Cupcakes, Crystals, and Chaos Page 8

  “Mary, John,” I said, staring at the teabag brewing in my cup. “I noticed that locked door in the lounge, a little odd isn’t it?” I asked, it was my approach to breaking the ice.

  They glanced to each other, both stifling laughter. “We don’t have an attic anymore,” John said. “We converted that a couple years back into more rooms, so now we have all our old stuff in a cellar.”

  A plausible explanation, but ghosts didn’t appear for nothing. I’d never met a ghost whose presence wasn’t warranted. “Makes sense,” I said. “What was it before?”

  “Oh, goodness knows,” Mary said, blowing at her face. “Always a cellar, I think. It’s a fairly old building, not many places come with cellars anymore, especially with all the flood warnings.”

  My jaw clenched at another explanation, wiping my theory out. “I wish I had one,” I said. “It’d love to throw all of Peter’s things in one of those instead of keeping them in the garage. I’ll be waiting the next ten years for him to collect.”

  Mary and John had been extremely nice to me during the divorce. Mary smiled and reached my hand. “You can always have a sale outside the café,” she said.

  She was tired. I felt it through her touch.

  “John was just telling me they’re thinking of selling,” Rosie said before sipping at her tea and nodding toward Mary.

  “Selling?”

  Mary pulled her hand from me, but before she did, a nervous chord was struck.

  “Yeah, Mary and I are looking for somewhere more fruitful,” John said. “Or maybe just not bothering with this line of business again.”

  It made sense, they only broke even each year, spending more on utilities each year because they hadn’t replaced the windows for double glazing and their leaky faucets pushed their water rates higher.

  “Are you interested in buying?” Mary asked.

  I had to point at myself and for her to nod before the question hit. “Oh, not quite. The café is a handful and you appear to have more windows.”

  “You were looking for something to do now that Joseph is in London at university,” Rosie said, twisting something I’d have said to her about finding a hobby with my son away, but I had my mother to occupy that void now.

  “What about you, Rosie?” John asked. “All it needs is a little loving and a lick of paint.”

  I glanced around the kitchen. It wasn’t stocked with all the modern conveniences I’d installed at the café, and the entire motif of it being run-down fit the bill; it needed more than a lick of paint.

  I left with Rosie twenty minutes later, I couldn’t stomach keeping what I’d seen to myself, and I couldn’t leave it any longer.

  “I saw two ghosts in there,” I said, walking back to the café.

  She chuckled. “I can imagine it’s full of ghosts, it’s been here a century, maybe longer.” The words of reason; Fisherman’s Inn was one of the earliest buildings in the village. “Besides, don’t you always see ghosts anyway?”

  “Rarely,” I replied. “And never without calling upon them.” I pulled my handbag closer, disguising the shudder. “There’s something bad, I can feel it. I know what you’re going to say, but it’s an old building.”

  Rosie chuckled. “Exactly.”

  “Eva said the same thing.”

  We made it back to the café. My thoughts continued to play the two ghosts playing around at me, I had more questions now than I had before. I needed to know what had happened to those children.

  Rosie peeled away her scarf, setting it on a table. “Besides, there are dead people all over this village.”

  “These were children,” I replied. There was one thing to find old people dead, but when they were ghosts of children, a tingle touched a nerve in my spine.

  Tssking the air between her teeth, Rosie shrugged. “Ask the others,” she said. “I’m only human,” she laughed. “The Cook’s are nice people, albeit they need to learn to make better tea. If they’re not getting a lot of repeat business, I’d say that’s why.”

  That was next on my list. I had to consult with the other witches. Only another witch would know what a ghost sighting meant, let alone two ghosts and physically touching one. It was a sure sign I needed to go back and find out who they were. I’d gone from trying to prove my mother’s innocence to finding two ghost children.

  After phoning around with the witches, only Eva and Noelia told me to leave it. They had their reasons, telling me nothing good could come of messing with ghosts, but Allegra and Tana, two of the more spiritually inclined were in support of going back, if a ghost had a message, someone needed to receive it for the ghost to be put to rest.

