Quit Your Witchin' (8 page)

Swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, the muggy, unmerciful heat, I pushed ahead. “Can you see her in this darkness?”

“No. There’s nothing but a black hole, Stevie. It’s dark and ugly, the air is thick and unmoving and there are shadows everywhere.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bianca seethed, her hair plastered to the side of her face, her cheeks bright red.

My pulse began to race, my breathing growing ragged from the incessant heat. “I’m trying to figure that out, Bianca. Win, listen to me. Are you still on your plane?”

“No. Nothing is familiar anymore, Stevie. Nothing. I don’t know where I am, but there’s despair here—so much despair I can almost taste it!”

I heard Win’s attempt to keep a tight rein on his anxiety, but even he wasn’t
that
good. He wasn’t dealing with a terrorist or a jewel thief. His tuck-and-roll, swing-from-the-chandelier escapes wouldn’t work in the afterlife. This was a very angry spirit, one who clearly had power, because she was turning the store into the seventh level of hell with this heat.

Panic began to stir deep in my gut. If Win was somewhere dark, he had to find the nearest light and get to it. Forgetting the Bustamantes, I thought only of keeping Win safe. “Then get out! Get out now! Find the light, any light, and go, Win!”

“Okay, enough of this crap, crazy lady! You’re no more talking to the dead than I’m Shakira!” Bianca barked, her voice hoarse and cracked, making her mother cry out.

“Bianca, quiet!” Mateo warned tersely, his face streaked with rivulets of perspiration.

But I couldn’t focus on her right now. Sweat beaded on my forehead, the oppressive air almost unbearable, as though it were a living entity, swarming my skin like a rush of tiny pinpricks.

Then the table hummed with life, rocking and lifting off its legs, making everyone shudder a gasp, fear in their sharp intakes of breath

“Win! Where are you?” I forced my voice to remain calm even though I was anything but. “Are you hearing me? Find a light. You
must
find the light, Win, and go!”

If Win was experiencing the kind of despair he could taste, he had to get out or it would own him, steal his soul, his hope, his everything. Not even my spy was strong enough to withstand that kind of evil.

When he didn’t answer, I think I stopped breathing, stopped thinking. As much as I’d die a little on the inside if I didn’t have him with me anymore, I’d rather Win leave me forever, his soul still intact, than suffer that fate. I’d mourn his exit later.

“Win, answer me!”

Not a peep, nothing but the heaving, belching movement of the table, rumbling beneath our hands, rocking against the floor.

Letting go of Maggie and Juan Felipe’s hands, I jumped up from the table, slamming my fists on the surface before stepping into the center of the room. “Who are you? Reveal yourself! Don’t hide behind the veil.
Tell me who you are!
” I demanded, frustrated by this spirit’s hide-and-seek.

A spirit can almost always be redirected, distracted, ordered about—if you’re not afraid of the consequences. And I can tell you, I’m not afraid of most of the consequences. Most spirits are all sorts of bark but no bite. I’d only encountered a rare few that were truly evil, and besides, I could dish as well as I could take.

Unfortunately, what I’d forgotten was this: I no longer had the ability to dish some of my own consequences.

“Stevie, Belfry! Look out!” Win yelled so loud, my eardrums rattled.

As relieved as I was to hear his voice, I wasn’t so excited about what happened next. The shelf behind Séance Command Central, where I housed my collection of Christmas snow globes, shivered just before the globes began flying off the surface—straight at me.

So I did as suggested, but not before I bellowed, “Everyone, get down under the table!”

“Mama!” Bianca screeched a warning as glass exploded mid-air, spewing water and confetti-like snowflakes.

As each of my over-fifty-in-total snow globes flew through the air, hovering then zeroing in on me, I launched myself over the tabletop and lunged for Maggie, who, instead of diving for the floor, had risen from her chair, looking confused.

“Tuck and roll with her, Stevie! Cover her eyes!” Win directed, ever ready with helpful spy tips.

Falling into Maggie, I threw one arm around her waist and used my hand to cover her eyes. Somehow, I managed to position her so she landed on top of me. We hit the newly installed wood flooring with a thwack of grunts and tangled limbs.

Rolling Maggie to her side, I shoved her under the table, meeting Bianca’s accusatory eyes before scurrying away.

