Ghosts and Grimoires (Willowmere mysteries #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

I knew all this because the owner of said card wallet had checked the contents less than two minutes ago and added a running commentary, while I wrapped the thriller she was borrowing from my lending library in a plastic bag, to protect it from the downpour.

I’d watched her hold the bag over her head as she dashed to her car, jumped in and drove off.

I noticed too late that she must have lost the card wallet during her scramble to get out of the wet.

For an instant I’d been tempted to save it, until I decided the contents weren’t worth running outside and getting drenched. I’d nixed the idea of using magic to transport the wallet to me, to spare me the exposure to the elements. Too self indulgent.

I wiggled my fingers in a non-magical way, stared at them, and sighed.

Cosmo Merlin de Beaufort stretched in his cat bed. “Is anything wrong with your hand?”

“I’m checking that I’m not developing webbing to prepare for an aquatic life.

The rain’s been going on forever.” I realized I sounded like a petulant teenager as I complained to the sleek black cat who had been acting as my familiar and mentor since I inherited the house, lending library, and witch powers from my aunt eight months ago.

“You’re bored.”

“A little.” While drizzle and light rain featured heavily in the state of Oregon, including the small, picturesque town of Willowmere where Cosmo and I lived, this week felt more like a prelude to a flood.

I could count the number of customers who'd crossed my threshold since the dark clouds chased all sensible people inside, on one hand. I’d ventured out occasionally, to deliver books to customers, but other than that, I hadn’t seen a soul apart from Cosmo.

That included my crazy coven aka Ange Gale, Harper Fox, and her wife Reina.

Ange had allowed herself to be whisked away for a short midweek break with her husband.

Reina was away, visiting her parents, and Harper had enough on her plate with running the Blue Moon Inn on her own until Reina returned, without having to entertain me.

To make matters worse, my witchcraft lessons had hit a roadblock.

My aunt had left several spell-books in a secret lair hidden behind a wall-to-ceiling bookcase.

Whenever I was ready, a new spell would become visible for me.

At least it used to. After the first two incantations, I hadn’t been able to conjure up anything on the blank pages in volume two of the books.

Because the weather was so bad that even Cosmo had only dashed out for a couple of minutes every day, I was cooped up with only repetitions of my spells, baking cookies with or without magical infused ingredients, and practically twiddling my thumbs.

A few weeks ago, I’d wished for nothing better than a nice, quiet, boring period.

Now that I had it, it was driving me crazy.

“Grab your umbrella,” he ordered me. “We're going out.”

We? I peered through the window, where the rain had gone from vertical to almost horizontal due to the wind. “You need a stint in the greenhouse,” he said.

Considering that it was only 20 yards from my back door to the small building in my backyard, I didn't think an umbrella was needed, apart from the fact that it might get blown away anyway.

“I can just put on my raincoat and draw the hood really tight. All you have to do is tell me what herbs or flowers you think we’re lacking.” The recipes for herbal teas and my aunt had left me relied heavily on homegrown ingredients.

He stared at me in the shocked, hurt way that only a cat or a small child could pull off. “The umbrella is for me. How else do you think you're going to protect me from the rain?”

“Can't you just make water slide off your back?”

“I'm not a duck!” Now he really sounded offended.

I gave in, bundled up in my waterproof wax jacket, turned up the hood, and clasped Cosmo to my chest with one hand while with the other, I held the umbrella as low over the both of us as possible.

“That's uncomfortable.” He wriggled.

“Stop that,” I said. “That's the only way I can carry you, and you do not like to get your paws muddy anyway. Or I can put your highness in your stroller.”

“Very funny.” Although Cosmo was used to either walking in a harness or being taken around town in a pet stroller with a plastic bubble window, where he peered out like a furry astronaut, he preferred his freedom and his creature comforts. Today, the last two were mutually exclusive.

He gave in and snuggled against my chest as we dashed out into the downpour. Low rumbles reached my ears, and the sky had gone from dark gray to an angry purple. Mud splattered my legs on the short path to the greenhouse.

I had to lower the umbrella and put it aside to yank the door open.

Cosmo yelped as rain pelted him. A few seconds later we were inside, and I put him down on the potting table, where he shook himself, and tiny droplets flew all around. I reached for my handkerchief and wiped my face dry.

“What about me?” Cosmo complained.

“Can't you just shake yourself again?”

He glared at me.

“Hold still,” I said, and used the handkerchief to pat his fur from the tip of his ears down to his tail.

“That’ll do. You may now continue with the tasks that brought us here. Just follow my instructions,” he said.

“I’m glad to be of service.” I opened my wax jacket. The rain had cooled off the air, but the greenhouse kept a well-regulated temperature.

My aunt's yard held several well-planted outdoor beds for flowers, vegetables, and herbs, but in my mundane days I had severely lacked a green thumb.

Being a witch had changed that to a certain extent, but I missed the botanical knowledge to really use my power well.

My first forays into using a spell had led me to believe that Sleeping Beauty was less of a fairytale and more of a documentary.

I could easily turn an immaculate garden into a jungle that rivaled the primeval woods stretching out behind my back fence.

That’s why Cosmo made me stick to the old-fashioned way of gardening, and the plants that were vital to my recipes were kept in the greenhouse safe from the elements and my cluelessness.

