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

by Wendy Wang

  An icy trail scraped softly along her cheek.

  Look at me — his voice was silky, almost seductive and it echoed through her head.

  “No.” She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes tighter. She felt him shift from beside her. His robes created a soft cold breeze as he moved in front of her.

  “Go away,” she whispered.

  Open your eyes — his words washed through her, chasing away the chill that had settled around her shoulders and penetrated her chest. Look at me.

  Something sharp nicked the skin of her neck. Her hand found her throat, and warm sticky blood oozed between her fingers. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the darkness of his hood, where his face should have been. All she could see were fiery amber-colored eyes. They fixed her to the spot. Her whole body froze as if she’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen. If he touched her, would she shatter into a million little pieces?

  Where did the girl go? The smolder in the reaper’s voice didn’t warm her. Charlie wanted to ask him why he didn’t know where the child went, but she couldn’t stop shaking. He towered over her, his gaze unwavering. He tipped his head out of curiosity and leaned in. His warm breath washed over her face, and it smelled sweet, almost to the point of cloying. But then the scent of something else pushed through the veil of sweetness — rotted flesh mixed with moldy leaves and the sickly-sweet odor of a fresh corpse. The mixed scents coated her throat, making her gag. She fought the urge to vomit.

  Hot tears pushed onto her cheeks, and she bent over, hands on knees, able to move again.

  She turned and ran, pumping her arms. Logically, she knew there was no way to outrun death. If he wanted her, he would take her, but she couldn’t just lie down and let it happen.

  Something scraped across her ankles, causing her feet to tangle. The ground rushed up to meet her and sharp pain spread through her tongue. The taste of fresh coppery blood filled her mouth. A black cloud blinded her for a moment.

  His robes. She turned her head slightly and met his fiery gaze. Her skin broke into a cold sweat and a tremor shook her body. The reaper hovered over her. This was not how she wanted to die. There was too much left for her to do, and her eleven-year-old son Evan still needed her.

  “Charlie?” Jason’s voice cut through the haze of fear. The reaper shifted his gaze, crouching beside her for a moment, and a low growl rumbled through her head. Charlie closed her eyes and when she opened them, the reaper was gone.

  Jason appeared on the path. Deep lines etched the space between his eyebrows and his usually intense glare zeroed in on her. He picked up his pace and knelt as soon as he was next to her.

  “Oh, my god you're bleeding! What happened?” He pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound on her neck.

  “Nothing.” She pushed his hand away and sat up. “I'm fine. It was stupid. I —” She thought about lying to him. He would believe whatever she told him. She sighed. “I just scared myself and tripped over my feet. I'm fine.”

  “Well, at least take this.” He held out the handkerchief. Charlie sighed and took it, pressing it against her neck. “What spooked you?”

  “Nothing. It was stupid really.”

  “So, you didn’t see Macey.”

  “No. I saw a different girl.”

  “A real girl? Or —”

  “A dead girl. Her name was Trini.”

  “Great.” He sighed and pulled a small notebook from his front pocket, along with a pen. He clicked the button on top of the pen and pressed it to the paper “She didn’t happen to spell that for you, did she?”

  Charlie chuckled. “No. But she did say it’s not a nickname.”

  “Well,” he said scribbling. “I guess that’s something.”

  “She also said there were other girls her age where she . . . uh . . . lives.”

  Jason gave her a side-eyed glance.

  “You know what I mean.” Charlie scowled.

  “Did she say anything else? Like maybe an address?”

  “No. Sorry. But — ” Charlie bit her bottom lip and tried to call up the girl’s face. “I do think she’s been here a long time. Maybe since the seventies.”

  “Why?”

  “She was wearing high-waisted jeans and a rainbow t-shirt.”

  He suppressed a smirk. “Isn’t that what they call retro-style?”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess, but I got the feeling she was from then.”

  “So, why were you running? Was she — you know? Scary?” His gaze intensified.

  “No.” She hesitated. This part of their relationship always seemed so fragile to her. Even though he believed in her, sometimes the things she told him were hard for him to swallow. Charlie offered a weak smile. “She seemed kind of lost. It was sad, really.”

  “Well, you scratched yourself pretty good. Your uncle Jack is not going to be happy with me.”

  Her lips twitched with a smirk. It was sort of cute that Jason worried about what her uncle might think. “Don’t you worry. I’ll let him know it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Good.” Jason pushed to his feet. He offered his hand and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Jason glanced around. “Come on let's get outta here. This place gives me the willies.”

  Charlie nodded and the two of them headed back toward the house. The wind kicked up as they left the gloom of the woods. The soft breeze blew around them, and Charlie heard the reaper’s silky voice whisper her name.

  Chapter 2

  Friday afternoon, Charlie pulled into the driveway of her ex-husband's house and parked her car and growled a little when she didn’t see her son Evan waiting for her on the porch of the three-story Victorian. This was Scott’s doing. Anytime he wanted to talk to her, he made Evan wait inside. She really didn’t have time to deal with her ex today. Friday nights were reserved for dinner with her three cousins, aunt, and uncle. She’d spent so many years without them when she was married, and after she and Scott divorced, she’d sworn she would not let any man come between her and her family again. She’d also promised her aunt that she’d come a little early to help set up. Charlie honked the horn twice and waited.

