Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  Waleah turned, saw Opal, in her filthy, blood-covered clothes, and screamed.

  Everyone in the pub stopped talking. A glass fell to the floor and smashed. Opal waved at the crowd. “Hi.”

  Sheriff Max stood up from her spot a few tables over and said, “Opal Button, you're alive!”

  Opal tugged at her right ear. “Yeah.” Everybody kept staring.

  Max said, “Opal, think carefully. Where is the orb?”

  “I put my finger in the unicorn's mouth, in the statue, and the orb fell into my hand. I didn't mean to mess anything up. I don't even know why I did it.”

  During the whole bike ride in, she'd been mentally rehearsing telling her story, but it was coming out in a nonsensical fashion, to her disappointment.

  Max said, “Where is the orb now? We need it.”

  All the heads in the place turned to face Opal.

  “The daemon thing sorta ate it.”

  This caused a bit of a commotion.

  Max said, “Ate it? Did you see this happen?”

  “Yeah. At the cave. I had some sticks, and my shadow was giving me hints. Uh, I mean, I got the idea from a movie I saw, I think. Anyway. Then it ate the goat! But it didn't chew the goat. So, phew, right?”

  “What?”

  Opal wished she had some pockets, so she had a place to put her hands. “I poked the daemon right in the eyes with two sticks, and it deflated. Like the most horrible, ugly water balloon you've ever seen.”

  Max pulled out her little notepad and said, “Don't tell me you killed the daemon.”

  Opal sucked in a big breath of air. “Oh, no, I think I did. Am I in trouble? Again. I am so sorry. But the daemon ate one of the goats and I guess I just went crazy, because… you know. You do not eat the goats.”

  Max smiled. “Opal Button, you are not in trouble. In fact, you saved us all from having to barge out there with our cockamamie scheme that likely would have gotten us all killed. We've been in here trying to narrow down our many, many strategies, and some of us can't let go of the idea of using the catapult. Now, personally, I don't have anything against catapults, but—”

  The sheriff was cut off by someone shouting, “Opal!”

  Peter came running out from behind the bar area with a pitcher in one hand and a towel in the other. He dropped the items on a nearby table and ran to Opal, then seized her in a tight embrace.

  He said, near her ear, “I knew you weren't dead.”

  Around them, the adults all started to talk to each other at once.

  Opal said, “Your eyes, Peter, are they better? I was so worried about you, but I also thought you'd be in good hands with the witches, but then they tied us up and didn't seem very nice at all.”

  He leaned back to take a good look at her. “I'm as good as new,” he said. “I had hoped the snake bite might give me superpowers, like when the radioactive spider bit Peter Parker and he turned into Spider-Man, but… so far, nothing.” He held out his palms as if to prove they didn't shoot webs.

  She scanned the crowd as the tone of the talk turned celebratory. “How about Edwin, I don't see him.”

  “He's not feeling so great. Some of Zara's witchcraft potion got in his system, so he's at home, resting.”

  “A potion?”

  “He'll be fine. He's Edwin, he's always fine. Come on, let's go to the kitchen, where it's a little less like a town meeting, and I'll tell you about everything.”

  Opal turned to Waleah, who looked stunned by everything. Next to her sat her husband, Mitchell, who hadn't said anything since Opal's appearance.

  Opal said, “Do you guys need me out here, or can I go talk to Peter?”

  “Go,” Waleah said. “I'll fetch you shortly and… we'll get you all cleaned off and right as jam and cheese. Fresh clothes. Oh, we'll pick up your suitcase, with your other things. How would you like that?”

  “Sounds great,” Opal said, smiling before she turned to walk away.

  As she followed Peter back to the kitchen, the barman with the white hair stopped them and said, “Congratulations there little lady. You're quite the hero now, I'd say.”

  “Thanks.” She crossed her arms over the dirtiest part of her shirt.

  He looked her over. “People as filthy as you are usually just as hungry. Help yourself to anything back there, okay?”

  She thanked him and followed Peter into the kitchen.

