Haunted by Murder

by ReGina Welling

  With the edge of oblivion rushing toward her, Clara reached for the easiest magic in her arsenal and clothed herself in Balefire. Mason Pangborn’s proximity to her protected him from the flames, but he had no way of knowing that and leapt away screaming as if he really were on fire.

  Clara rose like gravity was a mere inconvenience, turned a face flickering with both flame and fury on Mason, and ran through a list of possible spells to cast. Each one carrying a higher karmic debt than the last. But he’d killed and planned to kill again, and he deserved to pay.

  As if fueled by her emotions, the Balefire raced over Clara’s skin in a display that went from blue to blinding white.

  “What are you—an angel or a demon?” Covering his eyes, Mason cowered at her feet. “Don’t burn me. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  Later, Clara would admit to feeling let down that the mere sight of her had been enough to break Mason. Hexing him would have felt more satisfying. She let the Balefire die out with a puff.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sounds like you have a stain on your conscience and it’s making you hallucinate. Who did you not mean to kill, Mason? Bradley Graham?”

  “Yes, Yes. Brad. I never meant it to happen.” He stared at her like he was trying to see under her skin to what might lie beneath.

  “You meant to kill me, though.” Stephanie stepped out of the closet and flicked on the lights. Caught in the act, Mason had two options and Clara almost hoped he’d choose the stupid one. If he tried to run, she could justify a hex after all. Something easy like a two-left feet curse. Just a temporary one to keep him from getting away.

  Much to Clara’s disappointment, he chose the anti-climactic option.

  “How could you? After I treated you like family.” Something caught Stephanie’s eye, and she pulled the sleeve of her nightgown down over her hand for protection before reaching to pick up the item.

  “And you intended to frame me with this.” Careful to avoid leaving fingerprints, she turned her hand palm up to reveal a glass paperweight.

  “What was the plan? Knock me out, plant the evidence, then stage a suicide? What could you possibly hope to gain?”

  The sound of an approaching siren indicated Mag had come through on that front, at least.

  “I only needed another month and everything would have been fine. I’d have put all the money back, and no one would have known a thing.”

  The whole sordid story came out in great detail, in part because Clara positioned herself over Chief Cobb’s shoulder and every time Mason stalled or tried to backtrack, she let a little Balefire play over her hands or face, and he rushed to continue.

  On the fateful day, Mason had received a phone call and agreed to an early morning meeting to discuss Brad’s concerns. Thinking it had to do with Cheyenne’s ridiculous plea for startup capital, Mason was blindsided when presented with proof he’d been embezzling funds.

  “After the first bad investment, I thought I had a sure thing, but the second one went south on me, too. So I borrowed a little. Just enough to meet escrow on the house and office. I only needed one good payoff, and I’d be back in the black.”

  “Oh Mason, if you’d needed money, you could have asked. I’d have given you any amount. You didn’t have to take everything.” He had the grace to look ashamed when Stephanie’s voice hitched.

  It had been a short leap between borrowing enough to make a couple of payments, and using foundation money to try and reverse his losses.

  “I thought I’d covered my tracks, but he had copies of the evidence and refused to see reason. He was going to go to Stephanie with proof, and I had to stop him. I wasn’t in my right mind when it happened.”

  “What happened to Bradly Graham?” Cobb prodded.

  “I don’t think Stephanie needs to hear this. Come on, dear.” Constance had come up with Cobb when he arrived, and she tried her best to drag Stephanie out of the room before Mason could tell his story.

  “No, I need to know.” Stephanie refused to budge, but gripped the housekeeper’s hand tightly.

  “We argued, and I agreed to come clean, then when he turned to leave, I picked up the paperweight from my desk and hit him on the head with it.”

  Through the rest of Mason’s confession, Stephanie remained stoic. When he described the Port Harbor back alley where he dumped the body, and throwing Brad’s wallet out the window when he found it in his car, she stared straight ahead.

  But when Cobb slapped the cuffs on Mason, and prepared to lead him out, she rose from her seat, and walked deliberately over to him. Her eyes were burning holes of anger when she reared back and slapped him with all her might. Once, then twice while the police chief watched, but didn’t interfere.

  Huffingtons had always held sway in the town of Harmony, and from what Clara could tell, he thought Mason deserved it anyway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Please, stay one more night,” Stephanie urged. Her eyes looked dark in a face paled by trauma, and Clara couldn’t find a way to say no. Besides, there was Roma still hanging around in all her ghostly glory, and Mag nursing the world’s worst magical hangover.

  The pair of them had shown up about an hour after Cobb pulled out of the driveway with his prisoner. Mag looked like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe after a day at the carnival. She still had on the fringed jacket, and her hair stuck up on one side. But she was relatively sober, which was a miracle in and of itself.

  Still, she was cranky and Clara thought going home sounded less fun by the minute.

  “If you’re certain we won’t be a burden.”

  “Nonsense.” Seeming eager to make amends for her earlier suspicions, Constance cast a worried eye over Stephanie. “You’ll stay. I’ll make a nice pot of soup.”

