Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2 Read online

  If I were to guess, this is some in-between dimension—not the physical 3D world, and not the afterlife either. Like a waiting room, before you move on.

  The murmurings of the other ghosts fall silent. Predators listening for their prey.

  Cocheta is here. Sean might be as well.

  Keeping my own silence, I mentally send out an SOS. Aunt Willa? Can you help me?

  It’s not my aunt who appears, but Sherlock. “We need to get you out of here.”

  No kidding. I sense that he’s been in the in-between many times, and that’s how he hangs around in the underground library with Paris and London. I reach out as if to take his hand, then remember both of us are not corporeal. I’m worried to speak out loud, but he did, so… “What do we do?”

  “Follow me,” he says.

  I watch him walk away, and I start to follow, hoping I go unnoticed, but then the mist absorbs him. I try to catch up, but can’t see where he went.

  Panic rising, I begin running.

  The next thing I know, the fog clears, and I’m standing in a yard, looking at a farmhouse. There’s a wagon wheel half buried in the ground out front, an old well and pumping station nearby. There’s something familiar about the residence, and I scan the landscape—it too resembles another that I know.

  In the distance is a hill, and my memory superimposes a picture of how it looks now, with long rows of grapevines. The scene I’m looking at is devoid of those, and a giant oak tree stands sentry on the hill.

  There’s a woman at the well, pumping water into a bucket. Three children—two boys and a girl—play tag in the yard.

  They're barefoot with dirty faces. As she heaves the bucket and begins to haul her load to the house, I notice the long skirt of her dress, the bun on her head.

  In my mind, I fill in the scene the way I know it. The house is three times bigger, thanks to flamboyant improvements and expansion. To the left a hundred yards away is a building that might be a speakeasy in the future

  The Cross family homestead.

  Another young boy comes out of a horse barn. He’s in his teens and his features remind me of Logan. A third, this one older, joins him, two fishing poles in hand. They pass several horses in a pasture, heading for a path snaking through the woods. “Be back by dinner,” their mother shouts.

  They wave acknowledgment and disappear.

  “Excuse me.” I follow her toward the house.

  She glances over her shoulder, water sloshing over the lip of the bucket as she halts mid-step. Her face morphs into fear and she waves a hand at the children playing. “Get in the house!”

  They ignore her and continue their game.

  “I mean you no harm,” I say. “You wouldn’t happen to be Birdie May, would you?”

  Logan told me his great-grandfather and -grandmother bought this acreage at the turn of the twentieth century, but I’m wondering if it was actually part of his mother’s family long before that.

  The woman shouts at her youngest children once more, getting their attention from the no-nonsense tone of her voice.

  As they run for the house, she pins me with a fierce look. “Get thee from me, Satan.”

  I’ve been called a lot of things, but the devil isn’t one of them. “I need your help. I swear I’m not going to harm you or your children.”

  The kids rush past, ignoring me, and I realize they can’t see me. She can, but wants nothing to do with me.

  She shoves them inside and goes to enter herself. I lunge forward to grab her, but my hand goes through her arm.

  Right. I’m a ghost.

  She slams the screen and then the inner door, and I stand there thinking that if she’s not Birdie, she can’t help me, but there must be a reason I’m here in this sliver of time and space.

  I scan the landscape. There are woods everywhere, and I see all the work that has gone into the land, the house, the fences, the barn. Was this Cocheta’s at one point? Has Birdie already cursed her into the necklace?

  I have to find out.

  I test my ability to move through solid objects by sticking my hand through the door. I don’t feel anything other than air, so I stick my head through, too.

  I’m looking into a kitchen. The woman is dipping cups into the bucket of water and giving one to each of the kids. She tells them they must go upstairs to play now, and they whine and complain. When she turns to set their dishes in the sink, a sharp rebuke on her tongue, she jumps at the sight of my head, peering into her house.

  Commanding them to run as fast as they can, she yanks a cross necklace out from under the collar of her dress. “You cannot come into this house, demon! I will not let you harm my family.”

