Of Spirits and Superstition Read online

Ronan, of course, wanted to run and tell my family as soon as I was upright, but I made him wait. By the time they arrive to start the celebration, night has fallen. Ronan has a fire going and as everyone files in, I stay out of sight.

  After a bit, I hear Dad’s voice. “Winter? Are you going to join us?”

  “In a minute,” I call back. I’m in the back bedroom, running my hand over the loom, and I giggle under my breath. I never giggle, but there is so much joy bubbling up in my chest, it comes spilling out.

  I hear the chatter of my sisters, the sound of them laying out a spread of food in the kitchen. The scrape of chairs and the sound of male voices—Tristan, Hopper, Quinn.

  “Prue and Alexander are coming,” Autumn says. “Prue said something about Fried Honeycakes.”

  “Oh man,” Hopper says. “Those are so good.”

  Spring’s voice comes next. “Storm’s arriving with Hale, and she’s treating us to her delicious Irish Coffee Muffins. Mama Nightengale might stop by at some point. Said she’s bringing gumbo pie, candied fruit, and her special eggnog.”

  Sirius sniffs me out and I quietly chase him off. I sense the presence of the other familiars as well.

  Ronan finally ducks his head in. “Ready for the grand reveal?” he asks under his breath.

  I’ve chosen one of my mother’s dresses, a bright red with gold trim. I’m not used to wearing anything so colorful, but it seems the right time for it, after my brush with death, and that awful colorless dimension. I’ve decided to put a lot more into my life.

  I take Ronan’s outstretched hand and smile. “My Prince Charming.”

  He pulls me close and brushes a light kiss on my lips. “Merry Christmas, Winter.”

  “Blessed Yule, Ronan.”

  Together, hand in hand, we walk down the hallway and give my family a miracle for Christmas.

  * * *

  Later, after the gifts are opened, and the familiars bedded down in front of the tree, it’s just my sisters and I snuggled on the couch. I’ve placed a new wish in my cauldron on the fireplace mantel.

  Spring’s head is on my shoulder. “Sure wish Mom could’ve been here.”

  Silence falls, and then, “Hello,” I hear from the corner. “Blessed be.”

  Mom hovers there, smiling and I return it. “She is.”

  My sisters can’t see her, but we spend the next several hours talking and laughing with her ghost, my ability to see and talk with spirits, the best gift of all on this most magickal of nights.

  So mote it be.

  * * *

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  Enjoy this excerpt from Pumpkins & Poltergeists

  The summons to “come home” to Thornhollow arrives on a cloudy, drizzly day in October.

  These types of missives normally come from Mama, but the scented lavender envelope is addressed to me in my Aunt Wilhelmina Rae’s handwriting.

  In her sixties, she is a spitfire of a woman, and her wild penmanship is beautiful in its bold strokes. I can almost hear her voice as I tap the envelope on the table and wonder what’s inside.

  It’s been a long day at the bridal salon and my feet are killing me. Setting the rest of the mail on the table, I turn the tea kettle on. Then I kick off my high heels and rub my toes.

  Arthur and Lancelot, my gray tabbies, emerge from their hiding places to greet me with meows and chin rubs against my bare calves. I scratch each behind his ears, fill their bowls with kibble, and shrug off my sweater, hanging the damp garment on the back of a chair to dry.

  As the water heats, I head to my bedroom to shed my business attire and replace it with my favorite flannel pajamas. There’s no one but me and the cats, and they don’t care if I’m in my comfy clothes at six o’clock on a Friday night.

  Back in the kitchen, I absentmindedly tie my fuzzy robe around me and make a cup of mint tea. A slice of leftover pizza calls to me from the fridge, and I settle down with both to sort through the bills and junk mail. Once again my eye catches on the lavender envelope. Mama has no doubt recruited her sister to convince me to move back home.

  Being an executive bridal consultant at Southern Bridal Flair Salon pays well and I enjoy the work, but every once in a while I wish I’d followed my dream to be a wedding dress designer. To live and work out of my aunt’s old Victorian house with its warm woodwork and welcoming open rooms. I long thought I’d one day become a partner in her event planning business, The Wedding Chapel.

