Midlife Ghost Hunter: A Paranormal Women's Fiction (The Forty Proof Series Book 4)

by Shannon Mayer

  I tapped the top of my teacup. “When in Rome. And make it a good one, it’s been a long day.”

  She gave a cackle and poured more than a triple into my cup. “Your gran never drank with me. This will be fun. And to answer your question about your friends . . . I’m not saying they don’t all mean well, but each of them has other ties. The sexy as sin siren to the council and his own urges, the wolf to his pack, the fairy to her queen, and of course, the river maid to her boss. The only one without any conflicting loyalties is your bony friend.” She made a motion, and I looked over my right shoulder to see Robert swaying there quietly. Interesting that he’d been allowed to come and no one else.

  I picked up the teacup and took a good slurp. The whiskey was sharp and oaky, and the burn in my belly helped ease the fear the wraiths had caused. Whiskey in a teacup, how classy of me.

  “So I can’t trust them? That’s what you’re saying.” I held the cup in both hands and watched her over the rim.

  She waved a hand at me, her knuckles prominent, the skin pulled taut over them. “No, but . . . you know already that the shadow world is rarely one thing or another. You can’t say all werewolves are good or bad. You can’t say that every goblin is a stinker, or that every fairy is helpful. The shadow world has far more shades of gray than it does simple black and white. And no matter how devoted your friends are to you, their previous ties will tug on them. Their very natures will tug on them. I imagine you’ve already seen that?”

  I frowned and took another swig of the whiskey, focusing on the heat as it rolled down my throat and settled into my belly. She wasn’t wrong. I’d seen it with Corb and his ties to the council . . . and even with Crash and his unwilling connection to Karissa and the goblins.

  Hell, Feish had caused trouble trying to be loyal to Crash during the whole Hattie mess.

  I felt a soft weight on my head and realized Kinkly had never lifted off. I reached up and scooped her off the top of my head. She was passed out, and I flipped open my bag and slid her into it. She mumbled something but didn’t stir.

  “Smart,” Penny murmured. “See, you know I’m not wrong.”

  I took another swallow from my drink and got down to business. “My gran’s ghost was taken,” I said as I lowered the cup. “Everything is pointing to New Orleans. I’m going to find her. While I’m there, I want to find out why she and my parents were killed there. And Alan,” I added as an afterthought.

  Penny closed her eyes, and her lips moved silently for a moment—in a prayer, maybe?—before she spoke. “Damnation. That woman gets herself into trouble even when she’s dead.”

  My lips quirked. “Seems to be a family trait. Finding trouble that is.”

  She snorted, then tapped the rim of her teacup with a fingernail. “True enough. You more than her, I’d guess?” She arched a brow in question.

  I gave her a reluctant nod. “Seems that way. I’m not a witch like her. But . . . something else?” I let the unspoken question hang between us, but she didn’t answer it any more than Eammon had. I wondered if she’d been spelled not to tell me. It was frustrating that no one could. If I knew what I was, then maybe I could figure out what I was capable of. That would’ve been good, wouldn’t it?

  Yeah, I thought so too.

  “Your gran, Celia, she was looking for pieces of a spell,” Penny said. “She had part of it she was trying to decipher. A few stanzas on a sheet of paper. A list of ingredients, if you will.” She sipped her tea, which was mostly whiskey, her dark eyes thoughtful. “I don’t know what exactly the spell was for, she never told me, but she was determined to find the components and keep them out of the wrong hands. Course, you and I both know she never came back from NOLA, at least, not alive.”

  I clutched the teacup so hard, I worried for a moment it would break. I forced my fingers to ease off the bone china. “A spell? What spell could be worth dying for?”

  Penny kept tapping the rim of her cup. “That is the question. Something powerful, for sure. Something that could change the world if it was used. Knowing Celia, it wasn’t because she wanted to complete the spell, but rather because she didn’t want anyone else to. Being a Coven of Silver, we are guardians of both worlds: human and shadow filled. But how do your parents figure into this? That is the place to start, I think. With their deaths.”