  The children go screaming from the room. I step fully through, and she stumbles back, running into a wooden table. “What year is it?” I ask.

  She holds up the cross, so similar to her father’s, and marches toward me. “Get thee from me,” she yells, and shoves her empty hand at my face as if she will blast me with righteous power.

  “Sorry, but that won’t work. I’m not a demon,” I repeat. “I’m just a person like you, and I happen to be in the wrong time and space. But I think there’s a reason for that.”

  She doesn’t know what to do now, and removes the jewelry from around her neck, holding it out as if she will back me up through the door and from her house. I reach out and act as though I will touch the cross, and my fingers go right through it. “See?”

  “A spirit!” She lowers the cross, fear in her eyes. “Please don’t hurt my children.”

  “I have no intention of hurting anyone. I simply want to ask for your help. My request is for your progeny—a great-great-grandson. He’s very important to me. I think I…I love him, and well...” I’m blubbering and smiling now at the thought of Logan. “He’s quite a guy, and he probably got some of his awesomeness from you.”

  Her eyes narrow and I realize she may not know the term ‘awesome.’ “Is he a spirit, too?”

  “Not yet, but he could be if I don’t work some magick here, and not that stage trick stuff. Have you cursed a witch into a necklace recently?”

  Her face blanches and she jerks back again. “Magick is evil. I’ll not have any in my home.”

  There’s a tingling that starts in my extremities, my fingers and toes growing cold. I glance at my hand, and see my digits beginning to disappear. I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be good. “Look, I don’t have much time. If you are Birdie May, and you haven’t cursed Cocheta Reynaud into a necklace yet, I need you to please do me a favor. Try to work things out with her. I know she’s demanding something you can’t give, but there has to be common ground.”

  At that moment, Persephone pops in, startling us both. “Tread carefully, Ava. You shouldn’t try to change history.”

  History is going to have to take a backseat. “There has to be a way for you and Cocheta to work things out,” I insist to Birdie. “If you don’t, your great-great grandson in the future is going to pay the price.”

  “Or not even be born if you set the wrong things in motion,” the angel chimes.

  She glances between Persephone and me. “I don’t understand who you are or how you got here, but you must leave.”

  To Persephone, I ask, “She is Birdie, right?”

  The angel acknowledges it’s true. “She’s working some magick that neither one of us wants to get tangled up in.”

  “I am not!” Birdie insists.

  I ignore her. “I’m already tangled up in it, if you haven’t noticed, Seph. And what’s up with you and the preacher?”

  Persephone appears to blush. Who knew a spirit guide could feel embarrassed? “Nothing we need to discuss right now.”

  “Fine.” I turn to Birdie. “I’m not kidding when I say this is serious. You’re messing around with curses and it’s dangerous stuff. This isn’t a little powder to make people pass out. It’s going to come back to haunt your descendants. Whatever you do, do not try to outsmart Cocheta.
Make amends, smooth things over, somehow, some way. Give her back a piece of this land for her family. She’s a mother like you, and this small thing can change the future for your offspring for the better, and whatever magick you do have—”

  She waves the cross and shakes her head. “I don’t believe in it. I will not have it in my house.”

  My legs are beginning to disappear, my arms as well. “Drop the act. I know you’re dabbling in spells you shouldn’t be, and I know you believe you’re protecting your family. Your dad was a stage magician, but you hold real power. You must use it wisely, Birdie. This sort of dark magick isn’t something to play with.”

  She puts the necklace back on. “Get out of my house. I am a God-fearing woman and I will not stand for this sort of thing.”

  If I weren’t rapidly fading away, I’d stay and prove her wrong. “His name is Logan. Logan Cross. Please think of him when you’re deciding what to do with Cocheta.”

  It’s the last I can get out before my chest disappears and then I’m floating.

  I hear voices calling me. One in particular causes a warm sensation to bloom in my chest.

