Reaper Rituals in Witchwood Read online

  Dale Road was on the way into the town, about twenty minutes walking. There was a small cul-de-sac of roads and Dale Road was one of them, along with Vale Road and Pale Road. It was full of family homes—rich family homes at that.

  “Perfect!” she said. “My plan is to make them a cake or a fruit pie, we can go in under the disguise as well-wishers or mourners, depending on the situation.”

  “And then?” I asked, approaching her as I placed the wet blouse across the back of the chair. “What do we do once we’re inside?”

  “Uh.” she stared blankly.

  “You do remember the case, right?”

  “Yea,” her eyes darted to the paper on the table. “Find the girl, see what markings are on her,” she said. “And find the animal responsible.”

  I nodded to her words. “And how—”

  “Easy,” she said, a matter-of-fact. “We find out where the girl’s body is. I made some notes from the letter. Might be a ritual killing but could also be supernatural. We need to get our eyes on the body before the police sink their teeth into the investigation.”

  “Great,” I said. She was thinking like an investigator now.

  As investigators, we needed to be several steps ahead of the police. We needed to be erasing any clues supernatural creatures left behind, and we should be doing that before the police even knew where to look.

  I preferred smaller towns because they didn’t have the proper manpower to pursue a real investigation, but this was a death all over the news now, they’d have police officers shipping in any moment.

  “When were you thinking?”

  “As soon as possible,” she said. “Just give me thirty minutes to whip something up.”

  Now, all I had to do was tell Gregory we’d be nipping out and he should come back later instead. I couldn’t have him coming over unexpected like he usually did and find us in the middle of something I couldn’t explain away with the snap of my fingers—I could try, but I wouldn’t. It would break many ethical codes.

  FOUR

  Inside Witchwood, there were many winding streets and roads that appeared to connect to everywhere. The old saying goes, all roads lead to Rome, well, it was my belief that all roads inside Witchwood eventually led to the town centre—except, we weren’t looking for the town centre, we were looking for a grieving family.

  They didn’t live too far away, it was a healthy twenty-minute walk from the house to Dale Road. All the homes looked alike, and we didn’t have a house number to go from, all we had were our witchy instincts and of course—following the larger amount of people all dressed in black as they paid their respects to the family.

  “Let’s get our stories straight,” Cassandra said, taking the initiative to pause in the middle of the street. She balanced the baked apple pie on her hand and straightened out the button-up blouse she had on, cuffed up to the top button at the neck. “We’re spiritualists, and we’ve felt a connection to the family.”

  I nodded. “Good start,” I said. “What else?” I offered a shrug. “Not many people want to hear what a spiritualist has to offer. I mean, some do, but most don’t.”

  “Well, we’ll read the room and go from there,” she said.

  A good idea. It was always advised to me that I had to have backup plans for my backup plans, and if I didn’t, I’d end up failing—and in all my years as a witch investigating crimes and the supernatural deviants that threatened the world around me, I’d become good at lying on the spot.

  “I think you should go after the parents,” Cassandra said. “You know, age-wise, good decision.”

  I couldn’t disagree.

  “And I’ll talk to the daughter,” she continued. “The aim is to know where their daughter is, and possibly getting something from her bedroom without seeming at too suspicious. We need to see if she had any ties to any occult.”

  “Get pictures,” I said in a snap of breath. “Always important. With the phones and such, snap a couple shots so I can look over them later.”

  She nodded, tapping at a small bulge in her pocket. “Ready,” she said, handing me the apple pie. “Let’s go.”

  The family home was huge with a large garden, and two-step platform to their front door.

  Getting inside the house was easy, the front door was open; people were walking in and out. It seemed everyone had a gift to give, and the apple pie idea didn’t seem too unique now.

  In the centre of the living room, the family stood together, the mother sobbed into a handkerchief while her husband stood with an arm around her. People approached them, said a couple words, and then left. A small girl stood by, headphones plugged into her ears and a scowling face staring down her mobile phone, her fingers furiously punching something on the screen.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. I reached out to touch her hand. “My name is Evanora Lavender.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” her husband said.

  Cassandra sighed. “Is this your other daughter?” she asked, nodding to the girl.

  They nodded back to her.

  I kept her hand in mine for a little while longer, passing over a little warmth I’d cooked up inside myself and the rings adorned to my fingers, while also absorbing information from her, only little bits, dribs and drabs, she was emotional, but it came quickly. “I’m a spiritualist,” I said.

  “Oh, no,” she said, taking her hand from mine. “We’ve already got our baby girl booked into the church for burial.”

  “We had to move quick,” her husband said, a sob hacking at the back of his throat and a sniffle from his nose. “We only saw photographs. We couldn’t be in the same room.”

  Cal Graves and his wife, Poppy Graves had lived at this address for almost fifteen years. Their daughter, Destiny, was on her way home from university when the attack happened. Their sadness ran through me as a single tear crowned the inner corner of my eyelid.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, wiping at my eye. “Your poor girl. I’m not here to talk to you about converting, or anything like that, but we might be able to find some answers for you.”

