by Ani Gonzalez
"Ha, ha," she answered, walking off with the leftovers. "Laugh it up, but the culinary beatings will continue until morale improves."
And with that parting shot, he was left alone in the house. He puttered around, pouring orange juice and cleaning up assorted cookie crumbs. He checked his e-mail several times. He dithered over whether to wear a tie.
Finally, he couldn't deny it any longer.
He didn't want to go back to the high school. There, he'd acknowledged it. The very thought made his skin crawl.
The reaction surprised him. He was Banshee Creek's premier contractor, for crying out loud.
He fixed haunted houses for a living. He'd faced ornery spirits, poltergeists, devil monkeys, and even Banshee Creek's most notorious curse. He lived in one of the most active paranormal hotspots in town.
How could he be afraid of a school building?
Was it the dead kid? Kat had described him as lying on the ground perfectly still. That's what supposedly happened when Lorena Wills asked you to dance. You twirled and twirled until you dropped dead. And the ninth grade hallway was Lorena's haunting ground, forever lurking around the party that she didn't dare attend.
If the kid had a heart condition, that would explain how he collapsed, but it was still an eerie coincidence.
Finally, he couldn't justify the delay any longer. He had to get to work. He grabbed his jacket and headed for his truck.
He was driving down Main Street when his phone rang with a strident disco tune "We are family" was Holly's ringtone. She'd picked it just to annoy him and it worked.
He took the call on the dashboard, frowning. His sister never called unless it was an emergency. She was a text-only person.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Can you come by the library?" Holly asked, sounding stressed. "I need some help."
Liam's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Holly was fiercely independent single mother. She never asked for help. "Is it Ben?"
"No," Holly answered quickly. "Ben is fine. Just drop by the library when you can."
"On my way," Liam said. "I'm a block away."
In less than a minute, he was parked behind the small brick building that housed the Banshee Creek library. He walked to the entrance, dodging the giant sparkly ornaments that hung on a garland around the front door.
The library wasn't just decorated for the holidays, it was a veritable temple to all things Christmas. The entrance was flanked by giant nutcrackers, and the windows all bore enormous bow-festooned wreaths. Giant resin books lay at the nutcrackers' feet, bearing titles like A Christmas Carol, Twas The Night Before Christmas, and How The Grinch Stole Christmas.
His sister had gone all out this year. He should know, it had taken him a whole weekend to assemble the nutcrackers.
He entered the building, scanning the room. The library seemed calm, with only a few patrons strolling through the shelves, pulling out books. A tall Christmas tree with sparkling book ornaments stood in one corner, surrounded by gift-wrapped books advertising Holly's Holiday Blind Date with a Book program.
Everything seemed normal.
He felt a tug on his arm.
"There you are," Holly said, dragging him toward her office. "Come here."
She opened the office door to reveal a desk covered in cookie trays. There were book-shaped cookies, owl-shaped cookies, and even cookies decorated to resemble the library.
"Oh, please," he groaned. "Not you too."
"It's fifty-thousand dollars," Holly exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what I can do with that kind of money? We could finally digitize all the urban legends materials in the basement."
Liam rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing about the library's digitization drive. Not everything had to be on the Internet, for heaven's sake. "Go for it, sis. Aspire to greatness."
"Don't laugh," Holly said primly. "My favorite is the book cookie, but the head librarian thinks that the owl with the Santa hat is more festive. Taste them and tell me what you think."
Liam complied with a resigned sigh. At this rate, he was going to die from acute cookie poisoning.
"It's good," he said, chewing. "Nice shortbread, not too sweet. Kind of plain, though."
At least compared to Kat's coconut and ginger creations. But maybe that was a good thing.
"I decided to stick to the basics," Holly said. "That's why I want to do the books. Icing a book is a lot easier than icing an owl with a Santa hat. I don't want to take more risks."
He smiled recalling this morning's ginger explosion. Maybe Holly was right.
"I think you're on the right track," he said.