  As if I am Dorothy spinning in a cyclone, I feel my body becoming real again, piece by piece. There’s compression on my chest, warm breath inflating my lungs. Suddenly, I’m lying on the floor in the attic, looking up into a face I know and love.

  “She’s awake,” Logan says with a whoosh of breath.

  A warm, sloppy dog tongue licks my cheek.

  Logan runs a hand over his face. “You have to quit doing this.” My quizzical look spurs him to continue. “Dying on me.”

  I chuckle. “What are you doing here?” And please tell me Tabby is back to her cat form.

  Sage comes into view, standing behind him and peering down at me. “It appears he has a strong connection to you, could be a past life or something. Good thing he showed up. He brought you out of the in-between when I couldn’t.”

  Drool from Moxley lands on my arm. Tabitha strolls into my line of sight, her cat lips curving with amusement.

  Smiling at Logan’s serious face, I realize that he’s brought me back to life for a second time.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I have a lot of explaining to do over the next two days.

  Cocheta disappeared and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. Not sure if the sigils didn’t work, or she’s hiding inside the house somewhere.

  Holding out hope, I pray for the best-case scenario—she’s moved on to the afterlife.

  Logan is understandably confused about what Sage and I were doing in the attic, and I decide not to tell him the truth until I’m sure there’s no fallout from releasing the ghost. Instead, I mention crossing over a stubborn spirit who went crazy on me, and he accepted it, but I see the skepticism in his eyes at times when he looks at me.

  Sage told me to call her if I have future issues with hexes or ghosts. Logan appears to be safe, and I’ve made him wear the necklace Raven gave me, against his arguments, just in case.

  In exchange, he made me see Doc to assure everyone my “vapors,” as Mama deemed it, was not a symptom of some underlying health issue.

  Doc gave me the all clear. Persephone and Sherlock have been AWOL. Daddy and Mama have been watching me closely, and I guess it’s worth it, since they’re forced to hang out with each other in order to do so.

  The ball is an hour away, and Mama and I are waiting at my place for Logan to pick us up. While she originally planned to go with Sean, now as luck would have it, she’s going with Dad.

  I couldn’t be happier. Well, maybe a little. Detective Jones still hasn’t caught Sean’s killer, and I almost wish the ghost would come back so I could get the truth out of him. Not that I could take that to Detective Jones, but there’s a murderer running loose, and Dad remains a suspect.

  He’s meeting us at the Country Club. Rosie has him checking the sound system for the ball.

  “I should go with the green dress,” Mama says, brushing her hand across her belly as she stares at herself in Aunt Willa’s full-length mirror upstairs. “I better run home and change.”

  We’ve decked her out in a hot red number, complete with ruby drop earrings and matching bracelet. She’s stunning and will knock Dad's socks off. “Don’t be silly. This is your color.”

  She eyes herself, turning one way, then the other. “I do like this outfit.”

  “Dad loves you in red.”

  She shakes a finger at me. “Don’t be getting your hopes up about us reconciling.”

  Too late. “Of course not,” I say with an insincere face. “But I appreciate the two of you getting along and putting aside your differences. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent Christmas together. It means a lot to me.”

  Logan arrives a few minutes later, and I drool when he gets out of his Porsche and comes to the door. He’s dressed in a formal tux and I suddenly have visions of walking down the aisle, him waiting for me at the end under a twinkling, light-filled arch.

  I remove the faux white mink wrap from the window mannequin as Mama lets him in.

  He smiles, telling her how beautiful she is, making her blush. Then he finds me in the display.

  His eyes shine as he scans me from head to toe. “I’m not sure how I’m going to keep my hands off you for the next few hours.”

  Mama clears her throat. “I’ll be in the car.”

  I giggle as she escapes and heat rises in my cheeks. That’s what Logan does to me—makes me feel carefree and loved.

  He also has a knack for saving my life.

  I showcase the gown I’m wearing, turning in a circle. “You like it?”

