by Amy Casey
Mary put her cup of tea down. I could hear the bustle of the coffee shop outside, smell the coffee in the air, hear the chatter. All the talk of the town about that same thing.
And yet I felt like things weren’t being pieced together properly.
Like there was another element to this mystery. And one that I had to use my witchy abilities towards solving.
“Wait,” Mary said. “I’ve got it. You’re thinking of investigating, aren’t you?”
I raised my eyebrows. Tried to make it look like Mary was being ridiculous. “What? No.”
“I heard it. Heard it in your voice.”
“Saw it in my eyes. Heard it in my voice. Remind me who the witch is here again?”
Mary sighed. “Oh, Stella. You know what I think about this. We’ve spoken about it.”
There was no point beating around the bush anymore. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“Then tell me the whole story.”
I thought about it. Realised this was my best friend, so what was there to lose in sharing information with her?
“The body. Krissy’s body. There were these… these stab wounds all over her. Like the kind of thing someone couldn’t just do with a knife. Not someone ordinary, anyway.”
“So you think it’s paranormal, somehow?”
I leaned forward, keeping my voice down; wary that someone was listening in even though I knew I was probably being paranoid. “That’s not it,” I said. “I saw Krissy’s ghost.”
“You saw her what?”
“Her ghost.”
“Sorry. It just takes me a few seconds to remember I’m friends with an absolute weirdo, sometimes.”
“Apology not entirely accepted.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Not… not a whole lot. Mostly she was startled about the whole thing.”
“Naturally. I can’t imagine I’d be leaping for joy or bubbling with coherence if Stella Storm casually told me I was a ghost, either.”
“But she did mention the last thing she remembered.”
Mary leaned forward. As much as she told me not to be nosy, I could tell her curiosity was well and truly piqued now. Double-standards, that’s what it was. “Tell me,” she said.
I leaned towards her. Listened to the clatter of plates outside, the whooshing of the coffee machines. “She said something about a… a dark place.”
Mary’s eyebrows twitched. “A dark place?”
“Yeah. The last thing she remembered. A dark place.”
Mary sighed. She slumped back into her chair.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, seriously, what?”
“It’s all good, this ‘dark place’ theory. And I can see why you were spooked by it. But darling, my bloody bedroom is a dark place at night. It’s hardly narrowing things down.”
“Mary, listen to me.”
“I’m all ears, Stella.”
“It wasn’t exactly what she said about this dark place. It was more… well, how she said it.”
“Did she put on her best super villain voice?”
“What?”
Mary deepened her voice. “‘The Dark Place, Stella. It happened in The Dark Place.”
“You shouldn’t joke about something serious like this.”
“I’m not. And I’m sorry. It’s just… I think you’re looking into things a bit too intensely. You should leave your boyfriend to figure things out. I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of it.”
I blushed. “Steve isn’t my boyfriend.”
Mary batted her eyelashes as she stood and made her way towards the back door. “Who said anything about Steve?”
“Well, he’s the only one who…”
“The only one who what?”
“Nothing. Just leave it out. I’m tired, alright?”
“Oh, I can hear the wedding bells ringing already. Detective Steve and Witchy Stella. Tell me, Stel. Will that make Stevey boy a wizard? Will he go full Dumbledore on us? Or will he be more of a King Arthur?”
“Just leave it, alright? And anyway. King Arthur wasn’t the wizard in that particular myth. It was Merlin.”
“Arthur, Merlin. Same thing really.”
“They really, really aren’t.”
I got up and walked over to the staff door. To be honest, I was probably just wound up that it already seemed like I was at a dead end before this case had begun. I thought I’d been onto something when I heard Krissy had a boyfriend, but apparently that was common knowledge. She’d been seeing Mark Heaps for some time, and the police had already chatted to him. I wanted to speak to him myself, just like I wanted to speak with Krissy’s parents, but doing so was harder than I’d thought. After all, what did I say? Where did I even begin? Not to mention the fact that the police had apparently gone on record of having spoken to both. Frustratingly? They’d learned nothing of note. At least, nothing I didn’t already know—or that wasn’t already known.
I opened the door, eager for some air—but for a break more than anything.
I was expecting nobody to be there. After all, there was never anybody there. There was literally no reason to expect anyone to be there.
But of course, things weren’t exactly as they seemed, lately.
And when I saw who was standing there, I froze.
It was Daryl Pinto. The local bad boy.
Lurking outside the staff entrance.
“Um, hi,” he said.
He could “um, hi” all he liked.
Question was… what the hell was Daryl Pinto doing here?
Chapter 9
Um, hi?”
I looked at Daryl as he stood outside the rear door of Witchy Delights and I was caught in two minds. First, I couldn’t deny just how buff he looked. That dark hair, those deep brown eyes, those muscles and those tattoos.
And I had to admit, I felt like a spell had been cast on me somehow. Like this was what it must feel like to be under one of my spells.
