Upside Down Magic (Good Bad Magic #6)

Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

“ I found that curious too,” Ian said.

“ Do you think it’s because he’s involved? Maybe he called me under the Christmas event pretext to try to figure out how much I know about the spell causing the magic issues.”

“ Then he would’ve asked.”

I picked at my jeans. “ You’re right. He’s probably running some sort of bet like Sofia and doesn’t care if I solve the issue or not. Probably thinks he’ll never get affected too. Bad guys are always the last to fall,” I added in a grumble.

Ian squeezed my leg. “ You’ll figure out a way to bring him down a peg or two, I’m sure.”

The thought cheered me. Maybe a small ward next time I went to Wyatt’s that made people stumble in the bathrooms? No . Too mean to all his customers. Grandma would not approve. Maybe if figured out where he lived and had Key mess with his lock? But one shouldn’t punish people simply for being impolite jerks. What about leaving him on the hook about the Christmas event then shut him down at the last minute? No , again, too mean. How would I feel if someone did that to me?

I was still trying to figure out a good way to make Wyatt see the light about how he conducted his business when an anonymous text arrived:

I know about Leeman’s past.

I repeated the text aloud, grinning wide. I knew someone in the bar would take the hook.

As to how everyone in the seedy underbelly of Olmeda happened to have easy access to my phone number, that was something I didn’t want to think too hard about.

“ What do they have?” Ian asked, not looking away from the street.

“ Let’s find out.”

I’m all ears , I texted back.

50 now, 50 after.

Hah . As if.

25 total.

The sender gave me their payment email address, and I made the payment.

“ You sure?” Ian asked, knowing perfectly well this wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten conned by anonymous texters claiming to have information in exchange for payment.

“ One day it’s gotta work, right?” His long silence was eloquent enough, and I tutted. “ No faith in your fellow paranormals.”

“ None whatsoever,” he agreed.

The payment dinged as complete and soon another text appeared.

My gramps worked with someone in the family. Told us they used to be in some shady stuff and to stay away if they ever moved back. Some sort of dark cult.

I repeated the information to Ian . “ Sounds legit.”

He let out a grunt.

“ The dark cult has to be the coven. Maybe they kept it up somewhere else after the Olmeda one got dismantled.”

“ It’ll be hard to track down a dark coven elsewhere.”

“ Whatever is happening is connected to Olmeda . We should try to find out more about our dark coven first,” I agreed.

Ian came to a stop in front of the old, dilapidated house that used to house the coven leader so long ago.

Except the house was no longer there.

I gaped through the window, trying to process the sight, then I unhooked the seatbelt and jumped out of the SUV .

Where the old house used to be, there was nothing but razed earth.

“ Where did it go?” I asked, still gaping.

Ian rounded the SUV and came to stand by my side. “ Hmm .”

I tugged at his arm and pointed at the empty lot. “ Ian , where did the house go?”

“ Someone must’ve sold the land and they’re getting ready to build a new house.”

“ Do you think whoever owned the land is connected to the spell? Do you think the sale has something to do with our spell?”

“ I doubt it. It takes time to get the house cleared up and everything taken away even before razing it. A week minimum, and that’s if there aren’t any delays, which there always are.”

“ I can’t believe this,” I whispered, going up to the edge of the sidewalk. There weren’t even bits of vegetation lying around—only dark brown dirt.

“ Isn’t this a good thing?” Ian asked. “ Now nobody else can make use of the house’s power for spells.”

“ I bet the bad vibes are soaked into the ground.” I shivered. “ I feel a little sorry for whoever comes to live here. Oh !” I rounded on him. “ Do you think whoever plans to live here is a dark witch planning on reestablishing the coven?”

Ian gave that some serious thought. “ It’s possible.”

“ We need to figure out who bought it.”

“ I’ll make some calls.”

“ Good . Let’s go to the haunted house.”

“ The haunted house?”

“ One of the three Sisters ; where I found Desmond’s finger. If someone is behind the spell and trying to get as much dark magic power as possible, that’s where I’d go if the coven house were no longer available. Remember , that’s what Hannah —” I gaped again.

“ What is it?”

“ Is Hannah still in jail? What if she escaped? What if she’s the one behind all this? Taking revenge on me for catching her?”

“ Hannah is still in jail. Remember , we agreed that if this were a personal attack, they’d have gone for me or Key or Dru , not a random visiting witch.”

I rubbed my eyes. “ You’re right. Still , will you check? Please ?”

“ I will.” He kissed my forehead, then brought out his phone. Five minutes later he had confirmation that Hannah was, indeed, still detained at the bounty hunters’ guild.

“ I almost wish she’d escaped,” I murmured. “ Then we’d have a clear suspect.”

Ian put a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “ Don’t worry, I’m sure if we shake things long enough, something will fall out.”

“ You’re right. Let’s go shake the haunted house.”

“ I miss Fluffy ,” I commented as we drove through the busy streets of Old Olmeda . This trip was giving me hardcore nostalgia of Fluffy’s and my trip trying to find the witch behind the bloody pentagrams on Halloween . We had gone to the coven house, then the haunted house. It had been so much fun!

Until the finger. But I’d rather not think about that part.

“ I’m glad to see where I stand,” Ian said dryly.

I patted his arm. “ You’re fun too, but sometimes you just need a happy ball of fur, you know?”

He chuckled. “ Oh , I know.”

“ Here we are,” I exclaimed, leaning against the window to study the three Victorian mansions built side by side. Legend had it the two on the sides belonged to the same family, who had wanted to buy the land in the middle too, but the owner had refused and instead built a house matching theirs.

