Midlife Curses: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Mystery (Witching Hour Book 1)

by Christine Zane Thomas

  “That’s one way to do it,” Trish said, astonished. We went around them, some in the middle of running, some yelling, some doing both. A group of teenagers huddled inside one of the booths. A family had just made it to their car before the spell took hold. Others had tried to climb up the ruins of the courthouse. Motionless. Not even gravity worked against the charm.

  We found our first shifter midstride, running the opposite direction of the humans. I touched him and said, “You can move now.”

  His eyes darted back and forth, then his arms twitched. He shook himself out.

  “Get out of here.” Trish pointed.

  We did the same to every shifter and werewolf we came to until finally we caught up to Dave.

  “Dave, you can move,” I said.

  He shook his head, backing away from us.

  “It’s okay. I’m not afraid of you.”

  Maybe I should be.

  “Can you talk?” Trish asked him.

  He shook his head.

  “Then you should get out of here,” she said.

  He shook his head again, pointing his paw in the direction of the bookshop.

  “Okay,” Trish agreed, “you hide out in there. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  “What the heck are we going to do?” I asked her.

  “A memory charm,” she said confidently. “I’ve got one. Good job with the whole pausing time thing. I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I wish I could say the same.”

  Trish worked on her memory charm while I did something akin to Gran’s cleaning for the people, returning them to normal positions as if they’d been having fun at the festival, not getting terrorized.

  When Trish thought she had the memory charm worked out, I unfroze them.

  It seemed to do the trick. We both sighed with relief.

  We waited in the bookshop for the streets to clear. I was anxious to get back to Gran and see if she knew what had caused this whole ruckus to begin with.

  Dave, still in wolf form, prowled the aisles of the shop. As a wolf, he wasn’t used to being in a cooped-up space. I imagined he had as many questions as me and Trish, he just wasn’t able to voice them.

  We left as soon as the streets cleared, heading in the direction of Gran’s house and the graveyard. There wasn’t time for cars, nor did I think Dave could fit inside one. He ran. Trish had me hop on the end of her broom.

  We were making good time when it happened.

  I thought I saw a glint of metal in the distance, something that set my fingers to burning and my neck to prickling.

  I shoved past Trish and swerved toward it. Not knowing how to drive a broom, I found the ground came up a lot faster than I thought it would. We hit a tree with an unsatisfying thwack.

  We fell. Branches whipped at my face as I tumbled, landing knees first into the brush beneath.

  “You idiot,” Trish said. “You broke the broom.”

  “Dave,” I called.

  He came around the tree beside us, panting. He stopped and scouted the tree line behind me. Then he tipped his nose in the air, sniffing.

  Something still felt off.

  I caught the glint again in my peripheral vision. When I swung my head around to see what it was, it was too late.

  Green hoodie kid. On the other side of the tree brandishing the very same gun he’d pointed at my face. Now he had it trained on Dave.

  “No!” I screamed in anguish.

  I leaped to push Dave away. After all, he had much more to live for than I did.

  The gunshot echoed through the woods.

  29

  Silver Bullet

  The next few moments were a blur. The gunman disappeared into the forest while Trish and I worked to stop the bleeding on Dave—wolf Dave’s shoulder.

  I even took off my shirt, fixing it tightly around his hairy werewolf arm and compressing the wound. But neither of us were field medics.

  What I’d give to have Jade here right now.

  “We’ve got to get him to a hospital,” I said.

  Trish was the voice of reason. “Like this?”

  Dave yelped in pain.

  “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “We need your Gran,” she replied. “Do you think it’s a silver bullet?”

  “I don’t know.” I was afraid to dig it out with my finger to see. “I don’t think it matters. He isn’t healing himself. Do they do that?”

  Trish shrugged.

  “Let me think of a spell.” Trish had also noticed the circle of blood on what used to be my shirt had expanded from the size of a dollar to the size of a frisbee. “If only you hadn’t crashed my broom.”

  “If I didn’t,” I said, “I think he’d be in a worse state.”

  I didn’t know if that was true. But I had to start trusting my inner witch. Every time I hadn’t proved how wrong I’d been to fight my instincts.

  Even with Trish there, I felt alone and helpless.

  A rustling from some bushes nearby told me that wasn’t true.

  I turned to face it, thinking it was the kid with his gun back to finish us.

  Then Brad boomed, “Your Gran is on her way. And don’t worry, the moon will dissipate shortly. He’ll be back to his human form—only then can you take him to the hospital.”

  “If Gran’s coming,” I said, “can’t we just magic this bullet out of him?”

  I figured that was why Trish needed her—for a spell or something.

  “The short answer is no.” Brad made his way around me, and he put a reassuring raccoon paw on my back. At once, I felt comforted, like a hug from someone you’d missed for years and years.

  “He’s right. We’ve used a lot of magic already tonight,” Trish chimed in. “The good thing is, it’s midsummer. Or it was. The bad thing is, we’re already outside the witching hour.”

  Now that Trish mentioned it, I felt drained. Between freezing hundreds of people at the festival, her wiping their memories away, and whatever Gran had done, we’d used a lot of magic in a short time.

