Witching Time Read online

  I finished my breakfast and pushed back my chair. “So, let’s do the dishes and talk about how things are back in Connecticut.”

  Kipa kissed me and, throwing on his jacket, headed for the door. “I’ll be back later,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  “I think I’ll take a pass on the bar, too,” my father said. “Maybe some other time?”

  “Well, then, I’ll just return to my duties.” Phasmoria stretched, yawning. “The Morrígan doesn’t abide idle hands, especially from her Bean Sidhe.”

  I watched as my mother and father gently kissed one another. They seemed so odd together—so mismatched and yet, they had great respect and love for one another, even though they’d never be together on a permanent basis.

  Phasmoria kissed me on the cheek before she left, whispering, “Enjoy your visit. I’ll be around if you need me. Just text.”

  I nodded, following her to the door. “Have a safe trip.” While Phasmoria could phase in and out without using the portals, it required a great deal of energy, which she preferred to save for her other duties as Queen of the Bean Sidhe.

  As she vanished down the street in her rental car, I shut the door and turned to find my father watching me, a soft smile on his face.

  “Your mother is one of those rare women who can fill a room by just stepping into it.”

  I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or a dig, but I decided it was the former. Right now, the last thing I needed was for my parents to be snarking at one another, which they occasionally did. Overall, I knew they did love each other, but they weren’t a good match and never had been.

  “Why don’t you put the dishes in the dishwasher while I take care of the ferrets, and then you can tell me what you’ve been up to the past few years, and how life is back in Hanging Hills.”

  As Curikan headed into the kitchen, I checked on the ferrets. When I entered their room, Elise was awake, but Templeton and Gordon were still snoozing. I had to wake them in order to clean out their cage. They yawned, then began to race around the room.

  Elise climbed up to watch me, sitting in one corner of the cage near the door as I changed their bedding and made sure their water bottles were filled with clean water, and that they had food for the day.

  Gordon has almost slipped into permanent ferret state. I can barely get him to answer me anymore, and I’m afraid that it won’t be long before he’s simply…all ferret.

  I sighed, leaning against the cage. “I’m sorry, Elise. I know that hurts you. I wish I could do more, but there seems to be a limit to what I’m capable of… I still haven’t found anything to break the curse that the three of you are under. I’ve read my way through countless books of curse breakers, but nothing even remotely seems to pertain to your situation.”

  The ferrets were actually humans trapped in ferret form, and they’d been like that for years now. I took care of them, making sure they were comfortable and fed, but so far, I had struck out trying to find something to help them move out of ferret form and on with their spiritual lives. They had died decades ago, and their souls had been trapped in a tree by some wayward necromancer. I had found them, inadvertently, when I was up on Mount Rainier, and while I thought I was helping them, I only managed to transfer their spirits into ferret form. I brought them home with me, and had been taking care of them since early in the 1980s.

  I know you’re trying, and I appreciate it. There’s nothing you can do for him, and I think we’re going to lose him any day now—but he’s happy and he enjoys his life and so, while I’ll be sad to see him devolve so much, it’s nothing that you can prevent.

  Of the three, Gordon was the least capable of keeping his memories with him. Elise was strong-willed and so far, she was successfully resisting the temptation to just meld into “ferretness.” Templeton phased in and out, sometimes acting more ferret-like, and other times he was back to himself.

  I finished up and then gave them all a long hug. Elise gazed into my eyes, then snuggled against my shoulder and I wanted to cry. I wanted to help them, so very much, but I just didn’t seem to be able to do anything for them. I set her back in the cage and locked them in again, then turned to leave.

  Thank you. Templeton shot me a quick thought, and I turned, smiling. He was standing up to the cage, one paw outstretched.

  “You’re welcome,” I said as I shut the door and returned to the living room, where my father was watching Teddy Bunny—a children’s show—with Raj. Both were laughing like hyenas, and so I settled down between them, surrounded by two of the three boys I loved the best.

  I slid on my suede jacket and made sure I had everything I needed in my purse and my tote bag containing my to-go magical supplies.

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone? It could be most of the afternoon.”

  “I’ll be fine. Raj and I’ll have lunch and then watch some TV and maybe I’ll take a walk around your yard and see if there’s anything out there that needs mending.” Curikan stretched, yawning.

  “Okay, I’ll be back later.” I made sure the wards were set, showed my father how to deactivate them in case they accidentally went off, then headed out to my car.

  By the time I made it to Tyra Smith’s, I was beginning to feel like myself again.

  While I loved company, I seldom enjoyed houseguests for any length of time, and even though it was my parents, I still felt crowded. I breathed easier when it was just Raj and me in the house—or Raj, Kipa, and me. It wasn’t that I was anti-social, but I preferred my own company. I also liked the freedom to walk around naked.

  Tyra’s house was easy to find—it was the nicest in her neighborhood.

  She lived in a section of Redmond that had deteriorated over the years until now it might as well be a trailer park. Crime wasn’t all that rampant, but there was a quiet desperation around the area, where the houses were like fading beauty stars, forgotten and left to decline in their old age. In this neighborhood, rent was cheap. Lots of families with little money and too many children tended to congregate here, as well as those who worked in fast food and retail where they were underpaid and overtired and couldn’t afford anything nicer.

