Kiss and Spell (11 Valentine's Day Paranormal Short Stories)

by Liz Schulte

  Thor pawed at me impatiently and I said, “Okay, Thor. I’ll call in the order.”

  The pizza was going to take an hour to arrive. Just enough time to soak in sudsy water, spread some blankets and pillows on the floor and snuggle in for movie night.

  My toe was already in the tub when the doorbell rang. Again.

  “Son of a jacknut. I cannot believe this.” I wrapped my robe around myself and contemplated how I would kill Chip. Shove the orchid down his throat? Strangle him with the daisies? Rose thorn attack?

  Thor didn’t bother getting up this time and I couldn’t blame him. My cottage lost two degrees of heat every time I unlocked the stupid door. I flung it open and said, “Someone better be dead dammit!”

  On my porch, my great aunt Lolly blinked. “Well, we aren’t quite sure about that, dear. That’s where you come in.”

  Chapter Two

  I studied my grandmother’s oldest sister for a moment, trying to determine if she was playing with a full deck today, or if the dealer was taking a nap in the back room.

  Her copper hair fell in finger waves around her head. Her lipstick was painted between the lines, shadow a shade of taupe that complimented her mossy eyes. She was wearing a green scarf around her neck like a normal person, rather than as a sash like a Miss America contestant. All in all, she seemed fairly lucid, which for Lolly was a great day.

  “What are you talking about, aunt Lolly? Is Birdie okay? Fiona?” I asked, wondering what she meant by her comment. “Did something happen to one of the guests?”

  Birdie, Lolly, and Fiona owned a bed and breakfast. The grand old painted lady was steps away from the cottage I lived in because the cottage was also theirs, situated on their property. The place was built by my great grandfather and it’s called Geraghty Girls’ House now because that has been their nickname for decades and in a tiny, touristy town dotted with centuries-old buildings, folks didn’t like change much.

  Lolly said, “Your grandmother is fine. Fiona is too, but we could really use your help.”

  I sighed. “Look, Lolly, I just ordered a pizza, I’m really tired, it’s freezing outside, and there’s a sappy movie in the living room with my name on it. I’m really not in the mood for helping you set up a game of pin the tail on the wahoo or whatever it is Fiona has planned for your weekend guests.”

  Fiona’s gift was matchmaking and all matters of the heart.

  Lolly shot me a wide grin, raised one eyebrow. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Stacy.”

  “No sweat. Take care.” I smiled as I closed the door.

  Lolly punched an arm out and banged the door open wide. I jumped. Thor gave a startled bark.

  My great aunt, who usually couldn’t connect the dots if you drew her a roadmap, had a look on her face like she was about to invade a small country.

  “Did I give you the impression that you had a choice in the matter?” she snapped. Lolly never snapped. Birdie did. All the time. Like an alligator snaps at a chicken leg. But Lolly rarely raised her voice and it scared the spit out of me.

  “Um, no, I mean—" I stammered.

  “Get dressed, get the book, bring your familiar and get over to the house. Now!”

  I gulped. “Okay, okay, calm down. Geesh. How much have you had to drink?” Liquor made Lolly lucid. Somehow it chased the way the dementia that usually plagued her. Nobody could figure it out.

  She pulled out a flask and I caught a whiff of Jameson as I slipped past her into my bedroom.

  “Enough to keep me on point. Now hurry along.”

  I climbed into a pair of jeans and thick wool socks, strapped on some boots, and dug out a creamy Irish sweater from my closet. I slipped into a tank top, covered it with the sweater and reached for my lucky charm—an Amethyst necklace Birdie had given me for protection. Lolly was urging me to get a move on, so I skipped the brush and slapped on a knit cap. Then I grabbed the book just before she shoved me out the door.

  The house wasn’t far away, but the three feet of snow hindered our progress. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Lolly said, “You really need to see for yourself.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. But knowing the Geraghty Girls it was something absurd like they tried to cast a love spell that went horribly wrong and now my grandmother was engaged to a WWF fighter or something.