To be fair, I had a stack of gardening books and more than enough offers of help, but I already had enough on my plate to juggle on any given day.

Cosmo strolled over to the pots with lemon verbena, mint, basil, and geraniums. I picked up my garden shears and snipped sprigs and flower heads, according to Cosmo’s precise orders.

The rumble grew louder. “Ouch,” I said when lightning joined it.

Cosmo sat up. “Is it your head?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my temples after putting down my tool. “I feel woozy and slightly sick.”

“Sit down.”

I pulled up the wooden chair that I used when potting plants under my cat’s strict supervision and plumped down on it. “I hope it's not a migraine. I haven’t had one since my student days.”

Cosmo used his paw to swipe a sprig of lemon verbena over to me. “Sniff that.”

I inhaled the fresh, tangy scent. “That’s a little better,” I admitted. “Oh, the joys of middle age. I thought forgetfulness and growing a hair on my chin, no matter how often I pluck it, were bad enough.”

“Your reaction has got nothing to do with The Change, as you humans call it - as if you suddenly sprout a second head!”

“It doesn’t?” Despite the pounding in my temples that hadn’t completely ebbed away yet, I perked up. At least I didn't have to expect this kind of searing pain on a regular basis.

“But it’s proof that you're still susceptible to electricity.”

“You mean it's down to being a witch.” I groaned. I hadn’t won anything then. Just like I had no influence on being menopausal, I also had no say in my occult status.

Early on, Cosmo had put his paw down and forbidden me to use many electrical gadgets because of interference with the force or whatever witchcraft really was.

I'd learned enough self-control since then to have been allowed to use a microwave when at someone else’s house, but obviously I’d celebrated too soon.

“Do you have any idea how much electricity there is in a thunderstorm?” he asked.

“A lot?”

“Yes, Bex, a lot, and out here in a greenhouse you’re a lot more exposed than behind brick walls.”

Now it was my turn to glare at him. “Are you implying that you lured me out here just to test my weak spots?”

“I’d never do that to you.” He looked aghast. “There are certain conditions that add to the potency of the plants you're using, that's all. I didn't know that the thunderstorm would reach us this fast.” He motioned to me to sniff the lemon verbena again. “How are you feeling now?”

I peeked outside. The thunder and lightning had subsided, the rain had stopped, and a sliver of blue was visible in the sky. “Almost okay again,” I admitted.

“Good. Then let's head back inside. Don’t forget the cuttings.”

I stuffed them into my pocket, so I had my hands free for cat and umbrella.

Puddles lined our way, and soil had spread across the flagstone path like coffee grounds in a sink. The grass squelched when I stepped on it. Maybe my feeble joke about developing webbed hands and feet wasn’t so far off the mark after all.

I was still busy soaking, shredding, and distilling some of the herbs while others were waiting to be dried, when Ms. Vine appeared unannounced.

She held a box with fresh donuts and rum-soaked balls of sponge cakes. My mouth watered as I inhaled the aroma of vanilla and chocolate.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you,” she said as I ushered her into my kitchen.

“Not at all. Please ignore the mess.”

I pulled a saucepan with simmering geranium heads off the hob.

Cosmo hopped off his chair and ambled over to his food bowl, where he waited for a handful of treats. I obliged.

“Coffee?” I asked Ms. Vine.

“Yes, please.”

While I prepared the hot drinks, she put the donuts and rum balls on a plate.

“Beastly weather,” she said.

“Very.” I wondered what was coming next.

Discussing the dismal state of affairs outside surely was not it, unless she expected me to change it, something I was neither allowed to nor capable of, as far as I was aware.

I filled two mugs with coffee and put milk and sugar next to them, waiting for my guest to continue.

Ms. Vine had been one of my aunt's closest friends.

She also used to be my former English and history teacher in high school, and she acted as a kind of witch's support.

She'd spent decades amplifying the protective spells my aunt had put up around Willowmere to make sure that no bad news or anything remotely to do with witchcraft filtered out into the rest of the world.

Lately, considering that she was in her early seventies, she'd been training my friend Harper to take over her duties. In a way that fulfilled the promise of the crazy coven, as my aunt had dubbed us when we were teenagers.

I'd become a full-fledged witch. Ange was Wiccan and a born healer. Reina had a drop of siren blood that let her influence people with her singing, and now Harper too was becoming fully immersed in the crazy world I'd come to inhabit.

“What are you doing over the next few days?” Ms. Vine asked.

“Same as usual, taking care of the library and of Willowmere.” Looking after the inhabitants was the most important part of my job, even if it only consisted of giving them moral support or a little bit of a leg up with a soothing or healing tea or cookie that relieved pain.

Cosmo did the same. He used his power of the purr to ease distress. Over the years, he'd become accepted as an unofficial emotional support animal for the whole of Willowmere.

“I can easily fill in for you,” Ms. Vine said. A light tremble in her voice made the hairs on my neck stand up.

“Why? What’s up? And please don’t try to spare me.”

She opened her purse and took out a sealed letter. It bore my aunt’s handwriting, but it wasn’t addressed to me, directly. Instead of reading, To Bex, or even more formally To Rebecca Merriweather, it stated, To my successor. Open urgently.

Heat cursed through my body as I touched the letter. I’d dubbed these warnings my witchfire wave, and it could only mean one thing. I’d received a summons from beyond the grave.