  The house was a modest cottage off of Tillicum Way. Tyra must have been waiting for me because as I pulled into the driveway—a dirt and gravel affair—she pushed open the screen door and stepped out on the front porch.

  The house had been painted bright yellow at one time, but the color had faded to a pale chiffon. The trim on the windows was peeling, and while the porch looked sturdy enough, it desperately needed a good coat of stain. The yard was tidy, though, and marigolds and mums lined the broken sidewalk leading to the house. A single tree—a tall maple—shrouded the east side of the house.

  “Hey,” she said as I stepped out of my car, carrying both my purse and my tote bag. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Not a problem.” I paused at the bottom step. The house definitely had an odd feel to it as I drew closer. There was something in there, all right, and while I didn’t get a sense of malevolence, a swirl of chaos surrounded the place. “So, why don’t you tell me more about what’s been happening before we head inside.”

  “It must have started, oh…three weeks ago? Maybe four weeks? I noticed small things at first—a picture would be askew on the wall, a vase fell off of a coffee table on its own. A window closed by itself. I thought maybe small earthquakes—we are on a fault zone. Or maybe my cat knocked over the vase. But then, about two weeks ago, events became more noticeable. I put my keys down and they disappeared. And a bracelet, the same. I ran all over the house looking for them and then they showed up back where I left them.”

  “Hmm…anything else?”

  “Yeah. I heard the water running in the bathroom, but when I went to check, there was no sign of any faucet being on. But…the sink was wet. I began to hear footsteps in the attic. I’d check but there was nothing there. Then last week, I was in the kitchen, doing the dishes, and when I looked around, every
dish in the cupboard was sitting stacked on the counter. I put them all away, but now the cupboard doors have started opening on their own.”

  I blinked. The poltergeist was certainly a busy little bee. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, actually. The TV turns on by itself in the middle of the night. And two days ago, a book flew off the coffee table and sailed past me, hitting the wall. I’m starting to get worried that it will become more violent.” Her eyes were wide. Tyra was a gorgeous black woman, with dark skin and eyes. Her hair fell down her back in long braids, gathered together like a ponytail by a silk scarf. She was tall and lithe, like a dancer, and she worked as the hostess at Hadeen’s, an upscale restaurant. I also knew, from long acquaintance, that she was practically fearless, and if she was worried, she had good reason.

  “All right, let’s check it out.” I stood, shouldering my bags. “I will warn you, inviting me in might make it worse. I just want you to be prepared, just in case.”

  “It’s already getting more active. I just want to find out what’s going on and have you fix it.” She opened the door, stepping back for me to enter.

  I took a deep breath and—raising my personal wards—stepped inside.

  The moment I did, I was hit by a whirl of energy. It spun around me like a cat chasing its tail. I reached out to steady myself on the doorway. Looking around cautiously, I caught my breath as a pen rose up on the desk opposite the door and began spinning in the air. It suddenly stopped, then came hurtling my way, point first.

  I ducked and the pen hit the wall with such a force that it embedded itself up to the clip.

  “Well, that’s a direct message, I’d say.”

  “Hell, the landlord’s going to kill me,” Tyra muttered, staring at the pen lodged in the drywall.

  “Better him than this thing,” I muttered. Without glancing back at her, I said, “You wait outside. Let me take a look around.”

  “With pleasure,” she said, ducking back out the door.

  I eased my way into the room, trying to pinpoint the source of the energy.

  Ghosts and poltergeists, when they weren’t visible, almost always left an energy signature that I could follow to find out where they were hiding. But this seemed everywhere, like an octopus reaching out with multiple arms. Frowning, I crossed the room. By now, several books were spinning in the air, but so far the pen had been the only thing that had been sent hurtling my way.

  I reached the archway that led to the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom. The air was so thick I could have cut it with a blade, and I glanced up to see a trap door on the ceiling. As I watched, it slowly opened by itself, the dark maw gaping over my head. I could see a string that would pull down the stairs, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I decided to try the less intrusive way first. If I could get it talking to me, I might be able to figure out what I was dealing with.

  No answer came, but as my words broke the silence, there was a crash in the bathroom directly in front of me. The door was open and I could see that the vanity mirror had shattered, the shards of glass scattered all over the counter and floor. A hairbrush spun into the air and came sailing out, directly toward my head. I ducked and it landed on the floor behind me.

  “I’m giving you one more chance,” I said. “Who the hell are you and what do you want? Why are you bothering Tyra?”

  The bathroom door slammed shut, then opened, then shut again. I stared at it for a moment, then back up at the attic. There was something there—I could feel it watching me. It wanted me to come up, probably to attack me. Or maybe…not.

  I turned and headed back to the front door. Peeking out, I saw Tyra sitting on the porch swing. I joined her.

  “The attic—what do you use it for?”

  She shrugged. “Not much, or at least, not till lately. I recently decided to fix it up and turn it into a craft room. There’s enough space up there, and a window that can open, so I’ll put in a small AC unit. The attic is finished, so it’s not just a bunch of rafters.”

