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

  By six, the cats are going crazy for dinner. Rosie bugs out and the house is quiet except for a few creaks and moans I’ve become used to the last few months. I still hold out hope I’ll see my aunt appear before me, but her ghost seems to be busy enjoying heaven or whatever form of hereafter exists.

  This makes me both sad and happy. I miss her, but I’m glad she’s at peace.

  I feed the cats and order pizza — Logan’s favorite sausage and mushroom on half, my chicken Alfredo on the other. I open a bottle of wine for me and check my supply of beer for him.

  He arrives shortly before the food and we dig in while it’s hot, relaxing in the living room. I have a small fire going, and it lights the area sufficiently to create a romantic ambience. Logan puts one arm around me as we eat and tells me about his day. I’m relaxed and the meal is delicious, and I’m thinking about kissing him when the front door opens wide and Dad calls out, “Ava? You here?”

  All thoughts of romance flee and I come to my feet, turning to look at him. “Dad? What happened? I thought you were playing at the Toad?”

  He sniffs the air. “Smells like Vinnie's in here.”

  Logan glances over his shoulder, “Dad?”

  “Logan, you remember my father.”

  The two shake and Dad smiles at him. “Logan Cross. Good to see you, young man.”

  As he shrugs off his coat and lays it on the arm of a chair, Logan flicks a glance at me. “Mr. Fantome, I didn’t realize you were in town.”

  “Call me Nash. Ava mentioned you’ve been hanging around.” He glances at me. “We had to cancel. The amp blew a fuse. Any left?”

  I wave him toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

  He disappears in that direction and I quietly explain to Logan about his unexpected appearance and that he’s staying with me through Christmas. I see a touch of disappointment on Logan’s face and realize he had some romantic intentions for tonight as well.

  Dad returns, sans plate, slice in his hand. As we resume our seats, he tosses a guitar pick business card at Logan and flops down across from us. He kicks his feet onto the coffee table, displacing a bridal magazine. “My daughter is a special gal,” he says, directing this at Logan.

  Logan pats my leg. “That she is.”

  Tabitha appears and licks her lips, jumping up next to my dad and staring at him. He wipes his fingers on his jeans before petting her. “I’m only going to say this once. You so much as cause my baby girl to frown, Cross, and I’ll make mincemeat out of you. We clear?”

  All the time he says this, he’s smiling and eating. My dad, the epitome of good cop/bad cop all in one.

  Logan’s hand freezes, then withdraws. “Yes, sir.”

  “Daddy,” I chastise. “Don’t be rude. And by the way, I can handle myself.”

  He winks at me. “I know you can, baby, but it’s good to keep the boy in his place.”

  I can’t help but grin. “I’m sorry you couldn’t play tonight. I know you were looking forward to it.”

  One eye narrows at me, letting me know I’m not as smooth as I think about changing the subject, but he’s a sport and plays along. I’m sure I’ll hear more about Logan and how I need to keep him on his toes later. “No biggie. Looks as though a few of my old bandmates are back as well. Maybe we’ll get together, reminisce, do a few songs around town before the New Year. Might be fun.”

  I comb my memory for names and faces of the Fantome Phantoms—Dad’s original band. Sean O’Reilly, the former drummer works at the Toad as a bartender. Last I heard, the base player, Sadie Calhoun, moved to South Carolina. Travis Wooten, the keyboardist died in a motorcycle accident. Were there more?

  Dad stares at the fire, nostalgia in his eyes as it throws shadows across him. “Even saw a couple groupies there from back in the day.”

  I frown. “You had those here in Thornhollow?”

  He winks.

  Ugh. “You mean women who trailed after you and tried to get backstage passes?” I can’t keep the innuendo out of my voice as images of barely clad young women flirting with my dad flash across my mind. “Pretty sure I didn’t need to know that.”

  “I only ever had eyes for your mother, you know that. There are a few who followed us around. One or two even tagged along when we hit the road.”