"Good." She straightened her book cookies proudly. "I really want to get our Banshee Creek materials organized. We have all these paranormal teams dropping by, asking about our local ghosts. It's embarrassing that we keep sending them down to the microfiche."
"Local ghosts?" Liam asked, finishing his cookie thoughtfully. "Do you have anything on Lorena Wills?"
Maybe a little research would help him determine why he felt so uncomfortable about the high school. Lorena wasn't one of Banshee Creek's most famous ghosts, but Kat was right. Holly may have something on her.
"Lorena?" Holly frowned. "Sure, we have newspaper clippings from the time period, and a paper Cassie published on high school urban legends."
"Are they downstairs?"
"Actually, no," Holly replied. "You're not the first person to ask for them. Claire Delacourt—remember her?—she dropped by and borrowed the materials."
"Claire?"
"Yes, she must be doing a show or something on Lorena. She spent hours studying our high school—when it was built, what was there before, that kind of thing—then took everything having to do with Lorena."
"When is she bringing it back?"
"They're due back in two weeks." Holly threw up her hands. "You see why we need to digitize everything? If I had it online, you wouldn't have to wait."
True, but then he wouldn't know that Claire had borrowed them.
And he wouldn't wonder why the Celebrity Medium was so interested in their local high school ghost.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"HOLY JALAPEÑOS," Luanne exclaimed, almost dropping her cookie on the bótanica's rug-covered floors. "This is a más macho cookie. Are you sure you didn't mix up the ginger powder and the cayenne pepper?"
Kat's eyes widened. "There's a difference?"
She was joking, of course. Still, using spices for cooking was a lot different from using them for spells.
Luanne raised a brow. "Maybe you should stick to coconut."
Kat nodded reluctantly. That did not sound like a bad idea at this point. "How are your fortunes coming along?"
"They're not," Luanne replied. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. All I'm getting is death, destruction, and end-of-the-world type stuff. "
"What?" Kat asked, alarmed. Luanne's fortunes were usually reliable, so this was downright scary.
But the fortune-teller just shrugged. "That's what happens when you try divination during a new moon. Anyway, Amy and I have a new plan. We're doing Chinese Zodiac cookies."
"That doesn't sound very Christmasy," Kat opined, not reassured about the whole end-of-the-world thing. The new moon was hard to work with, but it wasn't that bad.
"We'll make them green and red," Luanne said firmly. "I don't care anymore. We've tried the recipe a hundred times and we just can't get the folds right. They always turn out looking like turnovers. Amy found some vintage molds, so we're doing the zodiac. End of story."
"A sound strategy," Kat said, relieved that she wasn't the only one resorting to a Plan B, or maybe even Plan C, as her thermonuclear gingerbread cookies had proven less than popular.
Luanne grabbed her emerald-green tote. "I better go get ready. I have a client coming in five."
She headed to the fortune-telling alcove, leaving Kat to manage the store.
Kat put away the failed cookie experiment, grabbed her notepad and
pulled up the inventory. Might as well do something useful.
Her gaze, however, kept wandering to the cookbook display in the middle of the store. The South American cookbook, in particular, seemed to be calling her name.
Did Brazilian brigadeiros qualify as cookies? They were just condensed milk and chocolate, and ridiculously easy to make. But maybe they were a fudge instead?
She walked to the display and reached for the book. However, she jostled its companions by mistake and found herself holding the Patagonian cookbook instead.
She stared at the book thoughtfully. Claire Delacourt had been interested in the Mapuche and Chilote culture. Why?
Each magical tradition tends to have its own focus. The Scandinavians focused on battles, which made their rituals perfect for protection and divination. The Aztecs and Mayans were concerned with crops, which gave rise to impressive, if somewhat gory, fertility spells. The Greeks searched for knowledge. The Romans sought a stable political state and military expansion, and this was reflected in their rituals and incantations.
For their part, the Patagonians fought evil.