Then the wife of the third house owner had been murdered and buried in the walls, and her son had been stabbed to death and become part of a dark magic ritual after playing around with one of the servants. Here’s a lesson for you: treat service workers with the decency they deserve or you might end up shoved into a basement closet with your heart ripped out.

Ian found a parking space not too far away, and soon we were standing in front of the third Sister . It rose four stories high, an almost exact copy of the other two, dark and gloomy and Victorian -ly moody in the cloudy December day. There weren’t any bad vibes emanating out of the house exactly, unlike the bizarre art collection at the Corner Rose , but there was a definite something hanging in the atmosphere.

“ Looks closed,” Ian said, testing the front gate.

It was waist-high and easy to unlock from outside. Since there were no no-trespassing signs or other warnings, Ian opened it and we went up the flagstone path to the front door. The yard was kept in good order, and while the first-floor shutters were closed, the ones upstairs were not. It was obvious the house was kept in use in some capacity during the off-season.

I rang the doorbell and heard it echo inside the house.

After a minute passed, I rang again.

“ Either it’s closed down or the owners are out,” I said after another few minutes of no response.

Ian arched an eyebrow in a clear no, really? motion.

I cleared my throat. “ It’s important to state facts aloud so we know we’re on the same track.”

“ Whatever you say, angel.”

I mock growled at him, and he laughed, then pulled me in for a fast kiss.

Then I stayed for a definitely longer kiss.

Once we were done with our slightly public display of affection, I took out my phone and brought up Jim’s number, which had been helpfully written down on his business card. “ I’m calling Jim . Maybe he can get the owners to open up for us.”

“ What excuse are you going to give him?” Ian’s hand lingered on my waist over my winter jacket, but I felt the way he moved his thumb up and down as if it were straight on my skin.

“ Don’t distract me,” I whispered, blushing.

“ Mmhmm .”

Jim chose that moment to pick up. “ Jim Cooper speaking.”

“ Hi , Jim ! It’s Hope Avery from the Tea Cauldron .”

“ About time. Am I in?”

It took me a few moments to put two and two together and figure out what he was talking about. “ I’m not calling about the Christmas event.”

“ Then what do you want? I’m busy.” His voice gained an impatient edge.

“ I was hoping you could get the haunted house open for me.”

“ Which one?”

“ The third Sister .”

“ Why ?”

“ I wanted to do some research on the tale about the servant who left the owners’ son in the basement. Not for any future haunted house,” I added in a rush before his head exploded. “ I’m , uh, writing a blog post about haunted places for my website. You know with all the witchy theme and…stuff.”

A hmph was his answer.

“ I figure I could also mention your attractions in the blog?” I ventured.

“ I have nothing scheduled there until February .”

“ I could be convinced to time my post with whatever gig you have then.”

“ That sounds like an idea.”

Just not an idea that impressed him too much, judging by his band tone.

“ Do you have a better idea?” I asked brightly. “ I’m all ears.”

“ You know the score, Avery . I want in that Christmas event.”

Duh . Good Mother Earth but I was thick sometimes. “ You got it. I’ll add you to the list as soon as I’m back to the shop.”

“ Do I have your word on it?”

“ You absolutely do.” I made sure to really punctuate the middle word.

“ Good . Can you get to the house today?”

“ I’m waiting outside right now.” I gave Ian a thumbs up.

“ Give me twenty minutes.”

Thirty -five minutes later, Jim jogged up the flagstone path, a ring of keys jingling in his hand.

“ Avery . Cavalier .” He cast Ian a suspicious glance.

“ He’s helping with the research. Lots of dead people buried at his place.”

“ No kidding,” Jim muttered, flipping through the keys until he found the one he wanted. He rammed it into the lock, then wrenched sideways. I winced at the violence. That poor lock hadn’t hurt anyone!

The big, heavy wooden door opened, and the dark, gloomy interior met us.

Slightly creepy vibes, but nothing screaming horrible dark sacrifices had been made here.

Jim stomped inside, slamming his hand over the light switch. I followed in more cautiously, studying the interior as the overhead lights switched on.

During Halloween , I’d thought they had tweaked the lighting to make the inside extra creepy, but I now realized the natural state of the house wasn’t much different. The dark wallpaper and dim lights made the entrance and hallways almost claustrophobic, and the small parlor opening to the side was just as creepy as when I’d visited during Halloween , except someone had hung garlands around the old Victorian photographs.

“ The son’s murder, you said?” Jim asked.

I realized with a start I had walked ahead inside the house. “ That’s right. It happened in the basement?”

“ Or so the story goes,” Jim said. He walked past me down the side hallway. “ Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

Ian and I followed him down the hallway with its dark purple wallpaper, around a bend behind the big main staircase, and to the back area of the house. A narrow set of stairs led to the basement—a big space brightly lit by the overhead lights with several rooms branching out of the main corridor.

I didn’t want to give away this wasn’t my first rodeo down here, so I let Jim lead us to the last room, which was still empty but for a closet space on the side.

The memory of opening the closet and finding Desmond Crane’s finger in the middle of a bloody pentagram flashed through my mind. I couldn’t help the shudder it provoked. There was a definite aura of something clinging to this room.

Jim , apparently oblivious to the evils committed here and the fact the closet was of the same age as the rest of the house and probably as expensive to repair, jerked the closet doors open like it was a particularly difficult plywood cupboard.

“ Here you go,” he said in a theatrically grandiose tone that had nothing on Brimstone’s . “ The closet.”

I held my breath and peeked inside.