Shielding my own eyes, I stood up, catching a piece of flying glass in the arm, which, by the by, infuriated me. I might not have my wand, but I sure had a big mouth.

“Knock it the fudge off!” I bellowed into the swirl of chaos, helplessly watching the ultimate in snow globes fly across the room and smack into the wall.

While my favorite Christmas snow globe with Yukon Cornelius slid down the wall in pieces and Rudolph broke into tiny reindeer parts, my blood pressure spiked at an all-time high. Even someone like me, who didn’t get too overly crazy about much, had a limit.

Limit-Reached Achievement: Unlocked.

Stomping over the glass and puddles of water, ducking when another of my smaller globes came straight at me, I stormed the nearest snow-globe shelf, yelling my ire into the room. “That was my favorite Yukon Cornelius and Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer snow globe, you holiday-hating heathen! I said
eeee-nough
!”

Everything stopped then.

There was nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the trickle of water sliding down the wall and the settling of debris.

“Win?” I called out, knowing panic laced my tone, knowing the Bustamantes probably thought I was crazy. But I didn’t care.

“I’m here, back on Plane Limbo. Also, for verification purposes, you have a lot of snow globes, Stevie Cartwright.”

Letting my head hang, my chin at my chest, I began to laugh. As water pooled on the new floor and spattered down the freshly painted walls, shards of glass littered the floor, Christmas trees, snowmen and my beloved Yukon Cornelius lay smashed to smithereens, I laughed.

In relief. Win was still here. That was almost all that mattered.

But I didn’t laugh for long. As the Bustamante boys helped Maggie, Bianca was up off the floor and headed directly for me, her finger pointed in accusation. Water permeated one leg of her tight jeans and she had something stuck in her hair.

“You are
loco,
and you’re not getting one thin dime from me! You understand? I bet you think you’re pretty clever, and I don’t know how you orchestrated this, but I don’t give a damn! I won’t pay a single penny for that freak show you just put on!”

Pushing my crooked, damp turban upright, I shrugged. “I think I can manage without your pennies. Oh, and may I?” I reached forward and tried to pluck a tiny reindeer from the length of her hair. “You have something that belongs to me.”

Bianca slapped my hand away, her eyes flashing. “Don’t touch me! You could have injured us all with that stunt, you wingnut!” she screeched in my face.

But I kept my cool. Not that it was easy, but she was, after all, the customer. “I’m sorry that happened. Sometimes the spirits can be volatile and something about your father riled—”

“Don’t you give me your crap about
spirits
! There
were
no spirits. This whole thing was rigged just so you could bilk me out of some cash!” Bianca bellowed, her eyes wide, her skin a mottled red.

“Stevie? I don’t care how stunning Miss Bustamante is. By God, give her some hell! Tell her mother what Bianca wanted you to do then boot her out on her arse!” Win encouraged, outrage clear in his voice.

Squaring my shoulders, I looked her directly in the eye. “If you’ll recall, Bianca, I told you I wouldn’t lie to your mother. I wasn’t able to contact your father, so there’s no charge anyway.”

Maggie’s dark eyes turned angry when she looked to her daughter. “You ask Madam Zoltar to lie to me?” she squeaked. “Bianca! You bring me shame! You bring our family shame!”

Bianca didn’t even blink an eye. Instead, she crossed her arms over her perky chest and rolled her head on her neck in indignation. “
I’m
bringing shame to the family?
Me, Mama?
How much more shame can I bring after what Papa did? What he’s been doing to you all your married life?”

Maggie’s hand snaked out, connecting with Bianca’s cheek before Juan Felipe could stop it. “Do not speak of the dead this way!”

Bianca was only shocked for a fleeting moment before she turned and ran for the front door, yanking it open and flying out into the night.

And then Maggie collapsed against Juan Felipe, her shoulders shaking beneath her shawl. “I need to talk to my Taco, Juan Felipe. I must make this right! I must tell him about his son!” she cried, collapsing against him as he led her out of the store before I could offer my apologies.

“His son?” Win asked what I was thinking.

Mateo’s jaw tightened with a pulsing tic, his previously slicked-back ebony hair falling over his forehead, limp and damp. “Please let me pay you for your time…Miss Cartwright, is it? And let me apologize for my sister. She’s pretty angry with my father.”

