls, and texts are great, but there’s nothing better than seeing him face to face.
I sink into his embrace, his familiar soap and aftershave engulfing me. Closing my eyes, I soak it all up.
“There’s my girl,” he says, rocking us slightly back and forth. “I’ve been waiting to do this for so long.”
He was going to visit at Thanksgiving, but got a gig in Kentucky and didn’t.
“Daddy.” I breathe the word on a long sigh. We break the hug but not our contact, our arms around each other. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
He squeezes my arms and takes my hands in his, moving us so Brax and Queenie can sweep up the glass. I apologize to her and she waves it off.
“Didn’t want you to be disappointed if I couldn’t make it,” he tells me, “but I’m here now. I insisted to my manager I needed to be home for Christmas.”
I’m thrilled, but in the back of my mind, I realize Mama’s going to freak. She’s been planning everything with a fervor I haven’t seen in years, claiming this will be the most special holiday ever since I am home again.
But this is Dad. He’s finally in Thornhollow again and I couldn’t be happier. “You’re staying with me. I have plenty of room at Aunt Willa’s.”
“Don’t they feed you, Nash? You’re too skinny,” Queenie admonishes. “I’m making you some lunch.”
“Don’t go to any trouble for me,” he insists, but he’s smiling and winking.
“Good to see you,” Brax adds.
As Queenie dishes up food in a to-go container, he and Dad share a man hug and promise to get together.
“I hear you bought the B&B,” Dad says.
Brax tousles my hair, then smooths it back down. “Someone has to keep Ava in line.”
We say our goodbyes and I accept hugs from Brax and Queenie. Dad follows me through town to The Wedding Chapel.
Rosie has finished the windows when we arrive. She and the cats greet us and I covertly give her the money for rent, while dad brings in his suitcases. She gives me the side-eye, but doesn’t ask any questions.
Dad leans his guitar bag against his luggage and pulls out a neon orange pick. He hands it to her. “Like my new business cards?”
She reads the lettering as I glance at it over her shoulder. “That’s really cool,” Rosie says. “What a great idea.”
“Nash ‘The Phantom’ Fantome,” it reads with a gold star outline around the nickname and his website on the flip side.
I show him upstairs to a spare bedroom and pull out a set of fresh sheets. We chat about his last gig and the weather. He doesn’t ask about Mama, and I leave that topic alone as well.
“Take your time settling in,” I tell him. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Rosie hands me a mug when I enter the kitchen. “Logan’s suspicious about you sneaking out of here, and do I want to know how you're suddenly flush with cash?”
The cider is warm and tastes amazing. “I already spoke to him. Don’t worry. It’s Christmas—people are always sneaky this time of year, and he knows how busy we’ve been.”
Ignoring the second question, I check the fridge for dinner possibilities. No magical entrees appear, and I realize it’s been a while since I cooked anything. For weeks after Aunt Willa died, I was spoiled with the ladies' auxiliary constantly bringing food. I may have to break down and pull out one of my aunt’s recipe books and try making something.
Tonight, however, pizza will do.
Rosie returns to her desk. Filling up on the cider, I sort of wish it was embellished with a little wine. I may need it with my parents, the curse, and my current financial situation bearing down on me.
Logan texts about a meeting he has and can we meet up beforehand for lunch. I tell him I’ve eaten and send a heart with it as an apology. As I pass Rosie, I compliment the finished windows. She smiles, always appreciating being recognized for her hard work. “Sure is great to have your dad here for the holidays.”
I hear the underlying questions in her voice. “Sure is.”
I sip more cider, sitting at Aunt Willa’s desk and thumbing through papers. If only I didn’t have the cursed necklace to deal with and Logan’s life hanging over my head, it might actually be awesome to bring Mama and Daddy back together at Christmas.
But what about this secret boyfriend she has? Now I have to deal with that as well. “Have you heard anything about Mama having a new beau?” I ask.
Her eyes bug out under her bangs, her jingle bells making soft tinkling sounds when she shakes her head. “Miss Dixie has a boyfriend?”
I shush her, pointing to alert her to dad possibly hearing. She makes an oops face. Since she hears all the town gossip like Queenieif she doesn’t know, it really is a secret. “I can’t believe that,” she stage-whispers across the room.
“You and me both, sister.”