  He asked her to tell him everything, and she did, between stuffing her mouth with sandwiches and thumb-sized pastries filled with creams and other delicious treats.

  Peter told her what he had learned as well, which was a lot, considering he'd been in a coma for much of the previous day. Edwin and Max had located him in the witches' infirmary, woken him up, and brought him back to town.

  They'd rung the emergency bell immediately, and everyone pulled themselves out of bed and came straight to the pub, where they'd been up all night trying to figure out what had happened and what to do next.

  Opal said, “Wait, go back. Am I hearing things, or did you say Zara was involved in summoning the daemon?”

  “Not just involved. She did it. Delilah told us everything.” He then explained to a very shocked Opal about how Zara had been obsessed with Edwin, and had teleported Svetlana out to the ocean to drown.

  Opal lost her appetite temporarily. “So it must have been Zara that I saw near the cave, spying on us. And then Zara, at the castle, who zapped me out to the ocean.” She felt a chill. “I thought she was my friend, but she tried to kill me. She would have drowned me.”

  “I guess she had a cloaking spell on her when she was doing that illicit magic, which was why you didn't recognize her.”

  “I don't know who to trust now,” Opal said.

  “You can trust me!” Peter said. “Plus your other friend, Carly, she didn't know anything about it, until after most of everything happened. The elder witches put her in a truth trance, or something, so she's not so bad, I guess. And Delilah says she's really, really sorry. She tried to stop Zara, but when she brought the girl back from the ocean, she was already drowned.” They both looked down and cleared their throats, though the mood on the other side of the door was one of wild celebration. “There's a memorial for Svetlana in a couple of days.”

  “I'll go,” Opal said.

  “Me too.”

  The barman called for Peter to fetch something, so he ran off for a few minutes, leaving Opal on her own.

  The yellow snake, Hoover, slithered out from under a prep table. Opal didn't even jump. She barely batted an eyelash. “You are a cute little snake,” she said to Hoover.

  He continued on his way.

  Peter returned and helped himself to some of the food.

  Opal swallowed down the pastry, then chased the flaky crumbs with some redfruit juice. She couldn't eat another bite if she tried, and going to bed and sleeping for a week was on her mind. She finished her glass of redfruit juice and said, “Aah.”

  Peter said, “Is redfruit juice better than orange juice, would you say?”

  “Not better, but different.”

  “I've never had orange juice,” he said. “Oranges don't grow well on the island. We do get limes and lemons and grapefruit, though.”

  “You're not missing much,” she said, which was a lie, but also a kindness. Then she hugged Peter, and he pretended not to like it.

  * * *

  Opal was quiet on the walk home with Waleah and Mitchell, as were they. Mitchell had not yet acknowledged her existence, but he had taken the bicycle from her tired hands and was rolling it along next to him. Waleah carried the suitcase—her brother's former suitcase—as promised.

  Opal looked down at the suitcase and said, “Peter told me the Russian girl put some sort of note inside my suitcase? And that it lead to a break in the murder investigation?”

  “Something like that,” Waleah said. “She must have put the note in at the same time she took your little dolls from the suitcase.”

  “But how coul
d she have known what was going to happen to her? Was she psychic?”

  “They had the note translated this morning, by Delilah's mother. Turns out the letter was just a poem, about how beautiful the island was, and how overjoyed she was to finally be coming here. It was just a poem. That's all.”

  “Just a poem,” Opal said. “The island is beautiful.”

  Waleah agreed, and they walked on in silence.

  When they were a good distance out of town, Waleah said, “I'm sorry I sent you out like that in the first place, on that crazy errand. I had no idea what would happen.”

  “Don't apologize,” Opal said. “You didn't do anything wrong. It was that horrible girl, Zara. And to think, I was actually excited to be her friend. I even wanted to become a witch.”

  “I'm glad that nonsense is over,” Waleah said.

  Opal looked over at the field they were passing, at the tiny green shoots coming through the charred wreckage. “I haven't even been here a week, but it feels like I've lived a whole lifetime.”

