Page 73 of Real Fake Hauntings

Key groaned.

“Lights!” Brimstone exclaimed, as if the things were on voice command.

I hoped he didn’t decide to create his own illumination by setting a tree on fire.

“I’m on it,” Alex called from the darkness. “Move on for now!”

Brimstone grumbled to himself and walked on.

“Wait,” I said.

They all stopped and turned toward me.

“You’re great at this. Let’s hear Key do the rest.” I beamed at Key.

Key jolted in surprise. “But I was going to do the next round.”

“Let’s do it now,” I said encouragingly. “You’ve practiced enough.”

Brimstone stepped aside and gestured toward the path at his feet. “Niece.”

Key bit her lip, then straightened her shoulders with sudden determination. “Okay.” She stepped to the front of the group and looked at us gravely. “If you’ll follow me, the row of outlaws awaits.”

I clapped softly but enthusiastically, and she sent me a grateful smile.

As Key walked on, talking about a grave robber who had frequented the cemetery until one day he’d fallen into one of the freshly dug graves, dislodging the earth and ending up buried alive, I decided it was time to return to more recent topics if I wanted to sleep tonight.

“I have a theory.” In whispers, I told Ian about the old dark magic coven and how perhaps a descendant had come to Olmeda looking for payback. “Do you know anything about them? I’m going to visit the coven leader’s house tomorrow.”

“I don’t know much about them,” he said in a thoughtful voice. Being the practical kind, Ian focused more on the living paranormals. “But it’s a good theory. You think there might be another pentagram there?”

“There being only four pentagrams bothers me,” I admitted. “If it’s a witch, the number feels wrong.”

“If it’s a witch.”

“It’s too much work for it to be anything else.”

“The pentagrams could still be unrelated to Crane.”

Which is why I needed to investigate both. “With any luck, they are related. Make it easier on us.”

“And now we come to the mausoleum of our most famous guest,” Key said in a loud, clear voice with a hint of Brimstone’s theatricality. Blood was truly thicker than magic. “Lucinda Cavalier, married five times and said to have poisoned each of her husbands. She had them interred in a row before her family mausoleum, and it is said that their remains dig at night, trying to bring the walls of the mausoleum down so they can get to her corpse and get their revenge on her bones!”

I looked up at Ian, impressed. “Your ancestor was a black widow?”

“Allegedly.”

“That’s kind of cool.” I grinned at the roll of his eyes. “But not as cool as my grandma.”

“Nobody is as cool as your grandma,” he replied very seriously.

And this is why Ian was the absolute best.

So, why did the concept of being true mates bug me so much?

TWENTY-TWO

After the tour rehearsal ended—to roaring success, if you ask me—I returned home and researched the old dark magic coven on my laptop. Other than a few short paragraph mentions on a couple of websites and a tiny segment on a Ten creepy things to do in Olmeda video, I didn’t find anything I didn’t already know from Vicky’s tale. Evil witches, house full of blood and horrors, all disappeared never to be seen again after the coven leader died.

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