The South American tribes—stuck living in one of the planet's more potent ley lines—were obsessed with combating the dark forces. While other traditions were concerned with crops, marriage, warfare, the southernmost tip of the world had one single pressing concern, encroaching malice.
Why would a television personality be interested in that? Claire's celebrity persona was that of a sketchy medium tracking spirits with her loyal Chihuahua sidekick. Yet, the piñones, cinnamon, and black candles she'd bought added a sinister gloss to that image. The Celebrity Medium had gathered material for a Chilote spell.
Again, why?
Kat walked through the store, grabbing books, then settled behind the counter to read Leyendas Oscuras de la Patagonia. Darkness, threats, evil...yep, that was Patagonia right there. They literally lived on the edge of a paranormal abyss and that made for a very interesting magical culture.
She felt a creeping sense of unease as she read. Spirits that preyed on children, demon women with twisted limbs attacking helpless hunters, ghost ships that drifted through the seas collecting souls...
It made shivers run down her spine.
Fortunately, none of it seemed to apply to Banshee Creek. Sure, their spectral fauna could get rowdy sometimes—her own house had long held a hostile spirit—but it was nothing like this. The Chilote and Mapuche entities all preyed on the living, sucking their life force or consuming their immortal spirits.
There was nothing like that in their little Northern Virginia village. Thank the gods.
So why was Claire looking up this kind of material?
Perhaps Claire was doing research for her show? Maybe she was doing a special on El Caleuche, the creepy soul-trapping ghost ship. That would explain it.
The front door slammed open, interrupting Kat's thoughts. Fiona entered the shop and held the door open. The candle maker's trademark ponytail was askew and her eyes looked weary.
"Hi," Fiona said with a wave, looking relieved when she saw Kat. She turned to talk to someone right outside. "Kat here will be able to help you. Sorry about the door, Kat."
Kat regarded Fiona's frozen smile with trepidation. It was the candle maker's patented "this customer is driving me nuts" expression.
Kat's unease did not diminish when she recognized the customer as Jeff Santos. He was still wearing the same gray newsboy cap and what she hoped was a clean Ghost Talk t-shirt. Did he always wear his show's promotional materials? Kat believed in aggressive marketing, but this was taking it a bit too far. However, she hid her feelings behind a pleasant smile, hoping it looked more sincere than Fiona's.
"Good to see you, Mr. Santos," Kat said. "What can I do for you?"
"Jeff asked me for an asphodel candle," Fiona said, in a strained voice. "He was very surprised to find I didn't have any."
Kat held her smile in place with some effort. Jeff was one of those, the people who came to town and tried to show they were more knowledgeable than the locals. They questioned the provenance of all the items and corrected everyone's pronunciation. Hipster paranormies, so to speak.
"Asphodel is great defense against evil spirits," Santos said. "You'd think this town would have an industrial supply." He glanced around the store. "It's not used in santería, though, so perhaps you don't know it."
Kat suddenly understood Fiona's annoyance. Santos was an arrogant jerk.
He was, however, an arrogant jerk customer, not to mention a guest in the town. Whatever he did, she had to be courteous.
"We try to service all kinds of traditions," she said, as calmly as she could. "So we do know asphodel. I have some in the back, and Fiona can easily do a set of custom candles, if you'd like."
A look of dismay crossed the candle maker's face. Kat ignored it. She wasn't handling this guy by herself, no way.
"What do you want them for?" Kat asked, trying to figure out how much asphodel he'd need. She didn't have a lot, and Santos was probably a staunch member of the "the more, the merrier" school of magic.
Santos smirked. "Protection, of course."
Kat fought the urge to throw a bundle of asafetida at him. "What kind, exactly? There aren't that many dangers here in Banshee Creek."
Santos gave her an arrogant look. "Of course there are. You saw what happened at the high school."
Kat froze. "You mean Jonas?"
The memory of the tall, thin body, laying askew on the hard linoleum floor came back with a cold rush. Goosebumps crawled over her arms.