  My hand dropped to the bag at my hip. Gran’s spell book was in there, a piece of her I still possessed. A niggling, half-drunk memory tried to surface, but it settled back under the murk before I could take hold of it.

  “Hattie was raising a demon,” I said. “She wanted the blood of a bigfoot to do it. You said there were only a few spells that would call for an ingredient like that.”

  Penny’s eyelids lowered and she pursed her lips. “That will help narrow down which spell she was hunting for. There are maybe fifty or so that use the blood of a bigfoot. Assuming there is more than one copy of the spell to find. Goes along with what Celia was hunting for, I think, something very rare, something very hard to find.”

  A chill of apprehension twisted up with a curl of excitement. “You know for sure what Gran was looking for in New Orleans? Won’t that help narrow the search down further?”

  Penny gave a sad smile and took another swig of whiskey before she answered me. “It would. She was looking for the wings of a fallen angel.”

  9

  I tried desperately to quirk one eyebrow at Penny, because sitting there on her tiny porch drinking whiskey out of fine china teacups, I was sure she’d just said that Gran had been looking for the wings of a fallen angel in NOLA.

  Then again, New Orleans was known for being a sinful city. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising it had hosted a fallen angel or two at some point.

  “What?” My mouth moved before I could think better of it.

  “Rude,” she muttered. “You young ones forget your manners too quick. What? Eh? How about a proper response?”

  It had been some time since I’d been called a “young one,” let alone called out on my manners, but I suppose next to Penny, who was likely in her nineties, I was young. “Pardon me,” I tried again, “but could you repeat what you said about angel wings? I thought maybe I misheard you.”

  Penny nodded. “That’s better. Now, Celia told me that she was sure that if anywhere in the world she’d find the wings of a fallen angel, it would be in New Orleans. Popular place for the otherworldly as you can imagine, and more temptations than even an angel could resist. Apparently.” She leaned back in her cushioned chair with a sigh, holding her cup to her chest. “Whoever took your gran’s ghost likely knows the knowledge of the location of those wings is locked somewhere in her soul. Of course, I’m assuming a new player hasn’t stepped into the arena in the six months since your gran’s murder.”

  Something about the matter-of-fact way she stated it got to me. Murder. I mean, I’d known that Gran hadn’t died naturally, but hearing it like that made my throat tighten. Which called for another swig of whiskey to loosen things.

  Robert growled a little. “Whiskey. Please. Friend.”

  I handed him what was left in the bottom of the teacup, and he grasped it with his hands, bony fingers clacking against the bone china, and then the distinct sound of the whiskey hitting ribs as it slid down and dripped to the ground beneath his feet.

  Penny sighed. “You got several problems, girly. Someone in Savannah is trying to kill you, that much is obvious, and whoever took Celia won’t hesitate to do the same to you and your friends if you get in their way.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I mumbled as I took the cup back from Robert. As tempting as it was to pour another full cup, I restrained myself. I needed my wits about me for what was coming.

  Drinking could come later, during a celebration of some sort. Like a yay, we’re alive and the bad guy is dead sort of celebration. Maybe I’d get some champagne and really class things up.

  Penny snapped her fingers, and a small square card appeared in her hand. “Yo
u can stay at our coven’s safe house in NOLA. Room on the third floor at the end was the one Celia liked. It’s on Rampart Street, right near a small unmarked cemetery and not far from the river. This should help you out some. It’s a hidden house, like this place here, so don’t lose this card or you won’t find your way in.”

  “Will my friends be able to go in?” I asked.

  “If you lead them in by the hand, one at a time,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  I stared at the woman across from me, seeing what time had done to her skin, her hair, and her body, aging her and giving her aches and pains. She wasn’t spry in any sense of the word, yet her eyes glittered with life and intelligence and more than that . . . fun. She had a spirit of mischief about her that made me smile, and I suspected it was what had drawn Gran to her. If I was the type to find trouble, Penny was trouble in a nutshell.

