The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) (16 page)

“Dad, I just wanted to tell you I love you. I’m so glad you told me the truth about Mom. Maybe we can have dinner Sunday night. Call me when you get a chance.”

I ended the call and pulled into a Java Jane’s for a cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure I’d stay awake on the country roads to Red Grove without it.

There was a line for the drive thru so I parked, drifting to the counter half-asleep. “I’ll have a Fall Spice Latte,” I said to the barista.

After I paid, I folded into a wooden chair at one of the bistro style tables while I waited for my grande. Even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t help but notice an old man in the corner of the café staring at me. He was giving me the hairy eyeball as if he’d just seen me on
America’s Most Wanted
. Beady eyes peeked out from a deeply wrinkled face of a yellow color that only comes from a lifetime of heavy smoking and abuse of alcohol.

Every self-defense class I’d ever taken emphasized that eye contact simply encourages the aggressor, so I looked away, hoping he’d lose interest. I heard him scoot his chair back on the tile and out of the corner of my eye, saw him scratch his potbelly through his stained t-shirt. Besides the barista, he and I were the only ones inside. I silently prayed he’d leave. No luck. I didn’t hear him approach until he was right next to me, close enough for me to smell his foul breath, a smell I could only compare to the stench of gangrene.

“I see you,” he said in a raspy drawl that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

My protective instincts told me to run. Instead, I turned my head and looked him square in the face, my most professional demeanor sliding into place like a mask. “If you need a doctor, the hospital is a mile north of here. You can get treatment in the emergency room.”

The wrinkles of his face swallowed his eyes as he considered what I said. He tilted his head to the side, contemplating me with such intensity I stood up and stepped toward the counter just to get away from him.

“I’ll be right with you,” the barista said, busy finishing my latte.

The old man showed a mouthful of yellow teeth. Was that supposed to be a smile? “For now, heh-cah-tee,” he rasped. “But I see you. I see you.” And then, to my relief, he left, laughing all the way out the door.

“Here’s your latte,” the barista said, handing me the cup.

“Thanks. Jeez, that guy was creepy, huh?”

“What guy?” she asked.

“The old man who was just here talking to me. The one with wrinkles like a Shar-Pei.”

She looked at me blankly. “I didn’t see anyone. Gosh, I hope he doesn’t complain to the manager. I’m supposed to greet everyone who comes in.”

Annoyed, I grabbed my coffee and headed for the parking lot. I looked both ways, seriously freaked out by the old man’s vibe, and then strode toward my car as quickly as possible. The girl must have been half deaf and blind to miss that guy. Not to mention the smell. Ew.

I’m not sure what set me off. I didn’t hear him come up behind me, and his body was out of sight. But I knew when he lunged for me. I expected it.

One of his hands shot around my waist, the other clutched at my mouth. I grabbed both and lurched forward, sending my backside into his fat belly and using his forward momentum to launch him over my shoulder. He landed flat on his back on the pavement. I didn’t check if he was hurt. I slipped inside my Jeep and locked the doors, pulling my cell phone from my purse to call 911. I ditched that plan when the old man stood up and lunged for my car. I slammed the keys into the ignition.
Fuck
! The impact from that fall should’ve broken something, and it wasn’t like he was in tip-top physical condition.

I shifted into reverse, backing into the street. The man pursued me! The whole way out of the parking lot, he sprinted after my Jeep like a high school track star. I peeled forward, only happy when miles were between his wrinkled face and my bumper. When it was clear I’d escaped, I dialed 911 and relayed what had happened. Identifying myself as a nurse, I suggested the man was mentally ill and probably on PCP or something. The dispatcher promised to send a squad car.

Describing the scenario forced me to analyze it with a clinical eye. Nurses are assaulted more than any other helping profession. Sick people aren’t in their right minds, and drug users often have what seems like superhuman strength. I’d been taking self-defense classes for years and had to use my skills on more than one occasion. The fact that the man attacked me outside the hospital was irrelevant. He’d seen my scrubs and wanted something from me. What had he said? Hecate? Probably a new name for Heroin. Maybe he thought I could get him some.

Still, I was halfway home before I remembered the coffee in my cup holder. I didn’t need it anymore. The scare woke me right up. I drank it anyway, lifting it to my lips with shaky hands. Why did my life have to be so bizarre? I came to Red Grove to get over Gary and move on, but all I’d found was one crisis after another. I wanted a normal life. I didn’t want to be a witch, and I didn’t want a supernatural boyfriend.

I contemplated leaving Red Grove and all of my problems behind. My mind raced while my subconscious drove. It wasn’t the safest way to travel. But before I knew it, the garage door was opening, welcoming me home.

Entering the kitchen from the garage, the smell that wafted around me made my mouth water. On the stove, a bubbling pot stirred itself. The oven opened and a roast slid out, basted itself, and retreated.

“Logan?”

He formed in front of the kitchen island. “Grateful, welcome home. How was your day?”

“Fucked up. Here’s a news flash: I can see people’s souls. Oh, and an old man with drug-induced strength tried to kill me at the coffee shop.”

Logan frowned. “Prudence says now that the caretaker has told you what you are, you’ll start to change. It’s part of the transition until you take your power back. He’s released the magic inside of you.”

I threw my keys on the counter so hard they skidded into the wall. “Isn’t that just the theme of the week? Everyone knows about how this works but me.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Save it.” I was pissed. I wanted my life back. “What is this, Logan?” I waved a hand over the bubbling mess that was my kitchen.

“Dinner. I thought we could have a date.”

“It’s not even ten. You’re hardly opaque. It’s too early for you.”