  My father’s always been a good-looking guy with a lopsided grin and a gravelly voice. I shouldn’t be surprised he had female admirers, but I have to admit I’m relieved to hear he never cared about them.

  He’s still in love with Mama. The thought warms my heart. I’m no matchmaker—heck, I can’t even handle my own love life—but sparks of ideas about how to get them back together race through my head.

  Dad tenses, his head swiveling to look toward the front door. He jumps to his feet, making Tabby cry and hop down. “Your mother’s here,” he announces, smoothing his shirt and wiping at the corners of his mouth,

  I stand as well, panic starting in my belly like butterflies. “What? Where?”

  The doorbell rings.

  Logan and I follow Dad's gaze to the entrance. I can see the faint outline of people on the dark porch.

  Dad starts toward it and I brush past him. “It’s not Mama,” I tell him, hoping I’m right. “She doesn’t ring the bell. She just walks in.”

  Mentally reassuring myself, I throw open the door. My stomach falls. I try to block her view of the interior. “Mama? What are you doing here?”

  A sly smile crosses her face. A couple inches shorter than me, she’s dressed in her usual two-piece suit and low heels. She’s thrown a wool jacket over her shoulders and pinned a laughing Santa face to the scarf at her neck. “Hi sweetie. We’re going to see the downtown lights and thought we’d stop by and invite you and Logan to come with.”

  We? Next to her is a man dressed in worn jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a leather jacket. His nose is red and his skin sags with wrinkles, suggesting a lot of alcohol and stress has been poured into his system through the years.

  Sean O’Reilly. Floating slightly behind him in the dark is a ghost. When I stare at it, it grows darker, features rising on the face. There’s something about it that seems familiar.

  “Dixie?” Dad's voice has a curious note as he steps behind me.

  Mama's face falls. She stares over my shoulder. “Naaash?” Her heavily accented voice draws out his name in shock.

  “Hey, man,” Sean says to my dad.

  I keep my focus on the ghost, but it begins to fade.

  Mama grips the scarf tightly. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  My brain puts two and two together and my stomach twists. Her new beau is…

  If I’m not careful, this will go bad fast. I force cheer into my tone. “Daddy’s here for Christmas, Mama. Surprise!”

  Chapter Six

  Everyone starts talking at once.

  Mama to Daddy: “Answer me. What are you doing here?”

  Dad to Sean: “Are you seeing my wife?”

  Sean to Mama: “Maybe I better wait in the car.”

  Mama to Sean: “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Then to me: “How could you not tell me he was here?”

  Finally, she rounds on Dad. “Ex-wife.”

  Dad begins to argue, Sean tries to hide a smile.

  “Wait.” My voice rises. “You’re divorced?”

  Silence ensues after the combination of incredulous shock and the loud announcement.

  Logan comes up behind me and kisses the back of my head. “I’ll call you later.”

  Coward.

  Honestly though, I can’t blame him. Family politics are a nightmare no matter who’s involved.

  Jacket in hand, he scoots around the rest and leaves, nodding to Mama and Daddy as he does. As soon as he’s out of earshot, the others escalate once more into bickering, each trying to outdo the other.

  “Calm down,” I insist. “Let’s talk this out reasonably.”

  No one listens. Mama points her finger at Dad's nose. �
�You have every right to see your daughter whenever you choose, but you have no say in my life.”

  “I do when you’re dating him!” Dad points at Sean.

  Sean disputes it and more squabbling ensues until I whistle loudly, cutting them off.

  Three sets of eyes land on me. “Enough!” I make sure they know I’m serious. “It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake. This is my house, and you will all respect me and one another by speaking calmly and politely. You two”—I point at my parents—“to the kitchen. Now.” To Sean, I smile with all the southern grace I can muster, which isn’t much at the moment. “Would you mind waiting outside?”

  Good thing he doesn’t disagree. I don’t want him in here with his ghostly friend, whoever or whatever it is. He doesn’t look particularly upset, and simply offers a shrug. But he winks at Mama, which causes that slight smile to rise to her face again, and makes my dad tense, before he saunters off the porch.

