by Willow Mason
The supreme laughed, the sound transformed into shrillness by my low-quality cell phone speaker. “With good reason. You remember Violet Baker, who works with the Farmer’s Federation in their sustainable farming unit?”
Never heard of the woman. “Sure?”
“She got married to Carson Gibbs so her name’s changed now, but Paisley is her familiar.”
I made a hurry-up gesture with my hand, useless since I wasn’t on video. “And…?”
“And she had a baby girl back in August. Everything was going fine until three months ago, the little darling—I think her name’s Sara—got rashes on her arms that wouldn’t go away.”
I closed my eyes, understanding where that was leading. “Her daughter’s allergic.”
“Super allergic. Break out in hives from a dropped hair allergic, and Paisley—bless her heart—can’t stop shedding. The choice came down to putting her in a bubble or kicking Paisley to the curb.”
I wiped a tear away as my chest clutched. “That’s so awful.”
“She can’t even visit for fear of transferring hairs back home. They had to move into a new house to avoid the residue of dander.”
The bond between a witch and their familiar was one of the strongest relationships on the planet. If Annalisa went off on a jaunt for a few hours, my anxiety levels crept up until she came home safely, and vice versa.
At least, I hoped vice versa.
Even for those witches who built an intimate family unit, the strong bond held true. Violet’s heart must be tearing out of her chest every day.
No wonder Paisley acted up. I’d be devastated.
“Do you have any prospects for rebonding?”
Genevieve’s voice was grim. “We’re looking but so far there’s nothing. She’s been hanging out with the other cast-offs, but I feel she’ll do better with a stable home to live in. Spoil her, won’t you?” The supreme’s voice cracked, and the sound muffled for a minute before she came back on the line. “If you need a bit of extra cash—”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine on that account.” I winced as the instant negation poured out of my mouth, but how much could a cat cost?
“If you say so, but don’t hesitate to reach out. Violet and her husband are more than willing to foot any bills.”
I was about to go when I remembered Paisley’s comments. “What’s this about an exorcism on a tree in town?”
The supreme laughed gaily. “What a load of old mumbo-jumbo. Half of Briarton got behind the movement, certain something malevolent had taken hold.”
“And…?”
“While everyone else was busy trying to ‘exorcise’ an evil spirit, I had Melvin from the council parks unit evict the bad-tempered possum who’d taken up residence in the hollow trunk. He’s now rehoused in the parklands outside Briarton and can throw anything he likes at the hunters who try to pick him off.”
My smile disappeared as I disconnected the call, and I took a moment to let the sadness flow through my body. Poor Paisley. Poor Violet. Poor me.
Chapter Four
I put my ear to the connecting door, then retreated a few steps, tapping my foot with impatience.
“That won’t get you anywhere,” Patrick said, twisting the screen on his remote camera around to face me. “And there’s nothing to see yet, anyway.”
We’d installed a small camera in each corner of Pru’s dining room, plus extras in the centrepiece, facing out in each direction. Patrick flicked through all the differing views, none of them showing anything of interest.
Pru sat at the head of the table, back stiff as an ironing board. She’d downed a couple of coffees while we’d set up. I wasn’t a doctor but for someone who appeared so highly strung, perhaps loading up on the caffeine wasn’t the greatest plan.
“Will this even pick up a ghost?”
“Poltergeist, and we won’t know until he turns up.” Patrick shrugged but I could see the excitement creeping around the edges of his nonchalant façade. “If we do, it could go down in the history books.”
“You’d better not be suggesting our client’s private footage would be submitted anywhere other than our secure files.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened a little, then he tipped his head forward, deftly hiding his expression. “No, of course not. I just meant…”
“Hm.” I wandered back to the door and placed my ear against it, though I could see on the screen that Pru still sat waiting, frozen in an uptight bundle of fear.
“Showtime,” Patrick whispered as one of his machines began ticking. “Someone’s home.”
My stomach tried to launch itself up the back of my throat for safekeeping. When I swallowed, I could hear a loud click from the dry walls of my oesophagus.
On the screen, Pru stood and reached for the pot of coffee in front of her. Surely not another cup! But she poured it into the mug of her opposite place setting. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Good one. You know my job interview’s today.” A long sigh followed, and the cup moved slightly.
“Did you see that.” Patrick jabbed his finger at the screen. “That’s proof positive there’s something in the room other than Pru.”
“Proof has a pretty low bar in your profession, doesn’t it?” I asked, then flapped a hand at him for silence when Pru’s visitor began speaking again.
“I just hope they took the time to read my proposal thoroughly. If I start going into the details and they’re not familiar with the concepts, I’ll come off like a conceited jerk.”
“They’ll have read it,” Pru said, reaching out a hand to stroke nothing. “Didn’t you tell me just yesterday that Raymond praised you for the outstanding font work?”
Her companion chuckled, and I turned the door handle, trying to ease it open. Not being able to see Andrew made my brain want to crawl. I needed to watch the man’s expression as he spoke. Nothing about him sounded threatening enough to warrant Pru’s distress from the day before.
“Can you hear him?”
