A Very Merry Witchmas

by Ani Gonzalez

  "Blood?"

  "Yes. They found Jonas' footprints too. Looks like an accident with a big delayed reaction." Caine shook his head. "We all feel like crap about that, even though Dr. Lebensburg says that it wouldn't have mattered if we'd noticed earlier."

  Caine slapped him on the back. "But enough about that. It's my job to figure out how to handle these things. Yours is to figure out how I can expand the Mangy Owl. That's enough of a challenge."

  "Yes," Liam said. "You're right."

  But Caine's words still rang through his head.

  He was going to confront her about it.

  He never got the chance.

  "But right now, you have bigger things to worry about, buddy." Caine nodded toward the front door. "Looks like your wife is coming in for a drink."

  The biker's smile turned into a smirk.

  "And she has company."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "WHAT DOES Santa suffer from if he gets stuck in a chimney?" the woman on stage asked.

  "What?" The Mangy Owl patrons shouted in unison.

  Kat put her hands over her ears. Caine's bar was never a quiet place, but tonight it was out of control.

  "Sorry, guys," Luanne said with an apologetic smile. "I forgot it was amateur comedy night."

  "It's okay," Fiona replied with a pained expression. "I guess fortune telling only goes so far."

  "Claus-trophobia." The buxom girl standing on the stage finished her joke and the Mangy Owl's customers groaned.

  "Is there a tarot card for really bad jokes?" Kat asked.

  "The Wheel of Fortune," Luanne replied. "But people seldom see the humor in it."

  "How is Christmas just like your job?" the comedian continued, undeterred.

  "How?" the crowd asked.

  "You do all the work," she replied. "And the fat guy with the suit gets all the credit."

  "Oh, no, she didn't," a familiar voice said behind them. "Caine's not going to like that."

  Kat turned to see that Cassie Jones was standing behind her, carrying a large pitcher.

  "Please tell us that's full of lovely tequila," Fiona said. "Or vodka or something equally strong."

  "What do you call a kid who doesn't believe in Santa?" the comedian asked.

  Cassie laughed as she filled their glasses. "It's the bartender's super-strong margarita mix. I figured you girls would need it tonight."

  "Thanks," Kat said with a side-long glance at the jar, which, surprisingly, was not very appealing right now. "Not very Christmasy, though."

  "It's green, isn't it," Cassie muttered crossly. "That should be enough."

  It wasn't Christmas green, though, more of a bilious shade. She could smell the alcohol all the way from here and it made her stomach queasy.

  Luanne frowned at her. "You probably shouldn't be drinking this."

  "You're right," Kat answered with an apologetic smile. "I'll have a lemonade instead."

  Luanne gave her an approving look, then took a sip of her drink and instantly collapsed into a coughing fit.

  "Whoa," Fiona said, taking a sip. "Merry Christmas, indeed."

  "A rebel without a 'Claus.'" The comedian mimed a drum roll.

  The audience clapped.

  "At least you missed Holly's turn," Cassie said, taking a seat. "That was cringe-worthy."

  "Can't be worse than this," Fiona said.

  "Ya think?" Cassie said. "What do you call Santa's helpers?"

  Fiona sighed. "What?"

  Cassie raised her glass in a toast. "Subordinate clauses."

  Kat winced. "Ouch."

  "Yep." Cassie finished her glass then pushed it toward Kat. "Hit me again."

  "You're drinking a lot, Cass," Fiona noted. "Anything wrong?"

  "Oh, it's nothing," Cassie said, waving her hand. "I just have to coordinate a complicated baking competition with some of the most irritating personalities in the business. And I know nothing about baking or televised competitions." She took another drink. "And I hate most of the people I'm working with right now." Another drink. "Nothing at all." She raised her glass. "Merry Christmas."

  "It'll be fine," Luanne said. "Well, mostly fine..." Her gaze grew troubled. "Sort of."

  "Well, that's reassuring," Cassie said.

  "Caine and his guys know what they're doing," Kat said. "And Santos and Delacourt have done this before. They shouldn't be a problem."

  "You'd think, right?" Cassie said, pouring herself another margarita. "They've done this several times. It really should be a breeze, right?" Her mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. "A veritable cakewalk."