  “Ava…” Mama starts.

  I raise a finger, drag her inside, and close the door. “Kitchen. Now.”

  With some grumbling and side glances, they relent. Once we're in the brighter room, I pour Mama a glass of wine and open a beer for Dad. “Sit,” I command.

  Both open their mouths to argue and I raise the same finger to shush them.

  Mama unbuttons her coat but resists when Dad attempts to help her remove it. They down several gulps of their respective beverages, Mama shooting glares at me.

  I’m gonna need a drink, too. I grab my glass from the living room and refill it, then seat myself across from them. Taking a deep breath, I once more muster some of the grace and patience I’ve learned to use with them over the years. “Let’s start with when you got divorced and why neither of you told me.”

  Mama takes a long sip then huffs. “It was ages ago. I didn’t mention it because you were in Atlanta and were always so busy.”

  “It’s barely been a year,” Dad corrects.

  He looks rather forlorn now, his gaze focused on Mama like Tabby’s were on him earlier.

  She makes a dramatic flourish with her hand and rolls her eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time, Nash. We both needed to move on.”

  The pizza in my stomach burns like acid. I direct my attention to her. “My living in Atlanta is no excuse, Mama, but that’s water under the bridge right now. We’re all here and I want us to get along. No arguing, no bickering, and you will be civil to each other, no matter what, you understand?”

  She turns on Dad. “I was lonely. Wilhelmina’s death made me realize I need fun and companionship in my life. I will not apologize for socializing with Sean.”

  Her chin raises in defiance. Dad appears slightly disgusted, but the sadness in his face doesn’t leave.

  My heart feels wounded. The reason Mama sent him away was because of that rotten family curse. When I managed to break it, I was harboring hope like any child of a broken marriage— that my parents might get back together. Being an adult doesn’t change that.

  Dad must have clung to that dream as well. He stares Mama straight in the eye and gives her a weak smile. “You deserve happiness, Dixie, that’s for sure.”

  Then as he stands, he drops a loaded bomb. “But the honest truth is, I’ve never stopped loving you…and I never will.”

  Chapter Seven

  That night in my room I call Logan.

  “How’d it go?” He asks.

  I haven’t seen Dad since he left us at the table. Mama stood in a huff and did the same without saying another word to me.

  “My parents aren’t speaking to each other, and I’m not sure if either is speaking to me at this point. They’re so stubborn, especially Mama. I know in my heart she’s never stopped loving him, and now she has a chance to be with him again. She’s acting like a teenager over Sean, and…”

  I trail off when my phone alerts me to an incoming call from Winter. In all the drama, I haven’t had a chance to get back to the pressing matter of the curse. Time to put family business aside and deal with that instead. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “You bet. Sleep well. And don’t worry about your folks. Things will work out.”

  Wish I had his optimism. I disconnect with him and answer Winter. She and another woman smile at me from the video chat screen.

  “Hey, girl, I know it’s late on the East Coast.” Winter’s hair is pinned on top of her head, a cascade of curls resembling a dark waterfall. Around the base is a sparkling bandanna. The lady next to her has creamy brown skin, wrinkles, and green glitter eyeshadow.

  “Hey, Winter. Hello, Mamma Nightengale.” I smile, welcoming the reprieve from the drama of my family. “Good to see you both. It’s not too late, I’m still up.”

  Mamma leans a little closer. “I hear you got some trouble brewing,” she says. “Something about an old witch?”

  I assume Winter has given her an overview of my situation but I touch on the important facts to make sure we’re all on the same page.

  “Where’s Persephone?” Winter asks.

  Persephone originally was Winter’s guardian angel. The two didn’t get along, and I ended up with her. She’s extremely quirky—and now, unreliable. I’ve been calling for her since this whole thing started. “Good question. She’s still AWOL.”

  Winter shakes her head, her curls swinging. “I’m so sorry.”