  “Why are you smiling at me?” She tipped her head to one side and squinted at me.

  I grinned as the idea flowed out of my mouth before I could think better of it. “You want to go to NOLA with us? See what we can figure out together?”

  Her cackle filled the air as she slapped the table. “You trust me?”

  “Oh, hell no.” I waved a hand at her. “But you’re fun, and I think you can help me find Gran. Some memories came back to me in the graveyard. She let herself relax with you in a way she never did with Missy and Hattie. And I think she brought me here for a reason back then, maybe so I could find you again.”

  Penny pushed to her feet. “I thought you’d never ask. It would be against the coven’s rules for me to suggest it, but you can ask for assistance and I can agree to give it, which we’ve just done. I will help you find your path, Bree O’Rylee.”

  I nodded. “Do you need anything before we go?”

  She tapped her cane on the porch. “Nah, got my cane. The safe house is stocked with food, clothes, and spell books.”

  I held out an arm, and she settled her hand in the crook of it as I helped her down the stairs . . . and back into view apparently.

  Corb stood at the bottom of the stairs, so close he should have been able to see them, yet his eyes never landed on them, only on me. “Shit, Bree, you just disappeared!”

  “How long was I gone?” I asked as I helped Penny walk through the long grasses toward the cemetery. The others turned to follow us.

  “Five seconds. Less maybe,” Sarge answered. “Wait, what is happening?”

  “Penny is coming with us,” I said. “She was one of Gran’s friends, and she’s got a place in NOLA that will hide us.”

  The silence of the two men was telling. But Feish stepped toward us and said, “She is not your best friend. I am. To be clear, that is the rule.”

  Kinkly pushed the lip of my bag open and hung over the edge of the leather, yawning. “I don’t care who comes with us. I just need to sleep off this sugar.” Her jaw cracked on the next yawn, and then she tumbled back into the bag.

  There was a grumble from my hip bag as Alan asked who was coming with us. I lifted the flap and helped Kinkly out. Alan’s face stared up at me. I said, “A witch who knew Gran is coming with us. She can help out. Also, she likes whiskey in her tea.”

  Alan grimaced and withdrew. “A pair of lushes, just like you and Mavis.”

  I smiled to myself as I let the leather flap drop on his face.

  Every girl needs a girlfriend to drink with who won’t tell your stage-whispered secrets to anyone else. Sometimes that girl is your own age, and sometimes she isn’t.

  We cut through the cemetery, past where the wraiths had tackled me and then on through the bush to the side of the road, where Corb’s Mustang sat waiting. Sarge must have driven it over while Corb ran after us.

  I slid into the backseat, squished between Sarge and Feish, and let Penny take the front passenger seat.

  Corb was silent through the whole walk from Penny’s place to his car. Not a peep out of him as he turned the key, cranked the wheel, and got us going once more toward New Orleans.

  I wondered just how long he could hold it together before he burst out with something about bringing someone new in without his say-so.

  Sarge leaned in close to me and whispered, “Want to bet on how long before he freaks out?”

  I sighed. “Five minutes after arrival at the house. I think he’ll hold out until then.”

  “I say it’ll happen as soon as the car door shuts, still in the driveway,” Sarge whispered.

  Kinkly mumbled. “Before we hit the outskirts of NOLA.”

  I looked over at Feish, who pursed her fish lips before speaking. “Sooner is better so you can see that he is not the man for you. Boss is. This one is just horny.”

  Of course, she didn’t whisper that at all. Corb shot me a look in the rearview mirror, and I shrugged. “You know Feish; calling it how she sees it.” When he tensed, I gave him a smile. “Doesn’t mean she’s right, Corb. It’s just her opinion.”

  I wiggled in my seat until I could pull my hip bag around and open it. I reached in, pushing Alan to the side, and pulled out my gran’s spell book.

  Penny somehow knew what I was doing without turning around. “I heard that you gave Missy your gran’s spell book. That true?”

  “I gave her a spell book, that’s for sure,” I said. “But not the one she wanted.”