  A couple of minutes later, Scott stepped onto the porch. His bare feet and casual attire, a pair of khaki shorts and a navy polo did not soften the stern look on his angular face. He waved his hand, signaling for her to come inside the house.

  She sighed and got out of the car. She was up the steps and at the glass-paned double front door within a minute. It was almost 4 PM.

  “What’s going on Scott?” Charlie asked, trying not to sound too irritated. “We’re already running late.”

  “I understand,” he said. “But I have something serious to discuss with you.”

  “What?”

  “Will you please just not argue?” Scott snapped. “This is important.”

  “Fine.” Charlie crossed her arms and stepped into the grand foyer.

  Scott walked fast through the maze of the house they used to share toward his study. He led her through the formal living room — which was still decorated in gold and cream. Glistening crystal collectibles filled the room that her ex-mother-in-law gave her every year for birthdays and Christmas, even though Charlie hated them. She despised this room as much now as she did when they were married.

  The living room had originally been decorated by her ex-mother-in-law’s decorator when they were first married. Every inch of the space screamed do not touch. The old biddy would've decorated the whole house if Charlie had let her, but after she’d finished with this room she’d put her foot down and stood up to her mother-in-law. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done up to that point in her life. After that, her mother-in-law kept her distance, and Charlie believed that Marilyn Carver probably cheered when Scott told her their marriage was over.

  Charlie’s stomach flip-flopped as they approached the open carved walnut door of his study.

  “Come on.” Scott gestured for her to follow h
im. Some part of her shrank inside.

  She reminded herself: You are free. You are free. You are free.

  She scowled and followed him across the threshold.

  “We need to talk about Evan. Close the door please.”

  The spicy scent of old books and tanned leather mixed with the slight scent of fresh lemon polish. The combination of odors tickled the back of her throat and she couldn’t resist the urge to rub the tip of her nose. She glanced around the room. It had been awhile since she’d been in Scott’s office. Even when they were still married she’d avoided the room. In the two years since she’d left, not much had changed. He’d added a couple of new pictures of himself on whatever adventure he had oh so carefully posed for, expanding the collection of pictures of him rock climbing, sky diving, hang gliding, water skiing, running the Boston marathon.

  He was so handsome he belonged in the pages of a magazine. It used to make her heart ache to look at him he was so beautiful. And there was a time when she wondered why had he ever chosen her? But those days were gone. The only feelings she had left for him were how she was going to deal with him until Evan was eighteen.

  “What's going on with Evan?” Charlie asked.

  Scott gestured to the chairs facing his desk, then he carefully lowered himself into the tall leather manager’s chair, holding his right arm against his chest. He winced as he settled into it. The over-sized mahogany piece gleamed and it easily put five feet between them. Charlie took a seat in one of the leather armchairs facing the desk. Why did coming into this study always make her feel like she was sixteen years old again and had been called to the principal’s office? Like she had done something wrong. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Charlie asked, pointing to his arm.

  “Bike accident. Hit a rock and flipped over the handlebars.” He waved off her concern. “That’s not what I need to talk to you about. I need your support.” He said the words as if they were an order instead of a request.

  “Okay,” Charlie drawled the word and narrowed her eyes. She’d been here before many times in their marriage. “I need your support” in Scott-speak meant “This is what I’m doing, like it or lump it.” The knot in her stomach tightened. “Support for what?”

  “Evan has not been paying attention in school. He’s not doing as well as he should. I've talked to Mitch Holtz about this — you remember him, don’t you? He thinks it could be chemical. Anyway, he's giving me a prescription for Evan. To help him focus. Evan doesn't want to take the pills. I need you to support me. He can't say no if you're on board, too.” Scott looked down his perfect nose. His hazel green eyes narrowed and he fixed his gaze on her.

  Charlie dug her nails into the flesh of her upper arms and carefully controlled her voice as she spoke. “You took Evan to see a psychiatrist without calling me?”

  Scott sighed. His upper lip twitched, and he gave her a why-must-you-always-question-me look, as if her concern for her son was somehow meant to put him out.

  “Charlie,” he started, his voice full of warning. “This is not that big of a deal. There are plenty of kids in his class that are on medication for ADHD.”

  “Well, that’s just great if they actually have ADHD. But Evan is not hyperactive.” Her bottom lip quivered. It took everything she had to remain calm. “He is a normal little boy.”

  “No! He’s not.” Scott placed his hands palms down on the desk and leaned forward. His nostrils flared like a bull readying itself to charge and there she was waving a red cape in his face. Scott lowered his voice, using his most stern authoritative tone. “He's going on medication and that’s all there is to it. I can’t let this — this — thing he has control his life.”

  “What thing?”

  Scott sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. He studied Charlie for a moment. She had seen that look on his face before. It was the face he made when contemplating exactly how to go in for the kill. “You know what thing.”

