Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3

by Angela Pepper

  The white fluffball on top of the bookshelf let out a low, guttural moan. Her fluffy tail whipped from side to side. The moan continued much longer than you’d expect from such a small non-magical creature.

  “Something’s happening,” Ribbons said. “What’s happening, Zed?” The frame of the recliner creaked under his sharp talons.

  The ghost man turned toward the front door and walked toward me as though I wasn’t there. He didn’t slow as he reached me. He kept going, disappearing into me. Halfway through, his ghostly body seemed to get stuck. He responded by dropping a shoulder and pushing through, angling his upper body like he was moving furniture. The sensation of the ghost passing through me was unpleasant, and also familiar. It was the same sticky, tugging feeling of pulling oneself out of a dream on purpose. Then he was finally out of me and on his way to the front door.

  In a flash of white, Boa soared from the bookshelf, ricocheted off the couch, and landed on the wood floor with claws extended. She skittered after the ghost at top speed, chasing him all the way to the front door. The ghost, who seemed only mildly concerned about his cat pursuer, passed through the front door with no resistance. Boa, being a solid cat, smacked into the door head first.

  I immediately scooped her up and checked that she was okay. Her body was rigid, but she gradually melted in my arms and gave me a soft, sweet meow.

  “I know,” I said. “There was a ghost in the house. You did a very good job protecting us.” I kissed her on the top of her head. “Good kitty.” She gave me a fierce purr.

  Ribbons made a throat-clearing sound in my head. “It’s getting away, Zed. I see a ball of light crossing the street.”

  I clutched the cat to my chest. What was I supposed to do? Run around my neighborhood at dawn, chasing a ghost? No way. I was going back to bed.

  “You have to follow it, Zed.”

  “Get out of my head,” I said sourly.

  “I didn’t have to read your mind. It’s all over your face. Come on, Zed. Get the ghost. You know you want to.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I’d always felt a strong need to help people. It was what had drawn me to my vocation as a librarian—besides all the books, of course. Once I’d become a witch, my compulsion to help others had only gotten stronger. Never mind that this compulsion had gotten me injured plenty and killed at least once. The ghost had come to me for help, and going back to bed now wasn’t an option.

  Boa meowed softly as I set her down. I grabbed a pair of sandals.

  Seconds later, I was out the door, along with the wyvern, who flitted silently from tree to tree, following me. If any of the neighbors happened to look in Ribbons’ direction, they would have seen whatever bird their minds thought appropriate. His glamour was powerful magic. I was very familiar with him, and yet, at times, even I saw him as a crow or an owl.

  Ribbons urged me on excitedly. I followed the ghost as he casually walked down the middle of the street. A car suddenly pulled out of its spot and careened toward me. I had to jump out of the way. The car sped away without stopping, almost as if fleeing a crime scene. I made a mental note of the car’s plate number. I didn’t get every digit before it turned, but I got a few.

  The ghost was now off the street, walking up a driveway. He turned toward a freestanding garage that had been converted into a two-story apartment. The ghost walked up the external stairs to the apartment, and then passed straight through the door.

  “You have to follow him inside,” Ribbons urged. “Do it, Zed.”

  I walked up the stairs, but paused at the door. I rubbed a trickle of sweat from my forehead. It was one thing to try to communicate with a ghost who came to me, but now I was the pursuer.

  Ribbons, who was in a tree that overhung the garage apartment, shook a branch impatiently, raining down leaves around me. “Do it, Zed.”

  “Behave yourself,” I hissed. “I’m not breaking and entering.”

  “At least knock on the door.”

  I crossed my arms and stared up at the gloomy shape in the treetop. “Are you truly that bored? You want me to bang on this door and confront a potential murderer?”

  “Zed, I respect you too much to lie.”

  I snorted. Ribbons had no problem lying, especially if it was to blame someone else—usually the cat—for something he did.

  “Yes,” Ribbons said in his Count Chocula accent. “I am that bored. Knock on the ghost’s door and see what happens. Do it.”

