by Rose Pressey
Chapter Two
I peeled her arms from around my neck. “It was just the cat. Take a deep breath and calm down.”
She clutched her chest. “I guess I’m a little jumpy, huh?”
“A little,” I said, pinching my index finger and thumb together. “I can’t believe you saw a strange man at my front door and you’re just now telling me.” My voice raised a level.
“Well, upon closer inspection, I think it was just the shrubbery.” She tucked a blonde strand of her hair behind her ear.
“No one could accuse you of a lack of imagination. Remember when you watched Pride and Prejudice and then insisted we all had to speak with a British accent and have four o’clock tea every afternoon?”
“Never mind that,” she huffed. “You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you? I happen to think England is a beautiful place.”
I laughed. “I think it’s beautiful too, but you have to admit my accent sounded more like Pirates of the Caribbean than Princess Di. And it’s not like you ever let me forget about that time I wanted to join the circus.”
“You’re not the traveling type. You freak out when you have to drive to New Haven.” She shook her head. “So you didn’t find a body in the attic?”
“No body. You’ve officially become paranoid.”
“You probably didn’t look hard enough.” Annabelle paused, peering up at the staircase with distrust.
We moved across the foyer, the sound of our footsteps echoing across the old wood floors.
“What’s that?” She pointed at the book tucked under my arm.
One thing I loved about Annabelle was that she had never judged me, unlike the other non-magical folk in Enchantment Pointe. We’d been best friends since the day we shared our finger paints in kindergarten, and she’d stuck by me through thick and thin—burned-down kitchens and all. She knew about my ancestors and my witchy background, but it never fazed her.
“Um, an old book. I’m not sure what it is. I can’t read it. It’s written in a weird language.” I was still feeling strangely unsettled by it. After stepping through the open French doors leading into the library, I sat down in one of the red velvet-upholstered chairs opposite the large ornate fireplace. The room’s walls were covered with wood and floor-to-ceiling bookcases with my great-aunt’s old hardbacks lining an entire wall. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.
“Can I see it?” Annabelle asked.
I hesitated for a moment, then handed the book to her.
She flipped through a few pages and then shoved it back in my direction. Her abrupt movement surprised me. It was as if she thought she shouldn’t be looking at it. Maybe she sensed it had otherworldly qualities—she’d always been uncomfortable around magical objects.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask her why she seemed so freaked out, the sound of movement caught our attention—footsteps echoing through the walls. We remained seated in front of the fireplace, neither one of us moving an inch. The footfalls sounded as if they’d come from the bedroom directly above us. I shook off my fear: this was my home now, and if there was an intruder, I’d deal with it like the witch I was.
Jumping up, I tiptoed over to the staircase. Annabelle followed, but stopped short at the library entrance, pressing her back against the wall. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. The footsteps sounded again, this time coming across the hall toward the landing. An undeniable presence emanated from the top of the stairs, but I saw nothing. I knew something was there… I felt it. A cold misty sensation sent chills down my arms.
Slowly, I placed my foot on the step in front of me and forced the other one to do the same. The stairs made a creaking noise with the movement. Annabelle rushed over, grabbing the back of my shirt so I almost tumbled backward. A ghost hunter she was not.
“You can’t go up there,” she whispered, still holding my shirt.
“Why not?” I whispered back.
“Because it’s dangerous, that’s why. Can’t you do some kind of spell and get rid of the spirits?” Her voice wavered.
“Ghosts are supposed to be living with me here, Annabelle. It’s their job. Their whole purpose is to make spooky noises and make us think we’re losing our minds. They haunt creepy old manors. I can’t ask them to leave. Besides, witchcraft doesn’t work that way. Don’t you know that by now?”
I hoped she would never ask how witchcraft really worked, because there was no way in hell I could explain. I had no idea how it worked. If I had, I wouldn’t have been named Worst Witch of 2009 at the local fête.
“If I see bones coming down those stairs I will probably pee my pants,” she whispered, still holding my shirt.
I pulled the fabric from her grasp. “Let’s go up there and see what happened. Maybe it was just the wind.”
Okay, even I couldn’t say that with a straight face. There was no way the noise we’d heard was the wind.
Annabelle shook her head, stepping backwards toward the door. “I just remembered. I told my mother I’d take her shopping for yarn.”
I turned around to face her. “Yarn?” I raised an eyebrow. “Since when does she know how to knit?”
“New hobby. She’s quite good actually. You should see the lovely scarf she’s making.” She chuckled nervously.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here with a ghost. You’re supposed to be my best friend!” I closed the space between us.
She grabbed my arms and looked me straight in the eyes. “I don’t want you to stay here. Get out while you can. This place is haunted and it’s creepy. They shoot spooky movies in houses like this one.”
“You are officially in panic mode.”
“You’re damn skippy I’m in panic mode. And you’d do well to turn on that switch too. Join me in my freaked-out state, won’t you?” If possible, her eyes widened even more.
“Take a deep breath and tell yourself that everything is fine. Repeat after me: ‘I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.’”
“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“What? Me? Make fun of you? Never.”
The look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t remotely convinced by my false bravado.
Annabelle shook her head. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me in the middle of the night when some ghost wakes you up and you freak out. I’ll be sleeping.”
I used my index finger to draw an imaginary cross over my heart. “I promise.”
I wasn’t about to let her in on the fact that I was more than a little creeped out. That would only cause her more terror. As far as Annabelle was concerned, I had always been fearless. My witchcraft ancestry made me invincible. I didn’t want to burst her paranormal bubble. Heck, I wouldn’t dare tell Annabelle about the pull that I’d felt from the book. The yearning desire I had to understand every single word between its old covers.
As she hurried toward the door, she called over her shoulder, “I was just joking about calling me, you know? You can call anytime you want.”
I nodded. “I know. Go help your mother with the yarn. I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”