  A buttery glow illuminated the back door window that led to the kitchen. The glass was steamy as if someone was cooking, which made sense. Often on special holiday weekends, the Geraghty Girls would cook up something special for their guests. Something memorable.

  Amethyst was a town where few people locked their doors and my family was no exception. I twisted the handle and stepped right into a nightmare.

  Chapter Three

  The book slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. My mouth fell open at the sight before me. There was the faint sound of paws shuffling over the threshold, Lolly shutting the door and sliding the chain onto the lock, but other than that, the world seemed to stand stone still.

  On the far wall of the kitchen, pressed up against the cast iron stove, was Fiona, the middle Geraghty Girl and Ann Margaret look alike. Her perfectly coifed auburn hair was pulled back by a thin headband. Her lashes were illegally long. She was wearing leggings paired with a knit top and chiffon skirt, tiny gold flats covered her feet and there were no less than six dangerously sharp, gleaming knives aimed directly at her head.

  No one was holding them.

  Fiona caught my eye, gulped some air and said, “Hello Stacy.”

  “Hello. Doing a little cooking?” I asked.

  “Something like that.” Fiona’s face was pinched and her lips barely moved.

  I shifted my gaze to Lolly. “This is a joke, right? Please tell me this is some new spell you’ve been working on just to mess with me.”

  “You’re not a mess. You just need to wear lipstick once in a while. Maybe comb your hair.” She hiccupped and I noticed her eyes were beginning to glaze. “Come on, I have just the tutu for you.” Unfocused Lolly was beginning to resurface and I couldn’t let that happen. We needed all hands on deck.

  I waved my fingers in front of her face. “Stay with me, Auntie. Take another hit off that flask, okay?”

  Lolly looked down at her hands and when she found nothing, she rooted around in the pocket of her fluffy coat. She grinned and winked, then pulled out the silver engraved flask, unscrewed the cap and gulped a bit more whiskey.

  “Better?” I asked as she pocketed the booze.

  “Better.” She nodded.

  I looked at Fiona. “I guess this is the part where I ask what the hell is going on?”

  It had to be a trick. Had to be. Birdie must have put them up to it.

  Thor stood next to me panting. One pointy ear was aimed at Fiona, the other at the back door, presumably listening for a car to pull into the driveway carrying a pizza.

  Fiona said, “I had just checked on the beef Wellington and when I turned around, the knives flew out of the butcher’s block straight at me, and I’ve been rooted here ever since.”

  I crossed my arms. Something was off here. The protection spell that wove around the house was solid. They constantly checked it for gaps and reinforced it as necessary, especially beneath a full moon, which we had just a few days ago.

  “No way. No.” Shook my head and waved a finger at my aunt. “This is a gag. Birdie probably wanted to teach me some stupid lesson and this is some kind of metaphor for always being sharp or alert or something.” I looked around the kitchen. “Come on now, where are the wires?”

  There was no answer, just a look of confusion on Fiona’s face and a look of incredulity on Lolly’s.

  “What is wrong with you, child? Why on earth would we do this on purpose?” asked Lolly

  I grinned and shook my head, stepping toward Fiona. As I did, every one of those deadly knives flipped over to face me.

  “I think you made them angry,” Fiona said.

 
I gulped. “Th-that’s absurd. Knives don’t have feelings.” But just in case, I froze in place and said, “Nobody move.”

  Fiona stiffened. Lolly stopped breathing. Thor just stared at the blades, growling. I tried to concentrate, focusing on the energy. There was no ghost that I could see. No messages sent to me, no visions penetrating my head. Suddenly the knives clinked together and flung themselves all over the kitchen, pirouetting through the air like a ballet choreographed by Freddy Krueger. They sliced through onions, dish towels, and one unfortunate rosemary plant.

  “Everyone under the table! Now!” I barked.

  The two Geraghty Girls, myself and Thor all scrambled beneath the enormous apothecary island that sat in the center of the room. The blades flew above our heads, whooshing this way and that. One must have cut into a lemon because a citrus scent filled the air. All around us, glass was breaking, cabinets were cracking, spices were spilling, and the only thought on my mind was of Birdie. What if she walked in on this attack?