  I raised my fist to rap on the door. More leaves rained down around me. But despite the wyvern’s urging, I didn’t knock. Not because I was afraid I couldn’t protect myself—I could, thanks to my defensive fireballs, among other spells—but because I didn’t have to enter the apartment to see inside. There was a large picture window next to the door. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, probably to promote air flow through the opening on such a warm night.

  On the other side of the window was a small living room. The TV was on, flickering light around the room and illuminating the room’s only occupant. And the occupant was—

  Both of my hands flew up to cover my mouth.

  The body of the room’s occupant was dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, not unlike the one the ghost had been wearing. Except this shirt was red. I might have assumed the shirt was made of blood-red fabric if it was not for one important detail.

  The body sitting on the couch, facing the TV, didn’t have a head.

  No wonder the spirit’s neck had been glowing.

  The poor young fellow had been beheaded.

  Chapter 2

  Ribbons dropped from his tree branch and landed on my shoulder with a startling thump.

  He took in the grisly sight before commenting, “I’m no expert on human biology, but I believe an injury such as that is not repairable.”

  I shook my head. “Cheeky wyvern. Yes. Head removal is pretty serious and generally not repairable.”

  “Don’t let my pessimism stop you from trying to get that human’s head back on and working.” He reached across my face to point one of the claw-like fingers connected to his wings at the garage-apartment’s door. “Go on. Use your magic to open the door so you can practice those healing powers of yours. It’ll be fun. You haven’t healed anyone in ages. Do it, Zed.”

  “Not gonna happen,” I said. “I can’t bring back the dead. I’m a witch, not a necromancer.”

  “But it’s such a clean cut. You could at least stick him back together and see what happens.”

  “You’re assuming the young man’s head is even in there.” I touched the tip of my nose on the window as I peered around the living room. “Where is that head? It must have rolled away, but it can’t have gotten very far on its own.”

  “Ooh! I’ll help you find it. I’m good at finding things,” Ribbons said excitedly. “Let’s go inside.” Multiple pricks of pain shot through my shoulder as the wyvern curled his protractible claws into my flesh.

  “Let’s not go inside the blood-soaked crime scene.” I took a step back from the window and turned toward the stairs. “If you really want to help, I’ll mention you by name when I talk to Detective Bentley.”

  He made a disappointed croaking sound with his throat. “Bok bok,” he said, doing his bad impression of a chicken.

  I ignored him and made the sensible choice to walk down the stairs, away from the headless body. Sure, I was a witch, but I was also a librarian, not a police detective.

  As I crossed the street again, I scanned the area for signs of anything unusual. Beacon Street looked, sounded, and smelled pretty much as expected for 5:45 am on a Saturday morning in July. The only thing strange was the color of the rising sun. It was crimson red. There were a few forest fires burning in the region, and the smoke had been hanging over the town all week, blotting out the distant mountains and darkening our skies. I hoped some rain would come soon and help the firefighters extinguish the blaze.

  I turned my head to say something to Ribbons about the fires, but my should
er was empty. He’d flitted back up to the treetops, presumably to keep watch over the crime scene when the local law enforcement arrived.

  Back inside my house, I made a phone call and reported what I’d seen. I considered making a second call to my mentor, my aunt. She was traveling with my mother overseas, in a different time zone. I decided she wouldn’t want to be bothered on her holiday. Besides, I knew Zinnia well enough that I could fill in her part on her behalf. I knew the drill. I lectured myself to be more careful, to not use magic unless absolutely necessary, and to wash the plastic dome that covered food in the microwave.

  * * *

  When my daughter came downstairs a few hours later, she took one look at the clean plastic dome next to the sink and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I blinked innocently and sipped my third coffee of the morning. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “You only clean the plastic thingie when Auntie Z makes you, or when something’s wrong.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have cleaned the plastic thingie.” I smacked my forehead lightly. “Why must I be such an amazing housekeeper?”

