Hex Marks The Spot (Drop Dead Witchy #1)
Going to Hell is easy. Going back home is a different story.
They say you can never go back. I wish that was the case.
Returning home is complicated when you’re a necromancer and your hometown is the Most Haunted in America. It doesn’t help that your pet hellhound chihuahua thinks the place is a dump, and it gets worse when your high school crush is still there and still dead sexy. Literally, as he’s now a ghost.
Oh, and did I mention that I have to save the world? Yeah, again.
Home Sweet Home
But I was staring at a house that looked anything but sweet.
It was a dilapidated Victorian structure with a Second Empire mansard roof, peeling pink paint, and broken stained-glass windows. It also had a large square turret, which caused it to resembled the house in Charmed, minus the charm. However, this building had several missing shingles and a lopsided front porch. It was missing a few windows too.
My heart sank. Nothing, not even the newly-sprung daffodils bobbing in the chilly March breeze, could make this house look good.
If the Halliwell sisters’ house had suffered a regretful encounter with Godzilla, it would look like this house. Fortunately my house didn’t have a gate to Hell in the basement. It did, however, have a scary-looking gargoyle statue glaring a me from the second-floor ledge.
“The period detail is amazing, isn’t it?” a syrupy voice chirped beside me.
I turned to look at my depressingly cheerful real estate agent, Elizabeth Hunt, and she blinded me with her trademark movie-star smile.
I stifled a groan. Before moving back to Banshee Creek to help out in her family’s real estate business, Elizabeth worked in the horror film industry. She went from fighting murderous critters on the big screen, to moving her hometown’s extensive collection of haunted houses.
That’s what happened when you moved to the Most Haunted Town in America, as I was now in the process of doing. My hometown used to be a run-down Virginia town with a lot of ghost stories. Now, it had rebranded itself into the country’s number one paranormal destination, beating even Salem, Massachusetts.
Though the prospect of living in a spooky version of Disneyland did not amuse me, Elizabeth was almost preternaturally optimistic about our hometown’s transformation.
I would have been willing to bet real money that she’d planted those daffodils herself.
“Yes,” I said. “The gargoyle is particularly impressive.”
Elizabeth gave a nervous giggle. “That’s a recent addition. They took it upon themselves to add it. You know how people are around here.”
Yep, I did. You learn a few tricks when you grow up in this town, like how to protect yourself against the monster next door.
A monster which, from what I’d gathered so far, was no slouch.
“Oh, what am I doing here?” I muttered, sounding whiny even to myself.
“I know,” Elizabeth exclaimed, clapping her hands for emphasis. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go look at the inside.”
Uh, my complaint was more along the lines of “I hunt ghosts, not inter-dimensional quasi-deities.” Why couldn’t my ancestral home have an ordinary paranormal pest, like a poltergeist or a Lady in White?
But my real estate agent did not register my dismay. She hurried toward the house in a cloud of blonde hair and expensive perfume with the unforced cheer of someone who had just unloaded a hard-to-sell property on an unsuspecting mark.
Or not so unsuspecting, in my case. I should be able to handle whatever inhabited Delacourt Manor. After all, my mundane job was to go around haunted places and make funny videos about them, but that was just reconnaissance for my magical job, which was to bash whatever inhabited those spaces or, at least, render them harmless.
So this should be a breeze, no?
“Don’t look so glum, Claire.” The voice came from the general direction of my right ankle. “Just ignore the epic remodeling bill and focus on saving the world.”
I glanced down. Pookie, an ornery black chihuahua with beady amber eyes and a sparkly purple collar, was looking up at me. Despite the conspicuously adorable adornment, his eerie eyes hinted at his otherworldly origins.
Great. Even my stupid hellhound thought I was dragging my feet. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dark-wash jeans and took a deep breath. Pookie was right.
C’mon. Claire. You are a mean, lean, badass witch, a freaking necromancer for crying out loud. You just defeated a spectral disco-dancing prom queen. You can’t be scared of whatever is inside this dinky little house.
A cloud passed, casting ominous shadows over the building’s crumbling facade.
Or maybe I could be.
Like Pookie had said, this was no mere haunting. Joy.
Hello, Delacourt Manor. We meet again.
The thought made me giggle, although it was thoroughly inaccurate. I, Claire Delacourt, have never lived in Delacourt Manor.
Until now. Now I was buying it it and whatever was inside.
