Witch Way to Mintwood (Witch of Mintwood Book 1)

by Addison Creek

  “Liam’s at it again,” I said, amused.

  “No idea how he gets the energy,” said Charlie, shaking her head. “He should have moved to New York City and become an actor or something.”

  Liam had been a fringe friend of ours in high school, so we all knew him, but he had never thought we pushed the envelope enough to be his real friends, except maybe for Greer, who bypassed pushing the envelope to just burning it.

  “He wants the police to do more to find out who’s breaking into houses and shops,” said Charlie. “His place hasn’t been broken into, but he thinks it’s only a matter of time, so he’s taking his concerns public.”

  “Who would steal his Halloween costumes?” I mused.

  Charlie shrugged. “He has a lot of makeup and costume jewelry too. You never know.”

  We heard a thump, thump, thump, on the stairs, and just as Greer straggled into the room, Charlie announced, “Breakfast is ready.”

  “Bacon,” said Greer.

  “Good morning to you too,” said Charlie brightly. There were already three plates piled high with all the breakfast goodies my friend had made, and she brought them over to the table. Greer looked in the coffee pot hopefully.

  “Yes, of course there’s coffee,” Charlie grumbled.

  “I’ll do the dishes when I get back,” I offered.

  I had the least fancy job of the three of us. I had been working for an ad agency far, far away, work that sucked the life out of my soul but paid well. That is, I made just enough money to pay off my student loans. When my grandmother died, she left me the house and a considerable amount of land, but not two dimes to rub together to support the place.

  Not being a total idiot or wanting to go crazy from having nothing to do all day, I had looked for work around Mintwood, but short of bartending with Greer, there really wasn’t anyone hiring. Over the past month I had started to form a robust pet sitting business, based on the fact that most people liked pets and most people also liked getting out of town when they could. On top of that, I had gotten a few online advertising jobs to supplement my growing local business, and the pet sitting gave me the perfect excuse to wander around town and do one of my favorite things: be really nosy.

  Today was a perfect example. I had to check on a client, a cat named Lily. Technically, her owner, Mrs. Mews, was the client, but I liked to think that Lily appreciated my attention to detail too.

  People loved their pets, and in Mrs. Mews’ case I wished she loved Lily just a little less. She had left me with an “action checklist” for the cat:

  1. Lily must be fed twice a day, at exactly eight a.m. and eight p.m., her constitution demands it.

  2. Lily must be brushed, stroking with the fur, never against.

  3. Lily likes the curtains to be closed at night, otherwise the excitement outside gives her an upset stomach . . .

  And so on.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked my friends.

  Greer was looking at her plate skeptically. The eggs were running, the bacon was soft where it should have been crunchy, and the toast was burnt. But Charlie was looking at us with such pride that there was really nothing for us to do but roll up our sleeves and dive in. She passed me the butter, since she herself “didn’t do dairy,” and started eating.

  “Going to work,” she said, “and after work I have to meet Andy to get more of my stuff from him. We haven’t really worked out how we’re going to divvy everything up. I think since he broke up with me, I should get everything,” said Charlie. “He says we can work it all out, but he needs some time to just process and have the place to himself. I said fine, but I need a few things. Tonight when I get back I’ll have to spend the night clearing out the back room.” She pointed behind her at the room my grandmother had used as a guest bedroom. A nice idea, if only she’d ever had guests.

  “This was so not how I was planning to spend my weekend,” Charlie sighed, carefully dabbed at the side of her mouth with a cloth napkin she’d found hidden away somewhere in the kitchen.

  “What are you up to?” I asked Greer, who shrugged.

  “Grocery store, I expect,” she said. “I’m not working tonight, so I might go to the library and see if they have anything new in.” Greer read a lot. She had told us long ago that she thought books were better company than most of the people in town, and Charlie had said sarcastically that she was glad Greer’s feelings didn’t extend to us. Then she’d realized that maybe it wasn’t something to be sarcastic about.

  “What about you?”

  “Gotta go check on Lily, Mrs. Mews’ cat,” I said. “After that, maybe an errand or two.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about my planned stop at Gracie’s, or how badly I hoped she wouldn’t be home when I got there. Still, the drive across town would do me good, because I needed time to think about how best to tell Charlie that I had inherited witch powers and my property was chock full of ghosts. Because all of that was going to be easy: not.

  Thanks to Mrs. Goodkeep, apparently I had to save Gracie from some terrible and unknown supposed thread before I took care of that little chore. And besides all of that, I didn’t want to tell either of my housemates what one of my errands was. I had a corporate suit to deal with, a suit who was trying to ruin my town. We just happened to have gone to high school with him, and under no circumstances was I going to let his ruinous plans go forward. I gave the Gazette one more glance, hoping it would give me some clue to Mrs. Goodkeep’s distress about her great-great-granddaughter, but it didn’t. I just had to hope that Mrs. Goodkeep would leave Charlie alone today. The poor girl didn’t need any more stress in her life after Andy had blindsided her. The dweeb!

  And yes, ghosts were always stressful.

