Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  “That's two fibs, Mister. I don't know what you've been up to, and I don't want to know.”

  I laugh self-consciously. Gran's sharp. I never could get anything by her.

  She fixes me with her no-bullcrap gaze. “How's the level on my Peppermint Schnapps?” she asks.

  “You got me. Guilty,” I say.

  “You're not so bad,” she says, giving me another hug.

  We take a taxi ride home, and she talks the whole way about the wonderful buffets and the flower-arranging classes she took with Rudy. He was seasick and slightly green, but insisted they didn't miss a single thing she'd planned.

  “Sounds like he's devoted to you,” I say.

  She squeezes my hand. “I'm a lucky lady to have two handsome, kind men.”

  I suppose there are worse people I could be compared to, so I take this as a compliment.

  We get to the house, and as I'm carrying Gran's luggage in, she says, “I had the most unusual dream about your mother. She was glowing, like an angel.”

  At the mention of my mother, a wave of sadness and gratitude washes over me. Angels. My mother and Austin are both angels, and they are watching over me. It makes me feel so loved and so lonely at the same time.

  “Life can be hard sometimes,” Gran muses, “but that we even have life at all is in itself a miracle.”

  “I don't know if I believe in miracles,” I say, at the same moment my cell phone buzzes.

  I pull it out of my pocket and read the text, which is from Julie: Jumping the phone tree. Austin is out of the coma. Austin is alive!

  I step inside the house and fall to my knees. Mibs takes this as an invitation to put his tail up my nose. He's missed a dose of insulin and probably has high blood sugar and a headache, but he's going to be fine. He's alive, as am I, and Austin too.

  Gran's talking, asking me what's happened, but I can't speak or look away from the cell phone.

  “What's someone sent you?” Gran asks, peeking over my shoulder. “Coma? Alive? Good grief. Is that really appropriate material for text messaging?”

  Once I'm able to speak again, I'll explain the situation to Gran. The thing about good news is you don't care how it's delivered. Someone could write good news on your forehead in felt pen while you're sleeping, but if it's actually good, you thank them.

  * * *

  When I get to the hospital, I go straight to Austin's room, from my memory of the time I floated here, and find a stranger in the bed. I panic for a second, thinking she's gone, but a nurse kindly directs me to Austin's new room. So much for being cool and having knowledge secretly acquired while out of body.

  Austin seems confused when I walk in, and I worry she's forgotten about me—that I've been scooped out of her brain along with the nasty tumor.

  “You're alive,” she says, finally. Her voice is quiet and small, her skin pale and her lips cracked, but she's still beautiful.

  “I should say the same to you.”

  I sit in the chair next to her bed. The room is so full of flowers and balloons, I wonder if the sheer mass of them might constitute a safety hazard. A pile of magazines sits on the table nearby: fashion, more fashion, knitting, and one about photography.

  She must see me looking at the spine of the photography magazine, because she says, “I got that one for you, for when you visit.”

  “I don't want to read magazines.”

  “You might change your mind. I nap a lot.” She points to the paper bag on my lap. “What's in there?”

  “Raisin bagels and dill cream cheese. You ran out of my house before you tried them.”

  Slowly, she smiles, her face lighting up. “Maybe that's the reason I ran away.”

  “I sure showed you, though. I tracked you down, and the nurses won't let you walk out of here, plus visiting hour isn't over for another forty minutes, so ...”

  “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “Oh, this is the date. We're on a date right now. I mean, if that's okay with you?”

  Her gaze turns up to the ceiling for a moment. “Your mom thought we'd make a nice couple. So … sure, Zan, it's a date.”

  “My mother? So you remember? It all happened?”

  “I was ready to go with her, away from this world and all its pain,” Austin says, slowly moving her little hands to the left side of her chest. “Then she gave me something, and I knew I could live. I still feel her presence, in my heart.”

  My own chest glows from within. “I feel her too.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Austin says, “What else do you have planned for this date of ours? Someone brought me a jigsaw puzzle, and I could use some help.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say, and just like that, Austin and I are on our first date.

