Page 2 of Of Magic and Murder

Pretending that I don’t see the ghost grabbing a set of keys from a small pile on the far side of his desk where he was keeping them out of sight until now, I ask, “Could you just please check again? I really need a car today.”

“I told you⁠—”

I give him my most innocent look. “Please.”

“Fine, but hang on. The computer rebooted.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a very unprofessional curse word; luckily, he’s mortal, and there’s no wisps of green surrounding him at all as he spits it out. “Damn thing always does this. Just give me a second, would you?”

Too busy glaring at his screen, he doesn’t notice the keys floating toward me. Then again, I’m not surprised. When humans don’t believe in magic, they don’t see it, either.

Keeping my hand low, I turn it so that my palm is facing up. The ghost drops the keys and I fold my fingers over them.

I offer the clerk at the desk an impish smile. “Take your time. I’m just going to step over here and see if I can find any information about my reservation.”

The way he ignores me… oh, yeah. I’m sure he’s not interested in helping me at all. Ah, well. A quick peek up at the ghost who jerks his head to the right when he notices that I’m looking at him again tells me that I have someone who’s happy to do more than just use his spectral energy to levitate the keys my way.

“Follow me,” the ghost says in a deep, slightly accented voice that is rough with age and his current condition. “I’ll show you where they keep the cars.”

Grabbing my large suitcase with one hand, I keep the keys pressed against my palm and grab the handle of my carry-on, pulling them both behind me as I follow the ghost away from the row of car rental counters.

So… I can see ghosts.

It’s not an ‘always’ thing. And ghosts aren’t as common as you think. To linger in the human world, you need to have unfinished business that is so pressing, it keeps you from crossing over. Then, if you finish it, you continue on your way. Besides, even if you are a ghost, you can choose whether or not to materialize in front of a seer, and that’s only if they have the spectral energy to even allow appearing in the first place. I’m a witch. In many communities—both supernatural and human—us spellcasters don’t have the best reputations. Ghosts usually avoid me… unless they want something.

Trevor Coleman was a gate agent who worked at this airport from the day it opened in 1950 until he had a heart attack on the job forty-three years later at the age of sixty-seven and died at the gate. Because the airport was his life, he’s haunted it ever since. I learn all about him as he guides me out of the airport, down to the parking deck, and near the window where a sweet woman takes the key from me, double-checks my active reservation, and tells me that my rental car will be right out.

While I’m waiting for the car, I turn to Trevor. During our chat, he only asked once why I could see him, and when I told him I was a witch, he just nodded as though that made as much sense as a man haunting an airport after his tragic death. Still, he did something for me, and—even if he hadn’t—I feel compelled to do something for him.

“I’m in town to do a job,” I tell Trevor, keeping my voice low, “but once I’m done… I can help you get closure and cross over if that’s what you need. You helped me. Let me do that for you.”

He waves his hand. “Nah. I like it here. As for helping you… you seem like a nice girl. And me? I just like screwing with fellas who make having a pencil dick everyone’s problem.”

I choke at his blunt answer. Covering my mouth with my hand, I turn the choking sound into a cough as I try to keep myself from snickering within earshot of the nearby employee.

His eyes brighten. “You know what I mean by ‘pencil dick’, yeah?” He lifts up his ghostly hand, folding all of his fingers down until all that’s extended is his pinky. He bends it at the first knuckle. “He’s got this in his trousers and he gets his kicks fucking with sweet girls by lying about their rentals being missing when I could see the reservation on his screen before I blew it on him.”

Ha! I knew I booked a car!

More to the point, nothing I can offer does a thing to change his mind. Trevor stays with me until the shiny silver car pulls up in front of us. Only then does he fade away, out of sight, and I bow my head in a silent goodbye right as the driver hops out of the rental, offering me the keys. I accept them, place my luggage into the trunk, and then I’m off.

I only see one other ghost on the drive over to Moonburrow. A hazy hitchhiker along one of the highways, I would’ve stopped to help her if I could. For one, she winked out before I could even cross a lane to get close to her. For another, I wasn’t fibbing when I said that I was here to do a job. As a member of the national coven in Salem, it’s my duty to do what I can for my fellow supes in need when they petition for my particular brand of magic.

I had just finished a job on the other side of the country, looking forward to a few days to unwind in Salem before being sent on another mission. I won’t say I was thrilled to discover that Serena agreed I’d fly out to Moonburrow right away, but I had no choice. One of my sister witches from the Moonburrow coven suggested my services to the chief deputy, and when he called Serena to request our help, the head witch didn’t even hesitate.

I wouldn’t have, either. Of course I wouldn’t have. This is my calling, even if my stomach starts tying itself into knots the moment I sense the invisible border of Moonburrow. The local coven has warded the town so that it keeps those uninvited out, and I hold my breath as I drive the rental car past the wards.

The witches in town know that I’m coming. So does the chief deputy—the male currently in charge of Moonburrow while the local sheriff is away on his honeymoon. Anxiety said that the spell would keep me out, while fifteen years in this line of work tells me that, if they’re desperate enough to call on a cursebreaker with my reputation, they need me.

Serena’s instructions are that I’m to stay with the local coven at their main house. The head witch in Moonburrow is Delilah, and she’s expecting me. But before I can introduce myself to her, I’m supposed to meet with Chief Deputy Lobo who is probably wondering if I crashed the car and I’m dead in a ditch somewhere since the luggage snafu and the rental car issue means that I’m already an hour later than my initial itinerary said I’d be.

I hate being late almost as much as I hate flying, and while I’d love to unpack, have some tea, and rest for a few moments, I’m here because there’s a supe who needs me, and I’ll feel terrible if I make them wait that much longer if I can solve their problem.

Pausing only to double-check the address I have for the sheriff station and plugging it into my maps app, I head from the outskirts of Moonburrow with the mountains at my back into the sweet, cozy downtown area where I’ll hopefully find the chief deputy.

I don’t know much about him other than that he’s the acting sheriff, and he’s currently investigating a murder that might not really be a murder. That’s where I come in. There’s a ghostly shade of a possibly dead supe in Moonburrow. An opossum shifter, I’m told, and while his ‘dead’ body was found in a dumpster, there are credible reports that his ghost is hovering around town, hoping someone can figure out what happened to him.

The same sister witch that offered the chief deputy my name came to check on the poor shifter. Olivia is the most senior healer in Moonburrow, I’m told, and her diagnosis is that Ashton Morgan isn’t actually dead.

He’s cursed.