Quit Your Witchin' Read online

  “Si,” Maggie said, her chest heaving a shuddering sigh.

  “Could we just do this?” Bianca asked, her impatience crystal clear as she ran her red-tipped fingers through her waterfall of midnight hair.

  Could I just poke you between the eyes? Oh, this woman brought out the absolute worst in me, and it wasn’t just because she was about as close to physical perfection as it got.

  “Bianca! Don’t be so rude,” Mateo ordered, then said something in Spanish with a glare in his sister’s direction.

  Both Bustamante men were as good looking as their sister. Tall, chiseled, olive-skinned, thick and shiny black hair, and lots of rippley muscle between them.

  Bianca clamped her mouth shut, pushing her hair behind her ear and, rather than responding to her brother, turned her glacial stare on me.

  I’m not one to have my feathers ruffled often, but there was something about Bianca that chilled me to the bone, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

  But I had no time to try to figure out what made her tick. Spreading my arms out, I offered my hands to Maggie and Juan Felipe, sitting on either side of me. “Did you bring the personal item I asked for?”

  Mateo nodded short and quick, reaching into the pocket of his tight-fitting gray T-shirt and pulling out a picture of him and his siblings. They were all smiling carefree grins against the backdrop of the Puget. Boats sailed behind them; the sky was a gorgeous blue, cloudless day, the sun shined, and Mateo held up something that looked like a certificate of some kind.

  Upon closer inspection, I noted it was the permit for the Salty Sombrero.

  “Papa never went anywhere without this. They gave it to us today at…at the hospital with the rest of his things.” The Adam’s apple in the column of Mateo’s sleek throat bobbed as he swallowed.

  I was still having trouble with what Forrest told me about Tito and his catting around. All outward signs said he loved his family if you looked at this picture. Yet, he and Maggie were separated because she’d caught him cheating, or so went the story. That had been confirmed by Chester just this afternoon, when he’d stopped by to drop off the final plans for the gardens.

  “Yep. She told me all about it one night at bingo over at the VFW Hall,” he said, shaking his head as if he, too, didn’t understand how Tito could cheat on someone like Maggie. “Don’t get it. Nice lookin’ wife, nice lookin’ kids, healthy business, and he goes off and sticks his chimichanga where it don’t belong.”

  Looking at the picture, I said, “Set the picture in the middle of the table, please, Mateo, and let’s all hold hands. First, I want you all to know, you’ll sometimes hear me say some odd things that won’t make any sense to you, but I want to warn you not to interfere. Please. It’s important you let me do this without questioning some of the strange things you’ll hear so that we garner the best possible results. Can we all agree?”

  Everyone nodded, even Bianca, though she did roll her eyes.

  “Now, I want you all to close your eyes. Picture Tito—then recall a happy moment you shared with him. I’m sure there were many, but any memory will do.”

  I waited as Bianca relayed the message to her mother in Spanish, and then I closed my eyes, too.

  Readings were always easier if I could block out everyone but the spirit I was contacting. I imagine avoiding Bianca’s skeptical eye rolls wouldn’t hurt either.

  Settling into my chair, I breathed deeply, letting the ambiance of the room and the things I loved on every shelf—my crystals, some of my favorite snow globes I’d placed around the store—soothe me.

  “Tito? Your family’s here. Their hearts are broken, especially Maggie’s. Are you with us? Won’t you come talk to us and ease Maggie’s sorrow? She has a question for you.”

  Maggie’s muffled sob flitted in my ears, but nothing else.

  “Nothing yet,” Win muttered. But then he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. You are most certainly not Tito. Do avert your eyes, you arse! There will be no ogling the grieving.”

  Sometimes wayward spirits, especially the bored ones, intrude on readings just for giggles. Popping my eyes open, I looked at everyone at the table and apologized. “Sorry for the delay, but an unexpected visitor popped in. He’s gone now, isn’t he?” I asked, making it appear as though I were asking the room.

  “He is, the sod. I made sure of it.”

  “I have confirmation he’s gone now,” I reassured them.

  Bianca popped her cherry-red lips. “I bet you do.”

  “Bianca!” Juan Felipe snapped in a hushed whisper. “No mas!”

  Closing my eyes again, I refocused…and then something downright bizarre happened. The room became hot—not just warm-ish, but balmy hot, like we were on some topical island. I almost tasted the moisture in the air.

  Was it Win? I cleared my throat, one of our signals to knock it off. But would Win play games at a time like this?

  “Oh no. This has nothing to do with me, my dove. But I’m going to warn you right now, we have company.”

  My heart skipped a beat. That didn’t sound good. “Who’s there? Tito? Is that you?”

  Maggie’s fingers dug into the palm of my hand at the mention of his name as she muffled a whimper.

  “Um, Stevie?”

  I cocked my head as though I were listening to the spirit world. “Yes? Who am I speaking to?”

  “We have trouble. Big, big trouble.”

  Chapter 6

  Win’s tone was ultra-serious to the point of making me squirm.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I tried to think of a response that wouldn’t alarm Maggie and her children as beads of sweat formed on my upper lip.

  Scratch that. I didn’t want to alarm Maggie and her sons, true that. But I didn’t care if Bianca was alarmed. In fact, I know this sounds callous, but if she got sunburn from this little ghostly trick, I wouldn’t buy her aloe to ease the sting because she was mean.

  “Explain, please,” I prompted Win, fighting the urge to tear my turban off.

  “Someone is very angry with Tito. Red-hot bent, for lack of a better phrase. So choose your next words to Maggie and Co. carefully, but listen closely to me. This spirit is seething a Spanish word at me and I don’t know what it means. She just keeps whispering it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Aventura.”

  “Aventura?” I repeated then clenched my teeth together. Crud. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  Belfry called out, “Squaw-squaw!”

  My eyes flew to Maggie as Juan Felipe gripped my hand, his fingers damp from the ever-rising heat of the room when he said, “It means affair—a love affair.”

  Maggie began to cry then, a soft mewling that kept picking up speed as she wiped at the glistening sweat on her face with her shoulder.

  Oh no. I couldn’t tap that. Now way was I going to ask if that meant anything to Maggie. I knew it did.

  “And something else, too. Cochino, cochino, cochino. She’s repeating it over and over. What does it mean?”

  “Cochino?” I muttered in Juan Felipe’s direction.

  “Pig. It means pig in the rudest sense of the word,” he answered, his voice tight, his T-shirt clinging to him, wet with perspiration.

  “Er, yo, boss! Squaw-squaw-squaaaw!”

  My eyes flew to the Bustamantes, but they didn’t appear to have noticed Belfry’s words.

  “Stevie, I don’t like this,” Win said. “In fact, I’m becoming quite uncomfortable with the darkness of this spirit’s aura. She’s chanting this word over and over with her hot breath on my neck. I feel dirty, Stevie, and not in a toss-about-the-mud sort of way.”

  I didn’t like how Win sounded. He came across as spooked, certainly not something I was accustomed to hearing from my coolly collected Spy Guy.

  My throat was drier than the Mohave, my chest slick with perspiration, but I had to know what—or better still, who—Win was dealing with. Who could this be?

  Was this in fact related to Maggie and T
ito? Or was this some other malevolent force? My mind touched briefly on the idea that the spirit responsible for me ending up witchless might have something to do with this, and I wanted answers.

  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.”