  Chapter 19

  It's been almost four months since the surgery, and Austin's got a lot of recovery work ahead of her yet, but she's cancer-free for now. When she puts her finger in my belly button these days, instead of a clear single vision, I get euphoric, rushing glimpses of all the adventures we might have together. Nothing is set in stone or guaranteed, but I have hope, and that's how I like it.

  Austin said when she was outside her body, my mother covered her in rubies and whispered something secret in her ear, and that's when she woke up. She won't tell me what my mother said, but I'll let her have that to herself. I did trample around inside her brain, peeking in doors, so it's only fair.

  I visited Austin every day in the hospital, always bringing games and books, or occasionally some takeout food, because hospital food is not nearly as delicious as the stories you hear.

  James teases me for dating an older lady. He calls her a cougar, but really, we're only separated by a few years. James and Julie came with me to visit her one day and brought her a gag gift—a cougar-print scarf, which has since become Austin's favorite item of clothing.

  She loves bold, geometric prints and patterns on everything, the way Gran is about florals. Austin's second-favorite clothing item is a pair of rainbow-striped socks with individual toes. She wants to be a fashion designer, so I've been learning about everything from A-lines to hemlines and watching fashion shows on TV, which I'll admit are pretty entertaining.

  It's the end of October now, tomorrow's Halloween, and I've settled in to the routine at school. Gran is engaged to her boyfriend Rudy, and they're going to get married soon, but they're planning to keep their separate houses, which is fine by me. I only see his rodeo-style belt buckles a few mornings a week and that's more than enough shiny brass for me.

  I'm at my locker, trying to remember what class I'm going to be late for when Julie appears, slugging me on the shoulder.

  “Juliebeans,” I say, which is a new nickname we're trying out.

  “Sounds like something that gives you gas,” Julie says, shaking her head.

  “Juliebear? Jujubes?”

  “I don't know.” She sniffs, crinkling her nose.

  “Jamtart-two?”

  “How about just Julie for now?” she replies.

  “Just Julie. JJ. JJ?”

  “So, about this Halloween party tomorrow,” she says. “Who's going to play Mr. Pumpkin for your photo booth?” She leans sideways against the locker next to mine, tilting her head to touch the door in that cute Julie way. “Do you think I should ask Liam? I didn't tell you this, but we had kind of a moment over summer holiday. I was doing some shopping downtown, and I looked up and saw a guy flying through the sky in nothing but blue jeans.”

  “Curious,” I say. “You must have been hallucinating.”

  “Don't tease, I know it's crazy. But I was standing there in the middle of the crosswalk, staring at the sky, and Liam grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to safety, to the sidewalk. There were no cars around, whatsoever, but it was still heroic of him.”

  “Sounds like he's a good guy, a keeper.”

  “You're angling to get out of our engagement deal,” she says.

  “Never. Is polygamy illegal or just immoral? I'
ll probably have to marry Austin too.”

  She winks at me. “I think we'll work something out.”

  “Now this party, are you sure you want Liam in a pumpkin suit, with all the other girls sitting on his lap for photos? Wiggling around and acting out their twisted Halloween fantasies?”

  “Oh. You do have a good point, but I don't think Liam would take advantage of the situation. I wish I knew ... say, can I poke my finger in your belly button? You could maybe have a little peek at my future, see if I'm with Liam ... or how it's going.” She points her finger at my middle.

  “Nope, closed for business. Until further notice.”

  “Darn,” she says.

  “Actually, I enjoy getting to know people the normal way—by asking a series of intrusive questions. Did you know that if you ask, people will tell you almost anything? Honestly, you don't even need any powers.”

  Raye-Anne appears in front of us, a stack of books in her arms. “Hey guys, I'll walk you to Chemistry,” she says.

  “Chemistry!” I grab the appropriate books.

  Raye-Anne and Julie exchange compliments, each trying to outdo the other. “No, your hair is the best hair,” Raye-Anne says. “I wish mine would stand straight-up on top!”

