A Hex a Day (Which Village Book 1)

by L. C. Mortimer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Author

  Hybrid Academy: Year One

  Just Another Day in the Zombie Apocalypse

  A Hex A Day

  L.C. Mortimer

  Copyright © 2020 by L.C. Mortimer

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For fans of Buffy, Charmed, and Hocus Pocus comes a story about second chances and new beginnings.

  My mom is dead.

  At 34 1/2 years old, this shouldn't bother me nearly as much as it does, especially considering the fact that we haven't spoken in years.

  But she's my mom.

  And it bothers me.

  I make my way to her home as quickly as I can. She lived in a little town in the middle of nowhere, but as soon as I start working my way through her estate - organizing the chaos in her raggedy little cottage, sorting through her financial documents - strange things start to happen.

  Suddenly, I wonder if I really knew my mother at all.

  Suddenly, I wonder if her death was really an accident.

  The town where she lived is full of mystery and chaos, and it doesn't take long for me to realize that my mother's killer is still out there - and that I might be their next victim.

  For Bobbi and Carol

  Thank you for showing me that age is just a number

  And that we all deserve happy endings.

  Chapter 1

  "Your mother is dead."

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded cold and calm, as though this was the most routine thing that they'd had to do all day. What was worse was that it sounded as though calling me had been inconvenient for them.

  "What?" I whispered, pressing my cell phone to the side of my head. I must have heard her wrong. There was no chance that what she was saying was true or real. Maybe she had said, "Your mother has read," or "Your mother's got cred." Like maybe my mother just really loves books now, or maybe she's built an incredible reputation for herself and this person thought I should know.

  She couldn't be gone.

  A heavy sigh.

  "Dead," the voice said again. It was cold, calculating. I could tell this person would rather be anywhere but giving me this call, and that rankled me a lot. I'd lost my mother, apparently. This person could at least be kind to me about it.

  "What happened?" I asked, clutching the cell phone to my ear. I didn't want to miss a thing. I hadn't spoken to my mother in years. When I'd married Stanley, I'd left home and we'd traveled the world together. Mom had made it clear how she felt about me marrying someone from "out of town." He'd been a stranger to her, and she'd had no interest in getting to know him, so I'd gone away, and I'd never looked back.

  My mom had moved to a little town in the middle of nowhere, and despite the essential breaking up of our relationship, we'd written letters to each other a few times a year.

  Correction: I'd written her letters.

  I sent her postcards from China and notes from Japan. She'd gotten gifts of chocolate from when I'd been in Italy and a tea set from my visit to Vietnam. I'd never forgotten my mother, but I'd also never been able to get in touch with her. The few times I'd tried to call to see if I could visit, she hadn't taken my calls. She'd always texted me later and told me not to visit her. She'd been nasty and mean, and finally, I'd stopped trying.

  I never really understood what was so horrible about Stanley that my mother had to hate him. After he'd died, I'd wanted so badly to reach out, but it hadn't really seemed like it was something she would care about.

  Besides, what would she do?

  It wasn't like she'd ask me to come stay with her.

  "An accident," the voice on the other end of the phone said.

  "Her death was an accident?"

  "Yes."

  "Like, a car accident?"

  "Something like that," the voice said.

  What did that mean?

  "Okay," I said. "And who are you?"

  "I'm her attorney," the woman said. "Eliza Warthog."

  Strange name, I thought, wrinkling my nose automatically. No wonder the woman sounded grumpy. I would, too, if I had a name like that.

  "Well, I appreciate you calling."

  "We can handle the estate without you," she said. "I have a team available who can clean out your mother's property, sell it, and send you a check. You don't even need to come to town."

  She spoke so matter-of-factly, as though she expected I wouldn't actually want to see my mom's house. Well, she was entirely wrong. Probably, she’d be disappointed when she found out that I actually did have plans: big ones, in fact.

  The truth was that I'd been trying to visit for years, and I was curious about my mom. I had nothing going for me anymore. Stanley had just died a few months earlier, and I'd been living in a short-term vacation rental until I figured out what to do. We spent so much time traveling around that we hadn't accumulated many worldly goods. I had two huge backpacks: one for each of us. That was it.

  The decision was simple.

  "That's not necessary," I said. "I'll come tomorrow."

  Silence.

  The woman cleared her throat.

  "I don't think you understand," she said. "Dealing with a loved one's death can be very, uh, traumatic, especially when it's unexpected."

  "Don't you dare sell my mother's stuff," I said, and now I was the one who spoke harshly. "I said that I'll come tomorrow. What are your office hours?"

  "Well, I have normal business hours," she said. "Nine-to-five, but-"

  "I'll be there to pick up the keys before five."

  I ended the call, packed up my stuff, and called the owner of the property to let her know I was going to be checking out early for a family emergency. She was completely understanding, and she even offered to give me a refund on the unused time I'd already paid for, but I told her to keep it. She was thrilled, and she promised to rate me as a 5-star guest on the app I'd used to rent the house.

