Witches of Palmetto Point Series Boxset Books 1 - 3: Haunting Charlie, Wayward Spirits and Devil's Snare

by Wendy Wang

Book 4: The Fire Kael

  Book of Kaels Box Set: Books 1 -4

  Short Stories: Love Lacey

  Wayward Spirits

  Witches of Palmetto Point Book 2

  Copyright

  Copyright Notice

  ©(2017)Wendy Wang.

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without the expressed written permission of the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Helen Page

  Proofread by P.Hazelwood

  V 1.5 070817

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Note:

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  Chapter 1

  Jason Tate parked his black Dodge Charger and surveyed the scene. The call had been for a possible suicide. Usually the worst kind of call and not exactly the way he wanted to start his Wednesday.

  The two-story tan house with dark red shutters was more like a mini-mansion and must have been at least 5,000 square feet by Jason’s estimation. The forensics people were already milling around, as well as the coroner and his people.

  A knock on the window startled Jason. His partner Marshall Beck stood outside the car door holding two cups of coffee and a what-are-you-waiting-for look on his face. He and Beck had worked together for the last couple of years. Beck wore a sour look on his long, thin face but at least he came bearing coffee. Jason got out of the car. He pulled off his mirrored sunglasses and tucked them into his front pocket.

  “How's it look?” Jason accepted the paper cup and took a sip.

  “Like a bloody shit-show.” Beck smirked. “I don't know what the hell she was doing out on the roof. There was a storm last night.”

  “I thought this was a suicide.” Jason glanced at the body suspended halfway in the air, impaled on the wrought iron fence surrounding the house. The coroner and several of his techs were working on the best way to move it.

  There was something mismatched about the house and fence to Jason. The over-sized low-country styled house beckoned for white pickets. Something simple. Not this Gothic monstrosity that surrounded it.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. The coroner won’t even give a preliminary because the woman landed on her back.”

  “Maybe she changed her mind. Halfway down? Tried to flip herself?”

  “Hard to say.” Beck shook his head. “No note that we can find so far.”

  Jason grunted. “So?”

  “Lieutenants?” A forensic tech stepped out onto the porch and signaled Jason and Beck with his hand. “I think you're going to want to see this.”

  Jason and Beck gave each other a knowing look. They stopped at the front door and donned a pair of gloves and booties.

  “And so, it begins,” Jason said.

  “What the hell?” Beck tilted his head and narrowed his muddy brown eyes.

  Jason leaned over the bathroom vanity to get a better look at the mirror. The long piece of reflective glass was mounted to the wall just above a pair of double green glass sinks. On the left end, halfway between the top and the bottom was a single palm print.

  “When I went to dust it—I couldn't find any oils for the powder to adhere to. Then I realized that the hand print is actually not on the mirror.” The tech said. He folded his arms across his chest and his thick bushy eyebrows tugged together forming a deep line between them.

  “Where the hell is it then?” Beck said.

  Jason touched the edge of the mirror to see if it was loose. He pulled a small penlight from the front pocket of his uniform shirt and put his forehead against the wall. The penlight illuminated the tiny crack between the wall and the long sheet of glass. He could see the bead of adhesive running the width, holding the glass firmly in place. The mirror’s silvering seemed intact.

  “How did that happen?” Beck asked.

  The tech shrugged. “I don't know. It's weird. I can take the mirror off the wall if you’d like, but it’s so big, it might break.”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” Jason said. “Can you scan it so we can run it against the database? We can always come back later and get the mirror if we need it.”

  The tech nodded and left to get the tools he needed.

  “Okay,” Beck said. “That’s weird. Probably doesn’t mean anything though. It’s probably her print.”

  “Well, that's easy enough to prove. We'll just have the coroner take a palm print and compare them.” Jason turned off the penlight and returned it to his pocket.

  He walked into the bedroom and looked around. The furniture looked expensive and antique. The bed was rumpled, obviously slept in. He glanced at the open window to the left of the bed. What had made her crawl out there and jump? There were much easier ways to die. Most of the suicides he’d seen with women involved pills and alcohol. Impaling yourself on a wrought iron fence? Yeah, that would hurt. He made a mental note to check for drugs and any firearms. He heard a whistle and followed the sound to find Marshall inside the large walk-in closet.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure; she liked shoes,” Marshall said. He stood near the back wall, which had floor to ceiling shelves and at least 100 pairs of shoes lining it. There were more shoe boxes on top of the shelves of the clothing racks. Lots and lots of suits hung pressed and ready to wear. Most were gray or black or navy. The fabric looked expensive.

  “All right, well, I'm gonna let you document her clothes and shoe fetish. I’m going to head back downstairs and start talking to neighbors.”

  “Sure,” Beck said. “I'll finish up in here; we’ll compare notes later.”

  “Okay. Just a heads up. I need to take a ride out to Givens’ this afternoon.”

  Beck shifted his gaze from the woman’s closet and fixed his stare on Jason. “You’re giving them false hope. That little girl is dead.”

