Enter the Witch

by Andris Bear

  Enter the Witch

  Andris Bear

  Copyright © 2018 by Andris Bear

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Witch of Whispers

  Reminder

  Chapter One

  The obnoxious ringing pulled a reluctant Evangeline from sleep. Her hand flopped out from under the covers, patting and swiping in an attempt to silence the culprit, but it continued to trill incessantly until she was conscious.

  Snatching the phone from her nightstand, she flicked her thumb over the answer button and muttered, “lo?” when she would have rather said, “Drop dead.”

  “Evangeline.”

  That tone of voice. She shot up in bed, pulling the phone from her ear to peek at the screen. A muted groan slipped from her mouth. Returning the phone to her ear, she said, “Hi Mimi. What’s up?”

  Melissa “Mimi” Hanscombe was the head librarian at Whisper Grove Community Library. Also, Evangeline’s boss.

  “How about the time, Evangeline? Unless my memory and eyes have gone at the same time, you’re on the schedule to open the library this morning. An hour ago.”

  “What?” Evangeline snapped her head sideways to squint at her alarm clock. Yep, it read ten AM. She leaned over and checked that the slider was in the alarm position, then pressed the time button. She blew out a huff. Her alarm was set correctly, so why hadn’t it gone off?

  “I’m sorry, Mimi,” she said, throwing off her covers. “I’ll be right there.”

  Disconnecting the call before Mimi could lambaste her further, she tossed the phone on the bed and darted for the bathroom. Her toe caught on the bedpost, sending a shot of pain through her foot and up her leg. Howling with righteous indignation, she called the bed a few choice names as she hobbled her way to the tub.

  Performing the world’s fastest strip down, she jumped into the shower and nearly slipped. “Holy fright,” she barked, catching herself on the handrail. Her brain was still groggy with sleep, her toe ached like a mofo, and she’d almost head-butted herself with the shower. This was clearly not her day. Like, at all.

  She needed a strong cup of coffee, STAT.

  And better karma.

  And apparently, a new alarm clock.

  Lathering the shampoo into her long, unruly curls, Evangeline replayed her evening. She had read for an hour before turning off the bedside lamp, and she distinctly remembered flipping the alarm to the on position. Having purchased the alarm clock radio at a secondhand store in what she thought was a great deal, she now figured it was past its prime, and she’d need to buy a new one when she got paid on Friday.

  Because who wouldn’t love to spend what little she earned on a new small appliance?

  After playing the lather-and-rinse game with the conditioner, she washed her body before carefully stepping from the shower to grab a towel. The last thing she needed was to do the splits across the linoleum floor. Her dang toe still throbbed to the tempo of an agitated mariachi band.

  After a quick towel drying that left her hair dripping rivulets down her back, she chose a blousy blue top, black gaucho pants, and a pair of ballet flats, which she managed to slip into without ripping, breaking, or slipping on anything.

  Maybe today wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

  A thorough brushing of her teeth later, she trotted down the stairs with a better attitude. She snatched a cup from the cabinet, then headed to the coffee pot where her rich, dark lover awaited. Just the thought of her favorite brew perked her spirits. Since starting as an assistant librarian, she’d set aside a percentage of every paycheck so she always had the money for her necessary indulgence. She did not drink cheap coffee.

  Evangeline reached for the pot and froze. It was empty. Her gaze darted to the power light, which was not glowing green and happy. Therefore, she was not glowing green and happy.

  “What fresh hell is this?” she demanded, checking the grounds carafe. It was full, so that wasn’t the issue. She opened the water lid. It, too, was full. She pushed the brew now button, but nothing happened. Still no happy, glowy green. She glared at the machine she’d purchased specifically because it boasted a timer— so the brewed goodness would be waiting on her each morning, not the other way around.

  “You and I are going to have a severe come-to-Jesus talk when I get home,” she warned the lazy coffeepot, then snatched her keys and purse from the hooks by the door.

  As she locked her apartment, she could already feel the steady pulse of java withdrawal strutting through her cranium. She sighed with each stair step down to her car, already anticipating crawling into bed in, oh, twelve long hours.

  Despite oversleeping, she had the get-up-and-go of a sloth—a dead sloth—and every time she blinked, it was a fight to open her lids again. All she wanted was to climb her tired self back into bed and call it a day until tomorrow morning.

  Why she was so exhausted, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t like her to lack energy. Lately, though, her nights were restless and her sleep fitful. She woke every morning feeling as if her body had run a marathon while she was unconscious. Yet, she couldn’t recall any bad dreams or distress in the night.

  Maybe it was merely her mind adjusting to living in a new town, working a new job.

  A job that was run by a drill sergeant of librarians. The later Evangeline arrived to work, the worse her day would be. And it sucked the big one so far.

  Evangeline unlocked her car door, tossed her purse on the passenger seat, and climbed in. Shoving her key into the ignition, she twisted.

  The familiar chug and whine that preceded the turn of her engine was missing. As was the turn of her engine. All she got was a click-click-click. She was no mechanic, but she was guessing this did not bode well.