  When I got outside I saw that the day was overcast and cloudy, though the clouds weren’t thick enough to promise rain. I slammed into my grandmother’s old Volkswagen Beetle, which I swear she’d had since I was born. I barely fit into the car myself, so having passengers or guys in it was practically out of the question. Greer had an old rusting Ford truck and Charlie had a Subaru (because safety first), so the driveway was a little crowded. I had to navigate carefully as I backed out.

  Lily Mews, as Mrs. Mews called her pride and joy, was a horrible demon spawn of a creature. Lily liked no one but Mrs. Mews, and since Mrs. Mews frequently traveled to antique shows and left the dragon spawn masquerading as a cat home alone, the moment I had come on the scene as the only individual in town willing to check on Lily, I was given the thankless task of making sure the creature at least didn’t die on my watch. (The rest of the town residents hoped she’d die no matter whose watch it happened on.) The charitable view was that the “Action Checklist” I had been given made the cat palatable, but I was only in a charitable mood on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and today wasn’t one of those days.

  I texted Mrs. Mews a picture of her cat happily eating soft cat food (“Nothing but the best for my Lily,” as she liked to say), and after the requisite amount of spitting, hissing, and clawing, I was able to leave. Mintwood didn’t get good cell service, and texts worked better than phone calls, so I could only hope that the picture got to its destination.

  Now I was off to see the real terror, Gracie Coswell.

  Chapter Four

  My memory served me just fine to find Gracie’s mansion, thank you very much, although I wished it hadn’t. The only time I had ever been to her parents’ house was during senior year of high school, after the prom. It was not a night I’d soon forget. It had started off well enough. I had been hanging out with Greer and Charlie all evening, and then for some reason we ended up at Gracie’s parents’ mansion, where I was accidentally knocked into the pool. I ended up wet and miserable, with my hair plastered to my forehead and my prom dress ruined.

  Gracie still lived at home, mainly, I’d heard, because her parents lived in Europe for eleven months of the year. She was now something of a celebrated interior designer as well as a part-ti
me blogger. From what I knew of her, I had a feeling that her designs looked like a Pottery Barn store had exploded all over the floors and walls. Over the years I had entertained myself with daydreams of putting curses on her pool, but I had never actually done it . . . yet.

  The day was windy and a little chilly, making me glad I had worn jeans instead of shorts, and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt instead of something skimpier.

  The mansion was down a long, tree-lined drive on a perfectly paved driveway. The approach cut through rolling slopes of perfectly mowed grass speckled just now with the first evidence of fall. There was a gate over the front entrance but no intercom, so I just moved the gate aside and drove on. Gracie probably had some fancy alarm system and would already know I was coming.

  There was a Mercedes parked in the driveway, and since I was loath to park my old Beetle next to it, I pulled up a good distance back, turned my car around so that it would face freedom and take me the least possible amount of time to flee, and marched up to the imposing front door with the gold knocker. If I remembered correctly, the Coswells had a butler, a stately man who exemplified dignity in his black suit and white starched shirt.

  I rapped on the door and then turned to gaze out at the view while I waited. Gracie had a stunning view of Fennel Valley, although if my friends asked me later I’d tell them the lawn was crap and the view was obscured by scraggly trees. No way was I going to be caught saying nice things about Gracie or her mansion. Some things from high school stuck with me, and Gracie’s disdain was one of them.

  No one answered the door, and I started to feel strange just standing there, as if I didn’t belong. Gracie should already know I was there, right? The butler should have heard me knocking, if nothing else.

  But still the door didn’t open.

  I told myself that maybe they’d seen the ragamuffin on the step and not bothered to answer, but that wasn’t really like Gracie. The Gracie I remembered would see the ragamuffin on the step and want to gloat.

  I blew out a breath and shivered. The days were cooling down, and the jacket I had pulled out of the back seat of the Beetle wasn’t very warm. I hated being cold, which was why I had sworn I’d never live in the north again. That had worked out well! Disadvantages of my hometown: everyone I used to know, and the weather. But everything else was great!

  I knocked one more time, waited, shivered, and finally decided to just open the fancy front door. I don’t know what possessed me to do that last bit. Mostly, I guess, it was concern for Charlie and for keeping my secret, and nothing to do with Gracie’s well-being, but still, something had been nagging at me. What if Gracie actually was in danger? I didn’t wish the girl ill, I just wished never under any circumstances to see her again.

  The marble foyer was impressive, as was the sitting room to my left and the other one to my right. They all looked exactly as they had when I had come to the mansion ten years ago at the end of high school.

  “Hello,” I called out, hoping that Gracie was just upstairs and hadn’t heard the door.

  No response.

  Frowning, I crept up the massive staircase. I felt like I was making a lot of noise, from my feet landing on each step to my breath responding to the increasing suspense, but I knew that in reality I was basically silent.

  After a few steps I heard a noise like running water. I told myself it was just Gracie in the bathroom. Even so, a slight prickling of fear touched the back of my neck, as if a ghost’s hand was tickling me. What if Gracie came out with a gun and shot me because she thought I was an intruder? To be fair, I was an intruder, but I was there to check on her, not to harm her. Also, she wouldn’t come out of her room with just any old gun. Any gun Gracie owned would have a white handle and a silver muzzle and look like a lady’s gun in an old western.