  Mag shot her sister a killing look, got back a smirk, and tried to make the best of the situation. “With dumplings?” If Constance made them, no doubt they’d be like succulent clouds of perfection.

  “Of course.” The deal was struck, and Mag couldn’t complain when she slid a fork through the first dumpling and found it studded with fresh sage.

  “Just like Granny used to make.” With that high praise, Mag fed the yawning pit created by too much wine, not enough sleep, and the backlash from Hagatha’s sober-up spell.

  The evening slid by in a blur of conversation about anything other than the events of the previous night. Stephanie never mentioned Brad’s name, but whenever she fell silent, her face slid into sorrowful lines and the others pulled her back into the mix.

  By the time Constance took herself off to the kitchen to brew the evening tea, Stephanie’s eyes were already drooping.

  “I’m not sure I need it tonight.” She held her protest until Constance was out of hearing. “It tastes like dirty dishrag. With hints of mint and licorice and not a granule of sugar allowed to soften the blow. But it helps me sleep.”

  For about an hour as it turned out. Just as Clara fell into a light doze, a series of shrieks lifted her off the bed and onto her feet, crouched and ready to do battle.

  Having come through the adjoining bathroom, Mag popped through the door with pillow creases on her face, a wild look in her eyes, and a wand in her hand. Balefire sparks dribbled from the fingertips of her other hand.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Storing away the image of her sister so she could poke fun at her later, Clara’s feet hit the floor. “It’s Stephanie.”

  Two long strides and Clara had just yanked open the door when the next scream came from the hallway and Stephanie stumbled toward her.

  Tucked into Clara’s bed, Stephanie brushed sweat-soaked hair back from her face and took a sip of cold water. “You don’t understand, he’s calling me. Every night. I thought it would stop once I knew what happened. Got closure. But it’s the same. He sounds so scared and lost and alone. My heart is breaking and all I want to do is go to him.”

  Mag and Clara exchanged a worried
look.

  “He wouldn’t want you to—” Trying to frame the sentence thoughtfully, Clara got her point across without saying anything else.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that it feels so real, like he’s still here and I just can’t find him.”

  “He might be.” Roma’s voice coming from right behind her ear made Mag jump and then scowl because she hated even the mere suggestion that she might be scared of anything.

  As Roma passed by, Stephanie pulled the blanket more closely around her shoulders and shivered in the sudden chill.

  “What do you mean?” Directing the question toward Roma, Mag forgot for a minute that Stephanie couldn’t see or hear the ghost in the room.

  “It’s like he’s not dead,” Stephanie said.

  “I don’t think he’s dead,” Roma agreed.

  Another look passed between the Balefire sisters before Mag nodded for Roma to follow her and left the room.

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? It’s just like last time only it’s not the same. Don’t you see?”

  Gently, Clara settled on the bed, picked up Stephanie’s cold hand to chafe some warmth into it. “Tell me.”

  The floodgates opened and Stephanie described again for Clara the dreams she’d had after her parent’s accident. “I dreaded going to sleep because I knew the dreams would come.”

  The poor thing must be terrified. “How did you get them to stop?”

  “It’s hard to remember, but I think I grew out of it after a year or so. It was during the summer, right before my fifteenth birthday. Uncle John thought a change of scenery might help, so he rented a cabin in Colorado. It was just the three of us. No doctors, no therapy. Just the peace and quiet of the lake and frogs singing us to sleep each night.”

  Her busy fingers picked the blanket then smoothed it back into place while Stephanie kept her gaze lowered. “It’s the same now. I dread going to sleep, but these don’t feel like nightmares. I can’t really explain how, but it’s different. Like another level. Real but not real—and I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  But it did make at least a little sense to Clara. If these dreams bordered on the prescient or prophetic, based on her limited experience, they’d come with plenty of psychic and emotional baggage. Divination was Mag’s strong suit.

  Speaking of Mag, she stepped back inside and motioned for Clara to join her by the door, where she hurried through an explanation of Roma’s theory.

  “She wants to talk to Stephanie herself,” Mag said, “but hasn’t been able to make contact without help.”

  Clara pulled a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out through her mouth. “If she’s wrong, we’re going to get that girl’s hopes up for nothing. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Mag tilted her head to look past Clara to where the younger women huddled in the bed. “Roma’s still hanging around. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “It does. Of course, it does.”

  “Okay, I’ve got ascension stone and plenty of selenite in my pack. Combined with a smudge of bay leaf, we should be able to give them a chance to communicate.”

  “You explain what’s happening, I’ll go down to the kitchen and find the bay.” With that, Clara tagged out and let Mag handle Stephanie on her own.

  Or not entirely on her own. Hovering nearby, Roma chattered. “Tell her I believe her. And that it’s all going to be okay. She’s sad. Give her a hug.”

  Until Mag snapped.

  “Shut up. Just shut up.”

  Stephanie jumped at the sharp tone. “Was I talking? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  Sucking in a breath through her nose and letting it out on a sigh, Mag would have waited for Clara to return if it weren’t the coward’s way out because what she was about to do had the potential to be either amazing or amazingly cruel.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t yelling at you. I was yelling at Roma. She’s here and she has a crazy idea that she wants to talk to you about and we’d rather let her tell you in her own words.” She outlined what it would take to make that happen, and finished going over it the third time just as Clara returned with a jar of bay leaves and a brass pot.