I nodded to Patrick, trying to ignore the disappointment that flooded his features. Having only recently come into my full witch powers, I understood. I’d been locked out of our secret paranormal society for a long time; stuck on the outside looking in.
“I’ll just take a peep,” I whispered, checking the cameras to make sure my voice hadn’t registered with Pru. Her expression didn’t alter—a combination of horrified anticipation and soppy movie-screen love.
“Perhaps I should skip breakfast,” Andrew said as I swung the door gently ajar. He sat at the end of the table, looking every bit like he should register on a CCTV camera. When he poked at a slice of toast with his knife, Patrick shivered with joy.
The poltergeist didn’t look scary. The cliff notes to a hundred horror movies ran through my head, finding no match.
My sleeve brushed against the door, drawing Pru’s wide-eyed attention. I nodded, and she exhaled a slow breath.
“Do you remember what you told me yesterday?”
Andrew tilted his head, a nervous smile playing around the edges of his lips. “Sunday? I said a lot of things. Mainly about the performance quality of the latest selection of All Blacks and whether the ref forgot to get his biannual eye check.”
A tear ran down Pru’s cheek and she wiped it away with one fingertip. “About your death.”
“They MURDERED me! How can you just sit there making polite conversation when I’m rotting in the ground?” A glass smashed against the wall.
Patrick ran out of the room then stopped, hands raised, unsure where or how to direct his energy.
“Don’t just sit there. YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME. How could you let them get away with this?”
The table slammed into the ceiling, crushing everything atop it into smithereens. I called my magic to the ready, feeling its power pulse in my hands.
Andrew heaved himself out of the chair, panting. His face flushed then collapsed inwards, the cheeks sagging. “You let me think I was still alive.
I’ve prepared for the same meeting over and over and over and over. My stomach’s a wreck. My head aches. Can’t you even let me know how it went? DID I GET THE PROMOTION?”
The table slammed down into the floor, the legs digging dents into the hardwood. Pru clung to her chair, staring straight down, letting her hair cover her face. I sent out a protection spell, hoping I was doing it right. If this was how the ghost had behaved the day before, our client had left a great deal out of her narrative.
“You didn’t make it,” I called out on Pru’s behalf. Maybe not a wise choice but the poor woman didn’t seem capable of speech.
Andrew’s head slowly turned around, going full 180 exorcist style as he glared at me over his shoulder.
“Your car crashed on the way to work,” I continued, hoping to distract the poltergeist if nothing else. “There was no meeting, no discussion about your promotion.”
“Fifteen years.” Andrew started to count off on his fingers but quickly ran out. “For fifteen years I’ve been prepping for a meeting that never happened.” His fingers turned into claws and he dragged them down his face, leaving behind deep rivulets that quickly filled in with red. “How could you let this happen?”
“Pru didn’t let anything happen. You’re the one who kept turning up.” I put my hands on my hips and set my face on full resting witch mode. “How dare you blame this poor woman for your behaviour? She wasn’t in control of you when you were alive, and she’s certainly not in control now you’re dead. Take some responsibility.”
Andrew clenched his fists, then jerked his right arm up and down. A large piece of jagged crockery slammed into the ceiling then showered its splintered remains on the table. His raised his left arm and the remnants of the broken centrepiece did the same.
“Wow. Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed.” I held a hand up in a placating gesture laden with sarcasm. “Perhaps you’d like to explain who murdered you before you go off on another rampage. That might go some way toward placating your poor fiancé.”
“THEY MURDERED ME.”
I rolled my eyes, catching Pru’s gaze and giving her an encouraging smile. “Oh, well. They. That narrows it down. Do you happen to know where they live?”
A teapot went flying across the room at light speed, punching deep into the plasterboard wall. A sad trickle spilled out of its tilted lip.
I left the question hanging for another minute, then pursed my mouth. “I take it that’s a no?”
“THIS ISN’T FUNNY.”
“No one’s saying it’s funny, mate. In fact, given the amount of damage you’ve done this morning, no one in this house will ever be laughing again.” I waggled my finger, advancing on the poltergeist with such laser focus that he backed up a step. “You need to invest in some anger management because this kind of behaviour isn’t okay.”
“What did he say?” Patrick asked a few moments later when we’d all descended into silence.
“He doesn’t know or, if he does, he isn’t saying.”
“Why did he suddenly level up?”
“Eh?” Andrew tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing. “Can’t you hear me?” He waved his hand in front of Patrick’s face, then poked fingers towards his eyes, failing to make him flinch.
“No, he can’t hear you.” I waited a beat, then added, “Lucky him.”
“What does he mean by levelling up?”
My eyes settled on the mess surrounding the table, then travelled up to the stains, spatters and chips of crockery embedded in the ceiling.
“Oh.” Andrew flexed his hand. “I’m not sure where any of that came from except…”
“Except what?” Pru asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and standing.
“I’M VERY ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN.” The poltergeist sent another slab of broken plate hurtling across the room, smashing into a framed photograph of him and Pru standing, arm in arm, in front of a punting boat.
“Can’t you remember anything?” Pru wrung her hands together, then tried to grasp her dead fiancé’s sleeve between her finger and thumb. Her arm dropped to her side as it failed to find purchase.