  “The worst part,” I say, “is that the spell is about to expire. I’m running out of time to figure out how to stop it from coming after Logan.”

  Mamma Nightengale scratches at her cheek. “You’re sure there’s a ghost in that necklace?”

  The item is across the room on my dresser. I glance at it. “I haven’t felt anything supernatural from it, so honestly, I can’t swear to that, but why make up such a story?”

  Neither woman has an answer. Mama shrugs. “Well, voodoo or not, the way I see it, you have three options.”

  “I’m desperate.” I roll my hand at her screen presence. “Hit me with them.”

  She nods and holds up a finger. “At the moment the hex expires, you can do another to seal the witch’s ghost for another two hundred years. Two,”—she raises a second with a flourish, this one with a vintage ruby ring—“find some leverage to blackmail her into leaving your man alone. Three, you force her to cross over before she knows what happened to her.”

  I stare at her raised digits, excitement about having options dwindling as I realize how difficult all those things are. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but where is that magic wand when you need it? “Doesn’t a spirit have to choose to move on? How would I force her to do it?”

  “That’s where you’ll need help,” Winter offers.

  “I’m pretty sure I need help, regardless of which option I choose.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Options two and three work well together. If we can figure out a way to give her spirit something other than Logan, we can encourage her to cooperate and travel onto the afterlife.”

  “Like what?” I rack my head for ideas. “She wanted a son—I can’t exactly manufacture one in place of Logan.”

  Silence falls. “We’re definitely not trading souls,” Winter says. “That’s dark, dark magick.”

  Definitely not going there. “What do you think she’ll do to him?” Mama asks.

  “That’s another murky question. Mrs. Cross thinks she’ll kill him and suck out his soul. Her words, not mine.”

  Winter makes a face that mimics exactly how I feel—as if I want to vomit.

  “Maybe after all this time, she’ll be happy to cross over.” The bangles on Mama’s arms clink as she turns her hands palm up. “After being trapped all those years, I sure would.”

  This gives me a boost of optimism. “Maybe you're right. I could be worried for nothing.”

  Winter pulls that rug out from under my sock-clad feet. “If I’d been hexed for any amount of time into an object, I’d be out for revenge. From the sounds of it, your witch isn’
t the type to turn the other cheek. You have to be prepared.”

  “The ghost of a vengeful and powerful witch is about to wreak havoc on my boyfriend.” My voice has an edge of hysteria. “Did I miss the memo on how to stop that?”

  The two exchange a look.

  “You have to brace for all possible outcomes,” Winter tells me gently.

  “We’ll help you anyway we can,” Mama adds.

  I drop my face into my hands. “Please tell me you have the magic wand that handles this.”

  “No,” Winter says, “but we do have spells.”

  “I don’t know how to do one.”

  “Yes, you do, girl. It’s in your blood. Now grab a pen and paper. Here’s what you’ll need.”

  Chapter Eight

  Armed with a renewed sense of hope and a list of items Winter told me to gather for protection, I make dad breakfast the next morning to cheer him up.

  His favorite chocolate chip pancakes are a specialty of mine, and I dab extra whipped topping on his. I serve him coffee the moment he comes into the kitchen.

  He’s delighted and kisses my cheek. “Haven’t had these in ages.”

  His joy in digging in makes me happy. As they’re a favorite of mine, too, dad and I indulge while Arthur and Lancelot circle our feet, crying and begging for their own.

  “It’s so nice to have you home,” I say around a mouthful. Washing it down with coffee, I revel in this moment, just me and him.

  The cats meow and Dad bobs his head, swallowing. “Nice to be home. We have a lot to catch up on.”

  We text and call regularly, so I wonder what he hasn’t told me. “Like what? You and Mama’s divorce, perhaps?”

  He waves his fork through the air. “Not about me. You.”

  Slippery slope there. “I’m great. Never thought I’d be happy living back here, but I am.”

  His elbow rests on the table and the fork points at me. “What about Logan? The two of you seem more serious than you let on.”