  “Constance will kill us for this, but it’s the only way.” While Mag powered up the crystals and laid them out in a circle, Clara fed Balefire into the leaves until they started to smolder. When the cloud of smoke was dense enough, she set the pot beneath Roma’s hovering feet in the center of the makeshift summoning ring.

  As the old medium’s features appeared in the smoke, Stephanie gasped and breathed her name.

  “Can you hear me?” Roma asked.

  “Yes, I can.”

  “These dreams you’ve been having—I don’t think they’re nightmares at all. I think Brad is caught between the physical world and the spiritual plane, and he’s trying to make contact.’

  Having stepped back to let Roma take the stage, Clara whispered to Mag, “I’m a witch with a willing suspension of disbelief and that sounds like hokum to me. What does that even mean? Caught between the worlds? Sounds like she thinks he’s still alive.”

  “Shh. I think she’s on to something.”

  Clara worried they were giving Stephanie false hope and at the end of the day, she’d be in worse shape than before. The only reason she didn’t step in and put a stop to it was the simple fact that Roma had not gone, so something still remained of her unfinished business.

  “What should I do?” Stephanie asked.

  Roiling smoke hid Roma’s features, but not her shrug. “Why, that’s simple. Go back to sleep and see what he wants.”

  What little color that had come back to Stephanie’s face drained away, but she closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were filled with determination. “If it will help Brad, I’ll do it. But you should know that I feel like I might never sleep again. My heart is pounding and my nerves are vibrating like the strings on my piano. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

  If they were going to go through with this, then Clara would pitch in and do her part. “Where does Constance keep her special tea? I’ll go brew you a cup. While I'm gone, Mag can take you through a relaxing guided meditation.”

  Pointing out what she thought was the obvious solution, Mag said, “Or we could just cast a sleep spell over her.”

  “Might interfere with the psychic connection. We’re better off to duplicate what she’s been doing. Tea and natural sleep.” At least she could protect Stephanie to that degree, Clara thought. If anything happened, the last thing the young woman needed was to be stuck in a spell-induced coma. “Help her relax and don’t use any magic.”

  “She keeps it in a blue tin with roses on the lid, in the cabinet near the coffee pot.”

  Just before she sailed out the door, Clara spun to catch Mag in the act of making a face at her retreating back. “I saw that. Grow up, Maggie, before your face freezes like that.”

  The tomfoolery made Stephanie grin and the grin released some of the tension across her shoulders.

  Still battling misgivings, Clara went downstairs and put the water on to heat while she searched for the tea. The box, a pretty thing that would have looked good on one of Mag’s shelves in the store, was right where Stephanie said it would be. Popping the lid, Clara sniffed at the loose-leaf blend.

  Mint, but not just peppermint. There were notes of spearmint and wintergreen as well.

  A touch of anise for that licorice note Stephanie had mentioned. But the final two ingredients were the money shot. Melatonin and valerian root. A combination that, for someone with even a low-level psychic gift, could trigger some interesting side effects. Bad dreams or night terrors topped the list, with the possibility of hallucinations coming not too far behind.

  Giving this tea to Stephanie would, at best, increase her psychic connection to Brad if he was trying to make contact, and at worst, send her on a wild goose chase through the land of wishful thinking. Neither scenario set w
ell with Clara’s conscience. Harm none applied to magic, but there was a line here that Clara had to decide if she could cross.

  Still, she spooned the leaves into the tea ball and dropped it into the pot to steep. If Roma was right, Stephanie would want to help Brad, and even if nothing came of it but a sense of closure, Clara couldn’t see the harm in letting her drink one more cup. One.

  To ensure no more nightmares would rise from this particular brew, she crafted a little spell, fed Balefire into the tin until it glowed with blue light and chanted:

  With good intent I make this charm

  What is stored here do no harm

  Satisfied, Clara put away the charmed tea tin and decided never to tell Stephanie what she’d learned. If the information ever got back to Constance, she would be heartbroken to learn she’d done more harm than good with her remedy.

  After tonight, that danger would be gone. Clara carried the tea upstairs.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “This is crazy. Completely crazy,” Stephanie repeated as she drank the tea Clara brewed.

  “As crazy as you thinking you might have killed your fiancé?” Roma countered. “As crazy as talking to a ghost and inviting two witches to spend the night at your house? It might be time to reconsider your stance on the word. Your mother came to see me regularly because she believed. I think she would have raised you to be a believer too, if she’d had the chance. If I’m right, you have the gift, and it’s what’s been allowing you to connect with Brad.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Stephanie asked, swallowing hard.

  Roma smiled. “I’m rarely wrong, dear. And if I happen to be this time, I think Mag and Clara will be here to help you through what comes next. What do you say we find out?”

  Stephanie considered what Roma had said and nodded her assent, once again proving the strength of her constitution. Roma beamed, pride swelling in her bosom. “That’s that, then.”