Page 111 of Castings & Curses

HAUNTED HOLIDAY

ANDRA DILL

CHAPTER1

Usually,Priya Carmichael avoided funeral homes. Some ghosts were extremely persistent and in her experience, people freaked out when she started talking to their dearly departed. Today someone wanted to pay her for that experience. However, she had reservations about the rushed communication job and serious concerns about Belinda Hawthorne’s expectations.

Other witches shied away from spirit communicators like Priya, fearing she was actually a black-magic necromancer eager to control the recently deceased. Nothing could be further from the truth. All Priya wanted to do was help the spirits find peace.

The majority of her clients were non-magics like Mrs. Hawthorne, with unrealistic notions about Priya’s ability.

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Belinda extended a slender hand drenched in sapphire and emerald rings. The widow either purchased illusion spells or used Botox and fillers to achieve her dewy, smooth complexion. Priya couldn’t find a hint of gray in her chestnut bob.

Belinda wore a black sheath dress that showed off thin yet toned arms and calves. The dress was lovely, but seeing it made Priya chilly. Beneath her wool peacoat, she wore a camel-colored cable-knit sweater and silk-lined slacks in chocolate brown.

A basset-hound-faced man in a dark charcoal suit stood a few feet behind her client. Given his parade rest stance and sympathetic expression, Priya pegged him as the funeral director.

She gingerly shook Belinda’s jeweled hand.

Belinda turned to the director. “Well, don’t just stand there. We have things to discuss.”

Inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment, he ushered them into a Serenity room. Before closing the door, he discretely mouthed, “Good luck,” to Priya.

Pewter sconces on the walls emitted a soft glow of light. The majority of the cozy, windowless room’s illumination came from a large backlit stained glass mosaic in tones of blue and green. A piano rendition of Silent Night played softly in the background.

Belinda sat as Priya shrugged out of her toasty warm coat. Static electricity sent the purple-toned ends of her long hair flying. She smoothed it down, then draped the coat across the back of the chair, and took her seat.

Belinda folded her hands in her lap. “I understand your hesitation to perform your … ritual without any preparation, but I have to speak with Zeke before our children get here. Give me the contract and I’ll sign it.”

“As I told you before, Mrs. Hawthorne, communicating with spirits isn’t like talking on a telephone. I want to make sure you fully understand I make no guarantees. Your husband’s spirit may have passed into the next realm.”

Belinda shook her head vehemently. “He wouldn’t do that. He’ll wait for me.”

From her brief experience with the widow, and given the woman’s tone, Priya imagined the unspoken “or else” was implied.

“I’ll pay double your fee.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Just do your thing and you’ll see he is still here.”

Smiling patiently, Priya regretted answering the phone this morning. After a mental ten count, she said, “Spirits sometimes attach themselves to the place they died.”

“Yes. Yes. Or to a loved one. Or remain with their body. I’m sixty, Ms. Carmichael, not senile. I understood you perfectly the first time. And I’m telling you, if Zeke isn’t with his body then he is right here with me.” Her hazel eyes blazed in challenge.

Chastened, but unwilling to be rushed through her caveats, Priya forged ahead. “Adjusting to death usually leaves the spirit in a state of shock for four or five days. Communication will be impossible during that time.” She knew full well Belinda Hawthorne would cry ‘foul’ if Zeke didn’t manifest. Which, in Priya’s opinion, was almost a certainty.

“Since he died on that stupid deep-sea fishing trip, they took him to Anchorage for an autopsy to determine what caused his death. It was his heart. I told them it was his heart.” Belinda pressed her lips into a tight line and shook her head. “They kept him for four days before they released his body to the funeral home. Then because of the airline snafu, it took another three days before he arrived in Kingston. Zeke has had plenty of time to adjust.” She pinned Priya with a weighty scowl. “My oldest daughter will be here tonight. The boys and their wives fly in tomorrow morning. My youngest and her brood get in tomorrow afternoon at four. I need to talk to Zeke today before they get here.”

“Mrs. Hawthorne, even if I can reach him, there’s no guarantee I can talk with him.”

“Ms. Carmichael, nothing in this life is guaranteed. I understand the fee is non-refundable. Believe me, Zeke will talk to me. Give me that contract.”

Fifteen minutes later, Priya centered herself by lighting slender white candles. Poinsettias and dozens of floral arrangements filled the viewing room. A gigantic spray of white lilies, red roses, and sprigs of fragrant evergreen blanketed the coffin. White satin ribbons declared Beloved, Father, Husband, and Grandpa, however Zeke’s ghost was nowhere in sight. Not that she expected him to be, but a girl could hope.

Priya couldn’t brew potions, and her spell-casting ability regularly embarrassed her, but tapping into this magic, her magic, came naturally.

Normally, she walked in circles as part of her meditative process. The flowers proved too much of an obstacle course, so she slowed her breathing, focusing on the flickering flames to clear her mind. When she felt grounded, she swept her hand in an infinity loop and invoked an invitation to Zeke Hawthorne. A familiar thrum of magic filled her. Colors flashed behind her closed eyelids. Surrounded by a mantle of peace, she called again. The words passed through her parted lips, light as a feather floating on the breeze.

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