  I'm pleased Raye-Anne has taken to Julie. They were always somewhat friendly, but Julie didn't have a lot of close girlfriends until this fall, when she and Raye-Anne bonded over their mutual fondness for and subsequent rejection by me. Of course they insist it's not about me at all, but their shared love of weird foods, like blueberry soup.

  After I told her about my troubling vision of Raye-Anne, Julie promised to keep a close eye on her, steering her away from trouble. I still don't know how much we can change our destinies, but I do know we can't stop trying.

  “Buddy!” James whacks me on the shoulder.

  He's getting even stronger now that he's been eating steaks on occasion, and I try not to flinch, but that punch hurt.

  “So this Mr. Pumpkin thing is like being Santa?” he asks Julie. “Girls can sit on my lap? Count me in, but I'm not wearing a beard. I don't want to cover up all this handsome face.”

  “Try not to get yourself face-punched,” Julie says. Raye-Anne laughs into her hand, revealing that despite being sworn to secrecy, Julie blabbed about Facepuncher. I can't say I blame her, though—I told four or five people myself, including Gran.

  The school's hallways empty and the four of us get to the Chemistry room, where we take our places on the low desks between the sinks.

  I pull out my notebook and begin to doodle, waiting for class to begin. Tomorrow night, at James and Julie's Halloween party, Austin will make her public debut as my girlfriend. I saw her every day when she was in the hospital, but not as much recently. She gets tired easily, and she's been busy with hospital visits and rehabilitation.

  Tomorrow, I'm dressing as Charlie Chaplin, because he's cool and doesn't have to say much. Austin says she has the perfect scary costume, but it's a secret. I hope she's not a witch.

  I look down at the doodles I'm absent-mindedly drawing in my notebook and smudging all over my left hand. Crows. I've filled the margins with crows. I wonder what that means.

  Spiritdell Book 2

  A Young Adult / All Ages Fantasy Novel

  Originally published under

  the pen name Dalya Moon

  It’s Halloween, and Zan is pressed to solve a murder. Zan is no ordinary high school boy, though, and he believes he can use his magical power to find the killer. Even with his visions, Zan won’t find this murder easy to solve, especially when he can’t tell who, or what, is plotting against him. As he unravels ancient secrets, Zan gets closer to the killer, and will be forced to choose sides. If he makes the wrong choice, someone dear to him will pay the price.

  Chapter One

  Today is Halloween and all I want to do is see my girlfriend and make her smile. Last year, when I was a kid of only sixteen, I spent days creating a robot costume out of cardboard boxes, and I couldn't wait to hit the streets. My masterpiece was big enough to disguise the fact that I was too big for trick-or-treating. This year, however, I haven't touched the tin-foil covered boxes, and I couldn't give a crap about candy. If I want tiny chocolate bars, I'll buy a bag tomorrow for half-price.

  My stomach growls at the thought of chocolate bars.

  I'm sitting in the last class of the day, trying to keep my eyes off the clock by finishing my essay. Ms. Mikado asked us to write about our summer adventures, even though it's almost November. We'll write these same essays a few times this school year and put them in a time capsule—a folder in Ms. Mikado's desk—then at the end of the year, we'll compare them and observe how time changes memory.

  It's actually a pretty cool assignment, though I wish I could write about what really happened to me and not a censored version.

  The highlight of my summer vacation was falling in love with my girlfriend, Austin, and the low point was nearly being murdered for my magical gift by a pair of witches. The first few months of grade twelve have thus far been less volatile, though with today being Halloween, I admit I do feel a little jumpy. Maybe it's all the girls in school wearing high heels.

  What is it about funny shoes with a stick at the back of them that turns every regular girl into a strutting sex-beacon? The shoes go SNAP SNAP as they're walking down the hall and I'm hypnotized, as weak and defenseless as those fishermen in the old stories when the mermaids came singing.

