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Toil and Trouble: Book One

Charisma M. Cole

Marked (Toil and Trouble:
Book One) © 2014 by Charisma M. Cole

Jade Murray is a necromancer,
a witch who can communicate with the dead. After a summoning goes awry, two
murders rock the human and supernatural world. One thing connects the gruesome
acts: Jade.

To clear her name and avoid
the Watchers on her tail for crimes against humanity and the magical community,
Jade enlists the help of her vampire boyfriend, a fairy with a penchant for
blood, and her neurotic mother. Will they find the real murderer before it’s
too late?

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Chapter One

A Summoning to Remember

The ghost licked his bruised
lips, popping the collar of his overpriced polo. The Cartier at his wrist had
lost its brilliance, but his bleached white teeth gleamed with desire. Yuck.

Most who believe in ghosts
think they’re these foggy apparitions that move stuff across rooms and make
spooky noises, or they’re at the other end of an Ouija board, a connection to
the other side. They’re partly right. Seasoned ghosts or those with a grudge
can cause quite a ruckus with physical objects. But as far as appearances go,
ghosts look awfully close to the way they did in life, even rocking the same
clothes they wore when they met their end. Most have the stereotypical pallor,
but nothing freakishly supernatural – they just look like they would
benefit from a bottle of self-tanner. And when it comes to contacting a ghost,
don’t bother wasting your hard-earned money on a board game. The only way
someone can really have a sit-down with a dead person is through a true
necromancer – a witch who was born with the gift to see and communicate
with the dead. Like me.

I flipped a mess of mahogany
hair over my shoulder, stepping closer to the line of salt I had drawn but
still keeping a safe distance. Ectoplasm was a bitch to get out of clothes.

“Oh, honey bunny,” I cooed
with a saccharine smile. “I miss you so much I can barely stand it, Brooksy.” I
gripped my neck and let my hands trail slowly down my throat, hovering near the
opening of my skintight dress. Instantly, his pale blue eyes widened in
anticipation.

You’re just role playing, I
thought to myself as a pang of nausea hit me. It’s not like he even sees you. 
And it was the truth. With a little spellwork, necromancers can control what
ghosts see as well, kind of like a glamour. My glamour was based on his
favorite piece of tail on the side – Candi Wilson. In his eyes, my ebony
skin appeared pasty white. My shoulder length, kinky locks now flowed in stick
thin waves down my equally stick thin back. Well, not my back – I never
got the appeal of a man being able to see all the bones in my body. I wore my
curves proudly when I wasn’t on the clock. When I was on said clock, I was a
witch and I used my special skills in necromancy for the Necromancy and
Communicating Agency or NACA. Those skills meant I used my ability to see and
communicate with dead people to deal with those in the beyond. It wasn’t without
its risks. Ghosts could become unruly, even violent. And when they thought, it
came out in images that flooded my mind. Sometimes it was sweet things, like
memories with loved ones they left behind, and other times it was…not so sweet.

“Oh, what I would give for
one more night with you, baby,” the ghost said, sighing with longing. “I need
you, kitten.”

“My life is an endless ocean
of sadness and loneliness,” I continued dramatically. “And things have been
hard lately. Really hard.”

The ghost took a step closer.
“What’s going on?”

I looked down at the tacky
white patent pumps I’d put on for the occasion. “I lost my job at Macy’s.”

I could barely say the last
bit with a straight face. When I scoped out the other woman’s place of
employment after I accepted the gig, Candi was so obviously made for the job
that I was in awe. From the way she held the glass bottles like they were
precious treasures to the cavity-inducing sweetness of her smile and southern
twang, I had a feeling that as long as she didn’t develop a habit of clocking
in late, she had a job for life.

“You got canned?” the ghost
said in disbelief, stepping even closer to the barrier. “What happened?”

“I…” My mouth hung agape as I
mentally slapped myself. In a rush to schedule my first client in several
weeks, I hadn’t even thought up a back story or researched her contacts at the
company. Magic is most powerful on the full moon, and since there’s usually one
full moon a month, I should have been more prepared.