  "Exactly," Fiona said with forced cheer. "Everything will be—"

  "A complete disaster." Cassie slammed her glass on the table.

  "Well." Luanne gave her a consoling pat on the back. "Not complete."

  They all stared at her.

  She gave them an apologetic shrug. "Just, you know, partial. Less than mostly."

  Kat rolled her eyes. Luanne was not helping.

  "Partial," Cassie drawled. "Isn't going to be enough for Little Miss Diva of the Deceased."

  "You mean Claire?" Kat asked, surprised. "She seems very professional."

  "'Seems' being the operative word," Cassie replied. "She's a rhymes-with-witch, on steroids, with a jet-powered broomstick."

  Fiona frowned. "I think there's something wrong with that metaphor."

  "Whatever," Cassie said, downing her drink. "Don't get me wrong. Her research is impeccable. She's incredibly thorough and detailed."

  Kat nodded, recalling Claire's first visit to the botánica, when she'd displayed an impressive knowledge of obscure Chilean mythologies. Claire Delacourt knew her stuff.

  "But she's scary intense," Cassie said. "Everything has to be done a certain way. All the proper steps have to be followed." She threw up her hands. "Honestly, the way she goes on, you'd think the fate of the world was at stake."

  "What happens if things don't go her way?" Kat asked.

  "So far, it's just corrosive sarcasm and inflexible demands," Cassie admitted. "But I've heard stories that she can get really harsh."

  "What do you mean?" Kat asked. "Like temper tantrums?"

  Cassie nodded. "Weird ones. They say she has thrown things and hit walls. Once, she apparently used a sword. She blames it on the spirits, of course, but I've heard it gets ugly."

  "Wait," Kat said. "The ghosts made her do it? That's what she says?"

  Holy guacamole, Claire Delacourt seemed to be a real wacko. How strange. She'd seemed so...normal when she'd come to the botánica.

  Well, as normal as you could look with dyed gray hair and a punk-rock Chihuahua.

  "Apparently." Cassie aimed a mournful glance at her empty glass. "I'm so stressed about it I'm practically mainlining tequila. I heard she almost brained someone with a mace last month."

  "A what?" Fiona asked.

  "It's a medieval weapon," Cassie explained. "A blunt weapon that looks like a stick with a big ball at the end. They were investigating Belvedere Castle in Manhattan."

  "And she hit someone with it?" Kat asked, aghast.

  "Almost," Cassie said. "The guys she was working with said she didn't even touch the mace. It just flew through the air."

  "That can't be right," Fiona said.

  "Actually..." Luanne's voice trailed off.

  "What?" Kat asked.

  "Never mind," Luanne said downing her drink quickly.

  "And she's going to be judging our cookies?" Kat asked, trying to wrap her mind around this revelation.

  "Yep," Cassie said glumly. "Gus is frantic. He's doing Christmas unicorn macarons and fears that nothing short of Ladurée will satisfy Claire."

  "Christmas unicorns?" Fiona said skeptically. "Gus, the big guy with the beard and the biker jacket?"

  "He's a big My Little Pony fan," Cassie explained.

  Great, she had to deal with a monster judge and My Little Pony Christmas unicorn macarons.

  This was bad.

  So f
ar, none of her modified recipes had panned out. She was probably going to have to offer coconut snowball cookies to a psycho cooking judge who carried a spoiled Chihuahua, spoke to dead people, and threw medieval weapons around.

  Kat frowned. Something about that last thought bothered her. The Dark Ages? Weapons? Blunt weapon damage? A prone body lying still on a worn linoleum floor?

  Kat stared at her lemonade, worried about something more serious than losing a cooking competition.

  "I just hope nothing bad happens during the competition," Cassie said. "Like someone getting hit in the back of the head with a stainless steel mixer or something."

  Kat bit her lip, keeping her thoughts to herself. She didn't want to worry Cassie and the girls, but they didn't have to wait for something bad to happen.

  It already had.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "IS THIS roof stable?" Claire Delacourt asked, eyeing the structure with undisguised suspicion.