  “What is going on, Scott? Is he really not able to concentrate or are you just embarrassed because he happens to be a little more sensitive than other boys his age?”

  “He needs to focus on his studies. He can’t do that if he’s having these — delusions.”

  “What delusions? What has happened?”

  “Nothing specific.” His eyes flitted to the window overlooking the marsh.

  “Why are you lying to me?”

  Scott’s jaw tightened and his eyes sharpened on her. “We’re not discussing this any further. I won’t let his future be jeopardized just because you don't like the solution.”

  “I don't like the solution because it's the wrong solution. If he's having problems concentrating maybe we should try, oh I don’t know, talking to him. Maybe there's something going on at school.”

  Scott's lips thinned into a disdainful line, and he met her attempts at information gathering with stony silence.

  “No, of course not. Why talk when you can just get one of your cronies to write a ‘script right? I have read article after article how American parents are too quick to jump on the medication bandwagon. And no, you do not get the last say in this. He’s my son too.”

  “I am the custodial parent.” There was something final and disparaging in those words. She could hear his heart speaking to her, his thoughts, even though his mouth didn’t move again. I am the responsible one, the sane one, it said. The one who didn’t try to leave us all behind with a handful of pills. She would always be paying for her sin. He would make sure of it. Charlie’s cheeks flooded with heat.

  “I really hate you sometimes.” She leaned forward in the chair and sat on her hands, to keep from picking one of the paperweights up from his desk and chucking it at him. She fixed her gaze on him, trying to ignore the gold and green flecks in his hazel eyes and the way they shimmered in the light. She steeled herself as she spoke. “If you do this. If you give him medication against his will. Against my will. Without a second opinion of a doctor of my choosing, I will take you back to court and I will sue you for full custody of my son. Do you understand me?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched and the shadow of a smirk appeared. Cold dread wound its way around her heart and squeezed. How had she ever found his arrogance attractive? What was wrong with her?

  “Good luck with that.” He tapped one finger against the mahogany desk, smudging the fresh polish. “If you fight with me, Charlie, I will march out every doctor I know to declare you just this side of clinically insane. Is that really something you want to put Evan through?”

  “You son of a bitch,” she muttered. A trickle of cold sweat traced its way down her spine. The icy pang in her heart spread throughout her chest, chilling her whole body. “This isn't over.”

  “I believe it is. I’m sending his medication with you. And I will count the pills when he gets home. I will know if you don't give them to him. I'm sure a judge would love to hear how you refused to give him his medication.”

  “Screw you,” she said softly.

  “Don't fuck with me, Charlie.” His hateful gaze fixed on her. A knock on the door broke their staring contest.

  “Mom?” Evan's voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”

  “I'm here, baby.” Charlie hopped to her feet.

  The doorknob turned and Evan poked his head into his father’s study. “Ready to go?”

  “I am. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Charlie wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders ushering him away. She smiled and focused on his sweet round face. “I can’t wait to hear all about your week.”

  Evangeline stood by the stove with a meat fork in one hand. She stuck the sharp tines into one of the floured pork chops on the plate, lifted it and lowered it carefully into the boiling oil. The delicious aroma of fried pork filled the kitchen. Her long silver hair was wrapped in a neat bun at the base of her head. She wore a pair of denim Capri pants and a pale lavender blouse beneath the vibrant pur
ple apron she favored, tied tightly around her slim waist. “Charlie, would you set the table please?”

  “Yes, ma'am.” Charlie looked at the stack of white china plates on the counter. She ran her thumb over the edge counting to make sure she had the right number. “Are we expecting someone? There's nine plates here.”

  Her aunt's blue eyes twinkled, and a gentle smile stretched her lips. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Who?”

  “I don't know.” Evangeline poked her fork into one of the chops frying in the black cast-iron pan and gently turned it over so as not to cause the oil to splatter.

  “I don't understand. If you don't know who's coming, then how do you know somebody's coming at all?”

  Evangeline's left eyebrow quirked up. Charlie knew that look well. It was the don't-question-me look.

  “Broom fell earlier. Better do as she says,” Lisa Holloway, Charlie's oldest cousin, said as she entered the kitchen. Lisa was an attorney by trade and spent her days in expensive suits and heels, poring over contracts, wills, and tax returns for her clients. But on Friday nights, she shed her lawyerly attire. Tonight, her long strawberry blonde hair fell over her shoulders in two loose braids. She had already changed from the smart white linen suit she’d worn when she first arrived into cut-off jean shorts and fitted red t-shirt that clashed with her hair. She leaned against the counter and wiggled her perfectly pedicured toes. “I sensed it too. There’s definitely somebody else coming for dinner.”

  Charlie rolled her eyes and shook her head. She knew better than to argue with a couple of seasoned witches. She mumbled under her breath, “Well, I didn't sense anything.”

  “I don't think I'd brag about that if I were you. Especially since you’ve got paying customers now,” Lisa teased. Charlie frowned and stuck her tongue out at her cousin. Lisa laughed. Charlie was only handing out the cards offering her services on an as-needed basis. Although all of her cousins had taken a stack to give out on her behalf.