  “So?” Rosie asked, waiting on my decision.

  Jotted on café napkins were my thoughts. Two and two. Two for and two against. I wanted to go back, there was no denying that, but I couldn’t take Rosie along this time. I’d have to go solo.

  “Are you going to make me wait forever?” she continued.

  I rapped my fingers on the metal counter. “You can’t come with me,” I said. “Not this time. I need to go alone. I need to go when everyone’s in bed. You can’t see them, I doubt they’ll present themselves to you, and—” I sucked back a deep breath. “It’ll probably be too much for you even if they did.”

  “I’m glad you think so, I never signed up for a ghost hunt,” she chuckled.

  “I didn’t think you would be,” I said.

  “I love you, but I draw the line at ghosts.”

  I didn’t expect anything less, but I was grateful her morbid curiosities stopped at ghosts. “The coffee was a good idea, I’ll be going back at midnight. That’s how I’ll find out what the girl wanted. And she spoke about friends.” My gut tensed, thinking about more ghosts.

  “I’ll be awake,” she said, “and I’ll keep my phone on.”

  There was one final witch I needed to tell about what I’d seen.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I for one don’t think it’s a good idea to be chasing ghosts around some old building, you’ll never find me ghost hunting. Bless the Goddess, I don’t even want to see one,” my mother began as I settled into a chair in the living room.

  “It might help me prove your innocence,” I said with August pouncing on my lap. “That’s what I’m doing all this for.”

  “I didn’t ask you to, sweetie.”

  “Yes, sweetie,” Julian, my mother’s incessant parrot harped.

  In truth, it wasn’t entirely about her, I had my own reason to be looking for the killer, given that my coven was under attack by Detective Hodge. “This may have nothing to do with you.”

  My mother scoffed. “Even more reason to stay clear of it,” she said. “Well, you’re curious, just like your father.”

  And off she went again. She rarely spoke of my father, but when she did she’d compare the two of us in the same breath. “I’ll be going back at midnight to see.”

  “Midnight,” she scoffed. “You’re brave.” Her eyes dropped to August on my lap receiving a rub behind his ears. “If only you had a companion to take with you, but I guess you have an indoor cat.”

  “Oh, Mother,” I grumbled. “If you don’t have anything useful to contribute, I’d rather you didn’t speak at all. You’re about to give me a migraine.”

  She vanished without a second thought.

  “When’s she moving out again?” August asked softly.

  “Soon.” Or more accurately, as soon as the investigation was over. “But we need to get used to her around, she’s only moving down the road, and with her zapping in and out of everywhere. I don’t think we’ll be getting much peace.”

  My phone rang, the sound of an alarm in my bag. It was my son, unlike him to call so late. I answered quickly, pressing the receiver to my ear.

  “Mum, Gran told me you’re going ghost hunting,” he said, no time for a quick ‘hello’ or ‘how’re you’, straight to the point.

  “What? She just left the room.”

  In the backgr
ound, my mother’s voice harped. “Tell her it’s a bad idea, go on tell her.”

  “She thinks it’s a bad idea,” he replied. “But I want to know why we’ve never been ghost hunting together before.”

  There was a good reason for it, other than keeping him from learning about witchcraft, I wasn’t in the mood for putting him in danger. “It’s harmless,” I said.

  “Mum said it’s harmless,” he spoke off the phone.

  “Tell her I’ll have no part in it,” my mother spoke loudly.

  I huffed, moving August from my lap. I stood and paced the living room “Tell her to get back here, we’re not doing this over the phone, at least not with you at the centre of it.”

  Moments later my mother was back in the room, her head tilted up to the ceiling like she stood posed for some medieval painter.

  “I can’t believe you’d get Joseph involved,” I said, finally breaking the tension. “What’s your deal with it anyway?” I raised my brows at her. “From someone who’s been on a lifelong quest for more power, aren’t ghosts your thing?”