“Because of this son your mother was talking about?” I clamped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be intrusive. Don’t answer that.”

“No, I want Rico Suave to answer. Things just got interesting,” Win said.

Mateo’s eyes fell to the mess on the floor. “Yes. We found out recently Papa fathered another child—we’re looking into it. Mama was going to confront him about it today, but…”

But he’d died. Oh, how awful. But then I thought of the picture in Tito’s truck stuck in the cheese.

“Have you ever seen what this, um, other child looks like?” I asked on a wince.

Mateo shook his head, his face going dark. “No. We know little other than his existence right now.”

Which meant shut up, Stevie and mind your beeswax. Hint taken.

“I’m sorry, Mateo. So sorry about Tito and your mother and Bianca.” To leave this world with unfinished business is agony for the people you leave behind.

He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Please, let me pay you for your time.”

I waved him off. “Are you kidding me? Look at this place. Absolutely not. I wasn’t able to contact your father and you almost lost an eye. Please, Mateo, go be with your mother. Talk to Bianca. She’s hurting and she needs all of you.” I held out my hand to him and when he took it, I squeezed before letting go.

“Do you think whatever that was—whoever that was—was talking about my father?”

His question was so raw, so charged with emotion, I wanted to address it carefully. “Pig” and “affair” were certainly words one would attribute to a situation like Tito’s, but I couldn’t bring myself to say as much. Not after all the other heartache they had to deal with.

“I wish I had a better answer for you. For all I know, it could be some dead farmer, acting out from the afterlife.”

The corner of Mateo’s lip lifted and he snickered. “Thank you again. Good night, Miss Cartwright.”

“Night, Mateo,” I whispered, bereft at the turn of tonight’s events.

As he exited, I followed behind him, locking the door. Bel rose up, flying toward me to land on my shoulder, snuggling his head against my ear. “You okay, Boss?”

I stroked his tiny head. “A little shook up, for sure. You okay?”

Belfry purred in my ear. “Yeah. I took cover under the cash register. Dang, girl. When was the last time we had an entity that angry?”

“You’ve had entities behave like that before?” Win asked.

I grabbed the broom from the corner and began to sweep up the mess. “Only a couple of times, if you don’t count the time I had the witch slapped out of me.”

“Why don’t we ever talk about that, Stevie? As in, the actual event? The night it happened?”

“Why don’t we ever talk about how you died?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question.”

“Don’t demand an answer to a question when
you
won’t answer
my
question.”

Win chuckled, warm and safe in my ear. “Touché. So shall we talk about this son Maggie so desperately wanted to tell Tito about?”

“And if Tito’s son is the kid in the picture, the one I saw at the food truck court, why did Tito have a picture of him if the Bustamantes only just recently found out about him? Like, has Tito always known?”

“That is curious,” Win replied in one of this thoughtful mutters.

“Sure, but can we first talk about where you went there? What was going on? You scared the bejesus right out of me. Especially knowing there isn’t much I can do to help you.”

“Aw, I’m chuffed, Stephania. You like me, admit it.”

“I like knowing you still have a soul.”

“Are you saying my soul was up for grabs?”

I puffed out another breath of relief. “I’m saying that sometimes, a malevolent spirit like the one you encountered can take you to a place where your soul is at stake. Yes. If that ever happens again, and you can find a light—any light—go into it. Understood?”

“But that would mean I’d have to leave you forever, my dove,” Win said with clear regret, deep and resonant.

A sadness crept into my heart, so profound it almost stole my breath. But not a chance in H-E double hockey sticks would I ever let him live that kind of utter misery.

“That’s true, and I’d miss you, but you’d miss your soul more. So any idea what plane you were on?”

“I don’t know. One minute there was sunshine and blue skies, and the infamous in-between buffet table filled to the brim with countless treats I no longer have to add up the calories for, and the next, I was somewhere as silent as a tomb. Silent and oppressive. Like a heavy weight in my chest.”

I still couldn’t explain how he’d been swept off to another plane without even knowing he had. Under normal circumstances, I’d consult my witch friends, but that was off the table now.

Leaning my cheek on the handle of the broom, I tried to explain to the best of my ability. “An angry spirit will sometimes flock to a dark plane if they were unsettled before their death. Whoever that was, if that message was related to Tito, they were angry we brought him up.”