Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2) (3 page)

"And how would that work?" Gillian asks.

"As cat. In your purse. It's huge. He'll be fine there. In a pinch, I could probably crawl in there without shifting first."

She ignores my grin.

"Don't be thick, Tom. What if she sees you?"

"I'm not letting you go near her alone."

"I don't know that you have anything to say about it. But I'm not worried for you—I'm protecting me. If you can promise me it won't mark me for trouble, you can come. But you've said you think Eunice can sense when you're near. If she can…"

"Oh hell." My grin fades. "I wasn't thinking. No, you're right. I'd only endanger you." I sit back down, adrenalin still revving and looking for a place to go. No way am I going to be able to stick my head back into a book.

"Plus, I have errands I have to run this afternoon, so I can fit all of that in before I return this evening. I'm assuming the ritual is an evening affair, Nat?"

"Absolutely, fall of darkness, all of that. Back by dusk? Would that work for everyone?"

I realize I'm clenching my fist in frustration. "We can't do this faster?"

"You want powerful magic, don't you? That doesn't happen in minutes."

Gillian gives me a look that says she agrees, but it's a look full of sadness for me. And pity. I'm sure I see pity. Then she's out the door.

Nat and Robert sink back into their big chairs with their books full of dusty old knowledge. I try to focus, but I'm no help. I'm not a scholar, and I never was much of a warlock. Ask me to recite poetry, and I can go for hours—poetry works great on the chicks. Put on a chef's hat and make a feast? That I can do. But wrestle with what's in a witch's grimoire? No, that talent always belonged to the women around me. I'd have been helpless against a witch even when I could access my magic.

But I don't need magic now. We have the start of a plan. And I'm going to make sure that every bit of it gets explored as quickly as possible.

Cassie's body fits me like a glove, but didn't I pick her for that?

For long years, I enjoyed my Eunice-face, and the one I see when I look in the mirror today is close enough to feel familiar. The blue eyes, the chestnut hair, the delicate nose. It's much improved now that my fierce intelligence lights up her eyes instead of the semi-matte sheen of the girl's dull obedience.

Her wardrobe is a mess. Nothing worth wearing—every item is an off-the-rack nightmare. What did she do with my clothes? And exactly how long have I been gone? I doubt much time has passed, but my loving granddaughter appears to have obliterated me from just about everywhere in my house except the attic. I'd have expected her granddaughter to hang on to Eunice's things for a good long time, wringing her hands and sobbing about how much she misses her granny. I'm surprised to find so much of the house has been cleared of my influence.

It's simply irritating not to have kept control of the situation just because I was dead.

At least when I feel around for her in here, there's no push-back like there was with that Eunice. She had far too much influence over me, constraining me with her courtesy and civility and niceness. This girl will stay beat down where she belongs. All those years I trained her to subjugate her own will to mine appears to have worked out just fine.

I think I'll take my new body out for a walk. With the old one's creaky knees, it's been years since I could appreciate a chill night under the moon. It was late April when my spirit was gathered to my Ab Khr to wait for Cassie to release me. I could ring time and weather and find the date easily, but I can also tell from the sky.

The streetlights obscure a full view of the stars, but what I see tells me I haven't waited in that attic long. It's summer. And the cafe still has its "New Menu" sign out with the same year listed as when I left. I haven't been gone long at all.

I enjoy the breeze on my newly smooth skin. It's good to be alive in a new world ripe for the taking. Or at least the same old world with a brand new me.

Tom won't have gone far. He never does. As I walk past the silent shops in downtown Giles, I hear rustling in the alleys from time to time and wait for him to emerge from the shadows repentant. He doesn't. But he will.

It must have been a surprise for him, expecting boring Cassie and encountering me instead. I enjoyed his look of shock and recognition.

He wasn't a cat when I returned, so Cassie must have discovered the magic words. I have to assume they had some fun after she freed him. It's his nature, my tomcat Tom. I did, after all, find myself dressed in one of the girl's nightgowns when I surfaced, with Tom in only pajama bottoms where he stood on the stairs. I would have loved to have seen the look on her insipid face when Tom first came bursting out of my kitten. It had to have been quite something.

Oh well, it's so limiting when you're dead. You miss things. And Tom will come back to me in no time. He leaves, but he always returns. In the end, he misses me.

I look forward to the improved fun factor with my new, young, juicy body. It's already humming with anticipation.

Oh my, the things we'll do.

My morning stretch is luxurious and completely unaccompanied by a crick in the neck, sciatica, and that grabbing feeling in my bowel. I adore this body I've stolen. I run my hands over its smooth, firm hips and abdomen. Yes, very nice. And that tingle…

Wait, that's the tingle of Cat's spell, the thread that tells me Tom is near. I certainly hope he's come home.

I slip on a nightie and focus on the direction of the magic spark. To the front of the house I go, but Tom isn't in the upstairs parlor in his basket. I realize the tingle is coming from outside. I look out to see if I can locate him, and there in the alley across the street, Cat lies curled up in the shadows, sleeping.

I'll wake him up soon enough. Maybe he'd enjoy a visit from that pigeon he's obsessed with. I look down. Yes, there it is, sitting on the bench where it spends the day waiting for the crumbs people drop after visiting the bakery.

Pigeons have such tiny brains. So easy to control, even from this distance. And with the sharp eyes I have now, I'll be able to see the entire thing in detail. How lovely. Cat really should have come home sooner. If he had, I wouldn't be forced to take drastic measures to get his attention.