  They looked to each other, humming in hesitation. I could understand, I wouldn’t trust someone coming in from the streets telling me they could—not unless I’d asked for their help previously.

  “I’m Cassandra,” she said, introducing herself to their daughter, Hope.

  She looked away from her phone for a moment, before looking back.

  “Oh, we brought apple pie,” I said, handing over the plate wrapped in plastic wrap.

  “Thank you,” Cal said, accepting the plate. “Hope hasn’t said a word since we found out.”

  “I like your rings,” Hope said softly, reaching out to Cass’ hand.

  Shocked, the parents didn’t know what to do or say.

  “Let me tell you all about them,” Cassandra said.

  The girl removed her headphones from her ears. “Can I tell you something?” she asked, taking Cassandra’s hand. “I don’t think my sister is dead.”

  “Oh.” Cass sucked back. “Why?”

  Hope pulled on Cassandra’s hand, taking her with her.

  Poppy sobbed harder, throwing her face into a handkerchief.

  “That’s normal,” I reminded them. “Not everyone will admit to it straight away, but we can help everyone come to terms with what’s happened.”

  “How?” Cal asked.

  “Should we take a seat?” I asked.

  They both nodded, moving toward the empty sofa.

  People didn’t stay long, they didn’t wait or form a queue, they gave respectful nods and left behind flowers and cards. The family were overwhelmed, I could feel that much coming from them. Cassandra and Hope had left the living room altogether.

  “My colleague and I—”

  Poppy sniffled and smiled. “I thought she was your daughter,” she said.

  “Oh, no,” I replied. “I don’t—” I could lie and tell her I had children,
or I could tell her the truth and she might not think I could understand what she was going through. “I have a daughter,” I said. “Ivory.”

  “Pretty name,” she said.

  After fifteen minutes, talking about their lives, but more importantly their daughter and what she was into, I stood from the sofa, my knees popping with loud cracks.

  “Please come to the funeral next week,” Poppy said with a smile on her face. “I feel a warmth from you, a kindness, and I’d love to have meetings—we, we all would. It would help give us closure at least.”

  “An awfully kind offer,” I said. “Give me the time and date, and I’ll be there.”

  “Let me write it down for you,” Cal said, standing and leaving his wife.

  I knew it was the first time he’d left her all day. I knew she didn’t feel comfortable without him there, almost like she’d lost a limb. She glanced to his spot where he’d been, hoping he’d grow back in the place.

  “So, you said they wouldn’t let you see her?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “We only saw pictures,” she sighed. “She’s at the funeral home.” She cried out. “I shouldn’t be saying those together like that. She’s my baby.”

  “Honey,” Cal said, joining his wife again. “We can get through this.” He handed me the note paper with the address, date, and time.

  I cleared my throat. I had a question. “You said you didn’t get to see her,” I added. “Why?”

  Poppy cried at the question.

  “It’s a long one,” Cal admitted, his throat growing hoarse. “The attack was—was—it didn’t leave her in the best state. They didn’t want us to see, and I knew if we did, it wouldn’t have been good.”

  Cassandra cleared her throat in the doorway, grabbing my attention. “I think we’ve taken up too much of their time today,” she said.

  Poppy didn’t let out another word.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Cal said.

  I joined Cassandra as she suppressed the smile on her face, giddy with excitement. She had something to say, but so did I.

  FIVE

  After leaving Dale Street, we both let out sighs. There was a slight fight for attention, who was going to get the next word in? Who was going to be the first? I had a lot of information stored up inside about the family now, and I was sure Cassandra had too.

  “I know what our next step us,” she said.

  I nodded. “Okay, but I have a suggestion too.”

  “But this is my case,” she grumbled, “so—”

  “And I am still your mentor,” I reminded her, even though I’d told her earlier she had to decide what to do. “Next step for us, we need to visit the—”

  “The funeral home,” she finished.

  I stood back and smiled. “That’s what I was going to say.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the logical next step,” she said. “We need to know why the family didn’t see the body, and whether or not anything of use can be found out. If it really was something demonic, I couldn’t find it in her room.”

  “She was a student at university,” I said. “She might have been practising there.”

  “Did you find out which university?”

  I didn’t—not directly. “It wasn’t really on my list of questions,” I grumbled. “But I knew she was coming up from the south, she doesn’t live far—I mean, she was coming back to do laundry.”

  “Greenwich,” Cassandra said. “Her sister told me.” Her lips perked into a large smile. “I was just testing you.”

  I scoffed. “Testing me?” I raised my brows. “I’m the one testing you. I’ve passed all my tests, and I’ve worked in the field for—well, before your birth.”

  “I got a lot of information from the sister.”

  I held a finger to my lips, hushing her and myself I glanced around the streets. There was an eerie stillness in the cloudy afternoon sky. It didn’t feel quite like it should. “Let’s get back before we talk about anything else,” I said. “We don’t know who—or what is listening to us right now. And the house is warded.”

  She looked around, following my direction. “Yeah, good call.”