  “Maybe she is . . . but they’re the ones who asked.”

  Beck’s lips twisted with disapproval. “And you just happened to know a hot psychic.” He shook his head. “Good luck with that.”

  Jason felt heat creep up his neck. “She’s helped us with a lot of cases.”

  “Three. She’s helped us with three.”

  “Three cold cases. And don’t forget the kidnap-murder case.”

  “Fine. Four cases then.”

  Jason scowled. “You know I ought to just make her read you.”

  Beck scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Right. ‘Cause that’d make me a believer. Just admit it. You wanna get in her pants.”

  “Fuck you.” Jason turned and left the room before Beck could get in the last word.

  His relationship with Charlie Payne was strictly business. He’d been a doubter too once, but the scales had fallen from his eyes and he could see her for what she was—an asset. She helped close cases, and if she was nice to look at, that just made it all the easier to work with her.

  Dust motes swirled and spun, drifting in the beam of sun streaming through the partially closed curtains of the girl’s room. As the dust settled it added to the thick layer coating the furniture. No one came here anymore and nothing had been moved in the two years since the girl went missing. Not a doll. Not
a book. Not the purple backpack still sitting on the white desk chair. Large pink and green letters spelled out Macey and hung above the bed. Each was skewed and affixed to the wall for an artsy effect.

  Charlie Payne picked up the teddy bear from the zoo of stuffed animals piled in front of the ruffled pillow of the twin bed. She hugged it close to her chest, breathed in the stale air and waited for some sign. Usually the dead didn’t hesitate to show her something. She waited. Nothing. Maybe there was hope. Maybe the girl was alive after all.

  Lieutenant Jason Tate sidled up next to her. He shifted the sheer ruffled curtain to the side. The Givens’ lush green backyard was large with only one tree, a large oak. A swing hanging from the thickest branch moved back and forth in the late afternoon breeze. Trees lined the back of the property extending for quite a ways from what she could tell.

  “Anything?” His voice was soft but tense with anticipation. He had been the one to suggest her to the parents. He was the one sticking his neck on the line, and nothing was more clear than his desire for her to see something. It was almost as palpable as the girl’s parents had been when she met them earlier. They wanted to believe. But it didn’t always work that way, which was the hardest thing for Charlie to explain, and of course made people doubt her when she couldn’t give them what they wanted.

  She shifted her gaze, glancing over her shoulder and smiling at the parents. Jimmy and Marla Givens stood in the doorway. She spoke in a whisper, and looked at him directly, “Maybe if I was alone?”

  The skin around his hazel eyes crinkled as he narrowed them. One corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile, and he gave her a quick nod. Before he turned to face them, she saw him put on his game face. He called up an easy-going reassuring smile, but it was a lie. Jason Tate was anything but easy going.

  “Folks, why don’t we give Ms. Payne a few moments alone to concentrate.”

  Jason ushered the couple out and glanced over his shoulder before closing the door. “Call me if you need me.”

  She gave him a nod. “I will. Thanks.”

  The door clicked and Charlie walked around the room, still holding the bear in one hand while letting the other hand drift across the surfaces of the dresser, the desk, the bed frame. There should have been some piece of the girl emanating from her things, residual energy that could be read, but there was nothing. It was almost as if the girl had never slept here or played here or done her homework here. If the child was dead—she must have moved on. If she was still hanging around—well, she wasn’t calling for help—at least not to Charlie.

  Charlie stopped in front of the window. Her gaze settled on the thick line of pine and hardwood trees. A well-worn path disappeared into the gloom of the trees. This neighborhood was full of large houses on one-acre lots, and most backed up to more undeveloped acreage. Some areas still hadn’t fully recovered from the recession a few years back, so no builder had snapped up the land to turn it into more houses.

  A glimmer of sunlight bounced off something in the yard and blinded her for a second. She blinked and when the brightness was gone, she noticed a girl by the path. She must have been about eleven—red headed and so pale. Translucent. Cold dread coiled around Charlie’s heart and gave it a squeeze. The child was dead. Like most spirits, she must have sensed Charlie’s presence and sought her out. Was she a neighbor girl? Did she know Macey Givens? Charlie sighed and put the bear back on the bed. There was only one way to find out.

  Once downstairs, she passed the living room where Jason and the Givens’ sat forcing conversation and sipping iced tea. She gave him a little wave and her most serious expression but didn’t speak. He hopped to his feet and began to follow her through the house.

  “Charlie? Is everything okay?” Jason’s voice echoed behind her as she made her way out the back door. She heard him stop at the bottom of the steps and felt his stare on the back of her neck. Watching her. Waiting for her. He knew better than to get too close when she was like this. They’d only been working together a few months, but there was a comfortable trust between them. She would call if she needed him, and he would be there, which was all she could ask and all she knew he expected.