Which could be seriously bad news because the house had a long, consistent history of being dangerous to my family. It had been that way since the eighteen hundreds, which is why I was raised in a nondescript condo building near Main Street. No moldings, no period details, and no nasty, dark creatures trying to kill you. Decent trade, as far as I was concerned.
“Hey, chillax,” Pookie muttered. “No reason to get dramatic just because most of your ancestors died here a hundred years ago or so. Quit being a diva.”
I rubbed my arm, suddenly noticing the goosebumps. “I’m just cold. I should have brought my jacket.”
“I love it,” Pookie said mercilessly. “Big, bad necromancer scared of a little house.”
“I’m not—“
Elizabeth turned around with an uncertain smile. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself,” I explained.
Para-typicals couldn’t hear Pookie speak, thankfully, but the Banshee Creek residents were not exactly psy-null. The town was located on top of one of the continent’s most powerful ley lines, and this feature attracted all manner of supernatural entities and general weirdness. The effect was so strong that even the para-typicals had found a reason for it; they called the ley line a “geomagnetic fault.” Thanks to its influence, the townsfolk were a bit more sensitive than the regular joe.
I had to keep that in mind if I was going to live and work here. Keeping info away from the normals was going to be hard. I added that to the list of “seventy-thousand things I hate about my hometown.”
Elizabeth gave me a kind glance. “You’re wondering why the house never sold? Don’t worry, we are a full disclosure agency. A very tragic event occurred in the house.”
See? That’s what I meant. How had she known that?
With no Delacourt heir to claim it, the house eventually reverted to the Commonwealth of Virginia for nonpayment of real estate taxes. It had been owned by the government for decades. Every so often, they’d put the house up for sale, but there were never any takers.
Until now. Until me. You had to be crazy to live there, and I fit the bill. The thought gave rise to a bitter laugh.
“But,” Elizabeth added with only the smallest pause. “That’s not unusual in this town.”
“I bet,” Pookie interjected.
Elizabeth frowned and looked around, as if searching for the source of the sound. She finally aimed a narrow-eyed glance at the dog. “Did you cough, sweetie?”
She bent and patted Pookie on the head then stood up in a swift, lady-like motion. Elizabeth, unlike me, was the type of girlie-girl who did everything gracefully. “He’s such a cutie. I can tell why he has his own fan club.”
“He’s adorable, all right,” I responded, not mentioning that Pookie, or Poocong as he’s known in the Fourth Circle of Hell, is also deadly, sarcastic, and cheats at poker.
“He’ll love it here,” Elizabeth replied, as we entered the house. “Lots of ghosts to chase, which will give tons of wonderful footage for your show.”
Pookie trotted inside muttering “I don’t chase. I obliterate.” under his breath.
Elizabeth waved her hand around. “Let’s start the tour. This is the foyer, very spacious, as you can see.”
I noticed she didn’t mention the cracked sidelights or the deep gouges on the mahogany door.
Smart.
I stood on the threshold, a mental list of all the things that could made those scratches running through my head. I followed the list with an analysis of the kind of summoning that would break the glass.
The answers were not comforting.
But at least those were things I knew I could deal with. The way the floor dipped under my boots was a different story. Did the foundation need to be replaced? That sounded expensive.
I followed Elizabeth into the living room, senses at full alert. It was a surprisingly bright and open space, with mint-green wallpaper and old shutters. I could imagine a small, tufted sofa in front of the windows, flanked by dainty winged chairs, maybe even a fringed lamp to complete the picture.
The image was sweet and peaceful and completely at odds with what I knew about the house. Weird.
“Everything needs updating, of course,” Elizabeth said. “But the house is livable.”
“Define livable,” Pookie muttered, glancing back at the foyer.
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the claw marks or the shaky floors, and I didn’t ask. Ignorance was bliss in this instance, at least for now.
“Come look at the dining room,” Elizabeth continued, resolutely ignoring whatever it was she was hearing. “It has wonderful windows and they even left the table.”
It did have amazing windows. The octagonal room was perfectly suited for formal rituals and enchantments. As it should be, as it was built exactly for that purpose. I wasn’t a big fan of the candle-and-chanting traditions—I was more of an improv enchanter. I could, however, appreciate the details. Five antique candleholders still hung on the walls, faint traces of the original pentagram design remained on the wood floor. The wood had been sanded and restained, but the shape was still there.
Barely.
But the pattern seemed to grow more vivid as I stared at it. Lines of power criss-crossed the old wood table.