  Opal stumbled over some rocks on the cobblestone road. Waleah caught her hand to steady her.

  Waleah continued to hold her hand as they walked up the road.

  A lump surfaced in Opal's throat. “Thanks for taking me in,” she said.

  “Family's family,” Waleah said, staring straight ahead.

  Opal leaned forward to look over at Mitchell, who seemed contented enough, pushing the bicycle and looking around at the scenery.

  They walked for a few more minutes in silence.

  Opal said, brightly, “I sure am looking forward to brushing my teeth!”

  Waleah turned and looked down at the girl. “Little light, I want you to know I am glad you're here. I am very thankful that you are here. Do not ever feel that you are unwanted or unloved, because you are right where you belong.”

  Waleah and Opal, great-aunt and great-niece, squeezed each other's hands.

  Spiritdell Book 1

  A Young Adult / All Ages Fantasy Novel

  Originally published under

  the pen name Dalya Moon

  “With a satisfying blend of humor and horror, Zan and Austin is a must-read for Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans.”

  Zan West has a strange power that only works on girls. He doesn't know why he has this so-called “gift,” but it's killing his chances of ever getting a girlfriend.

  Then he meets an older girl named Austin, and she's strangely immune to his power. Zan can't see her secrets, but he can't see her future, either. There's something she isn't telling him, and it's driving him mad.

  Zan consults a powerful witch who offers him peace of mind in exchange for his power. What he doesn't know is this so-called peace of mind comes with a big, bad heaping of death. The permanent kind.

  Chapter 1

  My name is Zan West; I'm six feet tall, and I have golden brown eyes, slightly puffy hair, and a magic power.

  I feel myself changing lately. My jaw is wider, my voice deeper, and I'm starting to get attention from females other than the women who serve lunch at the cafeteria.

  I'm also getting braver about using my power.

  The only other people who know about this magic … gift I have are my best friend, James, and his twin sister, Julie. The three of us discovered it together, the same night I learned Julie's secret—not the secret of her crush on me (which isn't very secret), but something more unusual.

  The three of us were out at James and Julie's cabin by the lake, and had already split up the scant alcohol we could find around the place. The weather was too cool for swimming in the lake, so we gathered around a bonfire playing truth or dare.

  I dared Julie to stick her finger in my belly button—as a joke, not because I have some tummy fetish—and then it happened.

  Julie closed her eyes and stuck her hand up under my shirt. Our skin connected, and everything changed.

  I disappeared from this regular mortal plane on which we all exist, and had my very first trip to what I now call Secret Town.

  While in this psychic vision, courtesy of this amazing but strange power I didn't know I had, I encountered Julie.

  Julie, however, did not encounter me. To her, she just got a tiny electrical zap, and yanked her finger out immediately.

  I, however, experienced about three minutes' worth of time in that same instant.

  In this place, this Secret Town, I had a leisurely stroll with a dream-like version of Julie. She wore a prom dress, purple, and confessed she had a secret.

  We were in a mist-filled place, a park, and she turned around to show me the back of her dress, which plunged down deeply at the back. I'd never seen so much of Julie's skin, and was entranced by how soft her light brown skin looked.

  She tugged at the dress, pulling the back lower, to show me a scar on her skin. I reached out and touched the zig-zag line, which gave me a vision within the vision (like picture-in-picture on a TV) of a puppy, wagging its tail.

  The dream-like Julie, who had really pretty hair in this place, turned and explained she'd been born with a tail.

  A tail!

  Vision-Julie held up her pinkie finger to illustrate how small the tail had been. The visual aid of a wiggling pinkie did not diminish the impact.

  I came out of the vision and back into the real world by the bonfire, laughing my butt off at what I assumed was the product of two-thirds of a beer, one glass of bourbon mixed with pear cider, plus my own vivid imagination.

  Busting a gut and bent over with laughter, I told the twins the crazy daydream I'd had.

  James silently added another log to the bonfire.

  Julie stared up at the starry night sky, blinking back tears, and said, “Who told you?”