But there was something else, too. Something that bothered me. Something that I just had to get off my chest.
“What are you doing around here?”
Daryl looked from me to Mary and back again. “I was, um—”
“No ‘ums,’” I said. “Let’s try to keep this a strictly ‘um’ free conversation, okay?”
“Um—”
“Ah. There it is again.”
“Sorry,” Daryl said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a lot quieter than I had him down as. A lot less confident than he sometimes seemed. He was new to the town. He popped in for a coffee from time to time, but it seemed like he was still learning the ropes of this place.
Nobody really knew a lot about him. He’d been living here for a month or two now. He sometimes came in with his laptop, so I figured he was a writer or something like that. Again, I couldn’t be certain.
And I hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to ask.
Or, well. My way of asking. Reading his mind.
It took energy, okay? And besides. It didn’t always have a 100% success rate.
“She asked you a question,” Mary said, stepping forward towards him. Although I could see simply from the way she was twirling her hair that she was just as caught up in Daryl as I was.
No! Not caught up in him. Stupid. That’s not how I was.
It was just a silly bit of attraction. Just a silly crush.
My mind swirled with all kinds of thoughts, all kinds of suspicions. Who was this Daryl, really? Where had he come from?
And did his arrival have something to do with Krissy Palmer’s death?
It didn’t seem like too much of a long shot, all things considered.
But just as I was about to grill him some more—just as I was about to delve into the deepest recesses of his thoughts—Daryl did something remarkable.
He smiled.
His smile got me right away. Made me feel fuzzy inside. Which in turn, made me feel ridiculous, because I hated it
when people made me feel any way that I wasn’t responsible for. I liked to be in control of my own feelings, my own emotions. I didn’t like to be at the mercy of others.
But then something else happened. Something else that I noticed. Something that sparked another kind of emotion in me—and this emotion was another one I didn’t like being subject to.
Jealously.
Because he wasn’t smiling at me.
He was smiling at Mary.
Daryl pulled a single red rose from behind his back. He held it out to Mary.
“I was just walking through the countryside earlier,” he said. “Little morning routine of mine. Anyway. I found this and it made me think of you.”
As he held it there, I turned to Mary. She was blushing. Wide-eyed. In total disbelief about all this, clearly.
“Wow,” she said.
Here we go. Carried away. The classic romantic.
“If that isn’t the soppiest, creepiest thing a stranger’s ever tried on me, then I don’t know what it is.”
I turned to her. Frowned. I wasn’t expecting that. Damn.
And judging by the look on Daryl’s face, which was blushing—something I didn’t imagine happened all too often—he’d been caught off guard, too.
He pulled back the rose. “I just, erm, thought—”
“You’re nice, sugar,” Mary said. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re nice to look at. But I didn’t develop an irrational crush on you because of your country walks and rose picking. Honestly, I think I just sicked in my mouth a little bit.”
I was in total disbelief at Mary. She always idealised romantic fantasies. I was surprised to see that these were her true colours after all.
“So whatever you thought,” she said, “I reckon you give it another try. Because I’m not some Disney princess.”
I saw how caught up in the moment he was. How shocked he looked. How taken aback.
And I figured now was the perfect time to jump into his thoughts.
To see what he was thinking after all.
Because this could all be a front.
This could all be a ploy.
I focused. Held my breath. Stared into Daryl’s deep brown eyes. His lips appeared to be moving slower. Sounds all around faded into the background.
“Show me the truth,” I mumbled. “Show me what you’re thinking—”
“Shit,” he said, his thoughts aloud. “Shit, shit, shit. I mean I thought she’d like it. What did she take me for? Some tough nut biker or something? If she doesn’t like lovey-dovey walks through the countryside and sensitive emotions then I’m not sure she’s for me after all. Oh, gosh, why do I always have to go spoil it all? I’ll probably go home and cry now. Yep. Cry with a cocoa and a few rom coms. No. Cut out the romcoms. They’re making you too sensitive. Big, tough man. That’s who you are. That’s who you’re going to be from now on. Okay?”
“Stella?”
I blinked, and suddenly I was back in the room, back out of Daryl’s mind.
I looked at Mary. Then I looked back at Daryl.
So he’d been telling the truth.
He really had come here to show his affection for Mary after all.
But still… there was something about him.
Something I felt uneasy about.
“Anyway,” Daryl said, twirling the rose around between his fingers. Then rather showily dropping it to the ground like he was too tough for roses. “I should probably shoot. Got some… some work to do. In the shed. With my tools. I own a lot of tools. Heavy ones, mostly.”
He looked at Mary and me to make sure we’d caught on to his “tools” ownership, whatever he imagined that made us think of him.
Then he pointed at the rose. “Mind if I take that with me?”
“Sure,” Mary said.”
“Thanks. It’ll probably look nice in the window of… of my garage.”
He flushed a little. Then he turned around, started to walk away.
Looked at the rose with disappointment for a few seconds, like he was sad to be leaving it behind.