  Zoey’s eyebrows arched up high over her hazel eyes. “You think you’re an amazing housekeeper? You must be possessed again.”

  “I’m not possessed.”

  She put her elbows on the kitchen island and leaned forward, peering into my eyes. “You still look like yourself.” She sniffed. “You smell like yourself.” She pulled back and took a seat on the stool across from me. “Whatever’s going on, I can handle it. Hit me.”

  “Boundaries,” I said, using my fingertip to draw a line on the counter between us. “Boundaries are part of a healthy parent-child relationship.”

  “But I’m not a child,” she said plainly, without a hint of the whine or snark a normal kid her age might have. Zoey had always been more like a miniature adult than a child. I often joked that on the night she was born, she’d waltzed out of my womb, shook hands with the taxi driver who’d delivered her, and then corrected my pronunciation of the name of the hospital we hadn’t made it to in time.

  “Sixteen is not eighteen,” I said. “You’re not an adult. It wasn’t that long ago you were putting Barbie dolls under your pillow at night, as a tribute to the Boob Fairy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to change the subject by embarrassing me. I know you’ve got something juicy you’re not telling me. Ever since Castle Wyvern, you’ve been making those googly eyes.”

  “Me? Googly eyes?” I blinked innocently, as I always did when she was onto me.

  “You’ve got a big secret and you want to tell me, but you know you shouldn’t.” She sniffed me again. “You smell more smoky than you should be.”

  “I was outside, where everything smells smoky. Those darn fires in the mountains are getting worse.”

  She jumped off her stool, poured two glasses of pink lemonade, and set them between us with solemn clunks. She took her seat and gave me a serious look.

  “I’m nearly an adult,” she said. “I’m licensed to drive. Plus I can turn into a fox at will. I’m not your average teenager.”

  “No, you are not the average teenager.”

  “So?”

  I squirmed on my seat. She knew me well, and she was right about me keeping a secret. A big one. And it wasn’t about the ghost from that morning, or even about my rezoning spell.

  The reason I’d been staring at her with googly eyes was because I’d been trying to see what aspects she’d inherited from her father. Zoey’s father had never been a part of our lives, not since he’d knocked me up at fifteen, and I hadn’t given him much thought until recently. I had assumed he was just a regular kid, a rich brat who didn’t want to take responsibility for his decisions. I hadn’t known he was a supernatural being. Not until recently. I would never have guessed he was...

  Zoey frowned. “What? What’s going on, Mom? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  I rubbed my clavicle to bring myself into my body, into the present moment. Zoey might be ready to hear the truth about her father, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. What if she wanted to meet him? She was a good girl, but she wouldn’t stay that way if she had one parent telling her she didn’t need to be good. Come to the dark side, he’d say. We have cookies.

  I took a sip of the pink lemonade. It cut through the taste of coffee in my mouth. The sweetness plus the cold made my teeth sing. Maybe I could tell Zoey about her father. Do it, Zed. I gave myself the command in an imitation of Ribbons’ voice. Tell Zoey, the polite teenager who mopes around the house all summer because she can’t wait to get back to school in the fall, that her father is a genie. A demon. An ancient, powerful creature straight from Hell. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Okay,” I said, keeping my gaze on the glass of pink juice. “There is something going on.”

  “I knew it. Does this have something to do with that new transformation spell you cast on yourself?”

  I grasped at her question like a drowning sailor grabbing a buoy. Pull back, Zara. Now the cheeky wyvern’s voice was gone from my head, and it was only me in there. Look at your daughter’s innocent face. Let her have the summer before telling her she’s demon spawn.

  “Yes,” I said eagerly. “The transformation spell. That’s exactly what’s been on my mind.” The pink lemonade had made my mouth water spectacularly. As I spoke, saliva flew forth, spraying both my forearms and hers.

  “Ew!” She squealed and rubbed her forearms on her jeans. “Say it, don’t spray it, Mom!”