I can tell she wants more info but I have none to give her, so I shrug, hands in the air and she mimics the motion back.
We work for the next while in concentrated silence. Dad comes down, his guitar bag slung over his back and his cell in hand. He pockets it and stops in front of me. “Sweetie, Brax wants me to perform at some bar south of here called the Thorny Toad tonight. I’m doing some holiday numbers and a few oldies, nothing big. Have you heard of this place?”
Rosie and I exchange a look. “That’s great,” I say, wondering if the woo-woo patrons will welcome him. “The Toad is located in the old metal works building off the highway. I can take you if you want.”
He waves off the offer. “I haven’t been gone that long, Ava. I know where that place is. I’m meeting him in twenty minutes to see the setup. He says he has a guitar amp I can use.”
He’s always happiest when he has a new gig on his plate. “You’ll be back for dinner?”
“I’ll just eat there. I go on at seven.”
Pizza for one then. “Okay, no problem. I’ll come by and cheer you on later.”
He kisses my cheek, heading for the front door. Tabby appears, trailing after him. She rubs his leg as he stops to pull on his jacket. Golden, moony eyes stare up at him.
“See ya later, alligator,” he says.
The childhood goodbye makes me smile. “After while, crocodile.”
It was always our thing, and I get up and hug him. As he leaves, I lunge for Tabby, stopping her from going with him. “What has gotten into you?”
She hisses, bolting from my grip and hitting the floor with a hard whomp. Heaving a sigh as she struts away, I watch Dad through the window as he hops in his silver Eldorado, the vehicle he’s had for as long as I can remember.
Glancing at the desk, I mentally prioritize what I need to accomplish before dinner, starting with the research. Voodoo and cursed objects with ghosts… I tell myself there will be thousands of entries, and plenty with ideas on what to do when the curse expires.
As Dad pulls away from the curb with a wave, I return it, my mind going back to the curse.
I never realized such a thing could have an expiration date, but Helen has been insistent that two hundred years to the date from when her grandmother and the witch fought, it would disappear, releasing the spirit trapped inside.
In my mind, I keep seeing a genie lamp, and wonder if that’s how the witch feels, waiting for someone to rub that locket and free her.
“Persephone, if you’re playing hard to get, please stop. Whatever you want, whatever you need, please come help me with this problem. I’m desperate.”
It’s not my guardian angel who shows up however.
I’m still at the window when a red Porsche pulls into the spot Dad vacated. Logan gets out and pins me with a look through the window before he heads my way.
C
hapter Five
“Hey,” Logan says, kissing my cheek as I let him in. “Another busy day, huh?”
The scent of fresh air and his woodsy cologne engulf me. “Very. You too?”
The corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk and a teasing light enters his eyes. “Only when I was attempting to catch up with you.”
I chuckle and nervously glance away. “Would you like some cider?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got one last client today. Can we do dinner? Nothing fancy, just pizza or something?”
Relief flows through me. “You read my mind. I have so much going on right now, that you, pizza, and some time in front of the fire sounds perfect.”
He pulls me in for a tight hug and a deep kiss. When he lets go, I’m still swimming in bliss and only after he leaves do I remember Dad.
Ah, well. I’ll mention him to Logan tonight.
I spend the rest of the afternoon researching voodoo, curses, dolls used in witchcraft, and think about how to tell Mama that Dad’s here for the holiday.
While Rosie handles phone calls and bustles around securing the final details for the ball, I catch myself daydreaming.
Since it’s my first Christmas home in a long while, and I’ve never actually attended the ball, I want to be swept away by the enchantment of the evening, twirling in Logan’s arms, and reveling in the fact we’re a couple. I’m sure there must be a way to solve the problem of the ghost in the necklace.
I can’t lose him, that’s one thing I know for sure. Whatever it takes, I have to figure this out and protect him from whatever that ghost might be able to do to him.
Toying with the silver locket, I wonder not for the first time whether burying it, throwing it out back in the creek, or destroying the pendant itself might work. I have no evidence to suggest it would and Winter and I have discussed this at length.
You can’t destroy a spirit, a soul. It has to go somewhere, so we either keep it contained, or get it to cross over to the afterlife. I feel somewhat like Harry Potter, attempting to destroy a horcrux, and wish I had the sword of Gryffindor.
Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Page 3