  It took me less than an hour to clear everything I owned out of the house and to put it into the car. When I'd returned to America, I'd gone to CarMax and bought a decent, new-to-me car that I could count on. It was a smaller SUV, but it was bigger than anything I'd ever driven before in my life. Now, I was happy for it because it meant that no matter where my mother's cabin was, I'd be able to access it easily and without any problems at all.

  I got in the vehicle and sat there for a moment. Should I be going this readily? This easily? Probably not. My mom hadn't wanted to see me when she was alive, so the chances of her rolling over in her grave at the idea of me coming now were high. Still, I couldn't leave this alone. I hadn't gotten a chance to bury my husband. I wasn't going to lose that ability when it came to my mom. She might have hated me at the end of her life, but once upon a time, my mom had loved me.

  I was going to do right by her.

  I was going to go take care of her things.

  *

  Which Village was an unusual sort of name for an unusual sort of place. I'd never really understood the name of the town or why my mother had chosen to go there. She was a retired schoolteacher, after all: not an artist, or a writer, or a hippie. She was just some lady who had chosen the most random place in the world to make a home.

  The villa
ge was located in the heart of the mountains. It took me seven hours to get there from the city, and as my SUV made its way deeper and deeper into the mountains, I found myself grateful that I'd stocked up on food and supplies along the way. I had no idea what Which Village had as far as a grocery store went. They likely didn't have many modern conveniences, if any. I knew they had a post office, but beyond that, I wasn't really sure.

  It was around three in the morning when I pulled into town. The lawyer had called me after business hours for some reason. Maybe she'd been working late. I had no way of knowing. The little town was located in one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen. Driving in at night had been stupid. I should have waited until morning, but something about knowing my mom was gone had gotten me moving. The roads had been terrible, windy, and annoying.

  WHICH VILLAGE was painted on a little sign just outside of the town. Below it: POPULATION 4250.

  I felt like that was definitely a stretch. There was no chance there were that many people in this little deserted town. Not by a long shot. They had to be including people who lived in the county and not just the actual town. There was a little gas station, a tiny grocery store, and then, I hit pay dirt.

  A motel.

  The sign said WHICH VILLAGE INN. There was no indication as to whether or not there was a vacancy, so I pulled into the parking lot and looked at what I was dealing with. Despite the fact that this place was kind of a dump, it had a certain charm to it. There was a main lobby that probably doubled as a home for the owners, as well as three little cabins. So, it seemed as though it wasn't a motel so much as it was short-term accommodations, but I'd take what I could get.

  I went to the front office, but the door was locked. Apparently, this wasn't the type of place with a 24-hour lobby. I rang the little bell and waited a minute, trying to decide what to do. I was obviously waking up the owners, and I felt a little bad about it. Hopefully, they weren't going to yell at me for showing up in the middle of the night without a reservation. If they didn't let me in, I wasn't sure what I was going to do until morning. Maybe I could just park somewhere and sleep in the car.

  I supposed I could go park at my mom's house, as an alternative option, but that seemed like a fast way to have the cops called on me, and it wasn't like I had a key, anyway. Was I really going to break into her home? To me, that felt like a violation. No, I’d figure something out one way or another.

  After only two minutes, though, a tiny little pixie of a woman came to the door, peered out, and pulled it open. She looked like a shoemaker's wife. Her white curls were pinned on top of her head under a sleeping cap, and a couple of them were peeking out. Her nightgown was a bright white with pale flowers, and it reminded me a little bit of the grandmothers I'd read about in storybooks.

  "Are you lost?" She asked kindly. I kind of got the impression that if I wasn't careful, this was the type of woman who would bake me some cookies and read me a bedtime story. I didn’t need to feel cozy or loved. Nope. Not here. I just needed to crash for a few hours before I could go deal with everything that needed to be dealt with. Just a few hours of sleep, and I’d be good to go.

  "No," I said carefully. I hoped I sounded normal, and not like I was a total weirdo or a freak. This woman seemed very sweet. I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of troublemaker. "I was actually hoping to get a room for the night."

  "Oh, is that right?" She said, smiling sweetly. "What brings you to Which Village?"

  Her question was innocuous enough, but it wasn't really something I expected to hear while checking into a hotel. I was well aware of the fact that her eyes were on me, and she was watching to see what I was going to say. Was this some sort of test? I didn’t really want to give out personal information, but I wanted to get to bed. Honesty might be the best policy.

  "Uh," I said. "I'm here because of a death in my family."

  "Oh," she said, and suddenly, a sad look crossed her face. "You must be Alicia's daughter. Yes, I thought you might be coming to town. Come on in," she said. "We'll get you a room."

  "You knew my mom?" I asked, stepping into the little lobby. I tried to ignore how weird it was that she just knew why I was there. Apparently, I really had stumbled upon a tiny little village. In the city, nobody knew who you were. Nobody cared about you. Nobody bothered wasting their time wondering why you were coming or going or what you cared about.