  Charlie made her way across the yard, her eyes fixed on the apparition. The closer Charlie came, the farther into the dim forest the girl moved. Once Charlie was walking along the path, the child disappeared. The girl could have been any one of a million shadows. Charlie stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Through the trees, she could see Jason. He had moved halfway between the house and the woods, and concern etched lines into his angular face. She could go back. Tell him she found nothing, but something inside her wouldn’t let her. That child had come for a reason. Charlie could feel it in her bones. She took a deep breath and continued walking into the murky light of the thick trees.

  The path wound its way through tall pines. Up high in the canopy, Spanish moss clung to the branches of the oaks and other hardwood trees. The silvery-gray beards of moss swayed in the late afternoon breeze. The woods were alive with squirrels and birds. They made the trees move and filled the space between them with their sounds. It would have been downright peaceful if she weren't looking for a dead girl to have a conversation with.

  “I know you're here.” She gazed around inspecting each shadow. “I know you saw me. I know you want to talk to me.” She stopped and turned in a circle. “It's probably been a long time since anyone has noticed you, but I'm here. Noticing you. Please come talk to me.” Charlie waited, listening. Somewhere above her head, a mourning dove cooed in response. “I’m gonna leave if you don’t come out.” The sound of tree branches cracking made her look up. A squirrel launched itself from one tree to another, sending a spray of pine needles flying.

  A cold finger traced its way down her back sending a shiver through her. When she turned toward it, the girl was standing there.

  “You can see me.” There was no astonishment in her tone. No real emotion.

  “I can.” Charlie called up a reassuring smile.

  “They said you could, but I had to see for myself.”

  “So, you’re a show-me kind of girl, huh?”

  The girl’s nose wrinkled with confusion and her soft gaze met Charlie’s.

  “I'm Charlie. What's your name?”

  “Trini.”

  “That’s a pretty name. Is it short for something?”

  “No. It’s just Trini.” The lack of affect in the girl’s voice made the skin on Charlie’s shoulder’s crawl.

  “Okay. Have you been here a long time, Trini?”

  Trini shrugged one of her slender shoulders. The stylized rainbow and smiling sun on her soft white t-shirt reminded Charlie of t-shirts her mother wore as a teenager in faded pictures from the seventies.

  “How ‘bout others? Are there others like you here in the woods?”

  Her blue eyes must have been dazzling in life, but in the gloom of the thick canopy, they were bleached and dull. “Sometimes. There are others in the house, but I don’t really talk to them much. They cry a lot.”

  “Why do they cry?”

  Trini’s throat undulated, as if she were swallowing hard. A habit from when she was alive. She had no need to swallow now. Charlie had seen this type of thing before—spirits using physical gestures they used in life. “Sad, I guess. They want to go home. But they can’t.”

  “Do you remember meeting another girl, sort of close to your age?”

  Trini scrunched her lips into a frown. There were still freckles on her pallid skin. “They’re all close to my age. Some older. Some younger. But not by much.”

  A pang squeezed Charlie’s heart. “Have you ever met a girl named Macey? Her parents are very worried and sad. They’d like to know what happened to her.”

  The wind kicked up swirling leaves and pine needles along the path. Trini’s eyes darkened. “She’s dead. We’re all dead. That’s all anybody needs to know.”

  Charlie’s arms broke into goose bumps, and she took a step backward. She
wasn’t sure if the child had learned how to harness energy. Some spirits learned early. Others never learned. The last thing she needed was an angry spirit with the mind of a child throwing rocks or downing trees on top of her.

  “Trini—”

  “Shhh. Did you hear that?” The girl startled as if she’d heard a clap of thunder, and her eyes widened.

  Charlie glanced at the canopy of trees looking for the source of the girl’s worries. A gray squirrel skittering across a branch stopped and stared down at her. His black eyes locked on her and he chattered as if he were cursing at her for disturbing the peace of his forest. Or maybe he was just warning his friends—Beware of the ghost and the weirdo talking to her.

  “It's just a squirrel,” Charlie soothed.

  “No. It's him.” Her voice became panicked. She shook her head from side to side and took a step backwards. Charlie noticed that Trini’s feet were transparent but the pine needles snapped beneath them.

  “Trini, no one is here except me. I promise.” She took a step toward her.

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Trini’s voice caught on the wind and swirled around them. “It’s mean.”

  Trini’s gaze shifted to the space just behind Charlie. Her body flickered, faded. A sharp popping sound pierced through the woods. Trini turned and ran, becoming hazier with each step until she disappeared.

  “Wait. Please don't go.” The sound of crunching pine needles beneath running feet was her only answer. “Trini!”

  Charlie crossed her arms and stared at the empty path before her. There was no point in chasing after a ghost. Especially one that didn’t want to be found. Charlie started to turn back, disappointed. Every hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her skin broke into goosebumps. A cold finger traced down her spine, and from the corner of her eye she glimpsed the ragged sleeve of a black robe. Death. She had felt him before but had only seen him a couple of times since the night she first called him. She’d gone unnoticed then, but now, he stood beside her. She didn’t want to look at him. Maybe if she pretended not to notice him, he would just leave. Her heart hammered staccato beats in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut.