Witch at Odds: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 2 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries)

by Juliette Harper

  Which sucked Wookie . . .

  You get the picture.

  If I was Luke, then we were at least a galaxy shy of anything that passed for an answer because my Obi Wan Kenobi was nowhere to be seen.

  ____________

  “FIONA,” Amity Prescott said, turning away from the front windows of her shop, “we’re asking too much of Jinx.”

  At the back of the store, Fiona Ryan’s spirit glowed in the dim light. “We have no choice, Amity,” she said. “Brenna has been set free. Jinx is our only hope now.”

  Amity said nothing for a minute, watching as the ghost of Lemuel Maddox pushed a spectral broom outside the empty building that had once been his hardware store.

  “It’s disconcerting to know so many of them,” she said finally, gesturing toward the pale shades of her former friends and neighbors milling around the dark courthouse square.

  “We both grew up here,” Fiona said, floating up to stand beside her. “Of course we’re going to know them.”

  “I cannot believe Jasper McCain buried Martha in that dress,” Amity said absently. “Look how big her butt looks in that thing.”

  Fiona smiled. “Well, to be fair to Jasper, Martha was laying down in the casket. We couldn’t see her butt.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Amity said stubbornly. “Just because a woman is dead doesn’t mean she shouldn’t look her best. I mean for God’s sake, what about that pink polyester monstrosity your little sister laid you out wearing? Did you own that damn thing or did Kelly actually pay money for it?”

  Fiona scoffed. “Land of Goshen no, I didn’t own it,” she said. “If ever a fabric was the tool of the devil it’s polyester. That whole getup was Kelly Ann’s idea, and it was on her dime, not mine.”

  Still frowning, Amity said, “Your little sister could help her daughter with all of this if she just would. She’s mule stubborn about her magical heritage.”

  Sighing, Fiona said, “Let’s sit down. My feet hurt.”

  “Fiona,” Amity said, “you’re dead. Your feet can’t hurt.”

  “Fine,” Fiona countered, “but if I were alive they would be hurting. And besides, we can’t do anything at the moment but stand here and watch, which I, for one, don’t want to do.”

  Still grumbling a little under her breath, Amity followed Fiona’s spirit back to the sitting area she’d arranged next to the cash register. In addition to selling art and pottery, Amity taught ‘Draw Pictures While Drinking Wine’ classes once a week. By the time she uncorked the third bottle, some of her patrons needed a soft place to rest their creativity.

  “If we still had a proper coven, we could handle this whole fiasco in half an hour,” Amity said, plopping down on the floral loveseat. “Brenna Sinclair wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “That’s a bit optimistic even for you, Amity,” Fiona said, taking one of the chairs. “You’ve stood by Knasgowa’s grave the same as I have and you’ve felt the power. We were raised on the legend of what happened the night their souls were bound for eternity.”

  “Which is why you should have prepared Jinx with proper lessons in witchcraft!” Amity said, annoyance and frustration punctuating her words. “Seriously, Fiona, what were you thinking? You just handed that poor child her powers without a whit of preparation. Is it any wonder she’s making mistakes right and left?”

  Fiona’s eyes flashed defensively. “You talk like I planned all this, Amity,” she said, sounding wounded. “I had absolutely no idea Jinx would ask for me to awaken her magic. Thanks to my pious little sister turning her back on our lineage, I didn’t even think Jinx knew about our magic.”

  “Are you so sure she did?” Amity asked. “It sounds to me like the girl made a sleepy, off-hand remark and you jumped on it.”

  Fiona opened her mouth to protest, then shut it and fell silent.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Amity pressed.

  “You’re half right,” Fiona said. “Jinx did ask for magic, but, no, she didn’t know what she was doing. I just couldn’t let the power die with me, Amity. Jinx is the last of our line and her potential is enormous.”

  Amity shook her head. “I understand that,” she said, “and I probably would have done the same thing, but why aren’t you helping her more now? Why didn’t you tell her about Knasgowa’s grave?”

  “Because she wasn’t ready,” Fiona said. “I wanted her to get comfortable with her powers first. It never occurred to me she’d go raise a cemetery full of spirits.”

  “And do we know exactly why she did that?” Amity asked pointedly.

  “Because she felt sorry for the souls trapped at the graveyard,” Fiona said, her voice filled with loving pride. “She did it because she has a good heart.”

  Setting her mouth in a firm line, Amity said, “That good heart is not going to help with Brenna. And just how do you think Jinx is going to feel when she finds out the truth about Chase McGregor?”

  “I think we have more than enough problems right now, Amity Prescott, without letting that particular cat out of the bag,” Fiona said briskly.

  Amity cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “Cat being the operative term,” she said sardonically.

  “That will be more than enough out of you,” Fiona said. “I have every intention of talking to Jinx tomorrow. I would have materialized tonight, but Tori and Colonel Longworth were right; Jinx was exhausted. She needed some sleep. Besides, Myrtle will never let Brenna come into the shop.”

  “Well, thank heavens for that,” Amity said, “but I wish you’d let me tell Jinx the truth about myself.”

  “No,” Fiona said. “If you uncloak your powers, Brenna will sense you. We have to wait.”

  “For what, exactly?” Amity asked.

  Fiona smiled. “For Jinx to fully embrace her powers," she said. "Then she'll know that she’s more than a match for any black witch who crosses her path, including Brenna Sinclair.”

  “If she lives that long,” Amity muttered darkly.

  13

  Whether it was the effect of the tea or just exhaustion, I did sleep that night. I woke up to the sound of Tori feeding the cats in the kitchen, which allowed me the luxury of a few more minutes under the covers. I was staring at the ceiling thinking when Tori said from the doorway, “Knock, knock.”

  I raised my head and saw that she was holding a cup of coffee in each hand. “Oh my God,” I said, “the Angel of Caffeination. Good morning.”

  Tori laughed and walked to the edge of the bed to hand me one of the cups. I scooted up against the headboard, making room for her to sit down at the same time.

  “How did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Amazingly well,” I said. “I never believed that chamomile worked, but it sure did last night.”

  “Well, duh.” Tori grinned. “Of course it worked. I spiked it with cherry vanilla Nyquil.”

  I rolled my eyes. “God, you are turning into my mother.”

  “On the matter of Nyquil knockout drops, Kelly has a point,” Tori said. “Seriously, you needed some sleep, and you were all set to lay in here and worry all night.”

  Taking a sip of my coffee, which was fragrant and bold (see? the whole barista thing is contagious), I said, “Don’t you think we kind of have a few things worth worrying about?”

  “Yeah,” she conceded, “but I could see in your eyes that you were making up stuff to add to the worry pile. Come on, Jinksy, I know you. You are totally a worst case scenario kind of gal.”

  I looked down into my cup, absently running my index finger around the rim. “We’ve got a good thing started here,” I said softly.

  Tori shifted on the bed. “Go on,” she prompted.

  Before I could lose my courage I blurted out, “I don’t want Chase to find out about all this and think I’m nuts and never want to have anything to do with me ever again.”

  And immediately felt like a total idiot.

  “I thought that might be part of it,” Tori said, completely ignoring my embar
rassment. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  Still looking down at my cup, I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Well, I do get why you’re worried,” she said in an exaggerated, sympathetic tone. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve had great luck in the boyfriend department.”

  My head snapped up. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” I asked, instantly indignant.

  Tori regarded me with a cocked eyebrow. “Really, Jinksy? Do I need to list them off?”

  Busted.

  “You’re not a heck of a lot better,” I grumbled.

  “Agreed,” she said, “which is why I think Chase McGregor is a real catch. I mean, honestly, he’s as crazy about cats as you are. You will never find another guy with that particular qualification.”

  Returning my gaze to the surface of my coffee, I said, “I don’t want to screw any of this up. Not the store. Not the magic. And not Chase.”

  Tori reached out and caught my free hand, squeezing my fingers. “You won’t,” she said simply.

  “How do you know?” I asked uncertainly.

  “Because I won’t let you,” she said mischievously.

  “Oh, right, because without your expert guidance, my life is one big wreck waiting to happen,” I said, but I was teasing and we both knew it.

  “Darn straight,” she said. “Now get up, get dressed, and get downstairs. My furniture is being delivered today and that hot man you’re all worried about is gonna be working right here under our roof all day.”

  Now that was motivation if I ever heard it.

  After spending a little more time than usual getting dressed, I went downstairs anticipating a really good-looking guy, not a thoroughly ticked off one. Mark Haskell, my contractor, was standing in the center of the shop talking to Chase. Mark’s arms were crossed defensively over his chest, and as I came within earshot I heard him say, “She could have just said she wanted someone else to do it.”

  “Do what?” I asked, honestly perplexed. “And good morning.”

  “Morning,” Mark grumbled. Then he looked over my shoulder and said, “Hey, Tori.”

  “Hey, Mark,” she answered. “Somebody take a leak in your Post Toasties this morning?”

  “Very funny,” Mark said, turning serious. “If you wanted to get someone else to do the downstairs bathroom, that’s your choice, but you could have at least let me put in a counter bid.”

  I had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “I didn’t hire anybody to do the bathroom,” I said.

  “Really, Jinx?” Mark said. “You honestly expect me to believe that?”

  Beside him, Chase bristled. “I know I didn’t just hear you call the lady a liar, did I?” he said, putting a kind of menacingly chivalrous undertone on the question.

  Great. Just what I needed. Testosterone drama at this hour of the day.

  “Mark,” I tried again, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Just then Beau materialized behind the two men and supplied the answer, which only Tori and I could hear.

  “Darby was trying to be helpful,” the Colonel said. “He had no idea your contractor would react with such . . . territoriality.”

  Yeah, that’s one way to put it.

  Time to go into improv mode.

  I feigned cluing in to what was going on. I almost slapped my head, but decided that was a little over the top.

  “Oh!” I said, putting way too much emphasis on the word. “Are you talking about the cleaning service I hired? Did they do a good job?”

  Shooting me a dubious look, Mark said, “You tell me.” He strode over to the bathroom door and flung it open.

  What’s the next level up from immaculate?

  Darby had transformed the dingy old bathroom into sparkling brilliance. Fresh paint covered the walls, and the fixtures were so spotless I swear there were those little starbursts glinting off the high spots like you see in staged photos.

  “Uh, wow,” I stalled.

  “Are you telling me a cleaning service did this?” Mark demanded.

  Okay. This whole outraged manhood thing was getting a little old. He was starting to sound like I’d stepped out on him with the Tidy Bowl man.

  “Yes, Mark,” I answered, putting a little sarcastic stress on his name. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Take a look at the fixtures yourself. There’s not one new piece of hardware in there.”

  God, I hoped I was right about that.

  We watched as Mark walked in the bathroom and stooped over to look at the toilet. Then he got down on his hands and knees and examined the pipes, finally taking a small magnifying glass out of his pants pocket. At least five minutes passed before he leaned back and said, “Well, I will just be damned.”

  Quietly letting out the breath I’d been holding, I said. “I told them if they found anything loose they could tighten it up.” It was a tiny embellishment on an already not-quite-lie, but I didn’t push it any farther. “Other than that, they just cleaned,” I said, trying to look like an innocent and satisfied customer.

  “Well,” he said grudgingly, “you got your money’s worth and I am out a remodel. This place will pass inspection with flying colors.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Darby peering at me anxiously from inside a stack of apple crates I used to display soap.

  “Fantastic,” I said, purely for his benefit. “I’ll be sure to tell the guy who did the cleaning that his work is first rate.”

  From the depths of the display, Darby flashed me a relieved smile.