  “Guys, where is Birdie?” I whispered.

  “She’s having dinner with a friend tonight. She won’t be home for at least an hour maybe more,” Fiona whispered back.

  That offered me some comfort.

  “Do you see a spirit, Stacy?” Lolly asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t see or even feel anyone.” I frowned. “I’m still new at this remember. It could be a spirit, even if I can’t see it.”

  Fiona looked at Lolly. “Dark magic perhaps?”

  Lolly shrugged. “I don’t see how. The house is protected from psychic attacks.” She was reaching for a thought that seemed to be just out of her grasp.

  The oven timer dinged and all the knives immediately fell to the floor. We exchanged glances as we heard the door to the stove open and close. We waited for several moments until there was no more sound, save for our heartbeats. Just as I was about to crawl out from under the table, it rattled with an odd vibration. Then, slow as a snail in summer, one of the knives plunged into the top of the table and began carving away at the wood. Every crack, every etch cut me to the core like nails on a chalkboard and I cringed.

  Finally, it seemed that the assault was over. I dragged myself out first, then helped Lolly and Fiona to their feet.

  My aunts scanned the kitchen in disbelief, assessing the damage with abject horror.

  I could only stare at the old center island. Or rather, what was cut into it. A broken heart.

  The two Geraghty Girls must have finally caught my gaze because they set their sights on the table.

  I removed the hat from my head and scratched my noggin. “Lucy, Ethel, would you like to tell me just what the heck you two have been up to?”

  The two Geraghty Girls pointed at each other. They each said, “She did it.”

  Chapter Four

  Birdie stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, lips pursed into a grim line. “I loved that table.” She cut her dinner engagement short because that’s just what you do when your base is under siege. There was the slightest hint of a whine in her voice, but mostly she was annoyed. I could tell because she was fiddling with the two thousand bangle bracelets she always wore and her eyes took on a darker shade of pine.

  I had the glass swept up into a neat pile and was searching for a dustpan. Thor was softly snoring under the apothecary island and Lolly was sitting at the table, coloring in the carved heart with red nail polish.

  “Fiona, I think her flask is empty,” I said.

  “All we have left is the wine for the guests,” Fiona said.

  I looked at Lolly who was wearing a pot holder like a beanie. “I’ll run out and get some,” I offered, eager to escape my grandmother’s icy stare.

  “You will do no such thing, Anastasia. You will stay here and explain to me why my kitchen is a disaster zone,” said Birdie.

  I hate it when she called me Anastasia. Mostly because it wasn’t my name. “What? Me? I didn’t do anything.” I pointed to Fiona, the Cupid of the family, and Lolly, the trickster goddess. “You should be mad at those two knuckleheads. They’re worse than imps.”

  Because honestly, I was an innocent bystander in all of this.

  Lolly said, “I had an imp once. Taught him to tend to my tomato plants.” She looked up, her eyes dancing with memories and not much else. “Did you know imps are allergic to tomatoes?”

  I raised a hand, “See? Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

  Birdie cocked a perfectly arched brow. “Oh? And what of the spirit? Why couldn’t you connect with the energy? Why couldn’t you see who it was who attacked us?”

  Was she serious? It’s not like my gift was an exact science. As far as I knew, there weren’t a whole lot of rules in the spirit world. “Okay, first of all, there was no ‘us’. You, grandmother, were not here when the attack knives tried to filet us. Second, I don’t think it was a spirit. I didn’t see or feel any ghostly energy and besides”—I pointed to the aunts—“I think they cast a spell that caused this, they’re just too chicken to tell you.”

  Lolly flapped her elbows and squawked.

  Fiona crossed her arms and looked at me. “Don’t be absurd. No magic happens in this house without the consent of all who live here.”

  I said, “Fine then. Doesn’t mean you didn’t make a mistake in casting.”

  Fiona scoffed at that.