  “And was there anything up there? Anything that wasn’t yours?”

  She frowned. “Now that you mention it, yeah. There were two old trunks and a bureau. I decided to leave the bureau and use it for supplies. The trunks, I had a friend carry down for me. They’re in the kitchen. I was going to get rid of them. They’re pretty beat up.”

  “Do you know what’s in them?”

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t had the chance to look. And there are padlocks on them that I can’t open. They’re too big to break.”

  I smiled. I had the answer for that. I brought out my phone and texted my friend Trinity.

  hey, trin, can you meet me at a client’s house? she has either a poltergeist or a ghost, and i think it’s connected to two trunks she found in the attic. they’re padlocked and there isn’t a key. could you drop over and open them for us?

  Trinity was known as the Keeper of Keys. He could open or close just about any lock he came across. He was also a gorgeous sloe-eyed goth boy, who was part Ante-Fae, part incubus. He was dark and a little twisted, but he had helped save my life and we had become good friends, even though a number of my friends were wary of him. Trinity’s father was Maximus, a minor lord of the incubi, who had assaulted his mother, Deeantha, the Rainbow Runner—one of the Ante-Fae. The result had been Trinity, and neither his mother nor father wanted him around.

  be glad to help. give me the address.

  i’ll text it to you.

  I paused, looking over at Tyra. “Do you mind if I ask a friend to come over? He can help us with those trunks.”

  “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Tyra said.

  Thinking that she really should ask more questions before opening herself up like that, I texted Trinity the address. He responded that he would be over in about twenty minutes.

  “Until he gets here, let’s just wait outside,” I said, shivering. It was still drizzling, but the clouds were beginning to lighten and patches of blue were shining through. We’d get our clearing after all.

  “I’m good with that,” she said. “What do you think it is?”

  “Either a poltergeist or a ghost, but I think we need to look in those trunks first before I can make a final call. If the activity started when you moved them, then it could be a ghost who is attached to something in one of them. That often happens with old houses. A spirit will be attached to either an object, or the house itself. If you move that object or you start renovations, it can stir up a lot of activity.” I leaned back on the swing as a breeze skittered past, bringing with it the scent of the rain-washed firs and cedars around the neighborhood. It was in the mid-sixties, but it still felt cool, even when the sun was out.

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked.

  “Two years. I never used the attic before, though, so I’m pretty sure that something is amiss there. I called my landlord to tell him what was going on and he said that the woman who owned the house before he did died here, and that apparently she was a territorial old coot. You know, the You kids get off my lawn type.” She shrugged. “Maybe I woke her up and she’s decided that it’s still her house?”

  That could easily be the case. I had encountered a number of ghosts who were pissed off that somebody else was using their stuff or living in what had been their house. They couldn’t let go, and resented the living.

  “What was her name? Do you know?”

  The breeze stiffened, blowing a waft of smoke past us. Somebody had their woodstove going and the smell of burning wood made me feel cozy.

  “Denise, I think.” She frowned, then nodded. “Yes, it was Denise. I can’t remember her last name, though.”

  “That’s fine. You stay out here and wait for Trinity. I’m going to check out the attic.”

  I gathered my things and returned to the house. The ladder leading to the attic was down now, so I cautiously approached it, but nothing happened. I could hear things s
lamming around in the kitchen now, so apparently whatever was haunting this house was taking out their frustrations on the dishes. I had the feeling Tyra would be buying a new set after I had taken care of the problem.

  The folding steps leading to the attic were easy enough to climb. I pulled out a flashlight and headed up, hoping for a light switch at the top. As I entered the attic, I found one, directly to the left on the wall. I flipped it on and stepped into the room.

  The attic was generous in size. Long and narrow, it was the length of the house but about one-third the width. A large window overlooked the back yard, and I immediately saw why Tyra wanted to make it into a craft room. It was cozy and not at all dusty and dank like most attics.

  I glanced around, looking for any sign of the ghost, but everything was quiet and still. I stood by the window, and suddenly a scene flashed in front of me. I could see four children playing out in the backyard, and they looked so happy and carefree. But a wave of irritation swept over me as I watched them. Then, one of the girls looked up at me and waved, and I found myself smiling.

  “Little brats,” I whispered. “All they do is take. They never give anything back. Except for you, Kaitlin. You’re different.” Startled by my words, I shook my head and looked out the window again. There was no one there.

  “Trinity is here,” Tyra called from below.

  “I’m coming.” I hurried back down the steps. “Hey, Trinity.” I stepped around Tyra to give him a quick hug. “We have a spirit on the premises. At first I thought it might be a poltergeist, but now I think she’s just a disgruntled ghost.” Turning back to Tyra, I said, “I don’t think she’s attached to the actual attic. Let’s have a look at those trunks.”

  Tyra led the way into the kitchen. A large room, with an eat-in area that also overlooked the backyard, the kitchen looked cozy and homey, but the broken stoneware that littered the floor spoiled that feel, and the cupboards had been opened and boxes and bags of food were spilled everywhere.