“Wow,” Mary said. “I mean, wow. That really was some full-blown romcom level stuff, wasn’t it? Stella? Stella?”
But I didn’t hear her.
I didn’t focus.
I couldn’t.
Because I’d seen something in the distance.
Something in the alleyway across the street.
It was the ghost.
Krissy Palmer’s ghost.
She was still here.
Chapter 10
It was when I went racing across the street in search of a ghost of a recently murdered girl that I realised just how different I actually was to the average everyday person.
“Stella?”
I heard Mary calling from behind. I knew I should at least explain myself; explain some of what was going on. She was my friend. I could trust her.
But I had serious matters on my hands right now. Even if Detective Inspector Steve Burke had told me to stay well away from this case.
I could see ghosts. I’d be bloody stupid to let that talent go to waste.
I rushed past Daryl, almost knocking him off his feet.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Not now,” I said, realising how weird I must look but not caring. Sure, this might all not look too good for me in the long-term. But the short-term was what mattered. The thoughts of a sexy romantic sap like Daryl were irrelevant.
Sexy? Where did that come from?
Anyway. On with the ghost hunting.
I raced towards the edge of the alleyway and looked down it. I already had a stitch and was already out of breath. Not a good sign, that was for sure. My fitness levels could do with some work. I’d read somewhere that the average person needed thirty minutes a day of “moderate intensity” exercise. I’d also read that gardening counted as a moderate intensity exercise, so I figured coffee-making all day and gardening were pretty much interchangeable.
If I was an upstanding example of a fit and healthy human being, then Harry Potter was a real boy-wizard.
Well. He might be. To be honest, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. Bad analogy, Stella. Bad analogy.
I peered down the alleyway, heart racing. I tried to see whether there was any sign of Krissy’s ghost. I couldn’t understand it, in all truth. I’d seen her disappear into thin air. When that happened, ghosts didn’t come back. They went off to whatever world was out there. And don’t ask me what that world looked like. Just because I was a witch didn’t solve the mystery of exactly what happened after death. Only that there was something after death.
But Krissy’s ghost. She’d disappeared and now she was back here. For some reason, she was still here. It wasn’t possible.
Unless…
As I walked slowly down the alleyway, I thought about some of the research I’d done on ghosts in one of my books that Mum had left me with. Apparently, ghosts were able to cling to someone if they had some kind of unfinished business. A way of anchoring a small part of themselves into this plane of existence until it was time to pass over once and for all. It was rare, but it happened.
And it seemed like for some reason, Krissy was clinging on to me.
Even though she might not yet consciously understand the circumstances of her death, her subconscious had taken the lead.
Krissy had something to tell me about her death. She had information.
And I needed to make sure I figured out what that information was. Fast.
I walked further down the alleyway. Behind, I swore I could still hear Mary shouting at me. Which I kind of hated, because it was drawing attention to me, the last thing I wanted. Especially from Daryl. I didn’t want him to know that there was something weird about me.
Well. Something weirder about me. Everyone pretty much accepted the crazy woman from Witchy Delights as pretty weird at this stage.
I walked further down the alleyway, but still I saw nothing. I thought about using one of my tracking s
pells, but I was still feeling pretty mentally weak from stepping into Daryl’s thoughts just moments ago. This was one for non-witchy Stella to sort out. I was capable of that. I could do this.
I kept on going when I saw movement.
I walked slower. I could hear cars either side of the alleyway, and I wondered whether anyone would be looking in at me.
But I kept heading towards that movement. Kept slow, because I didn’t want to alarm Krissy in any way.
If this went well, she might’ve remembered.
I could solve this crime.
And screw what Steve said. If I solved this crime—if anyone solved this crime—then that would be better for everyone.
I reached the edge of the turning in the alleyway, held my breath and stepped around.
There was a pigeon sitting there, looking up at me.
I watched it bob its small head, saw it coo. Little smart look on its face, like it was judging me, laughing at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You have a good stare. Stella the idiot. Chasing pigeons.”
The pigeon kept on looking, kept on cooing.
I went to turn around.
That’s when I saw her.
Krissy’s ghost was standing there.
She was faded. Like she was still transferring to the other side. More so now than before.
But she was here.
“Hello, Krissy,” I said, trying to keep as composed as I could. “I think it’s about time we had a proper chat about what happened to you, don’t you?”
Chapter 11
So. Are you going to keep running away from me or are we actually going to at least try having a conversation?”
I stared at Krissy’s ghost, for the third time, and I had to admit just seeing it still gave me the creeps. You’d think years of being in touch with the supernatural side of life would be enough to deter any caution, but that wasn’t true. Especially when I knew this girl had been murdered.
It was even creepier because her silhouette was beginning to fade. The glow that had covered her so brightly when I’d first seen her was weakening. Soon, she’d be gone to the other side for good.
I’d been blessed with a final opportunity—a final chance to get to the bottom of what was happening.