  She looked distinctly out of place, with her glamorous gray hair and high heels, not to mention the bored-looking Chihuahua in her arms.

  However, her demeanor indicated that she felt very much at home. She peered at the brick walls and knocked on the windows with the air of someone who knew what she was looking for.

  "Yes," Caine replied. "We reinforced the supports last year. We wanted to tear it down and rebuild but—"

  "Let me guess," Claire said with a slight smile. "The horse ghost wouldn't let you."

  Caine laughed. "Got it in one. Liam here couldn't sit for a week."

  Claire joined in the laughter. Liam didn't. Nothing funny about a ghost horse kicking you in the butt so you fall head-first into a puddle of mud.

  Claire scanned the area. "Does it manifest anywhere else? Or just the stable?"

  "All over the tavern, but it keeps to the stable when the place is full." Caine gestured toward the kitchens. "He drops by the pantry area in the mornings and scatters around the oatmeal. Sometimes the sink turns on by itself, manifestations of that type."

  "And sometimes people get kicked in the rump," Liam muttered.

  Wait, was Claire's Chihuahua snickering? He blinked and the pet's smirking expression was suddenly gone.

  Claire nodded, petting her dog on the head. "Cold spots?"

  "Over there," Caine pointed toward a corner.

  Claire walked over, then peered over the wooden fence. "This area would all have been open fields at the time, correct?"

  "Yes," Caine conceded. "But it's all been built now."

  "And yet no one has seen the horse trotting around? It would've run around the meadow back then."

  "No sightings outside the tavern," Caine said.

  "That's strange, isn't it?"

  "Hard to say," Caine said, stroking his beard. "What with the White Horse also doing the rounds."

  Claire tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Is that the one about the Indian maiden who was killed while eloping with a warrior from a rival tribe?"

  "Yes. Her relatives chased them with arrows, she was slain, and her spirit went into the horse."

  Claire shook her head. "Only town in the world with more than one ghost horse."

  "There may be a third on Stuckeyville Parkway, but we haven't documented that one yet."

  Claire rolled her eyes. "Of course, there's a third one." She trailed a glossy black fingernail over the wooden fence. "Any ideas on how to tackle this one?"

  "Nope," Caine said with some relish. "He shows up when he shows up."

  "I see." She tapped her fingernail on the wood. "Well, he's not making an appearance right now."

  "He can be stubborn like that."

  Claire frowned. "Do you have any apples, by any chance?"

  Caine raised a brow. "I can find some."

  "Please do." Claire replied, staring at the "cold spot" corner.

  Caine walked off. They could hear him shouting, "Gus, do we have any apple martini garnishes left?" in the distance.

  Liam was left alone with Claire, who kept pacing up and down the stable area, running her fingers over the various surfaces and humming quietly to herself.

  This was pretty underwhelming, as far as supernatural investigations went. He'd expected something more dramatic from a woman who supposedly talked to the dead.

  "Not just the dead," Claire commented with a smile. "I cover other areas as well."

  Liam jerked in surprise. Had he said that out loud? He could've sworn not.

  Claire's dog smirked again.

  "We just have hauntings here," he replied. "We're America's Most Haunted Town now, Claire. It's official now."

  Claire's smile did not falter. "But sometimes it's not quite a haunting, right? Like whatever was in the Hagen House?"

  "That was a curse," Liam said. "And also some kind of entity."

  Claire nodded. "But you still got the house cleansed, correct?"

  "Yes," Liam replied, not liking where this was going.

  Claire waved a hand, encompassing the structure around them. "And a cute little pony stopped you cold, really?"

  "Well," Liam answered, "it's a stallion, not a pony and we just felt..."

  His voice trailed off as he struggled to put the feeling into words. The Hagen House curse had started as an annoyance, then turned into full-blown danger. Yet, he'd never eradicated.

  The tavern's ghost horse, however, was different. It commanded respect, even deference.

  "You didn't want to upset it," Claire said gently.

  "It's not hurting anyone," Liam said defensively. "If it wants its home to be left alone..."

  Claire nodded. "I understand. But we must all adapt to changing times, even the ghosts." Her voice dropped. "Maybe particularly the ghosts."