“Looks like you triggered something,” Pookie noted, stating the obvious. “Fun.”
I frowned, staring at the lines. This was not magic I recognized.
“Isn’t the table gorgeous?” Elizabeth asked, trailing her fingers over the edge of the piece. “It’s hard to find an eight-sided table, so it comes with the house.”
“Yes, it’s lovely,” I lied.
We were both lying. The table was a large wood octagon with eccentric carvings and little charm or style, but Elizabeth was right. It would be hard to find a piece of furniture to fit this room. It had likely been built for the house.
Which said a lot about my lineage’s supreme lack of taste. That table was one of the ugliest pieces of furniture I had ever seen in my life.
“Wait until you see the kitchen,” Elizabeth said, as she crossed the room, not noticing anything unusual. ‘It’s quite spacious, which was rare for the time.”
“Of course,” I replied, trying not to smile. Victorian houses usually had tiny kitchens that were strictly for staff. That room, however, was large and bright, with expansive counters and lots of room to work.
“Cooking must have been so much fun here,” Elizabeth said, running her hand over the polished wood countertops.
That comment made me chuckle. Cooking wasn’t the only activity done in this room, as evidenced by the runes carved on the counters.
Runes that seemed to be glowing.
I traced a y-shaped rune of protection and reached out, trying to perceive.
Nothing.
If, as Pookie said, I triggered something, it wasn’t immediately obvious.
“There’s even an herb garden right here.” Elizabeth opened the dutch door to the side yard and stepped outside.
Pookie followed her, eager to explore his new domain. He’d probably pee the whole place, just to mark it as his own.
Yay, demon dog pee—just what the house needed.
Even though I already knew what the garden looked like, I followed, eager to get out of the house. Something felt off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, but the wrongness permeated the whole house.
The sky had grown cloudy, and the overgrown garden was cold and dark. I ambled to the moon dial, where Pookie was already busy marking his territory. A sudden gust of wind made my silver hair fly up, gray strands blowing wildly, and I instantly regretted not pulling it into a ponytail.
“Dark clouds,” I whispered “Creepy feeling. Pentagram appearing on the floor. Does any of this ring a bell?”
“I’ll take Things Best Tackled on an Empty Bladder for five hundred, Alex,” the dog growled in reply.
His words were lighthearted, but his ears came to attention and his eyes acquired a startling amber glow, a reminder of his true origins.
I could feel the power, rising. The electricity crackling in the air, and I steeled myself; this was going to be a doozy.
Elizabeth’s phone beeped, startling us all.
Well, maybe not all. Pookie’s glowing eyes were focused on the device. He did not look away.
“Excuse me.” Elizabeth checked her messages quickly, as a cold breeze wafted up to us.
I looked around for weapons. Scraggly mint plants, rosemary bushes, a cracked moon dial and a mossy garden gnome were all I could find.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “I have a family emergency.” Her lips thinned. “I apologize profusely. We can come back so I can show you the bedrooms—”
Well, wasn’t this convenient? Elizabeth found an urgent reason to leave just as the magic stared swirling around us. Like I said, Banshee Creek folk were very attuned to these things.
Not that I was complaining. I was definitely not adverse to getting the innocent bystander out of the theatre ASAP.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, putting a little magical oomph behind my words. “I’ll drop by your office to sign the paperwork tomorrow.”
He face brightened. “Then you are buying it. That’s fantastic. I wasn’t sure…”
“That I would indeed purchase a house with a deadly history, faulty plumbing, and a family of bats living in the attic?” I laughed despite the ominously darkening sky.
Elizabeth smiled as she pushed her flying hair off her face. The wind was picking up.
“Well, creepy can be nice sometimes.” She shoved her phone in her purse and shook my hand. “See you tomorrow.”
Then she ran off as if the armies of hell were pursing her.
Which wasn’t far from the truth, to be honest.
A nearby shutter banged against the house and a bolt of lightning crossed the sky. I watched Elizabeth hurry out and wondered what the heck type of defense could I conjure with a bunch of wilting mint leaves and an old garden gnome.
Elizabeth was right; creepy could be nice sometimes.
This wasn’t one of those times.
“Well, the civilian is out of the way,” Pookie said, eyes still glowing. “Let’s see what kind of homecoming present this house has for us.”
You can purchase The Shadow Files at Apple iTunes, Barnes and Noble Nook, Kobo, and Amazon. Note that the links will be pre-orders until the book comes out on August 7th.
No comments:
Post a Comment