  “I’ve come to blows with only one ghost in my lifetime, and that was on my sixteenth birthday, your grandmother thought it would be fun, some sort of test.”

  “Grandma Agnes would never,” I replied, thinking back to the woman who almost raised me in my mother’s absence.

  “Well, she did, and I was almost possessed if you’d believe it.”

  I clutched the pendant around my neck. “Good thing I don’t,” I said. “Besides, I have this to protect me.” It was my amethyst crystal.

  “If they get inside your head and drive you crazy, you only have yourself to blame.”

  “Oh, Goddess, please be quiet,” I replied. “You’ll drive me crazy before any apparition does.”

  A drama queen of the first rank if ever there had been. I should’ve left her at university with my son, at least then she’d have a place to hone her natural talents as a performer. I read some daring things about ghosts from my grandmother’s books when I was younger. My grandmother had been a detective for the Witches Council, she encountered all manner of creatures; perhaps my curiosity came from her and not my father.

  “Do you have plans if it all goes south?” she asked.

  “Yes, mother,” I replied. “I have magic.”

  Flustered, she flitted in and out of the room. “But darling, these are ghosts your dealing with.”

  “And I’ll be fine.” I huffed, glancing at the sofa where August laid, looking up at me.

  “Will you?” he asked.

  It was endearing to see him worried for me. “Of course,” I said, sitting beside him. “Will you keep me company before I have to leave?”

  He nuzzled his nose into my hand.

  I had many thoughts on going back inside Fisherman’s Inn, mainly about how I’d get inside and less about how I’d get out. I had two places on my list, the cellar and room 10, although the ghosts didn’t lead me to room 10, so that would be last on the list.

  On a clean sheet of paper, I wrote, ‘How else can I get into the hotel?’. There was the obvious, I could teleport like my mother, but I’d grown out of that department and I wasn’t going to spend precious energy to expend myself.

  “I’ll be awake if you need me,” my mother said a final goodbye as she left me alone in the living room.

  “Goodnight,” I replied.

  August snuggled up to my arm, forcing my hand on his forehead. “What if you never come back,” he twined.

  “I swear, small talk about ghosts and you all turn into nubile children,” I said in the most sympathetic of manners. “I’ll be back; I’m well prepared.” I pulled my handbag on my knees, sitting it on the paper. “I even have jet stone alarmed in here to keep me away from harm.”

  Reshuffling everything back in place, I pulled the paper to my face and squinted long and hard at the words. I’d have to get there first, and like earlier, I couldn’t drive and park outside. I’d have to commit myself to another frosty walk from the café.

  I dusted off a navy trench coat from my closet, perfect camouflage against the night sky. I needed to go in unseen, otherwise Detective Hodge would have a field day arresting me for trespassing.

  “Wish me luck,” I said to August as he watched me look at myself in the mirror.

  “Good luck,” he said with reluctance.

  “And bless the Goddess.”

  Already so much had happened, and yet my body didn’t tire. I knew it was partly to do with the caffeine and secondly the excitement, I was following ghost children into a cellar, I guess only I could’ve found that fun.

  Once I reached the café, I found a small broad figure against the wall. I’d recognise the shadow cast from the curly hair anywhere.

  “Allegra?” I mumbled, cutting the car engine.

  I climbed out of the car with my handbag tucked beneath my arm, keeping myself warm in the forsaken midnight chill.

  “I couldn’t, I just couldn’t let you go alone,” she said, plodding toward me out of breath. “It’s been driving me crazy since you called. I even looked through the archives of Cowan Bay.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t find anything about two children dying, ever.”

  A shiver zipped down my back. “Anything about any death?”

  She shook her head again. Allegra had a private witch room in the back of her cottage, although she’d since extended the room with a little magic and stacked within it an assortment of morbid curiosities. “In fact, there was once a fishing accident that saw two children go missing, but that’s all, and—” she tapped a finger to her forehead, “if I recall, it was from 1985.”

  “Way before I moved here,” I said.