  Penny laughed. “I don’t know that Missy is as bad as she comes across. She’s always been sour. Bad upbringing on her, but she does her best.”

  “Pretty sure she’s the one that untethered Gran from the house, which made it possible for her to be taken. She was there, demanding the spell book, and then suddenly Gran got snatched up? No coincidence as far as I’m concerned,” I muttered as I flipped open the book on my lap and pulled out a small flashlight to read by. I’d have to move fast because reading in a moving car made me nauseous.

  Sarge leaned his head back against the seat and slumped down, closing his eyes. “Wake me up when we get close.”

  Kinkly was already back asleep, snoring lightly from her place which was now in the curve of the top flap of my bag.

  Feish looked out the window. “Still think the boss is better for you.”

  That made me smile as I looked down at the book. “Love life later, work right now,” I said.

  I flipped to the section on wraiths and poked through it until I found what I was looking for. I’d review the rest of the information later—in case we actually had to fight them next time—but first I wanted to know what type of supernatural had likely called them.

  A necromancer. Well, that made my guts tighten in an uncomfortable way.

  I put my finger on the word and thought about all of the men in the council. One of them had definitely been a necromancer. He’d made Alan shut his mouth, which had been amazing. I tried to think about his features, but he really hadn’t stood out except for his amazing ability to silence Alan.

  “Penny?”

  “Yes?”

  “A necromancer would have been able to raise up the wraiths, right?”

  She didn’t twist around in her seat. “If it was just one, it was what you’d call a top-of-the-class necromancer. Normally, a necromancer can just hold one or maybe two, and there were four on you.”

  I looked down at the book. “There’s no mention of anyone else being able to call them forward.”

  The old woman turned in her seat. “That’s because no one else can do it, not even a witch as powerful as your gran could have called up and held onto that many wraiths. Maybe one, if she was working with another witch, but not four. That’s power in a nutshell.” Penny tapped her walking stick on the floor of the car with a steady thump. Her tapping seemed to coincide with her thought process. “Don’t know many necromancers who could have done it. At least none that are alive. He could have help though, I suppose.”

  “But I’m guessing a necromancer could have taken Gran’s ghost?”

  Penny gave me a grim nod. “Yes, that’s a distinct possibility.
”

  I reached forward and touched Corb on the shoulder. “Could you call Louis? Would he know some of the necromancers?” Being the resident necromancer for the Hollows, Louis should have some connections. While he was a bit of a snob and, from what I could tell, not much of a necromancer himself, he still might be able to help us. And he’d been worried about Eammon, which made me think he knew something was up.

  Corb’s shoulder was tense under my hand and his tone was sharp. “No. He wouldn’t help us if he could, and you and I both know he’s useless when it comes to the dead. He can’t even see your skeletal friend. His own coven. . .they booted him out of their inner circle.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Necromancers have an ‘in crowd’?”

  Corb’s eyes never wavered from the road as he spoke. “Every species does. The council is supposed to look out for everyone, but we’ve all seen how that works.”

  I leaned back in my seat, thoughts running rampant in my head, trying to form connections. I panned through the book until I found the section on necromancers.

  There was not a lot of new information. I let my finger trail along the words, following the flashlight’s illumination. Necromancers could raise the dead, call up wraiths, and bring someone back from the brink of death by driving the specter of death away—not indefinitely, but long enough for the person to be healed. I flipped the page over, but the entry didn’t continue on the other side.

  I tried looking up angels, but there wasn’t anything in the book about them. Tried devils on the off chance there might be a connection. Nothing there either.

  My stomach gave a roll, and I grimaced as the motion sickness set in. But I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t found anything yet about angel wings, certainly not in conjunction with necromancers.

  I frowned as another memory tried to jerk its way out of that murky spot in the back of my head. It gave another wriggle before falling still.

  I flipped through the book, doing what I could to memorize the order of things so I’d have an easier time finding information on the fly. My guts twisted up and I swallowed hard. A few more pages, and I’d have to give it up.