  I shook my head. I had to stop the crazy thoughts. How was I supposed to figure out who the real crazy women in town were when I myself came up with such nonsense?

  “Gracie?” I called out, glancing nervously back down the expansive stairs. I was getting totally creeped out now. Why hadn’t I just marched in at breakfast and told Charlie the truth? She could handle it. At least, I thought she could.

  Gracie’s car was in the driveway, so more likely than not she was at home. I knew it was her car because the license plate said Gracie on it, but maybe the girl was so rich she had multiple cars, each one of which ran perfectly, of course. Or maybe someone had given her a ride somewhere. It was conceivable she had just left her door unlocked and I was wandering around a house the size of an empty city block looking for a girl who wasn’t there. But somehow I didn’t believe myself when I made up that theory.

  In the distance I could hear the swish of trees in the wind and the faint call of birds.

  “Gracie?” I tried again. By now I was sure the sound I heard was water running. When I reached the second floor landing I walked a few steps to the bathroom door, which was closed. Mrs. Mews had once told me she’d been asked to find most of the mansion’s furniture for the Coswells a few years ago when Mrs. Coswell had redecorated the house. Now I saw what she meant: priceless antiques in every room.

  I didn’t want to let myself get distracted by admiring all the beautiful pieces, so I made myself raise my hand to knock loudly. Maybe Gracie wasn’t answering because she had headphones on and was doing her best Pretty Woman impression.

  Just as I lifted my right arm, the painted white door cracked open. The face staring out at me was so white that I almost screamed. Then I realized that the apparition was nothing more sinister than a face mask and a towel, accompanied by an elaborate red bathrobe.

  “Hi,” said Gracie, not moving her mouth much. With face masks, sometimes you couldn’t. I knew that much.

  “Hi,” I said. She wasn’t yelling at me, which was strange, but I decided to run with it. She probably thought I was delivering milk or something equally absurd.

  “I was going door to door asking about the barn petition,” I lied. “This was my next stop. Sorry for intruding.”

  “No worries,” she said, and blinked slowly several times. She moved her mouth oddly, like she was trying to shift the mask to a more comfortable position.

  “How do you feel about the barn?” I said. Dummy, I already knew what she’d say.

  “Tear it down,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t care. I have to go.”

  And with that she shut the door in my face.

  I told myself her mask-wearing time was probably up. She certainly didn’t appear to be concerned with seeing me out.

  The first odd thing was that Gracie hadn’t given any sign that she recognized me.

  The second odd thing was that as I left the mansion I was half expecting a ghost – her great-great-grandmother, perhaps – to pop up and start yelling at me.

  If Mrs. Goodkeep did show up, at least I’d get her off my back for a while. If the biggest problem her descendant had was whether the face mask would plump her skin enough or not, she didn’t need any help from me. Part of me felt bad for keeping Charlie in the dark about my witch status, but another part knew I didn’t have a choice. She had moved in suddenly, giving me no chance to think through what to do. I’d get around to telling her everything, eventually.

  I glanced back at the house once, but all was still. Not wanting to stay on the imposing property a second longer than I had to, I got in my Beetle and drove away.

  If Gracie was alive and perfectly fine, why were chills running up and down my spine?

  Chapter Five

  I had one more stop to make before I could go home, and that was at the old barn on the Grate property. Jasper Wolf’s company planned to bulldoze the barn, which was a beautiful and historic landmark for goodness’ sake, and on top of that there were two fine ghosts attached to it who didn’t plan on leaving me alone until I stopped Jasper, Mr. Corporate Suit himself, from destroying their favorite haunt. So to speak.

  Morris and Morton were brothers, and they liked the bar
n.

  Seeing Jasper would be another thing entirely from seeing Gracie. I’d had a crush on him in high school, but I hadn’t seen him since I fell into the pool that night at Gracie’s, just when he happened to be sitting on the edge of the water with some of his many admirers. What can I say, I wasn’t used to parties, and there was a crowd near the water. Not a good combination for a klutz, then or now. I tried to soothe my nervousness by imagining that maybe Jasper now had adult acne, and he’d no longer be so good-looking.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t be there at all today.

  Either way, I wasn’t going to think about my high school crush. I was a strong, independent woman now. I could handle the likes of Jasper Wolf.

  With any luck, I could handle him better than I handled him in high school, which is to say, in high school I was too busy drooling as he walked past to handle anything.

  Those days were behind me! I knew they were!

  Goodness, please let them be behind me, I thought desperately.

  The Babbling Brook Barn I was referring to was massive and a couple hundred years old. We used to sneak around there when we were kids. We’d climb up into the rafters when no one was paying any attention, and sit there overlooking the water – there was a lake down a gentle slope – through the upper barn windows. Sometimes we’d play in the hay or swing on old ropes looped around the ancient beams. Deacon’s family owned it now, but they were planning to sell it to the Wolfs so Jasper could turn it into a luxury development or some horrible nonsense. Lakefront property was ridiculously expensive around here, and the Wolfs would make a killing by developing this particular parcel.