Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Beginnings Read online

  Putting a note of briskness in her voice—she did have paperwork to go through, after all—Lily fixed Sebastian with a stare and asked more firmly, “What do you want, Sebastian? I know you’re up to something.”

  “Well it sounds terrible when you put it like that,” he said, grinning.

  “Sebastian,” she said in a warning tone.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll get to the point. You’re no fun,” he grumbled, hands raised in surrender.

  “I have plenty of fun. It’s called reading books.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.” Now it was Sebastian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Anyway, I need your…consulting services.”

  “You mean you need my help?” Lily asked sweetly, a smug smile pulling at her lips.

  “No, I need you as a consultant, one professional to another.” Putting his coin away, he straightened in the chair, smiling and spreading his hands wide in a disarming gesture. It was obviously meant to reassure her, but she was not impressed.

  “Really? Professional? Since when are you a ‘professional’ witch?”

  Sebastian adopted an indignant look. “Since a while. Can’t you just see it? Sebastian Blackwell: Professional Witch!” he said dramatically, lifting his arm to paint an imaginary sign in the air. “I have business cards and everything.” His hand dove into the back pocket of his jeans and produced a rather bent card, which he flipped onto her desk with a flick of his wrist.

  “Fascinating,” Lily commented, voice fairly dripping with amused sarcasm as she examined the card. The front showed a headshot of Sebastian—handsome without trying, as usual—beside his name and contact details printed in an overly curly font. The back had a stylized monogram in purple and gold.

  “And what services do you offer as a ‘professional’ witch?” she asked, fighting the urge to laugh.

  “Oh, casting out evil spirits, contacting loved ones who’ve passed on, consulting the fates, various potions. You know, the normal stuff superstitious rich people believe in.”

  “Charlatanry, you mean?” Lily asked, eyebrow raised again.

  “Hey! I can actually do most of the stuff people ask for. When they want something impossible, like talking to their dead pet parrot or predicting the lottery, I make something up to keep them happy. Ignorance is bliss and all that. No harm done.”

  Lily gave him a hard stare over her glasses. She hated that saying. Ignorance was one of the least blissful things in the world, in her opinion. She believed that “the truth will make you free,” a saying which was carved into the rafters of McCain Library’s grand reading hall. But she reminded herself that Sebastian wasn’t her problem and got back to the point. “So, what do you need my ‘consulting services’ for?”

  “Well, I got hired for this job, see, and I’ve run across something more up your alley than mine.”

  “Is that so?” Her tone remained disinterested. She’d been pulled into too many of his wild schemes not to be hesitant. Though, to be fair, she’d egged him on in many of those schemes, whenever there was knowledge to be had or a new spell to try. Curiosity often got the better of her, and Sebastian knew it.

  “Yes, it is so.”

  “Explain.”

  “I was hired to cast out this evil spirit, and it turns out the spirit isn’t evil. He’s actually a pretty nice guy. The real culprit is a spell put on the house almost a hundred years ago because of some jilted lover. The spirit has stayed behind to warn people away from the house ever since. So, even though he has, technically, been haunting the house, even if I get him to go away, that doesn’t fix the problem, and I won’t get my money.”

  “Let me guess: You need me to come figure out what the spell is and get rid of it, right?”

  “A very astute conclusion! I’ll give you an award later.” Sebastian gave her a lazy smile and a wink.

  Lily was not amused. “You know, you really shouldn’t insult the person you’re asking help from,” she said, giving him a level stare. “And I still haven’t heard any compelling reason why I should help you.”

  “Ah, yes, well.” Sebastian backpedaled a bit. Lily knew his good looks and charming ways usually got him what he needed, so she took delight in giving him as much trouble as possible. A very small part of her liked to watch him squirm. Well, maybe not so small a part. “Besides helpi—I mean consulting for the sake of our professional friendship, there’s a collection of occult books in the house that the owner has agreed to give me as part of the payment. I would, of course, hand them over to you, should you provide the aforementioned consultation…thingy.”

  Despite her better judgment, Lily’s interest was piqued. New books did that to her. She could never resist learning new things. And if these were genuine books on magic, not silly mumbo jumbo written by someone who thought they were a wizard, they could be valuable indeed. She was always looking to add to the Basement’s collection, not to mention expand her personal library.

  Still mulling over the possibility of new books, she caught sight of Sebastian’s smug smile. She frowned. It annoyed her to be so predictable, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Sebastian knew her well enough to guess what was going on in her head. He knew that as soon as he mentioned books, he’d already won.