I send silvery strands of magic toward the strutting bird with my wishes embedded in them. They slip under its feathers and do their work.

The pigeon flies true and drops to the ground next to Cat without waking him. Then it reaches out and gets its beak into the papery thin flesh of kitten-Tom's ear. These eyes are so good I swear I can even see a bright bead of blood left in the nick when the pigeon pulls away. It flies back to the bench with a fuzzy triangle of skin still held in its beak before it gobbles it down upon alighting.

Cat startled awake when it happened, watched the pigeon's flight, then turned and ran out the back of the alley—the wrong way entirely. Still playing coy.

Poor Tom. Poor, bad Tom. I have so many ways to punish him when he finally slinks home.

That annoying Gillian flounces through the door, accompanied by the tinkle of the shop bell. Dressed like a nightmare, as usual. Always was. She's all big, floppy bosom under loose blouses and flowing skirts, with her long white hair pinned up in a sloppy bun. I can't imagine what Tom saw in her.

"Hello sweetie," she calls to me. "Where's that cat of yours today? I've brought him a treat." She tears the top off a bag of cat snacks that smell strongly of rotting fish and walks around a set of shelves, peering into all the places a cat could hide. "Come on, Cat, I've got something special for you. It's been weeks since I've come to visit. You must have grown."

I try to fake Cassie's friendly expression, but I don't know how to work facial muscles in that direction. I do the best I can, but it feels wrong, and I don't like it in the least. "Cat stayed out all night. Not here, I'm afraid. How are you today?" I say, but I'm begging silently to be saved from having to hear her answer. I'd rather tear the girl's ears off than engage in pleasantries with this one.

"Too bad. I wanted to see how he likes these new treats. They were on special, and I immediately thought of him."

I try for a cute, girlish titter, but I only manage something that sounds suspiciously like a bird call. Faking Cassie isn't as easy as I thought it would be. Perhaps I should have observed her more closely over the years. Too late now. "Gilly, you're too nice! I'm sure he'd love it if he were here. I expect him any minute. You know Cat—he always comes back. The shop is never without a Cat for long."

"I'm sure you're right. I'll keep them in my purse for next time." She puts the packet of treats away and walks into the herb section. "I'll just pick up my shisandra and some jasmine oil then." She takes a small packet of herbs from the shelf and turns it over to look at the sticker. She always goes right to the price. How predictable.

"Goodness, Cassie! What happened? The price has nearly doubled!"

"Rising costs, Gilly. Rising costs." Of course, there are no rising costs. I've simply repaired some of the damage Cassie did to the prices while I was gone. There's no competition in Giles for what Cat's Magical Shoppe supplies, and there are a large number of witches and new age-y tourists who want it. Dropping prices under those conditions just isn't good business.

"Oh, it's terrible, isn't it?" she agrees. "Prices just go up and up and up. I imagine the small business owner has a hard time these days."

I expect a fight from her. She would have fought with Eunice. I always enjoyed the conflict, along with her inability to let go of Tom—I could just bring that up, and she'd be off in a frenzy of outrage. It was easy for me to take him away, of course, but I still enjoyed having deprived her. I can't poke that wound as Cassie. It will be difficult, but not impossible, to keep Gillian roughed up about that rivalry. I'll need to find a creative approach to the subject.

I smile brightly at her. Once again, that doesn't feel like the right response, but I have no idea what emotion the girl would show or how she'd show it. She was always perky, always chirpy. That or sobbing about some ridiculous thing she'd blown up in her mind to be a tragedy. I haven't prepped for anything else. "Oh yes, the small business owner is really in a bind. Can I ring that up for you?"

"Absolutely." She hands me her selections, and I check the prices as though I hadn't just written them up myself this morning. "That comes to twelve eighty-three with tax."

As she hands me a twenty and I make change, she asks, "Have you decided if you're going to be there next week, Cass?"

"What's that?"

"Choir practice?"

I cover for myself, not knowing that the coven would be meeting before the full moon, which I did mark on the calendar once I'd pinned down the date of my return. Or that Cassie even knew about the choir. But with the skills I taught her without her knowledge, it isn't surprising she would be attracted to the opportunity if it was offered. "Oh yes, of course. In Corey Woods, right?"

"Yes. Just a quick one. A cleansing. We'll gather just before midnight. Nat tells me that Janice has been feeling unbalanced and needs to get back to a good place. She doesn't want to wait for the next full moon because her magic has been so unreliable lately. "

"That'll be nice," I say. But oh, that'll be boring. Let's raise some demons instead. I've got old friends I want to see.

"See you then, sweetheart."

After she leaves, I try to remember all of the items she buys regularly as I busy myself with the pricing marker.

Why is the shop so busy? It seems like everyone in town comes by and lingers. It's maddening. I had a steady trade built up, but they got in and out: it was nothing like this. I hate it. That girl has them all coming in to browse and socialize. They feared me, but they needed what I could provide. In a very short time of being nice to people, she's ruined a lifetime of building the shop's reputation.

It takes me hours to familiarize myself with what's been rearranged. It's difficult to manage in-between the far too frequent interruptions by townsfolk wanting a chin-wag. Eventually, I find the latest Archeology Today magazine shoved under the counter unread. I pull up the stool and start paging through it, relishing the familiar names from my past.