“I knew you’d be tired, and I wanted to spend some time with you before you fell asleep.”

“I…” What could I say? It was a thoughtful gesture, so why did it feel so suffocating? Even as I asked myself that question, I knew the answer. After what happened at Java Jane’s, I wanted to be alone, to pretend for one night that my house wasn’t haunted. Plus, I wasn’t ready to live with someone so soon after Gary. I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship, especially one that felt forced. Logan lived here, and I lived here. What would that mean for my desire not to choose? I needed time and space. But how did I tell Logan? “I have to talk to Prudence.”

“Why? Have you decided already? And after last night?”

“I haven’t decided anything. I just think I need all of the information from the source. Prudence was the last person to talk to me when I was the witch. I need to know what I said to her. I need to know what she knows.”

“You’re considering it, being with Rick.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. You’re the one who told me I had a choice. It goes both ways, and the only one who can make it is me.”

Logan flickered. Whatever was on the stove began bubbling over. I hurried to turn off the burner. Clarity came to me in Michelle’s words:
How do you know they are what they seem?

I focused my attention on what I could see of Logan’s head. “Be honest. What’s the real reason you don’t want me to become the witch? What would make you want to be a ghost forever?”

By the length of time it took Logan to answer, I knew I was onto something. He blended into the wall, his desire to dodge the inquiry bleeding the energy out of him. But I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

I dug in my heels. “I’ll be here all night. Oh, and the next day, and the next day. You’re kind of stuck with me. Out with it. Why are you afraid to be sorted?”

“I don’t know who I am,” he blurted.

“So? Isn’t that what the witch is supposed to figure out?”

“I don’t know what type of life I’ve lived. I don’t know who I was. Was I a doctor, a mobster, a priest, a criminal? I have no idea. Don’t you get it? I don’t know which way I’ll be sorted.”

“Oh.” It had never occurred to me that Logan could be anything but a good soul. Kindness just seemed like an integral part of his character. But he was right. I had no idea what went into sorting or how much control I’d have if I did it. What if I had to sort him to the underworld? What if Rick ended up eating his soul for supper? The thought was horrifying.

“The worst part is, if I wasn’t a good person, you’ll know. It’ll be you who makes the call. Despite what you think, I do care for you. It’s the major reason I’m not afraid to stay. Being with you, it makes this existence worth it.”

“I can’t be your whole existence.” There, I’d said it. “I’m not ready to share my life with someone yet.” Silence settled between us until we were interrupted by the timer on the oven.

“The roast is done,” he murmured.

“How did you get all of this food? I’m sure I didn’t leave a roast in the refrigerator.”

“Um, yeah, you may owe around fifty dollars to Red Grove Grocery and Pub. I had it delivered.”

“They delivered this on credit?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have taken the package while the delivery boy was distracted. Like, maybe the door opened by itself and the package fell from his hands before the door closed again.”

“I see. I’ll make sure the grocery gets paid, but please, in the future, give me a head’s up first. I won’t allow you to steal anything from anyone and I don’t have enough money to eat like this every night. Plus, I can’t have the residents of Red Grove suspecting this place is haunted.”

“Understood.” I could have been mistaken, but for a moment, Logan appeared to be blushing. I’d never known a ghost could blush, but then Logan was my first.

“Listen, Logan. Dinner smells awesome, but I really need to talk to Prudence before I lose my nerve. Can you get her for me?”

“Why don’t you go up to the attic to see her yourself? She’ll want to show you some things.”

“I tried. It’s locked, and I haven’t been able to find a key.”

Logan walked over to the cabinet and opened the door. A silver canister engraved with the word
coffee
rested in front of the Tupperware. He waited. I pulled down the canister and opened the lid. The top of a key stuck out from the grounds.

“This is why you made my coffee every morning. You haven’t wanted me to go up there.”

He nodded. “You’re right. It should be your decision, either way.”

Prudence Clearwater

O
ld-fashioned and weighty, I rolled the antique key in my hand. The wide end looped around twice like butterfly wings before twisting and melding into the blade of the key. Was it forged by hand? Hundreds of years old? I’d never considered that if this house was built for Isabella it was ancient. A house of secrets.

I climbed the stairs one apprehensive step at a time, glancing back at Logan until I took the bend at the second-floor landing. At the attic door, I paused. What I was about to do would change me forever, no matter what I decided.

The key slid into the lock, and the mechanism began to glow. The door transformed, the chipped paint gleaming white, the wrought iron knob turning to pearl. I opened the door and stepped into pure light and warmth, an open space with soft edges and stained glass. Beyond the windows I could see it was night outside but the light came from within, from the floor and the walls. I took a step inside. The door closed behind me.

“I was wondering when you would come, Grateful.”

A dark-haired woman, about my age, stood near the closest window. Her heart-shaped face turned toward me. She was wearing a nursing uniform from the 1960s: white skirt, white blouse, complete with one of those white square hats that nobody wears anymore.

“Prudence?” The ghost was a far cry from the glowing torso I’d seen on my stairs, but really, who else would be in here?

“Yes, it’s me.” She smiled all the way to her eyes, a peaceful, authentic smile. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown, my dear.”

“But you look so young. Weren’t you, like, seventy when you died?”

“Seventy-two, but who’s counting? That’s the beauty of death. You can take any form from your life. Today, I’m my twenty-six-year-old self. That was the year I first met you.”

“What do you mean? I’m only twenty-two. You would have been fifty when I was born.”

“I mean, the
last
you. As I was saying, I was twenty-six, and you looked to be about the same age, but of course you were much older.”