It was cockiness, I guess. My
boss, Brontes, who rarely gave out any sort of compliments or encouragement,
finally admitted that my glamours were the best he’d seen in decades. It may
have gone to my head a smidge, considering the fact that I barely had to break
a sweat to create a solid façade. My usual work routine consisted of popping a
button or two. The location of the ghost’s hidden treasure or any other
information I wanted to know normally came spilling out.

But this ghost apparently
talked to his mistress. Just my luck.

“My, uh, manager,” I said
finally, clearing my throat. “He-”

“You mean Stacy?”

“Yeah,” I corrected smoothly.
“She got kinda grabby. But I told her I was all yours, Brooksy baby. Even in
death, I’m all yours.”

The ghost’s brow furrowed in
confusion. “That born again psycho who always gives customers an earful about
how great Jesus is?”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my
head like it was the greatest tragedy ever conceived. “She had us all fooled.”

I swayed as a rush of images
bombarded me, a mad torrent of thoughts flowing from the ghost. He was
picturing Candi and this Stacy doing some very unholy things.

 I glanced at the Mickey
Mouse watch at my wrist. I only had five more minutes. If he didn’t spill soon,
I’d have to wait until the next full moon to summon him again. Goodbye bonus.
“So that’s why I came to this agency,” I continued, trying to get us back on
track. “I saw their commercial while I was watching Lifetime the other night
and decided I’d give them a call.”

“Ah, okay.”

“And I wouldn’t have bothered
you if it wasn’t really important,” I added. “If I didn’t really need the
money.”

“Well, shit,” he said,
crossing his arms. His face went serious as he took another step forward. He
grimaced as his body hit the invisible wall that barred him from coming any
further. “You haven’t blown through all the money, have you? My body’s not even
cold.”

“Of course not,” I said
indignantly, giving him a pout. “Hell, I don’t even know where the money is.”

“What?” he snapped, anger
spreading across his face.

I winced as his outburst rang
in my ear. Imagine the emergency alert signal and fingernails against a
chalkboard and multiply that by ten. For a guy that had only been six feet
under for a little over two weeks, he was already packing quite a punch.

“Ow,” I whined, nursing my
ringing ears.

“Sorry,” he said, his face
softening. His penny loafers squished around the circle as he paced back and
forth, lost in thought. “You went to Kenny, right?”

“Yeah, I saw your lawyer,” I
lied, nodding eagerly. “He told me the only way I’d get the money was if I’d…”
I stopped, clasping my hand over my mouth. What the hell was I doing? We were
never, ever supposed to mention outside mortals that ghosts could go shooting
for.

“That son of a BITCH!” the
ghost roared, grinding his fists. He was imagining beating the guy to a bloody
pulp. He was thinking about taking his fist and putting it right up-

This is bad, I thought
frantically, wringing my hands. The last necromancer who slipped up and
name-dropped was tried and convicted for the murder in the Great Hall. She’d
told the ghost that his brother had been sleeping with his wife. Instead of
going back to the All, the place ghosts go when they die, the ghost pulled some
strings and looked up his brother instead. The ghost haunted and hounded his brother
until the poor guy finally ended it by putting a .45 in his mouth.

I swallowed hard, making a
mental note to Google the lawyer and make contact. If he had a visit from
Casper the Unfriendly Ghost on my account, it was the least I could do. I
didn’t want anyone’s blood or mental instability on my hands.

But right now, I had more
pressing issues. Not only was the ghost slamming me with images of all the
horrible things he was planning for Kenny, his anger was affecting everything
in the room. The two desks that sat at the corner shimmied and shook, the
computers flickering on and off ominously. The old grandfather clock whirled
like a washing machine, the pendulum swinging so rapidly I needed a Dramamine.

“Calm down, honey bunny,” I
urged, flashing him an uneasy smile. “I can’t add all this shit to my tab. I
can barely afford rent. Without the money. Without you taking care of me.” I
laid it on nice and thick. I could tell from the ghost’s eyes that he was no
stranger to Candi employing the almighty guilt trip.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes on
his feet. What was this power that this petite woman held over him? He kicked
ass all the way to the top of his company, but in front of me now, he was two
feet tall.

