I Messed Up Christmas (A Ghost & Abby Mystery Book 2)

by Jo-Ann Carson

  I tilted my head and took in his visage: six feet of Viking. I had missed him more than I had let myself admit. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I needed a break.”

  “You needed a what?”

  “A break. Don’t modern couples have breaks?”

  “Grrrr. Not unless they’re having trouble.” I didn’t mean to yell, but my voice rose all on its own.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I came back to give you a chance to explain.”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I have an angel to return and a . . . a cat to feed.”

  “Tell me the cat isn’t part of your witchy-thing.”

  “Tough-luck, handsome,” said Sparky in a strong voice. “Where she goes, I go.”

  “That’s just great. Now you have a familiar. I don’t know who you are anymore, Abby.”

  “I’m me, the same me you met two and a half years ago, the woman who loves you with all her heart whether you’re dead or alive.” And the one who could now zap your sweet ass with a fire ball. I swallowed. “The one who, because of the craziness of the magical world, ended up a witch.”

  His arctic-blue eyes softened when I mentioned love. He crossed his arms across his chest as if resisting the urge to give into his own feelings. “And being in that Italian’s arms was part of your training? Tell me what you learned?”

  “He’s teaching me the basics.”

  “Really?” Ghosts tend to chill a room, but his anger took it to another plane. He was turning it to ice.

  “Oh stop it. It’s not like that.”

  “What exactly is it like? Do you have feelings for him?”

  And there was the crux of the question. The memory of the unwanted kiss still lingered on my lips and other places. I probably waited a smidge too long to answer. “He is an important man-witch in the area.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “He’s teaching me about the history of witches and the responsibilities of witches.”

  “And that explains you being in his arms, how?”

  “I was trying to levitate.” I threw up my one free hand. “It embarrasses me to tell you, but there it is. I was trying to levitate.”

  “So you could fly on a broom, or so you could have kundalini sex in the air?”

  “Ha, ha. So I could move easily. You take floating for granted, but we mere mortals have to stamp around.” Who knew a Viking knew about kundalini sex?

  He tilted his head. “So let me get this straight. You were trying to levitate, you blew it, and you fell into his arms.”

  “Yes. Now you’ve got the picture.”

  “And he’s never kissed you.”

  Ah poop. “Eric, my heart belongs to you. That’s all you need to know.”

  He shimmered a darker blue. “That says more than you know.”

  “Don’t you dare go missing on me again. I need you.”

  “You seem to be doing fine on your own.”

  Yes and no. “It’s better when you’re with me. Everything is better. And I did not initiate the kiss.”

  “But you responded.”

  How could anyone not respond to Dante? “I pulled away.”

  “But you enjoyed it.”

  Ah poop. “Dante is a charming, handsome man-witch. It’s hard not to appreciate his interest in me as a woman, but to me he is my mentor, nothing more.”

  “Was there tongue?”

  Ah poop. “I . . . I can’t remember.” Oh yes, there was tongue.

  His arms unfolded. “Abby, I know my jealousy is getting the best of me, but you have to understand. You mean everything to me. For me there can be no other.”

  “I love you too, Eric, but I can’t let your green-eyed monster pull us apart. Decide to trust me or not. I need to get on with my life.” And Christmas.

  “I am yours forever. Even if you choose a mortal man over me. Even if you choose a warlock. I am yours forever.”

  He’s not a warlock, but I didn’t want to get into that. “Then we have a truce?”

  “A truce? I would say we have the love-affair of the century.”

  Or two. “This angel’s heavy. Can you do your thing and transport it to our office in the teahouse.”

  “Done, äskling.”

  I nodded. “I’ll text the mayor that I have it and ask him to pick it up at the office in the morning.”

  “We could go back to the teahouse together.”

  “No, I need to run by the manor first. Family Christmas stuff. You go ahead. Get in a few hands of poker. I’ll be along soon.” After I settle my familiar, check my freaking Christmas list to see if I can do something on the fly, and make sure my kids are okay. Not in that order, of course.