  Birdie calmly walked over to the stove and pointed at the beef Wellington that was resting on top of it. She aimed her gaze at me. “I know of no magic that would serve dinner. So what does that tell you?”

  She was right, dammit. Magic could be pretty powerful, but it wasn’t like you could whip up a spell that would clean the house, tune the car, and cook a casserole to perfection. Despite what Walt Disney would have people believe.

  “I guess, maybe it was a spirit,” I admitted reluctantly.

  “And?” Birdie urged.

  “And apparently it likes French cuisine.”

  Birdie rolled her eyes.

  A knock at the back door interrupted this frustrating conversation.

  “Who in the world?” Birdie asked.

  Fiona said, “The guests are all checked in.”

  She didn’t have to point out that they wouldn’t come to the back door anyway. It was impossible to see from the front of the house and this section was cordoned off from the guest quarters.

  I peeked through the window and saw a ball cap with the logo of my favorite pizza place on it. Townies knew that I lived in the Geraghty Girls’ guest cottage and they also knew that I helped out at the inn a lot. So I suppose the delivery person came here when I didn’t answer the door.

  No matter, though. I was saved by the bell. So to speak.

  “That’s for me,” I said.

  I opened the back door to find Chip standing there with a pizza box. “Yeah, it’s $17.50,” he said without looking up.

  “Chip?” I asked. “Are you moonlighting?”

  Chip let out an irritated sigh at the sound of my voice and looked up. I reached for the box and our hands grazed. Something swirled in his brown eyes and he said, “Oh, hey Stacy. It’s my uncle’s place, so I help out sometimes.” He stood there grinning like he had just seen his first wet tee shirt contest.

  There was a weird vibe emanating from him. I took a step back and reached for the money in my pocket. I handed him a twenty and said. “Keep it.”

  He looked at me like he had just won the lottery.

  “Really? Gee, thanks.” He leaned against the doorframe and said, “Hey I like that sweater. Brings out the color of your eyes.”

  “It’s white,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, I mean the white part.” He had the look of a dog waiting for a Milkbone.

  What the hell was wrong with him? “Okay, Chip, thanks a bunch.” I tried to shut the door, but he was still leaning against the frame.

  He said, “Hey so, how about dinner sometime? My uncle lets me eat for free at his place.” He tried to touch my shoulder, but I dodged his
hand.

  “Ew. No. Bye, Chip.”

  He didn’t take the hint until he heard Thor growl behind me. That seemed to snap him out of his trance. He straightened up, said, “Well maybe coffee sometime.” Then he scurried away like a rat back to his cage.

  I shut the door, a little bit stunned. What was that all about?

  Fiona said, “I don’t mean to intrude, dear, but isn’t he a bit young for you?”

  I set the pizza box on the counter, tossed a slice to Thor who chomped it up in two bites, and faced Fiona.

  “He is a lot young for me, Fiona, like jailbait young, and a lot moronic for me. In fact, that kid can’t stand me, so now I want to know what you did and I want to know right now.”

  I tapped the counter waiting for an answer. Fiona and Birdie exchanged a look while Lolly sat there singing Love Is a Battlefield and making a tiara out of silverware. It was actually kind of pretty.

  Birdie shot Fiona a questioning look. Fiona shrugged. “What? It was the typical Valentine’s Day spell to enhance love, that’s all. You weren’t here, so naturally, I had to improvise.”

  “What Valentine’s Day spell? What are you talking about?” I asked.

  I had been away for some time working as a reporter in Chicago after college. I had only been back in Amethyst for less than a year (now working for our local paper), so I wasn’t up to speed on their practices, let alone, their regular rituals that took place at the inn. Sure, I knew they always celebrated the pagan Sabbats. After all, they were witches, bred from a long line of Celtic Druids who hailed from Kildare, Ireland. But Valentine’s Day had never been on my childhood syllabus when I practiced with Birdie.

  Birdie said, “It’s possible that this has something to do with the spell, I suppose.” She looked around the kitchen. “But this is not the work of a spell gone awry. This is the work of a spirit. A very unhappy one.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “So what do we do?”