“You know I never ask you for
anything, right?” I said softly.

He nodded. “I know. It was
one of the things I loved about you.”

I forced a smile. That would
have been a lot sweeter if he wasn’t a two-timing douchebag who cheated on his
wife of twenty years.

“If I could go back-” He
stopped. He didn’t need to finish. I’d heard this sad song a million times. The
shoulda-coulda-wouldas. As romantic as he was attempting to be, I knew the
truth. Just like every other ghost I’d come across in my line of work, he
wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

“I know, baby,” I said,
crossing my arms. “You worked so hard all your life and you made so many
sacrifices. You deserve to rest…and if I hadn’t lost my job, I wouldn’t even
have bothered you.” I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “I just need a little
something, just a bit to get me through.”

He tapped his foot, mulling
it over. “And you said Kenny didn’t give you the account numbers?”

I shook my head slightly.

He cracked his knuckles and
let out a loud sigh that rattled everything that wasn’t nailed down. I’d been
at this for almost an hour and I was no closer to getting the information now
than when I first summoned him. Time to go to plan B.

“You know what?” I said
suddenly, smoothing down the front of my mini dress. “I shouldn’t have come.
I’m a pretty girl, right? And I’m all alone now so…” I let a perfectly
depressed sob escape from my lips before I continued. “I don’t have anything
now that you’re gone. I just want to thank you for the little time we had,
Brooksy.” I turned toward the exit, walking briskly but not too much so, hoping
he didn’t call my bluff.

“Wait!” he erupted behind me.

I released the doorknob but
didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Get a piece of paper,” he
said finally, his voice resigned. “I’ll give you all the information you need.”

I snatched a notepad and a
pencil from a nearby desk. “Go ahead.”

“I’m assuming if Kenny didn’t
give you the info, he’s already drained the account.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But
maybe you should give me that number too, just in case.”

“Right,” he said, crossing
his arms. “Okay, the number for the account I left for you is…”

I scribbled down the
information with a flourish, glancing at my watch. One more minute.

“And if that one doesn’t
work?” I said, batting my eyes.

“I have one more account,”
the ghost said, scratching his chin. “No one knows about it but me and the bank
manager in the Caymans.”

Jackpot, I thought excitedly.
“Okay baby, I’m ready.”

After I finished writing it
down, I blew him a kiss. “Thanks so much.”

“That’s more than enough,” he
said with an edge to his voice. “5.5. I’m sure Melissa has already gotten her
claws into the rest of my estate, so you’ll have to make do.”

“Oh, I will,” I said, walking
over to the door. Since he was already pretty powerful, I didn’t think my usual
shtick was a good idea.

Normally as my last hoorah
I’d release my glamour and the guy or gal would realize they had been duped.
Hilarity ensued.

While the ghost certainly
didn’t deserve any sort of peace, I figured no harm, no foul if he flitted back
to the All thinking his small fortune was going to this chick instead of his
very, very angry wife. Who was waiting in the lobby.

“Adio-”

I gasped as the door slammed
open. His wife, Melissa Brooks, stood in the doorway, clutching a can of
Morton’s.

“Missy?” the ghost said,
visibly shocked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“5.5 million dollars?” she
screeched, plowing past me. “You were gonna give that idiot whore 5.5 million
dollars?!?”

“OW!” the ghost bellowed as
she hurled a stream of salt at him. I cringed as I watched the line bubble,
leaving a red, oozing streak on his face. One of the few old wives’ tales
grounded in truth – salt is to ghosts as angry is to a woman scorned.

 “You stupid bitch!” he
thundered, his eyes filling with hate. I felt the room begin to tremble and
shake. There were only ten seconds left in the summoning, but that was more
than enough time to do some serious damage.  Brontes would kill me if he had to
have the room re-constructed again.

“Ego transporto vos tergum ut
vorago!” I said, putting a bit of my will behind the words.