  Running my finger over the edge of the envelope, I feel the tug to return to Thornhollow and the comfort of my childhood. I have good memories there, but also the pressure to live up to my mother’s political and social aspirations. At least here in Atlanta, I’m surrounded by designer and couture dresses every day and not plagued by small-town gossip. Maybe one day I’ll get up the courage to show Darinda, my boss and the owner of the entire Southern Bridal Flair chain of stores, my sketches.

  The scent of Aunt Willa’s perfume drifts up from the stationary as I tear open the envelope and slide out her letter.

  The Wedding Chapel is embossed in flourishes at the top, with her business address, phone number and website underneath. Merely adding a website this year created enough drama with her that I nearly let it go. But convincing her to move into the modern age and reach beyond Thornhollow for customers was a good step. She’s already increased business ten percent since I set up the website in April.

  Her Southern graces are evident even in her penmanship.

  * * *

  My Dearest Avalon,

  I’m afraid it’s time for you to return home. Danger is afoot. Innocent people are getting hurt.

  * * *

  I sip my tea and frown, rereading those words before continuing. What danger could there be in our sleepy town?

  * * *

  I’ve done my best to protect our family and Thornhollow from the curse, but I’m afraid I cannot do it on my own for much longer. It’s time for you to stop pretending you’re normal and use your gifts in the way in which the universe intended.

  All my love,

  Aunt Willa.

  * * *

  Perhaps it’s the shadows of the evening closing in or the quiet of my apartment, but I find myself pulling my robe a little closer. While I scrutinize the letter several more times, it doesn’t make her message any clearer. What danger? A curse? Why has she been protecting the family and the town from it? What gifts of mine is she referring to?

  Okay, I know that answer, but no way I’m delving into the ghost world.

  Most importantly, why the heck didn’t she just call me?

  I sip tea, rub my temples, and feel a smidge of frustration at the cryptic note. She and Mama have a definite flair for melodrama.

  In the foyer, I dig my cell out of my purse and see that I’ve missed a call from my mother. My tired frustration vanishes for a second. Protecting the family. Is our family actually in danger? From what exactly?

  My mother is mayor of Thornhollow, and while she’s had her share of people who dislike her politics, she’s on friendly terms with everyone. Plus, she typically calls me twice a day, so seeing a missed call from her shouldn’t trigger panic.

  It does. I carry the phone back to the kitchen and plunk it on the table, debating whether to jump into my family’s craziness again or not. It’s one of the reasons I had to leave Thornhollow—they were making me crazy, too.

  Aunt Willa is
probably the least crazy of any of them, even though my mother claims the opposite. “Willa Rae is vexed,” she used to proclaim. She then would spin her finger around her temple indicating mental instability. “You can’t believe a thing she says.”

  I resume my seat, finish off the pizza, and open the rest of the mail. The kitchen grows dim, and I get up to turn on the light.

  When I flick the switch nothing happens. The kitchen stays steeped in darkness. That’s when I realize the lighted numbers of the microwave clock are out, and the living room ceiling fan has stopped spinning.

  Stupid wiring. I’ve complained to the landlord multiple times about the fluky electricity, as well as the plumbing that bangs and rattles at all hours of the day and night. The house is a hundred years old and some of that is to be expected, I guess, but it’s extremely frustrating when this stuff happens.

  I reach for the phone and feel a breeze pass over my hand. Aunt Willa’s letter sails off the table, the breeze rocking it gently back and forth, like a leaf falling form a tree, before it lands on the floor.

  Goosebumps race over my skin. Pressure and a high-pitched ringing starts in my ears. I look around for the cats, but they’ve disappeared.

  “Avalon…”

  The voice sounds like it’s right behind me. I whirl but see nothing except shadows.

  Shaking my head, I pick up the letter, returning it to the table. As I reach for my phone, it rings, the sound blaring in the kitchen and startling me.

