Page 88 of Real Fake Hauntings

“They’re in the big box, bottom shelf,” I added helpfully.

“Witch,” he growled. “I will?—”

“You’re doing great! I won’t be long, don’t worry.”

I ended the call, then updated Ian on my whereabouts in case Hutton decided to put a hit on me.

He didn’t pick up—probably busy with his meeting—so I left him a voice message detailing my slightly unwise decision to trust the anonymous texter and my upcoming plans. Returning the phone to my skirt’s pocket, I looked down at Fluffy.

“Well, Fluffy, since we’re out and about, we might as well go visiting old creepy coven houses.”

TWENTY-SIX

Another ride took us back into Old Olmeda. The streets were beginning to fill in earnest, and the restaurants were doing brisk business. It had gotten later than I’d thought, and I grabbed a fast bite before they filled up completely.

Fluffy got us a free drink and many compliments, and she sat obediently with her tongue happily lolling as the restaurant workers all came to take a photo with her. Ian should’ve written his URL on the side of her bee vest—so much free publicity!

After we were done with our early lunch, and I’d ordered Dru’s favorite sushi to be delivered to the shop so she could eat during our lunch lull, Fluffy and I made our way through the crowds and reached a more silent neighborhood. The detached houses showed signs of age and a growing number of needed repairs—peeling paint, a missing porch railing here and there, a blue tarp covering part of a roof, tiny front yards that had seen better days.

We stopped for a group of kids and parents who had started trick-or-treating early, and I got compliments on my witch costume and my furry bee familiar.

“You know,” I told her as I gathered her in my arms to walk the rest of the way because she was starting to look worn out, “I think they’re right. You are my familiar.”

Fluffy panted and tried to lick my face.

“No licking. Eating makeup is bad for you.”

Modern witches didn’t have familiars per se, only pets for company like anyone else. But maybe that was something I’d assumed rather than the truth—please-call-me-Tammy hadn’t even owned a cat, and neither had Grandma. I might not share my magic with Fluffy, but we did make a great team.

“Isn’t that right, Fluffy-fluff?”

Fluffy barked and drooled on Ian’s jacket.

“I understand. Sometimes I want to drool on Ian too.”

A long walk later, we reached the house Vicky had pointed out as the old coven home. Putting Fluffy down, I studied the structure.

It was creepy.

The one-story house didn’t appear much different from the ones on either side, but there was something about its ramshackle atmosphere that made the hairs on my arms stand up. It had obviously been abandoned for a while now—windows boarded up, the step leading up to the front door sunk in the middle, the screen door hanging loose, and the gutters overflowing with masses of leaves and dirt. The small circle of a yard surrounding it was covered in browning grass of different lengths. It encroached on the broken brick path connecting the house with the sidewalk.

It looked like a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old relic forgotten in a dusty attic.

Fluffy let out a small whine.

I kind of wanted to let out one too.

“Strength, Fluffy. Let’s take a look around.”

Tugging gently at Fluffy’s leash, I went around the side of the house, the grass crunching underneath my sneakers. Two windows on the side weren’t boarded up, so I peeked inside, but they were so covered by grime, it was impossible to discern a thing.

The back of the house had a small expanse of yard, fenced in by rotting slabs of wood and a bit of chain-link. I wondered how it had ended up in such disrepair. Shouldn’t a house this old fall under some kind of historic preservation scheme? I should ask Ian.

The backyard was also covered in uneven grass lumps, no signs of recent living. No trash from passersby or squatters.

I studied the grimy, run-down back side of the house, dark and austere under the noon sun.

Yeah, I wouldn’t want to come anywhere near, either.

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