  “But not me,” she replied. “And I remember those two kids, their parents, the Hannigan’s, they owned the Fisherman’s Inn, and you know what, they had a third, a girl.”

  “Who?”

  “Mary.”

  “Cook?” I asked.

  Allegra hummed. “Looks like it.”

  “Oh, the poor girl,” I replied. “Perhaps they have a message for their sister.”

  Allegra nodded. “Could you imagine?” she said.

  The basement must’ve had all the children’s old clothes and toys, but it was a long while since 1985 now. “I’m ready to find out what happened,” I said.

  “Well, their bodies were never found, so maybe closure will help.”

  I could never imagine going for so long without answers, the thought forced my jaw to clench harder than I was already in the biting cold. “We should go on,” I said. “Are you coming with me, or—”

  Allegra wriggled her half-gloved hands at me. “I can stick it outside, watch for any signs of life.”

  “Okay,” I said as we commenced along the cobbled paving.

  The light was on in the entrance porch and a neon blue ‘vacancy’ sign lit up in the window. Allegra waited in the street while I cut through the garden and forced myself through the open gate.

  The back of the hotel was cast in complete darkness. I pulled my handbag closer, keeping my body formation tight in case of motion sense lights, but it wasn’t something they were likely to have given their lack of 21st century stylings.

  The entire conservatory was made of thin glass panelling, it was easy enough for someone to put their hand through, but a witch’s basic skill set was opening locks. A skill that came in handy for someone who often misplaced her keys.

  Mary and John hadn’t even bothered to lock their conservatory door; it opened like a charm. Once inside, I noticed the man still snoring as he slept in the chair, although the TV and the balmy fireplace had both been shut off.

  “I’ll be up in a minute,” John called out. “You never know if any late-night stragglers are out there.”

  I doubted there would be, given that the St. James pub was already closed for the night. I didn’t hear a reply from Mary, but I assumed once he went quiet, the coast was clear again for me to cont
inue over to the cellar door.

  “Little girl? Hello?” I whispered, smacking my lips in thought of her name. “Celia?”

  No answer, not even a chill across my back.

  At the door, I noticed neither of the two padlocks were in place, and one single tug on the handle gave way to the door. A stairwell into complete darkness revealed itself.

  “Here goes,” I mumbled to myself, brushing a hand against the wall for sign of a switch. An internal congratulation sounded as I flicked it, illuminating the concrete flooring.

  “Okay, Celia?” I whispered once again, taking the first step into the basement.

  I stepped with my toes, careful to keep weight from going too hard or heavy on any of the wooden steps, although I knew it was Sod’s law that the more I tried being quiet, I’d make more sound.

  Squeak. The sound rang.

  I glanced back, then forward. Not a soul.

  “Celia?”

  Continuing down the steps, I noticed the basement was piled with suitcases. People must’ve been extremely forgetful to come with luggage and leave without it. On the floor amongst strewn clothes was an open suitcase with a giant velvet bag.

  There was nothing to suggest John and Mary had moved their belongings down here, unless they hoarded individual suitcases. It was unlikely anything down here belonged to them.

  I clutched the pendant at my neck, kneeling next to the suitcase. “What do we have here?” I pondered aloud, pulling the velvet bag into a hand. I weighed the unexpected heft of the item. It had been tied with drawstrings.

  Before I could open the bag, a name stuck out at me along the interior lining of the otherwise empty suitcase. It read, ‘V. Glynn F. Harrison’ a name I both knew and had seen before. V. Harrison was Victor, but I’d seen Glynn F. inside the hotel logbook. He must’ve added my mother’s name in hopes she’d visit, given that her name was the only one crossed out must’ve meant she didn’t show. I had it wrong this entire time, he didn’t check in with her name at all.

  Opening the bag to find a giant uncut diamond glittering in the dull orange ceiling lamp. I choked on a breath of dust and shock. The understatement of being wealthy was lost on me when my mother mentioned it. “He was a really wealthy man.”