  And to not, absolutely not, dance naked in the moonlight.

  Who said being a witch is easy?

  13

  Frosty the Snowman

  The kids were asleep by the time I got home. Jill and Dante sat with a bottle of wine by a crackling fire in the living room. The Christmas tree lay across the center of the room, and beside it boxes of ornaments. The tilt of Jill’s head told me she’d had more than one glass.

  Sparky aka the lynx, mewed, “Hubba hubba,” at the sight of the Casanova-witch, but only he and I could hear her.

  Unable to slow down I rushed in and opened the first box. “Maybe if we all pitch in we can decorate the tree in an hour.”

  “What about the angel?” asked Jill.

  “Taken care of. Now we need to get our tree happening.”

  A honking sound came from outside.

  “Sorry,” Jill said as she popped up. “That would be Harry. My van’s in the shop and he’s taking me home.”

  “Oh. Thanks Jill for all you . . .”

  She held up her hand. “My privilege. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

  Not for the first time did I think I didn’t deserve to have such a wonderful cousin. “Why don’t you wait until morning and let the kids help you decorate?”

  “That sounds like disaster to me.”

  More car honking.

  Jill grabbed her coat. “Later,” she said as she hurried to the front door. “Thanks for the wine, Dante. I enjoyed our time together.”

  The door closed. “Time together?” I asked.

  “So you found your angel.”

  “I did, and I need to get to the teahouse to give it to the mayor. I also have to figure out who made the ransom call.”

  “Not before we dance.”

  “Dance?”

  “In the moonlight.”

  “Celebrating the return of the sun is like celebrating its birth. The magic in your blood must be warming about now. You will dance. I promise you, you will dance.”

  The dark, solicitous glint in his eyes reminded me of a drunk I knew when I was growing up. His name was Larry, and he would sit on the curb on the corner of my street with a bottle of after-shave wrapped in a rumpled brown-paper bag and ogle me every time I passed. I suddenly felt dirty.

  “Look, I’m not going there.”

  Sparky rubbed against my legs. I had forgotten her. “Think again, Blondie,” she said in a gravelly voice. “You could learn who is meant to be your true love.”

  “What happened to your voice?” It sounded huskier than it did in my head.

  “And you will commune with your inner magic,” said Dante.

  True love? “I don’t need to dance to figure out my heart.”

  “Sometimes you are so stupid. Remember me? I’m the one who’s been in your head for the last month. You think you love Eric. Well, maybe you do love him. But you don’t know what’s around the corner. You don’t know what the universe has planned for you. You don’t know for certain who your true love is. You have doubts.”

  What a load of cackle. Why would a lynx want me to dance? I must be missing something. I pushed hair out of my eyes. “I really don’t have time for this.”

  “Tell her,” said Dante, who clearly enjoyed this convers
ation.

  “You need to set two mirrors so they reflect two candles and each other. I can help you with that.”

  “So I look at the candles and the mysteries of the universe unfold?”

  “The seventh reflection. You look for the seventh reflection. It will show you your true love. That is according to witch’s lore as old as the earth.”

  Cackle-crap. It had to be a load of cackle. Yet, I couldn’t deny I felt different. The closer we got to midnight, the warmer I felt, as if someone or something was lighting a fire within me. I felt strangely energized, sensual in a way I normally wouldn’t feel unless I was engaging in sex and—I licked my lips—hungry. I felt hungry for something primal. I looked at Dante.

  He winked. The man-witch winked. Damn him.

  “I told you.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “You don’t have to understand. You need to feel, just feel. Close your eyes and let your magic take over.”

  “But I have a Christmas list.”

  “Later.”

  “I have cookies to bake.”

  “Later.”

  And that’s how I found myself in a vacant field dancing in the moonlight with Dante and my familiar, a wild lynx.

