Page 4 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“This place could be a postcard,” I muttered, passing an honest-to-Goddess apple stand on the corner.

A bell tower stood guard over a small park at the end of the road, with a playground on one side and what looked like a small pumpkin patch on the other. I passed a restaurant and bar, café, bookstore, and the cutest grocery store I’d ever seen. But none of them were the Harvest Hill Inn.

Turning off the main road, the appeal only continued, with smaller shops and the start of residential streets. And there, further back on a corner lot, was a well-maintained Victorian home that stood out from the rest. Ivy-draped, the house was old, weathered, and absolutely charming. Eight over eight windows set in elegant wooden frames, cloaked in a stunning tapestry of early autumn reds and golds…even an oil lamp above the front door. The place was stunning. I parked on the street in front of it and sighed in relief at the vacancy sign in the window.

“I would do bad things for a real bed right now,” I whined, stepping out of the Jeep for the first time in hours. My lower back cracked and my legs cramped, but it felt so damn good.

My thoughts exactly, but for the juicy worms I know are under that fallen branch.

I snorted, straightening to pull my satchel over my shoulder and grab my duffel bag, the last things I owned. “Knock yourself out. I’ll check us in.”

Fenn hopped away to hunt, and I made my way up the front steps and onto the wide porch. Crisp leaves crunched beneath my boots from the tall maple out front, and the scent of woodsmoke followed me past the grinning pumpkins on the bench and through the front door.

The illusions over my hair and eyes were weak, but they remained in place, and the elderly woman behind the front desk didn’t appear to notice anything besides a nondescript girl in tights and worn boots standing before her.

“Oh, you poor dear!”

I hadn’t even squeezed out a “hello” before the woman rounded the desk to get a closer look at me. Her glasses hung around her neck from a string of orange beads, and she swiftly set them on her nose to peer at me like…well, like she cared.

“Officer Tallow called as soon as he left you and warned me of your impending arrival,” she tutted, fussing with my damp cardigan. “Such a young thing driving all alone. He said you looked dead on your feet, and I can tell that it wasn’t a lie.”

With a sad shake of her head and a soft, but insistent arm around my shoulders, she steered me away from the foyer and deeper into the house. I sent a panicked glance over my shoulder for Fenn; he hadn’t come inside yet. I wasn’t too worried. He could find me anywhere, but would it be before or after this old lady had me wrapped in a floral blanket, sipping tea?

It was pure irony at work when said cup of chamomile sat next to a small slice of spice cake on the dining room table. Steam still rose from its surface, and I could smell the cinnamon icing from here. It was all a bit too convenient, but if this was how I went, it was better than being carved up and my magic sucked out of me. At least, that’s what I told myself as I threw caution to the wind and prepared for death by cake.

CHAPTER TWO

“Sit, sit,” the old woman urged, guiding me all the way into the room and gesturing to a chair already pulled out. “I’m Mrs. Haverly by the way, dear,” she continued, “and there’s no use in denying it. I would know you’re hungry even if your stomach wasn’t screeching its displeasure for all to hear. It’s my gift.”

Hungry was an understatement. And turning her down would be rude, right?

My manners left me the second the first bite hit my tongue. The spice cake was delicate and soft, its rich flavor bursting to life. I couldn’t keep myself from inhaling it in less than five bites, and I immediately felt better. Suspiciously so. My head stopped pounding, and even my magic didn’t feel as strained.

I gave the tea a strong side eye before glancing at Mrs. Haverly, only to find her staring keenly, like she could see all my secrets.

“I told you, it’s my gift,” she said, with a cheeky wink.

Alarm bells rang in my head, a warning that something wasn’t normal here. But I wasn’t sure what, exactly. I didn’t keel over from poison; if anything, I had more energy. Mrs. Haverly wasn’t sending flares from the rooftop, announcing to the world that she caught herself a witch, and I was sure if she planned anything nefarious, I would have sensed it by now.

Maybe her gift was good ol’ fashioned hospitality. I still decided to forgo the tea. Just in case. When she realized I wasn’t going to sit there and sip chamomile for the next half hour, she gave a slight nod and waved for me to follow her.

“Come now,” Mrs. Haverly coaxed, “let’s see about getting you a soft place to rest.”

Yes, please.

Back to the front desk we went, where Fenn was now casually perched and waiting with a full belly and a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome creature?” Mrs. Haverly crooned, and Fenn puffed up at the praise.

She could see him? I did a double-take and realized the illusion over him faded. When did that happen, and why hadn’t I felt it? Goddess, I couldn’t be that tired.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I babbled, subtly trying to lift Fenn’s giant ass off the counter, but he refused to budge. “I don’t know how.” Tug. “He.” Pull. “Got inside.”

The glare I sent his way only made him inflate more, and I was half prepared to hex him out the window.

“Nonsense.” She made a small shooing motion and rummaged under the counter. “Any creature as fine as this gentleman is more than welcome to stay.”

Fenn’s cheek sacs grew double in size.