  James said, “Not me, Julie, I swear.”

  Then I said, “Guys, stop messing with me. I just made that up, from my imagination. We shouldn't have drank that bourbon-cider.”

  After a few minutes of twin-stares, Julie turned her back to me and lifted her sweatshirt while tugging down the waistband of her jeans.

  The mark was low enough it had always been hidden, even swimming.

  “Zan, you have a power,” Julie said. “Magic.”

  James threw three more logs on the bonfire, until the flame was high and hot, crackling up into the black sky. Then he sat next to me and the three of us talked all through the night about what it all meant.

  Since that first night, I haven't learned much more about the power, except that it only seems to work with girls.

  While this secret-discovering power may sound great, and you'd think it would be exactly what any teenage boy wants, I'm not so chirpy about the whole thing. I've found that discovering all of a girl's secrets could be a real turn-off. You'll see for yourself how, in just a moment.

  * * *

  Speaking of secrets, Little Miss Puppytail herself, Julie, is trying to get my attention right now.

  “Zan,” she says, bouncing from one foot to the other next to my locker.

  “Yes, Julie darling?”

  She blushes, which is endearing. She's got the same wild black hair, cocoa skin, and surprisingly blue eyes as her twin brother James.

  “James wasn't too impressed with the snail stickers you put on his locker,” Julie says.

  “Did he laugh?”

  “Not until he saw the giant stuffed snail inside the locker. He had to admire your craft.”

  “Thanks for helping me with that.” I give her a fist bump.

  “So tonight, I want us to have a real party,” she says. “Not some lame high school thing, whatsoever. You know, with bowls of crumbled potato chips and people barfing in the fish tank.”

  “You guys don't have a fish tank,” I say.

  “Come early and help me put up decorations?”

  I agree, because arriving at James and Julie's house early will give me time to set up my camera equipment and my new photo booth, which promises to be the best one yet. I've acquired a navy blue velvet background that should r
ead as black, and I'll tack up some crazy stars I covered in tin foil. No girl can resist having her photo taken, so I hope to use my nerdy photo-geek skills to have the girls come to me. Once I get a girl who seems intriguing in my photo booth, I might find the courage to ask her to poke me—in the belly button, with her finger.

  Julie says goodbye and walks away, leaving me alone with my mess.

  I scoop a pile of loose papers from my locker into my backpack as yet another paper airplane whizzes by my head. My locker looks so good, all tidied up like this.

  A slender hand adorned with a charm bracelet reaches across my face and snags an unopened pack of gum from the second shelf. “Mind?”

  Of course I don't mind. Raye-Anne Donovan could take every piece of food from me until I'm dying of hunger and I wouldn't mind.

  “Fill your boots,” I say.

  She grins as she folds the pink slice of gum between her teeth in a way that gives me a little shiver.

  “You coming to the party tonight?” I ask.

  Instead of answering, she helps herself to a second piece of gum, biting in ever so slowly.

  To say I've harbored a bit of a crush on Raye-Anne would be an understatement. What could she have to hide behind that freckly nose and that tiny mouth that seems too narrow for her face? Seriously, how does she eat anything with that little mouth?

  “Got any plans for summer vacation?” I ask.

  “I hear you're a psychic or something,” Raye-Anne says, evading my question. The air crackles with cinnamon and I want to lean in closer, but not in a creepy way, so I will myself to hold steady and stay cool, even though I suspect I have a big, red zit on my cheek. Wait, have I checked on that zit at all today? What if the burgeoning pus-bump has turned white and transparent, like a jelly-filled volcano about to burst?

  Raye-Anne squeezes her eyes, so they're not quite open, yet not quite closed, giving me a chill all the way through, and pushing thoughts about zits from my mind.

  “So are you?” she asks. “Are you a psychic?”

  “Psychic? Nah,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Some people say it's about reading a person's energy or body language. There's science in there.” As I'm making my power sound more about science than magic, I find myself believing the fib. “I'm really into science,” I say, which is not untrue.