  “Don’t be so squeamish. Witch saliva is naturally antibacterial. Aunt Zinnia says it’s handy for breaking down magical compounds, plus it can deodorize entire rooms.” I grinned. “Rub that on your armpits and you won’t need antiperspirant.”

  There was a flash of white as Boa came to investigate what the squealing was about. She padded across the counter like a spoiled cat despite having been told repeatedly that counters were not for kitties. She investigated our lemonade glasses, her white whiskers angling forward in an expression of do-not-want before moving on to my coffee mug, the contents of which she did like enough to take a few licks.

  When she was done sampling my coffee, Boa jumped onto Zoey’s lap and settled in for petting. She watched me over the counter with suspicious eyes.

  “She’s looking at me funny,” I said. “Do you think she knows something?”

  “She’s just a cat, Mom. Her main concern is cat food. Speaking of which, we need more.”

  “Already? I just picked some up.”

  Zoey whispered, “I think somebody else has been eating it.” By somebody, she meant Ribbons. It was only the two of us, plus our cat and wyvern.

  “Ew. Is there nothing he won’t eat?” I looked around the kitchen for the wyvern. “Speaking of whom, have you seen him this morning?”

  “He sleeps in on the weekends.” Zoey smirked. “And on the weekdays.”

  I nodded. She didn’t know Ribbons had been awake before dawn, alerting me to the presence of a ghost in our living room.

  Zoey looked down at the fluffy white cat on her lap. “Boa feels tense,” she said. “It must be the smoke outside.” She ducked her head down to give the fluffy white cat a kiss on the nose, then peered at me expectantly. “You were saying? Something about that spell you shouldn’t have cast on yourself? Are you going to phone Auntie Z and tell her what you did?”

  “I swear I’ll tell her as soon as she gets back from her vacation.”

  “You’d better. Keeping secrets from your family is unhealthy.” She rubbed Boa’s chin. The cat gave me a smug look, as if to say she was the most beloved creature in the house. And who was to say she wasn’t right? Nobody else in the house got their chin rubbed so lovingly.

  Zoey prompted me again. “What’s going on with your rezoning spell?” My clever offspring was nothing if not persistent.

  “Nothing much. By which I mean I guess it’s working the way it’s supposed to. I’m a perfectly org
anized library for ghosts now, not a free-for-all ghost disco or whatever.”

  My daughter continued petting the cat with one hand and used the other to indicate I should keep talking. Normally I didn’t need such encouragement.

  “There’s a new ghost in town,” I said grimly.

  She listened as I told her about the morning’s events. Being woken by the wyvern. Finding the ghost on the couch. His bulging eyes and glowing throat. And then the headless body inside the apartment across the street.

  Chapter 3

  After I was done telling my daughter about the new ghost, she held her finger to her lips and asked, “Can we backtrack for a moment?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Backtrack away.”

  “When you ignored Auntie Z’s many, many, many warnings about casting spells to alter yourself, did you happen to set up official business hours?”

  I rubbed my forehead. Had I? My memory of that night was hazy. I’d been manic, scribbling notes and calculations in the wee hours of the morning, arguing with Ribbons while I sipped on the cocoa he’d warmed with his personal steam.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Let me get my notes.”

  I ran down to the basement, retrieved my notes from a hidden drawer in the desk, and ran up the wooden stairs quickly. I didn’t like being down there during daylight hours, never mind how cozy and welcoming I found my witch’s lair at night. Zoey didn’t like going down at all, so she’d stayed at the doorway waiting for me.

  When I got upstairs, Zoey asked, “How did this ghost get through the wards on the house?”

  We returned to the island in the kitchen, and I set the notes between us. “My guess is I might have overrode something when I cast my transformation spell.”

  Boa jumped from my daughter’s arms to the counter. She repeated the inspection of the glasses and coffee mug with the curiosity only a cat could conjure up.

  Zoey read over my notes and grew very still and quiet. She hadn’t yet manifested the ability to cast spells, but thanks to her keen intellect, she was able to understand the theory beneath the Witch Tongue language and the syntax of spellwork.