Curious, I leant over and gave him a poke. My finger travelled straight into him, like one of those weird old-style charade surgeons who used to pretend they could reach into your body to pull out disease.
“I need a drink,” Andrew declared, moving to an entertainment unit on the far wall and pulling open a cabinet. “Whatever’s going on is doing my head in.”
“Can you remember what you were doing last week?” I asked, returning Patrick’s thumbs-up sign when he caught the motion on our cameras. Or rather, what few of our cameras remained intact. We were going to have to write off at least two. Maybe three.
“I DON’T KNOW. WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME QUESTIONS? I’M THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE ASKING YOU.” Andrew’s face flushed as he realised he’d been shouting at the top of his voice. “Hm. Sorry about that. I don’t appear to have as much control AS I USED TO.”
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Unfortunately, the drink infuriated him all over again when the liquid poured straight from the glass onto the carpet. He spun and threw the crystal tumbler straight at my head. Patrick pulled me out of the way, his strong hands digging into my upper arms.
Catching my breath, I could feel his rapid heartbeat against my back. When he released his grip, Patrick rubbed my reddening skin gently. “Sorry about that. I think I gripped you a bit hard.”
“Better than picking broken glass out of my face, thanks.”
I waved Andrew back to the dining room table and into his chair. “What’s the last thing you remember from when you were alive?” I tried to ignore the sinking feeling inside. Interviewing the murder victim didn’t seem like such a great advantage any longer.
“This.” Andrew swept an arm across the chaotic mess he’d created. “All I remember is this.”
I relayed the useless intel to Patrick, needing someone to share in my frustration. “That can’t be right,” he immediately stated. “There must have been some transition between repeating your last known routine—like a standard echo—and making the accusation you’d been murdered. Otherwise, how would you know?”
But logic didn’t seem to have much standing in the conversation. Andrew stared sadly at the surrounding mess, in between beats of eye-bulging fury. Pru curled herself against the doorway through to the kitchen. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, given the multitude of things that could cause bodily injury hidden in there, but each to their own.
“How long does he stay?” Patrick asked Pru, his face strained with trying to follow the patterns of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. “Will it matter that we’re in the room with you?”
She checked her watch; alarm spreading like warm jam across her face. “Andrew? Why are you still here?”
“WHAT? IS THERE SOMEPLACE YOU’D RATHER YOUR MURDERED FIANCE BE?”
I could tell from her body language the answer to that was, yes—anywhere, but I just held my breath. “Where do you go when you’re not here?”
Andrew launched himself at me, flying through my centre and out the window. I clutched my torso where the bulk of him had touched, feeling a coldness seep out into my bones.
Ugh. With a shake of revulsion, I moved to the window, staring into the side yard.
“Did someone lose a ghost?” Jared asked, his hair standing on end. “Only I was sniffing along a lovely trail when one decided to fly by.” He rubbed the hairs on his arms, smoothing down the goose flesh. “He didn’t seem at all happy. Is that what people mean by a restless spirit?”
I glanced past him just in time to see Andrew winking out of sight. “Guess his leave wasn’t extended by much, then.” Turning back to Pru and Patrick, I said, “He’s gone.”
Chapter Five
It seemed obvious to me our next stop should be the dearly departed’s not-quite-so-final resting place, an urge that fitted neatly with my desire to check out the oddity in my bac
k yard. Patrick volunteered to stay behind, claiming he wouldn’t be any use since he couldn’t see Andrew, anyway.
Annalisa also declined to accompany us, but she did help me draw up a hasty map. With it in hand, Jared and I set off for the cemetery. The route led us out of the main forest and into a clearing, though judging from the ground it had more to do with a bush fire than natural growth patterns.
Having no shade from tall trees to keep them contained, ferns sprouted in merry abandon across the expanse. In some places, they were so tightly clumped together that I had to walk on top of their actual spines to forge ahead.
“I know you’re not allowed to sell your place, but are there any restrictions on development?” Jared asked as I stopped, panting for breath. “This would be a great spot to set up a hut. I’d love to come out here during the long summer nights and fall asleep sniffing that beautifully tangy air.”
“No, I can’t. Tangy, eh? Sounds like it went off.”
“Can’t you smell it?” Jared thrust his nose upwards and inhaled a deep breath. “Wonderful.”
I took a more cautious approach but couldn’t smell much beyond the damp undergrowth and the crisp green scent of the surrounding ferns. The silver coils of their furled leaves caught the sun and refracted it across their main foliage, twinkling like muted green stars.
“Can you use that talented snout of yours to locate this infernal place?” I called out, unwilling to set off again without a firmer timeline. My ankles felt more strained than if walking through loose sand.
“That’s a great name for a boneyard,” Jared said with a grin. “The infernal resting place of the Briarton clan.”
“Infernally and eternally yours.”
“From here to infernally.”
We grinned at each other until a crow’s caw split the air like an axe through a dry log.
“Geez, they make those things loud out here.” Jared shaded his eyes with one hand while trying to pinpoint the noisy creature. “But at least it’s not a magpie.”
Remembering divebombs from the heavens as I walked home from school, I had to agree.