  “So,” I said, trying for levity, “is there any other reason you’re here on a Saturday, Mark, or did you just show up to rant about my bathroom.”

  He had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he said. “I just dropped by to bring Chase some finishing nails and paint. I didn’t mean to pitch a fit.”

  I wanted to say, “You mean you didn’t intend on acting like a big baby with hurt feelings,” but I stopped myself. Just take the win, Jinx.

  “Okay,” I said, “then let’s start over. Good morning, guys.”

  Both men grinned and we all exchanged second good mornings, which led to a little small talk about how the day’s work would go. Tori’s furniture delivery was set for 10 a.m. She and Chase disappeared into the new micro apartment out back to discuss placement, and Mark excused himself to get to another job.

  When I knew I was alone in the front of the store, I said, “You can come out now, Darby.”

  The little man was suddenly just standing there in front of me. “I am sorry I made that man angry, Mistress,” the brownie said, sounding worried. “I overheard that the repair of the bathroom was an impediment to your plans for the coffee house, so I thought I would help.”

  “You did help, Darby,” I said sincerely, “and I very much appreciate it.”

  He looked like a puppy that had just been forgiven for piddling on the rug.

  “You do?” he said, his face lighting up. “Oh, thank you, Mistress. May I make you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, you may,” I said.

  Okay, sue me. I was starting to like having an accommodating magical creature in the house.

  Darby’s tiny form disappeared immediately. I’d given Chase a key so he could get started early, which meant the front door was already open. I quickly swept off the sidewalk and was looking at my email when a cup of coffee appeared on the table beside me. Darby had the whole “unobtrusive service” thing down pat.

  Fortunately, I had taken a sip and put the cup back down when a voice on the other side of the counter said, “Jinx, honey, do you think you’re drinking too much of that stuff?”

  I looked up to find Aunt Fiona’s ghost standing in front of me.

  My first impulse was to fling my arms around her neck, but then I remembered that I was mad at her.

  “Now you show up?” I asked crossly.

  “Don’t use that tone with me, dear,” Aunt Fiona said pleasantly. “It ma
kes you sound like your mother, and I don’t think you want that, now do you?”

  She had me there.

  “I could have used your help in the cemetery the other night,” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “Where were you then?”

  Fiona seemed to give the question some thought and then said, “Monte Carlo, I think.”

  “I am not interested in your jet setting afterlife,” I shot back tersely. “I need you to tell me how to undo this mess.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Aunt Fiona said, still smiling beatifically, “but I can tell you more of the story than what Darby recounted last night.”

  Fantastic.

  My dead aunt wasn’t giving me a shred of help, but she was eavesdropping.

  Fiona opened her mouth to go on, but I held up my hand.

  “No,” I said, “not now. This isn’t just about me anymore. Tori is right in the middle of this mess, too, and so is Colonel Longworth and Darby. You can just come back tonight when we’re all here alone and say whatever you have to say then.”

  “Well,” Aunt Fiona huffed, “aren’t you in a mood. I may have been mistaken in my assumption about that coffee. If I were you, I’d drink another couple of cups before dealing with any customers. You’re downright surly, Norma Jean Hamilton.”

  And with that completely unwelcome use of my Christian name, she was gone.

  “You better be back!” I hissed, a little louder than I intended.

  “Did you say something, Jinksy?” Tori called from the back of the shop.

  “No,” I called back, “just talking to myself.”

  14

  The rest of the day actually passed with blessed normalcy. The deliverymen arrived on time, and between Chase and Tori both giving them the eagle eye, everything was carried in and put in place with no mishaps. Chase supervised the assembly of the Murphy bed, which fit perfectly into the recessed spot Mark had created for it, and also put together the combination shelving unit / stairs that led up to the tiny loft Tori called her “chick cave.”

  Even though I knew Aunt Fiona was supposed to be back that evening, I didn’t feel right not asking Chase to stay for supper. The three of us shared pizza and beer in Tori’s new digs and talked for a while before Chase unsuccessfully tried to hide a massive yawn.