  Through the trees above us, the light faded; the moon was a slice of its larger self.

  Slowly, Dave’s hairy face and chest began to thin. His body contorted, and he howled with agony as he became himself again. But by the time his face was actually his face, he was unconscious. His transformation to man hadn’t done anything for the wound on his shoulder. If anything, it looked worse. I rewrapped the shirt.

  We didn’t have to wait long after that. Soon, we heard what could only be an octogenarian hoofing it through the woods and cursing with every other step.

  “I’m here. I’m here.” Gran stopped to catch her breath. “Why don’t you have a shirt on, dear?”

  I turned her so she got a better look at Dave.

  She pointed at the wound, her ruby red ring glittering in the moonlight. “Have you girls checked whether it was silver?”

  We shook our heads, but Gran was already muttering a spell. “The idiot,” she said. “Sterling silver. But I think we can save his life.”

  “How?” Trish asked.

  “By calling an ambulance,” Gran snapped. “Which one of you has your phone?”

  Trish handed Gran her phone.

  “Not me. You call it in.”

  Trish made the call.

  “He’ll be all right,” Gran reassured me. “Help me get him to the road. Repeat after me.”

  “Light as a feather. Stiff as a board.

  Let’s get this oaf to a hospital ward.”

  “Gran!”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Dave’s body floated into the air about waist high. I pushed him by his bare feet. We found the road, and somehow, the medics were already there.

  Willow’s cruiser was parked behind the ambulance.

  They loaded Dave up quickly. Neither medic had much to say. I wasn’t sure if that was part of a spell or if perhaps they were paranormals.

  Willow offered us a ride to
the hospital. “Nice bra,” she said, handing me a crumpled brown uniform shirt.

  “And where’ve you been tonight, Miss Clairvoyant?” Gran asked her.

  “Shrouded in mist,” Willow replied. “And you?”

  “Realigning the moon and the tides,” Gran said matter-of-factly.

  “Can you get me up to speed?” Willow asked us. “Someone’s been bad. I think Dave was right. There’s a hunter here.”

  “And they went hunting werewolf tonight,” I said.

  Trish and I took turns filling her in on the events of the Midsummer Festival on the way to the hospital, then told her about the kid who’d shot Dave. She was shaken. She and Dave had chosen not to go after him.

  “But how is that kid so powerful?” Trish asked.

  Gran didn’t reply.

  Lights flashing, siren on, it didn’t take long to get to the hospital. Dave was already in surgery when we arrived.

  “So we all agree that something crazy’s going on, right?” Willow whispered. We weren’t the only ones in the waiting room. I didn’t think we needed to worry. The other people had their own problems—they weren’t paying any attention to us.

  “Right,” Trish and I said in unison.

  “Maybe,” Gran said, out of sync.

  “And you’re sure it was that same kid who shot Dave?”

  “Yes.”

  Willow nodded. Then, without warning, she froze. Her eyes went cloudy white. A second later, she sprinted for the door.

  “Where are you going?” we asked.

  “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “You don’t want to wait and see if he’s all right?”

  “I already saw,” she called back. “And I think I know where to find the kid.”

  “I’m getting a ride home,” Trish said, getting up.

  “Me too.” Gran yawned.

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “Willow said he’s going to be all right. Our being here doesn’t do him any good.”

  “That’s not exactly what she said.”

  I was going to stay as long as it took—even if he was going to be all right. I needed to know Dave was going to be okay.

  An hour later, groggy and yawning, Dave’s sister, Imogene, arrived with his girls, all in pajamas.

  Though we didn’t know each other, Imogene squeezed me into the tightest of hugs.

  “Is Daddy going to be okay?” Elsie asked.

  I nodded, hoping it was true.

  In the waiting room, the girls got comfortable—comfortable enough to sleep. Kacie snored, laying across my lap with her head in the crook of my arm.

  “I appreciate you staying,” Imogene kept telling me. Eventually, she nodded off too.

  My eyes were tired. But my mind was too busy to sleep.

  It was all tied together. Mr. Caulfield’s death, whatever happened to Nell Baker in her cabin, the missing ghosts from Cyrus’s vineyard, and now this.

  Even the robbery—that same kid shot Dave. It couldn’t be coincidence. But was he really the one behind it?

  A doctor came in and said, “Marsters?”

  I rubbed Imogene’s shoulder, startling her awake.

  We joined the doctor. “How is he?” Imogene asked.

  “He lost a lot of blood, but I think he’s going to pull through,” the doctor said.

  Imogene nodded.

  “And the bullet?”

  The doctor gave her a sharp look. He knew why Imogene was asking. “Nothing to worry about there. It’s out of his system. We have him on a special drip to counter the effects.”

  “Good. Good.” A tear rolled down Imogene’s cheek. My eyes burned with tears of my own.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Imogene asked. “Can we see him?”

  “You can see him in the morning,” the doctor said. “Until then, we ask relatives and friends for blood donations.”

  I nodded. I’d be happy to give blood. Then I gasped.

  That was what we missed. Mr. Caulfield wasn’t killed over a lover’s quarrel with Cyrus. He was killed because of the blood he’d taken from one of Nell’s animals.