  My best friend Julie is wearing fishnet stockings. I don't know what the rest of her costume is because I haven't been able to take my eyes off her legs. She's crossing and uncrossing them now, next to me in class, as though aware of her power. Julie's a dancer, and her legs are long and muscular and ...

  Pull yourself together, Zan! I scribble away at my open page of writing to get my eyes off Julie's legs. I'm loyal to my girlfriend, but my eyes aren't. I draw some more crows on the page, including a big one who looks like he has something to tell me. You should buy a gift for Austin, he says, his black eye twinkling.

  Good idea, crow-drawing. I should buy something pretty for Austin, to remind her of me on the days we don't see each other, which are becoming too frequent lately. I'd love to surprise her with something incredible, so I'll need some female assistance with that task.

  At the front of the classroom, our teacher is reading at her desk while we work on our assignment, and she doesn't mind a little talking, so long as we keep it quiet and brief. I catch Julie's attention and keep my gaze off her legs long enough to ask if she'll go with me on an errand after school.

  “Errand?” She wrinkles her nose, covered in pinkish makeup the color of her skin. Her icy blue eyes are rimmed in thick, black smudges, making them enormous and doll-like. Julie's usually-messy, spiky black hair is in curls today, some of them slicked down against her forehead and cheeks. “I have to get ready for our party tonight,” she says.

  “It's a shopping errand. For jewelry.”

  Her big eyes open wide, like a cartoon kitten's. “Why didn't you say?”

  Her twin brother, James, pokes me in the back. “Hey nozzle, why didn't you ask me?”

  The truth is I asked Julie because I wanted a girl's opinion, but I can't resist the opportunity to bug James, so I tell him, “Because your face makes me barf.”

  “Excellent.” He thrusts his eyeball over my shoulder and at my cheek—his prop eye that he's been carrying around in his hand—then points it at the half-written page on my desk. “I see you have a comma splice.”

  I swat the eyeball away, accidentally sending it rolling up to the front of the classroom.

  Ms. Mikado looks up from her book, spots the rolling eyeball, and screams adorably, with her hands on the sides of her mouth and everything. She's the most stylish teacher at our school by a mile, and today she's wearing a vintage Chanel suit—I know this because she told us at the beginning of class. Ms. Mikado's hair is perfectly straight and is comprised of at least five colors, from blac
k to pale copper. She's half Japanese and half Irish, with a little bump on the bridge of her small nose that she often rubs while she's talking.

  She's rubbing the top of her nose now, and laughing at herself for screaming. After she composes herself, she asks us, “What is up with this town?”

  Ms. Mikado just moved here at the start of the school year, and she's asked us this question about a dozen times. I don't put up my hand, because I've learned the embarrassing way that she means it rhetorically. “Are we over a Hellmouth or something?” she continues. “Should I barricade myself inside a church until November first? Zan, what do you think?”

  She's asking me because I have a reputation at the school for being hooked up with the paranormalia. Officially, I've done a few palm readings and proven myself to be a good guesser. Unofficially—and the whole truth—is I have a magic power that's accessed through my belly button. My power only works with girls, and is not as much fun as it sounds. When a girl puts her finger in my belly button, I get a psychic trip to Secret Town, where I find out secrets from her past, present, and often, her future.

  Up until this summer, my gift prevented me from having a girlfriend, because I would always see something that turned me off. Things were different with Austin.

  “No, Ma'am,” I answer Ms. Mikado. “Hellmouths aren't real. You're thinking of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and her fictional town of Sunnydale, California, which is not at all based on Spiritdell. The show's creators have denied any connection, in several interviews.”

  “I was reading some of the town's colorful history,” she says. “The Legend of the Hound Girl, is that fiction? I've driven by the Odell Mansion, but I had no idea. The book was in the history section of the library.”

  Behind me, James asks, “What's a library?” which cracks everyone up.

  In her no-nonsense manner, Ms. Mikado says, “Nothing but books and girls who aren't your type—smart ones.”

  Everyone laughs, none louder than Julie.