  Being utterly clueless about all things vehicle did not stop her from popping the hood to peer at the engine. Yep, it looked like an engine, all right. She poked at a couple of wires, jiggled the leads to the battery, and then checked the oil level—aha! Something she did know how to do! Because that was the extent of her car knowledge, Evangeline returned to the driver’s seat and cranked the key again, fully expecting the same clickety-click from before.

  Instead, it roared—well, more like whimpered—to life, and she threw her hands up with a triumphant yell, startling the hell out of ol’ Mrs. Perkins, who was rocking on her porch on the bottom floor of their apartment building. The scowl the old lady shot her could have curdled the cream in Evangeline’s coffee. If she’d actually gotten any.

  Waving her apologies, Evangeline backed out of her assigned parking space and sped off to work. As much as anyone could speed in a 1989 Ford Escort.

  Still, she was on the move. By her calculations, she was also an hour and a half late for work. She’d have to stay the same number of hours so as not to lose pay. Lord knew she couldn’t afford less in her paycheck. Also, Mimi would pile on the workload as punishment, and it would take a sanctioned miracle to get out of there before night fell.

  Her phone rang and she absently dug through her purse, feeling her way around lip balm, a pen, her wallet, and numerous other items she’d stuffed in
side. Everything but the stinking phone she was searching for. Grumbling phrases her mama would not approve of, she snatched her purse from the seat to rifle through its contents more thoroughly.

  Her eyes were off the road only a second, two tops, but by the time she found the offending cell, it had stopped ringing. Returning her attention to where it should have been all along, Evangeline let out a squeal that matched the screech of her brakes as she slammed into the back of a pickup truck.

  Chapter Two

  The screech of tires on pavement jerked Shane Carlson’s gaze to his rearview mirror just in time to watch the blue Ford something or other kiss his bumper. His truck barely moved, but the hit was hard enough that he felt it.

  “Son of a bitch.” He sighed, letting his head fall against the headrest. He’d literally made the final payment on his truck last week, and had even given himself a mental pat on the back for paying it off early.

  Shoving the door open, he climbed from the cab and walked to the back. An ugly robin’s-egg blue—he squinted at the emblem—Ford Escort was nose to tail on his bumper. His bright, shiny, chrome bumper.

  When he crouched to inspect the damage, his spirits lifted. There was no dent in the metal, and the car was too low to hit the tailgate and scratch the paint. A little elbow grease and his truck would be good as new.

  His gaze turned to the occupant of said ugly contraption. A dark-haired girl sat in the driver’s seat, hands fisted around the steering wheel as she rapidly blinked through the windshield.

  Pushing to his feet, Shane meandered to her door. He knocked on the glass, waiting for her to roll down the window. He chuffed that a car old enough to have crank windows was still on the road. He rarely saw those in his shop anymore.

  “You all right?” he asked, looking her over. She was a little older than he’d first guessed, maybe early to mid-twenties, with curly hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a filmy shirt that all but matched her hideous car.

  She peered at him as if he’d poofed to life in front of her. “Where the hell did you come from?” she demanded.

  Shane was tempted to suggest he’d teleported, but he refrained only because he got the impression she was questioning his origins rather than how his truck had become her victim.

  Thankfully, the wail of her tires had done more damage to his sphincter than her car had done to his truck. Though, he had to wonder about her as she jiggled her finger in her ear, her face scrunching in a funky grimace.

  “Did you hit your head?” he asked against his better judgement. If this was some kind of insurance scam, he didn’t want to play into her hands. Although, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how her hitting him would work in her favor.

  He hadn’t slammed on his brakes. Hell, he hadn’t even been moving when she hit him. He was following the rules of the road as he waited for oncoming traffic to clear before turning into the bank parking lot.

  She frowned. Again, like he was the asshole. “No. No, I just… do you hear that rushing?”

  Shane hesitated. She was cute for a mousy little thing, but boy, she was daffy as hell, too. “No, I don’t hear any rushing.”

  He nearly shit a kitten when she slapped her palm on the side of her head a few times.

  “It’s like I have water in my head,” she mumbled, giving it a hard shake. As if the thought of her driving before he realized she wasn’t quite right wasn’t scary enough, she reached forward and turned the key.

  Shane was certain his liver shot into his throat. He released a harsh exhale when the engine didn’t catch. Thank God. The last thing this town needed was this girl on the roads.

  “I think maybe you hit your head. I’m going to call you an ambulance, okay?” he said, pulling his cell from his pocket. He started to dial 911.

  “No!”

  The vehemence in her voice had him jumping back. She threw open her car door, snatched her bag from the passenger seat, and climbed out.

  “I’m sorry I hit your truck,” she tossed at him as she skirted around her bumper to get a look at his. A few indiscernible blinks later, she turned to him. “It doesn’t look so bad. You don’t need my insurance information, do you?”

  He studied her before answering. Her features were delicate, soft skin and deep brown eyes that bordered on appearing black. She was really rather pretty.