  And I thought I knew how to prove it.

  30

  Use the Force, Constance

  The first thing I did was call Trish—who wasn’t pleased to hear my voice, it still being dark outside. But this couldn’t wait. I tried to get through to Willow too. She was searching for someone far more dangerous than she probably realized. Not only some sort of wizard but a cold-blooded serial murderer to boot. One with inside knowledge of the whole town.

  I sent Brad to fetch Gran and Stevie, asking that we convene in the graveyard in hopes of gleaning the information we needed.

  A simple summoning spell, to prove Cyrus’s innocence and learn without a doubt who this hunter was. Between the three of us we were sure to have enough magic for a summoning spell. The problem had always been knowing precisely what we were summoning. Well, I’d worked that out.

  I’d worked everything out except finding a late-night ride to the graveyard. None of the ride sharing apps worked in Creel Creek, not even the shady ones.

  I gave Imogene another hug, then searched the hospital closets for a broom.

  If Trish could fly, so can I.

  The thought turned out to be enough of a spell. After several false starts, I was flying into the gray light of morning through the swirling fog in what I hoped was the direction of the graveyard.

  I landed with no fanfare just outside the gate. The broken gate, off its hinges. It lay in the dirt, barring no one’s entrance.

  “Brad?” I called. I’d beaten both Trish and Gran here. I was going to wait for them but impatience got the better of me.

  I strode inside with purpose, making my way up the hill to the tree they’d used to transfer their gifts to me. I’d squandered them, the foresight and all of the protection.

  But I could do this—I could do it on my own.

  “Turned by a witch into something wrong.

  Used by a vampire all along.

  He was the one who chose to stay.

  Who was the one who got away?”

  The wind whipped over the hill, stirring the branches of the tree. It ruffled my hair and whispered in my ear…

  Haaaalllll.

  That wasn’t right. I wanted to ask the spirits again. I wanted to tell them they were wrong. My magic failed.

  A shiver ran down my spine. Striding up the hill wearing a cloak and holding a shoulder-height black staff, complete with a skull on the tip, was Hal Aaron. Halitosis Hal himself.

  “You?” I accused.

  “Me.” A wicked smile revealed those gross mossy teeth.

  “I, uh, I—” I struggled to find words. “I’m warning you,” I said.

  Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you feel threatened—threaten back?

  He paid the threat no mind.

  “I’m not alone,” I warned him. I was completely alone. “Trish will be here soon. Gran will—”

  “Oh, Trish, I need you at the graveyard right now.” Hal mimicked my voice to a T.

  “It’s too early for this, Constance. Fine. I’ll be there.” This time, he used Trish’s voice. The voice on the other end of the line—back when I was sure that it was the kid in the green hoodie who’d done everything. Back when I was sure Trish was on her way.

  “How?”

  “A spell,” he said. “I cast it when I put my number into your phone.”

  I put a hand to my mouth.

  “Do you remember asking what I said? I thought for sure you’d figured me out.”

  At the time, it had seemed inconsequential. Getting him out of my hair. I had no intention of calling Hal. He’d tricked me—and probably spied on me as well.

  Reality set in like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. If it was Hal on the phone when I’d called Trish, then it was probably Hal on the phone when I called Willow as well.

  “Now you’re catching on,” he sneered.
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  It’s okay, I thought. I still have Gran. Brad was going to get her. He couldn’t stop that. Could he?

  “Oh, you don’t get it, do you?” He fake pouted. “I know all your moves. I banished your familiar to a realm he’ll never find his way out of.”

  I was too scared to scream.

  “Lucky for your Gran, the protection on her house is solid. Unlucky for you, she’s fast asleep. Now, to matters at hand.”

  “What—what do you want? What’s this all about?”

  He’d already gotten away with the murder of Mr. Caulfield. There was nothing I could offer him, but nothing I thought I’d done to deserve a gruesome end. I wondered if this was still about a date.

  “Your power.” Hal dug his staff into the ground. “Did you know you can take a witch’s power in her first year? It’s a very special year, turning forty. I’ll have it from you now.”

  Hal leveled his staff at my chest. But he came to a stop a few feet away, almost like an invisible barrier was blocking him. He backed up, then tried to round the invisible barrier. This time, he was flattened.

  Trish’s protection spell.

  He tried again and again. The spell was going to hold no matter what Hal did.

  “How’d you do it?” I tried to get him talking, to buy time to think.

  “Do what?” He jabbed at the air with his staff.

  “How’d you do all of this?”

  “I found the book,” he said. “The witch’s book. You know, she didn’t even miss me when I escaped. I think she let it happen. She knew what I was capable of.”

  “And how did you find the book?”

  “It fell on my doorstep, you could say. I used it to make the potion. I’d heard the witch threaten to use it one day—one day when her side of the bargain wasn’t such a good deal.”

  “But why? Why kill Mr. Caulfield?”

  “Why not?” Hal asked. He struggled, trying to force himself through the spell. “Caulfield was an insect. That tick didn’t even know I existed. He didn’t know he’d nourished himself for years on my blood. He treated me like a lowlife when it was him that was lower than low.”