  It was different here, apparently.

  Here, people actually did care.

  "Everyone knew Alicia," the woman said. She closed the door behind me, locking it, and then went behind the little counter. The lobby was cute, sparsely furnished, and clean. There was flowered wallpaper on the walls, and I thought I smelled the faint scent of sage.

  "I'm glad she made an impression," I said carefully. "I hope it was a good one."

  The woman looked up at me sharply, but didn't say anything else. She just started typing on her computer. I was actually a little surprised that she had a computer, considering how tiny and out-of-the-way this place was.

  "So, have you had your inn for awhile?" I tried to make conversation as I waited for her to finish typing. I didn’t really know what she was doing or what she was up to, but I wasn’t really interested in standing in the silence and just staring at her.

  "It's been in the family for years," she said, glancing up at me. “My husband and I took over caring for the inn. When we’re old and done, our sons can take over.”

  How quaint. It had been awhile since I’d been around anyone who had a “family business” that they passed down, but I rather liked the idea of it. It was kind of wonderful that this woman and her husband had something they could leave to their kids. It was a sort of legacy, I realized.

  "How many rooms do you have?" I asked. I had counted three little cabins. Were there more? Surely the inn couldn’t bring in enough money to live off of. Then again, what did I know? Perhaps the cost of living in Which Village was less than what I was used to. Maybe that was why my mom had been able to live here so comfortably.

  The woman just shrugged.

  "We have enough," she said. "Remind me of your name, dear, so I can log it in my registration book."

  She glanced up at me and smiled, baring her pearly white teeth. They were strangely white for an older woman. I understood the woman didn’t view herself as old, but I sure did. She was tiny and bent over a little bit, and she had wickedly white hair. I had no idea as to her actual age, and I didn’t care. The reality was that she’d lived. She’d lived a lot and experienced a lot. I was a little jealous she’d made it to her age, whatever it was, with her husband by her side. I missed Stanley.

  That wasn’t why I was there, though, so I pushed those sad, wallowing thoughts aside. If I wasn’t careful, I’d spend my entire night thinking about my dead husband and not dealing with my mother’s estate. That was the real reason I’d come to Which Village. I just needed to deal with what she left behind.

  "Jaden Quartz," I said.

  The woman’s brow furrowed, and she cocked her head, considering me. I knew what was coming next. She wanted to know why my name didn’t match my mother’s. After all, there was no wedding ring on my finger. I noticed the woman’s casual glance at my hand, and then she asked the question I’d been dreading.

  "Not Glaze?"

  "Not anymore."

  I'd left that name behind when I'd married Stanley. I hadn't really spent too much time thinking about it. In my mind, I wanted to get away from my hometown and my childhood village. I wanted to separate myself from the past and look to the future. That had really been what the name change was all about. Plus, it was something that connected me to Stanley. It was something important that meant the two of us could share more than just dreams.

  We could share little bits of ourselves with each other.

  I didn't want to tell this woman that, though. That was the kind of information you didn't share with someone the first time you met them. A tragic back story about your dead husba
nd and the truth about why your deceased mother didn't like you? Yeah, that could wait until tomorrow.

  Or never.

  “Glaze,” she repeated, and she looked back down at her computer. She typed, focusing on whatever it was she was doing.

  "I didn't catch your name," I said.

  "Leslie," she said. She kept typing, and then she looked up at me, and she handed me a key. "You'll be in cabin three," she said.

  "Okay," I took the key. It was old, vintage. It looked like the skeleton key you'd find in a horror movie or something like that. "Woah, this is heavy."

  "It's not, really," Leslie looked confused and shook her head just a little. "It's actually quite light, especially for an iron key." I got the feeling she thought I was a complete moron.

  "Why do you use iron keys?" I asked before I could stop myself. I wasn't trying to be rude. It was actually an honest question.

  "To keep the-"

  "Leslie!" A deep voice interrupted, and I turned. There was a man standing in the doorway that led, presumably, to their living quarters. "What are you doing?"

  "Checking in our guest, dear," Leslie seemed completely unbothered by the man's angry countenance. I looked at him carefully, but said nothing. I didn't really feel like angering the beast, especially in the middle of the night.

  "Guest?" He asked, looking me up and down, but I ignored him and turned back to Leslie. "We aren't expecting any guests."

  "I know, dear," Leslie said again. She turned to the man and smiled at him. "Alicia's daughter just arrived in town and needs a place to stay."

  "Alicia?" Suddenly, the man's tone changed. Did it sound softer? I thought it sounded a little bit softer. Gentler. Had he been friends with my mother? It was a small town.

  "Did you know my mother?" I asked.

  "Yes," the man said gruffly. He said this firmly, as though there was no other room for any sort of question I might have. He made it quite clear that he didn't want to share more information. Unfortunately for him, I'd inherited my mother's sense of nosiness and lack of social decorum.