  And then she slapped her temple again.

  He cleared his throat. “No, I don’t think so. Are you sure you don’t want to have a doctor look at you?” Like a psychiatrist kind, maybe.

  A psshh preceded her, “I can’t afford an ambulance ride. Or a doctor visit. I can barely afford the gas for that hunk-o-junk to get me back and forth to work.” As if the mention of work ignited a spark plug in her brain, she straightened and asked, “What time is it?”

  Shane warily turned his gaze to the phone in his hand. “Ten thirty.”

  “Sweet molasses…” Groaning, she started walking up the street. “I have to go.”

  He glanced from her to her car and back again. “You need to have your car towed.”

  “Can’t afford that, either.” She waved him off. Spinning to walk backward, she continued, “Besides, if you knew my boss, you’d understand. I work at the library. I’ll move it at lunch, assuming the contrary jackass starts. I am sorry about your truck. Have a great day!”

  He ran a hand through his hair and watched her trot away, thus saddling him with the dilemma of her car. WTF? Eying the thing, he debated leaving it for the sheriff to find. If she thought a tow was too expensive, she sure wouldn’t like the ticket costs of leaving her dang car in the middle of the road.

  For some irrational, insane reason, the idea of letting her take the consequences of her own odd actions made him feel like the heel.

  “She’s batshit personified,” he reminded himself. Amen and boy howdy.

  All the same, he swiped his thumb over his phone screen and entered his uncle’s number, lifting the cell to his ear. The gruff, “Yeah?” sounded after the second ring.

  “Hey, Uncle Buff. Could you bring the tow to the bank? I’ve got a new client pick-up.” He used the term new client very loosely.

  Once his uncle agreed, Shane hung up and settled in to wait, his gaze locked on her retreating back.

  Chapter Three

  Evangeline limped through the large glass doors with a whimpered curse. Despite her breezy, lightweight clothing, sweat coated her skin. Even her fingernails felt slick and icky after the scorching half-mile jaunt from her car to the library. And because today was the best day ever, she’d managed to twist her ankle on said trek. On flat, even concrete. In flat, even shoes. Who the hell did that?

  Glancing at the swollen, throbbing portion of her foot, she sighed. The ache went halfway up her shin. An eight-hour shift carting books all over the library should really help her out.

  Her only consolation was that she’d done her ankle-twisting tripping out of view of the cute guy she’d rear-ended. Thankfully, there was little damage to his truck, so she planned on never seeing the man again. No doubt he wanted the same. He surely thought her a nutter.

  “At least today can’t get any worse,” she muttered, limping to the employee office to clock in.

  “Oh, you came in to work, did you?” Mimi asked as soon as Evangeline cleared the doorway. The large woman sported her favorite blindingly yellow muumuu that made staring into the sun in the hopes of burning out her retinas one of Evangeline’s favorite pastimes.

  It took every ounce of her love of her job not to snarl a proper, “Up yours.”

  Instead, she smiled, sat her purse in her drawer of the filing cabinet—the closest thing to a secured locker—and logged into the computer to start her shift.

  “Make sure you adjust your hours accordingly. You clearly need help telling the time,” Mimi stated.

  Straightening, Evangeline sucked in a long, slow breath before pivoting to face her boss. Mimi stood by the foldable table that employees used for breaks, stirring her ev
er-constant cup of tea. Evangeline had yet to see her drink the bland liquid, just carry it around and stir, stir, stir.

  Evangeline hated tea. Not because she hated tea, but because Mimi heated the water in the library’s sole coffee pot and wouldn’t allow anyone to brew actual coffee in it. Because it would taint the water for her tea.

  She bared her teeth. “What I need is—” To go back to bed and restart this horrible day. To chase a bottle of Aspirin with a pot of coffee. To burn that godforsaken muumuu. “—to get a new alarm clock.”

  Mimi scoffed into her mug. “Who uses alarm clocks nowadays? Use your phone.”

  While Evangeline would normally agree, cell phones didn’t fare well in Whisper Grove, a lesson she’d learned the hard way. At first, she’d thought it only hers, but the town was nestled in a valley at the base of the Smokey Mountains and service was less-than-stellar most days, which often depleted the battery. The townsfolk attributed it to the high mountains bouncing the signals all over. Maybe they were right, but a lot of electronic devices that didn’t use Wi-Fi fritzed out here.

  Like alarm clocks and coffee pots.

  “I’ll do that, Mimi.” Evangeline turned from the computer to leave, then paused. Raising a brow, she asked, “Would you like to check my input?”

  As if the day wasn’t kicking her hard enough, she wanted to poke at her boss? Brilliant.

  Mimi scowled. Her mouth moved in response, but all Evangeline heard was the same, strange, whooshing static as when talking with the cute guy.

  She shoved her finger in her ear. Jiggled the hell out of it. “Huh?”

  Her boss’ dirty look deepened as she formed the words again. Nothing but electrically charged whooshing. It was as if someone had tuned a radio to a station with bad reception and cranked the volume.