  Liam was about to ask what she meant, but Caine barged in, carrying a bowl full of bright red apples.

  "Will these do?" the biker asked, handing over the fruit. "They're the only ones we have."

  "Perfect," Claire said, taking the bowl. "Thank you."

  She grabbed an apple and took a bite.

  Caine frowned. "Did I just get into a huge fight with my bartender just to get you a snack?"

  Claire laughed, waving her half-eaten apple around. "Very funny. The apple is the fruit of the underworld. Eating it opens doors. Think of Avalon and Morgan LeFay and Persephone and Hades."

  "That was a pomegranate," Caine said.

  "True." Claire's eyes twinkled. "But your bartender only has apples."

  She spat out a seed and threw it on the floor. Then she took a couple of steps and dropped another seed.

  "I want an expanded dining room," Caine muttered to Liam. "Not an orchard."

  "Horse spirits can be tricky," Claire said to no one in particular. "They are warriors and guardians and not to be trifled with. This one is strong and proud, and he's been around for a while. Very noble, very powerful."

  "Mr. Nobility kicked me in the ass," Liam whispered to Caine. "But I'll give her the strength trait. That kick hurt."

  "I should've brought a camera," Caine replied. "I wonder if she'll start neighing?"

  Liam stifled a laugh. Claire did look kind of silly, strolling around the stable, dropping apple seeds.

  Was this just a waste of time? Should he go inside and see what Kat and her friends were up to? Not that he distrusted his spouse, but Kat could get a little feisty when there was alcohol around. Surely Caine and Claire didn't really need him here...

  He was just about to return to the tavern when the atmosphere changed.

  A cold chill spread across Liam's skin, making his hair stand up on end. His eyesight grew blurry and dark and he cursed under his breath.

  This is what happened in the school corridor. This is what led to his vision.

  Not again.

  "Claire?" Caine whispered. "Are you okay?"

  Liam looked up at the spirit medium. Claire stood, tall and fierce, her face was contorted into a mask of rage. For a second she looked inhuman, a tall figure with loose white hair, flowing
like a mane.

  Like a horse's mane.

  Her eyes flashed. She threw the bowl of apples and it crashed next to Liam, one of the red fruits hitting him in the head.

  She threw her head back and roared.

  "It's coming."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "WHAT WAS that?" Fiona exclaimed.

  Kat raised her head and looked around. The loud noise had come from outside. Had a server dropped a tray? Or maybe a pan crashed in the kitchen.

  "Nothing good," Luanne said, raising her margarita glass to her lips.

  "Someone couldn't take the bad jokes anymore," Cassie ventured.

  "No, I don't think so," Luanne sighed. "I think you should go check, Kat."

  "What?" Kat frowned. "Why?"

  "Just a feeling," Luanne said, swirling her margarita. "The noise came from the stables, if you want to go see. Don't worry, we'll cover your share of the bill."

  Kat grabbed her purse and headed for the back of the tavern. Luanne's cryptic comment was alarming. What the heck had happened?

  When she got to the kitchen, she found Liam sitting on a chair, holding an ice pack to his head.

  "Oh my God," she exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders. "How did you get hurt?"

  Liam started to shake his head, then winced and wisely stopped. "Claire Delacourt happened. She knocked me out with haunted fruit."

  "What?" She leaned close, examining his head. There didn't seem to be any blood, which was a relief.

  "I know," Liam said. "That's a first, even for Banshee Creek. I should go back and talk to Caine. Claire said it wasn't her. She said it was Bucephalus, but that's crazy."

  "Boo-what?" Kat asked.

  "Bucephalus. That's the name of the horse." He started to get up. "I should—"

  "No," Kat said firmly, stretching out her hand, palm up. "I'm taking you home. Give me the truck keys."

  "I'm okay," Liam said, putting down the ice pack. "I just need to—"

  "Home," Kat repeated, pulling at him. "Now."

  She dragged him out of the tavern into the cold night and headed for his Ford pickup truck.

  "It was just an apple, Kat," Liam said, rubbing his head as they crossed the parking lot. "Well, a couple of apples."