  ***

  Exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, I arrived back home just after dawn. The hours had passed as if they were minutes and everything that happened blurred into one experience. The moonlight heated my senses. Everything I touched seemed more alive than ever before. I tasted the life in my surroundings; felt the earth breathing beneath my feet. I danced and danced and danced until I felt in my heart the sun returning.

  As the pre-dawn light shimmered over the horizon, a deep sense of peace settled into my consciousness. I loved watching the sun rise, but had never felt it in every fiber of my body the way I did this time. When the sun rose I knew it to be a rebirth of all life, the essence of magic.

  I chanted, with the other witches in the field, a blessing to the sun, a blessing to life. There were thirteen of us. As the sun cleared the horizon I put my clothes on and Dante walked me home.

  14

  Silent Night

  I sat at the kitchen table and looked at my Perfect Christmas list. It seemed so stupid now, so impossibly unimportant. The sun had risen. The world was reborn. Tinsel did not matter.

  Dante poured me a coffee I didn’t see him make.

  “How can I do this?”

  “Any witch who dances as well as you will find a way.”

  Sparky curled at my feet and purred. I guessed I had passed some sort of newby-witch test.

  Putting my head in my hands, I tried to concentrate. I looked up to complain to Dante, but he had vanished. I checked my watch and looked at my list again.

  I needed to get presents: a doll for Jane, a new bike for Jinx, who had outgrown her last one, and something that wasn’t a puppy for Jonathan. I also needed to deal with Eric and the mayor.

  Well, if I was such a hot-shot newby-witch, I should use my new-found powers. Although tired, I felt more energized. I didn’t have time to decipher a spell from my grimoire, and I didn’t want to ask Dante for another favor. It was only a matter of time before he asked for something in return, and I wasn’t interested. Well, not much. I needed to wing this holiday-thing.

  I took a deep breath, put my finger on my Perfect Christmas list and spoke in as solemn a voice as I could muster, “I call the four corners, the wind, the fire, the earth and the . . . whatever . . . to my aid. I call the universe and its divine powers. I call the old magic to my aid.” Bippity boppity boo?” No. There must be something else I should say. “Children’s presents materialize.” That made no grammatical sense. Does a witch have to speak properly for a spell to work? Did I need Latin? Maybe Greek?

  Nothing happened. No surprise there. I sucked at this.

  I lifted my hands to the air. “Please, help me make the perfect Christmas.”

  Poof. A ball of red and green smoke swirled in front of my face and three perfect, or almost perfect, presents fell to the ground: a beautiful blond doll with freckles for Janey, a shiny new bike for jinx and a dog—yup a dog—for Jonathan. A chocolate Labrador puppy. It barked.

  Sparky woke. Her back arched. Her tail rose and she hissed.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I think.”

  Then I heard the swishing sound of the tree rising in the air. I blinked as it stood perfectly upright. The tree ornaments flew out of their box onto the tree. “Joy to the World,” my favorite Christmas carol, played on speakers I had not owned until now, and the unmistakable smell of perfectly cooked shortbread filled the air. Wrapping paper curled around the gifts and beautiful ribbon snugged them tight.

  The perfect Christmas had arrived. A tear rolled down my face. It was part joy and part disappointment. I wanted to create that Christmas for them, but I had had to cheat to get it; or at least that’s how it felt. A truly perfect Christmas requires work and involvement and I was cheating big time.

  The puppy burst through the paper and leaped on the tree, landing a couple feet up from the floor. A bough leaned and then leaned some more under his weight, pulling the tree to an awkward angle. I jumped up and stopped the tree from tumbling. The ornaments all looked ready to fall.

  The lynx hissed again, and the puppy dived at her, chasing her all around and over and under the tree. I wrestled with the spruce and got it to stand. Sort of. It was heavy and awkward, but I got it up; at least mostly up. The music stopped as the animals tripped over wires and brought the speakers crashing to the ground.