  Brax’s friend did a bang-up job with my sketch. She took an off-the-rack ivory sheath and layered rows of chiffon and beads from top to bottom. It’s not exactly my design, but it’s beautiful and I feel quite pretty in it.

  “You look amazing.” He helps me down from the display and touches my wavy 1920s do, and the poinsettia pinned above my left ear. “I feel like we should be going to the speakeasy for bootleg, rather than the ball.”

  At least for tonight, maybe he’ll let me off the hook about what was going on upstairs. “I’m looking forward to having one-on-one time with you tonight.”

  He kisses me long and deep and I pray the red lipstick Brax carefully layered on me doesn’t rub off.

  The dress shimmers under the streetlight as Logan escorts me to the car. I slide into the passenger seat, and I’m glad there are no ghosts hanging around for the moment.

  At the Country Club, greenery and white lights outline the ballroom’s windows and the entire space sparkles like a winter wonderland. Even the chandeliers have bunches of mistletoe, eucalyptus, and fir, tied with red ribbons.

  Dad and the DJ converse on the raised stage and Daddy waves to us when we enter. He jumps down to meet Mama, ogling her before they head to the buffet.

  At the other end of the room, Rosie has set up a photo booth with a beautiful Christmas tree backdrop. Couples have their pictures taken before hitting the dance floor.

  The food is amazing, and Logan and I dance to nearly every song. His hand feels good on my lower back, and I’m glad I’m not a ghost tonight. To physically feel, smell, hear, and enjoy this lovely evening, is a gift in itself.

  “This may be the best holiday ever,” I say during a slow dance, my head on his shoulder.

  “Is that so?”

  He gently whirls me around and around until we are in a shadowed corner. From his pocket he withdraws a clump of mistletoe. “Some of this looks strangely like what my mom had at her house.”

  “We had trouble with our supply, and she was generous enough to donate hers.”

  Montgomery and Helen Cross arrive, arm in arm. Over Logan’s shoulder, I watch her scan the room.

  Looking for me.

  I wanted to tell her Logan was safe sooner, but I needed to be sure. Since nothing has happened since the showdown in the attic, I’m feeling more confident.

 
Logan raises the mistletoe over our heads and we kiss.

  Speaking to Helen drops to the bottom of my list of things I have to do.

  My eyes are closed, so I don’t notice when the lights go out. It’s the audible gasps of the crowd and the fact the music dies that brings me out of the stupor Logan’s skillful lips have created.

  He breaks the kiss just as the emergency lighting comes on over the exits, throwing a red glow over the crowd.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, squinting through the shadows.

  “Must have blown a fuse or something,” he replies.

  That makes sense.

  So why do I have a sinking feeling in my stomach?

  Walking toward the dance floor once more, the moonlight from the windows slanting bars across it, I search for Rosie and see her hustling toward the door. “Everyone stay put,” she calls out. “I’ll get this fixed in a minute.”

  She exits, and some people follow, probably to head to the restrooms. I figure I’d better get up on stage and try to keep the crowd calm.

  The DJ hands me the mic and I’m about to make an announcement, when I notice a faint shimmering energy floating through the crowd.

  I blink, trying to clear my sight, and squint again. Maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight.

  The energy morphs into a shape.

  Not moonlight.

  A face appears, the spectral becoming more solid.

  I know that face. It haunted my dreams last night. “Oh no.”

  Cocheta finds her quarry, stopping behind Helen.

  “Look out!” I cry, throwing up an arm as if I can save her.

  The ghost grabs Helen around the neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Helen claws at her throat, but her hands can’t grab Cocheta’s. While the ghost has some sort of ability to make contact like a corporeal person, she’s still nonphysical and ethereal.

  My own neck sears with pain—a phantom memory.

  Helen falls to her knees, and people cry out. Montgomery reaches for her but Cocheta yanks her away from him.

  I jump from the stage, twisting my ankle when one high-heeled shoe goes sideways. I barely register the pain as I run to the two women locked in a struggle. “Leave her alone!”