  There was a lot riding on this. The Council never gave cases to people in their own back garden, there was more to it, and the fact Phil brought it and not another witch said more about the situation than I had even realised.

  On the walk home, I lost myself to thought, thinking about the sylph I’d fallen in love with. It was a Romeo and Juliet sort of thing, except nobody died and I was the one who imprisoned him for crimes he swore he never did—but the truth came out, and he was guilty—that was the real nail in the star-crossed lovers’ coffin.

  “Hope still believes her sister is alive,” Cassandra said as we walked into the house. “I think it’s her way of dealing with it all.”

  “Children come out with all sorts of things.”

  “She’s twelve, she’s almost a teenager.”

  It didn’t change the fact she was a child, and like most children, their imaginations were vivid and wild—not a negative trait, but something I couldn’t have cloud the investigation.

  “So, what else did you find out?” I asked, walking into the kitchen with the intention of making something hot to drink. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “She’s seen her sister,” Cassandra added. “Her sister told her to keep it a secret from the family, but she said she’s alive. I don’t know if to—”

  “No,” I said. “Unless she has proof, you can’t rely on her word.”

  Cassandra sat at the kitchen table, tapping at the table with her fingertips. “It’s entirely possible she’s seeing her ghost.”

  “Possible,” I said. Children were known to inhibit many psychic gifts.

  “Well, we need to go to the funeral home,” she said. “If she’s not there, then something is up, but if she is, then perhaps her sister is gifted in other ways.”

  “Oh.” I clapped my hands together. “Did you get something from her room? We could summon her ghost.”

  Cassandra looked away. She stopped tapping on the table and sighed. “No,” she said. “I looked, but Hope was there with me, and she had a lot to say.”

  The kettle whistled, pulling me from whatever I was about to say to Cassandra.

  “I’ll have a tea.”

  “What about food?” I asked. “We can’t go on an empty stomach. We need to fill ourselves before we do anything like that.” A shiver ran through my spine. “Have you ever been to a funeral home before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, well, a fair word of warning, but sometimes spirits linger,” I said. “And when they linger, people like you and I may see them, or feel them, sometimes smell them.” Another shudder ran through me. It had only happened a couple times, although seeing ghosts wasn’t common, it was the other senses that were overwhelmed by the presence of one.

  “Wards will be up,” she said with a wipe of her forehead. “I’ll nip to the chip shop at the end of the road while you make the tea.”

  “Good plan,” I said. “Something hearty like fish and chips will keep us full.”

  “I hope you’ve not forgotten about me,” Jinx hissed, entering the kitchen. “I mean, I like fish too. I am a cat after all, and fish is basically all I like to eat.”

  Cassandra palmed her forehead. “I’ll get you something too,” she said. “But they’ll think I’m a complete weirdo, asking for fish unfried and unbattered.”

  “Raw is good.”

  “Maybe when we’re in town we can go to the market and grab something from the fishmonger,” I said. “Might keep costs down a little too.”

  Cassandra waved her hand at that notion. “That’s not an issue,” she laughed.

  Of course, Cassandra came from wealth, she didn’t even think twice about where her money was coming from. Unlike most working witches, the pay could be abysmal, but for those in the Council’s good graces, we were treated.

  SIX

  After our
lunch of fish and chips, we had to decide on the best course of action—or Cassandra had to decide, and I’d be there to tell her whether or not it was a good choice. I couldn’t quite remember if this is what my mentor had been like, she’d been a wonderful lady, but of course, she had me to deal with—someone who didn’t have money to rely on and a hunger for the job.

  Standing to stretch in the kitchen, I looked out over the garden. Greg had done a wonderful job so far, and I knew he’d be back soon to finish building the portable greenhouses. I could grow veggies and restore burned out crystals.

  “Is Greg coming over?” Cassandra asked from behind.

  “Yes,” I said. “But not until later.” I turned to see her face, glowing with a wide smile. “Cheerful about something?”

  “Very!” she squeaked. “I’ve been thinking about what to do, and I wrote it all down!” She slapped a notebook on the table. “So, we dress up.”

  “Dress up?” I smiled, behind every good investigator was a barrel of characters to draw from. “Go on,” I said, sitting at the table.

  Opening her book and sitting in front of it, she scrolled a finger down the page full of cursive notes. “I was thinking, how can we get inside the funeral home to see the body if we’re not family, and it came to me—we don’t go in as ourselves.”

  Although that was a given in my own mind, I nodded and allowed her to continue without interruption.

  “And who do human people trust more than anything in this world?” she continued.

  I shrugged. “Tell me, who?”

  “Solicitors,” she said. “It was between that and police officers, but I figured lawyer was easier.”

  “Smart,” I said. “And of course, on behalf of the family, we need to—”

  “For their insurance,” she said.

  I snapped my fingers. “Bingo.”

  Knock. Knock.

  “That will be Greg,” I said, although my mind wasn’t so convinced, it could have easily been Phil again. One look into his eyes and my stomach fizzed like I was in my early years as a witch with a crush.