  As I held the tree with one hand I assessed the chaos, something, as a mother of three, I was good at. The paper on the presents was torn and they vibrated as if they could feel their injuries, the tree leaned, the music had ended and the chase continued. I pushed the trunk of the tree into its stand. Sort of. The dog cornered Sparky, who turned and swiped at his nose. He yelped and leaped back.

  I jumped on him. Sprawled on the ground on top of the mini-beast, I whispered, “Magic settle.” More green and red smoke swirled around me. I looked sideways at the scene as I held the little offender down. The presents stopped dancing. I sat up with the puppy in my arms beside my lopsided tree. He licked my chin with his slobbery tongue.

  I was done for.

  How can you not fall in love with a cuddly fur ball that licks your face when the music stops? That’s when I smelled the cookies burning.

  I texted Dante: “Help.”

  15

  Joy to the World

  While I waited for Dante’s arrival, I rescued the burned cookies and put a fresh batch into the oven. The dog liked the burned ones. Sparky lay on the kitchen window sill, out of his reach, purring in the sunlight. I texted Eric I was still on my way.

  That was the story of my life. I was always on my way to somewhere, but never seemed to arrive. As I scratched under the puppy’s ears, he wagged his tail so hard his whole bum moved. Gosh darn, he had to be the cutest little rascal I had ever met.

  I had never had a dog as a kid and never got around to having one as an adult. I didn’t want to clean up after one and I couldn’t afford expensive vet bills or dog food. But this little guy was different. He licked my hand. How much food could he really eat? We sometimes had leftovers. My goodness he had big feet. He was all tongue and paws.

  I have to give credit where credit is due. When Dante entered my mess he didn’t laugh or make fun of me. He simply said, “Hmmm.”

  “I tried . . .”

  “I can see that.” His smile quirked up on the right side. “You wanted the tree to look crooked, right?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s part of the authentic look.”

  “And the burning-butter smell?”

  “Ditto.”

  “I see. So exactly what do you want me to fix?”

  I took another look around. I did like my tree decorated with our family ornaments, some of which I had made with the kids. A set of blue lights resting
on the boughs brought it all to life. Underneath lay presents wrapped in colorful paper. It may not have been a magazine tree, or the one I had imagined in my head, but it was our tree. Who cared if it stood on an angle? It all depends on how you looked at it.

  Could it be the centerpiece of our family Christmas? Yeah. For sure, yeah.

  The room smelled of melted butter from my latest batch, and only a hint of burn lingered. The speakers were in the trash. Everything was as tidy and orderly as it ever was in my crazy household. I sighed. This was the Christmas I wanted for my kids. I looked at Dante.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “You did this.”

  Sparky laughed. “Not bad for a beginner. You just need to fix the angle.”

  “Dante, I can’t see you anymore.”

  “Tell me you’re not choosing dead meat over me.” His right hand waved over his perfect body.

  “I appreciate the help you’ve given me over the last couple months, but I can manage on my own now.” I couldn’t, but that was beside the point. One man in my life was more than enough, despite what the candle divination had said the night before.

  “You are way too prime for a Viking.”

  “My choice.”

  “It’s a lousy choice, Carina. But you are right. It is your choice to make.”

  I nodded.

  “Merry Christmas, Abby. I hope it is filled with joy and happiness for you and yours.”

  “Thank you, and Merry Christmas to you too.”

  “I’ll leave you now, but the time will come when you need me. Do not hesitate to call for me.” On his way out he waved his hand and the speakers went onto the wall and “Joy to the World” played once again.

  Why couldn’t he leave angry? Why couldn’t he make an ass of himself? Instead, he left me with the feeling of loss and a smidge of admiration.

  All paws, a wet tongue and a wiggly tail, the puppy licked my face. Maybe magic wasn’t so bad after all.

  I had wanted a perfect Christmas, and despite my lists and confusion I would have one. I stroked the soft coat of the dog and vowed not to be taken in again by the seasonal images of perfect holidays, the how-to articles on the Internet, or the bragging of others. Christmas was and always would be a matter of the heart, of being with the ones you love and rejoicing in that love.