Santos snorted. "Of course I mean Jonas. Something caused his death, and my number one suspect is Lorena Wills."
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN HE finally drove the truck to the high school, Liam found the parking lot full of trailers and tour buses. The sight of the Space Cowboys logo made him smile.
Abby Reed was home for Christmas.
And it seemed her country-folk-rock band was appearing in the cookie contest special. He found that surprising, though he probably shouldn't have. Abby's band had hit the big time, but she was still a Banshee Creek girl, and she helped out whenever she could. She wrote songs based on ghost stories and urban legends, so the relationship was mutually beneficial.
The band and its roadies were all still in the parking lot, milling about in the cold winter air.
He parked the truck and approached Abby and her bandmates, who were standing near their bus. The singer was dressed in an eggplant-colored pea coat, with matching plaid scarf and brown leather boots, and she smiled at him in greeting.
"Hey, Liam," she shouted. "What happened inside? They aren't letting us in."
Liam kissed her fondly on her ice-cold cheek. "We had an accident yesterday. One of the PRoVE interns was found dead."
Even as he said it, he couldn't quite believe it. Yesterday's tragedy had a surreal, gauzy quality to it, as if it had happened in a dream.
Abby's eyes were wide with shock. "Dead?"
"Drugs," the guitarist, a lanky man with olive skin and long black hair, said drily.
"No way," Abby replied. "Not in Banshee Creek."
"They're everywhere, love," the guitarist said.
"Not in this case," Liam replied. "This kid was a straight shooter."
Almost too much so. According to Caine, Jonas was obsessed with ethics. True, not the usual ones dealing with sexual peccadillos or vulgar gossip, but rather scientific and research wrongdoing. Not at all the typical drug addict profile.
"Kid?" Abby asked with a sharp look. "I thought you said he was in PRoVE. Caine's guys aren't minors."
"They have an intern program now," Liam explained. "Mostly high school and college students."
"So where did Jonas go to school?" Abby asked. "NOVA Community College?"
Liam couldn't help but recognize the hopeful tilt to her voice. "No, right here, Banshee Creek High."
The guitarist turned around. "Hey, looks like they're opening up. C'mon, g
uys. Time to get busy."
The group got up quickly, eager to get to work, but Abby stayed behind looking troubled.
"You go ahead," she said. "I'll follow."
The guitarist nodded and left with his bandmates and roadies. Abby turned toward Liam as her crew disappeared into the building.
"I gave Caine a set list for our performance earlier today," she said. "It's mostly Christmas songs and carols, but I wanted to tie it to the high school somehow, so I added a song I've been working on for a while. It's for our new Truth or Dare album."
Liam tensed, sensing where this was going.
"It's all based on urban legends," Abby continued. "Bloody Mary, pop rocks and such. The song is titled Would You Like to Dance? and it took me forever to write. It kept sounding like Tom Petty's Last Dance with Mary Jane and it took me a while to get that influence out. We finally went for a fifties big band sound and it came out rather well, if I say so myself."
Liam nodded.
"But Caine turned it down. He said it was a bit too creepy." Abby frowned. "That surprised me because we don't mind a little creepy here in Banshee Creek. After all, our last holiday special was 'Twas The Night Before Christmas...With Zombies."
"It went well with Rudolph the Revenant Reindeer," Liam noted.
"Right," Abby mused. "So I didn't understand why Caine was suddenly so squeamish, but if a high school kid died..."
"The same way Lorena supposedly kills her victims."
"Then that explains it." Abby shook her head. "Gosh, why is the town having such bad luck?"
"What do you mean?" Liam asked.
Abby raised a brow. "First there was that curse in your house becoming active after a century of dormancy; then those guys arrived with their deadly pyramid scheme; after that we had the Beltane festival tragedy; and now this."
"You think all those things are connected?" Liam asked, the question leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
"No," Abby replied hesitantly. "I mean, I don't know. I just think we've had a lot of bad luck. I hope it stops. They say never two without three, and we've already had four deaths."