  It’s my mother again. “Hi, Mama,” I answer, forcing a deep, calming breath. “I just got home from work. Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

  I swear I feel that breeze again tickle the back of my neck. My gaze falls on the letter and the words danger is afoot.

  “Oh, Ava,” Mama sobs, her voice shaking with tears. “You have to come home.”

  The hair on the back of my neck shoots straight up. “What happened?”

  Another choked sob. An audible intake of breath. “Willa Rae is dead.”

  Read the rest now!

  Yule Moon Cookies Recipe

  Ingredients:

  1 cup butter

  1 1/4 cup sugar

  2 tsp. grated lemon peel

  1/4 tsp. salt

  1 1/3 cup flour

  1 1/2 cup grated almonds (blanched)

  1 tsp. vanilla

  * * *

  Icing:

  2 cups sifted confectioner's sugar

  1 tsp. vanilla

  2 1/2 Tbsp. water

  * * *

  Directions:

  Cream together butter and sugar until fluffy and light. Add grated lemon peel, salt, flour, grated almonds, and 1 tsp. vanilla; mix thoroughly. Place dough in bowl. Cover and chill thoroughly.

  When the dough is well chilled, roll out to 1/8" thickness and cut with moon/crescent cookie cutter. Place 1/2" apart on ungreased baking sheet. Bake in preheated 375° oven for 8-10 minutes.

  Icing: While cookies bake, combine confectioner's sugar, vanilla and water. Spread over the tops while still warm, but not too hot, as icing will melt. Thin with additional drops of water if glaze is too thick. Allow to cool.

  Yield: 10 dozen cookies

  Irish Coffee Muffins Recipe

  Ingredients:

  * * *

  1 egg, beaten.

  2 cups of flour.

  ½ cup of sugar.

  ½ cup of melted butter.

  ½ cup of heavy cream, unwhipped.

  ¼ cup of coffee liqueur.

  ¼ cup of Irish whiskey.

  1 tablespoon of baking powder.

  ½ teaspoon of salt.

  * * *

  Directions:

  Preheat oven to 400°F (205°C).

  Sift together the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar. Stir in the remaining ingredients, until moistened. Fill paper-lined muffin tins full. Bake for 20 minutes.

  Eggnog Cookies Recipe

  Ingredients:

  * * *

  2 ½ cups flour

  1 tsp. baking powder

  ½ tsp. ground cinnamon

  ½ tsp. ground nutmeg

  1 ½ cups sugar

  ½ cups salted butter, softened

  ½ cup eggnog

  1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

  2 large egg yolks

  1 tbsp. ground nutmeg

  * * *

  Directions:

  Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Combine flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and ½ tsp. nutmeg. Mix with wire whisk and set aside.

  Cream sugar and butter with electric mixer. Add eggnog, vanilla, and egg yolks; beat at medium speed until smooth. Add flour mixture and beat at low speed until combined; do not over mix.

  Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheet 1 inch apart. Sprinkle lightly with 1 tbsp. nutmeg. Bake for 23-25 minutes or until bottoms turn light brown. Transfer cookies to a cool, flat surface.

  Yield: about 3 dozen

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  Red Hot Wolfie (Ruby) 2021

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  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Nyx Halliwell is a writer from the South who grew up on TV shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed. She loves writing magical stories as much as she loves baking and crafting. She believes cats really can talk, but don’t tell her three rescue puppies that.

  She enjoys binge-watching mystery shows with her hubby and reading all types of stories involving magic and animals.

  Connect with Nyx today and see pictures of her pets, be the first to know about new books and sales, and find out when Godfrey, the talking cat, has a new blog post! Receive a FREE copy of the Whitethorne Book of Spells and Recipes by signing up for her newsletter http://eepurl.com/gwKHB9

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  Dear Reader

  I hope you enjoyed this story! If you did, and would be so kind, would you leave a review on Goodreads and your favorite book retailer? I would REALLY appreciate it!

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  Nyx