  After a few more moments of silence, just to make him sweat, Lily finally nodded. “Fine, I’ll help. And wipe that smug grin off your face, Mr. Blackwell. Those books had better be the real thing, or I’ll have a word with Madam Barrington about all this ‘Professional Witch’ nonsense.”

  Sebastian paled slightly at her threat but covered it with a shrug and a laugh. “As if the old bat could disdain my existence any more than she already does.”

  “If I were you, I’d be more worried about what else she might do besides disdain it. Now, when can we look at this house? I’m not going to shuffle around my work schedule for you.”

  “Why not now?” Sebastian asked, rising and bowing smoothly, arm outstretched towards the door.

  “Hmm…where is it?” Lily asked, considering.

  “South, past Fort Benning. It’s on the Chattahoochee River, a bit north of Eufaula, Alabama, before the river runs into the reservoir. About a two-and-a-half hour drive. If we leave now, we can spend a few hours poking around the house and have you back home by dinnertime.”

  Lily glanced at her watch. It was one o’clock. Her failed date with Jerry felt like years ago already, though it had only been an hour. Despite herself, the prospect of an unknown, malignant spell—and new books to explore—was too tempting to delay.

  “Alright, let’s do it,” she said, standing up from her desk and moving to collect her purse. “You’ll have to meet me at my apartment first, though. I need to change and get a few supplies.” She was still wearing the pretty blue blouse, dark pencil skirt, and high heels she’d donned for her date.

  “Sure thing, Lil.” Sebastian tipped an imaginary hat and started for the door.

  “How many times do I have to tell you—” Lily began, exasperated. But he was already out the door and down the hall. “—don’t call me that,” she finished in a subdued tone. Sighing, she gathered her things and followed him out, locking her office behind her.

  2

  A Crazy Redhead

  The house was gorgeous. Set back in the woods away from the road, its long gravel drive was lined by old, gnarled southern live oaks, some drooping with Spanish moss. Beams of sunlight broke through the foliage here and there, making patterns of gold on the cool, green ground.

  Sebastian pulled his car up around the gravel circle in front of the house, stopping beside the porch steps and turning off the engine. Lily didn’t get out right away, but sat for a moment, taking in the scene and listening to the engine tick quietly as it cooled.

  With two stories and a full attic, the house itself was large. An impressively columned portico spanned the front and sides. The columns rose all the way to the roof, while the floor-to-ceiling second-story windows opened out like doors onto a full balcony that ran the circumfer
ence of the house. Lily could almost picture young ladies in antebellum dresses standing on that balcony, waving goodbye to their sweethearts as the men were leaving a late-night ball.

  She was surprised at how neglected everything looked. The house wasn’t falling down by any means, but clearly no one had lived there for years. The paint was faded and chipped in places. Odd bits of wooden railing surrounding the second story porch had broken off or were sagging. The grounds were overgrown and wild; grass grew up through the gravel of the driveway, showing how rarely anyone drove over it. The windows were cloudy with years of dust, and dead leaves dotted the front porch and steps.

  To Lily, the neglect added to the house’s air of mystery. She couldn’t wait to explore. What secrets might be hidden inside?

  “Come on, let’s take a look,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door.

  Sebastian joined her on the overgrown gravel, and they both stared up at the house—Lily with bright-eyed curiosity, Sebastian with a bored expression, as if he’d seen it all before. Which, of course, he had.

  They climbed the steps onto the porch, old wood creaking beneath their feet as they approached the front door. Sebastian pulled out a large, ornate key from his pocket.

  Lily’s eyebrow rose in question.

  “The owner gave it to me so I could come and go as needed to cast out the ‘evil spirit,’” Sebastian explained, adding air quotes to show his opinion of the man’s ignorance. “He hates the place. Wouldn’t even come inside to show me around. Just handed me the key and made some excuse about a meeting before he took off.”

  Lily grinned. “Aw, you poor thing. He didn’t stick around for you to show off? What a shame.”

  Sebastian only harrumphed in reply, turning to unlock the grand front doors while muttering to himself. Lily caught words like “unprofessional” and “serious business transaction” from where she stood behind him.

  Double doors unlocked, Sebastian pulled both wide open, letting in air and light to the grand front hall. The sight made Lily catch her breath. A large, open room stretched out before her, the space two stories high, its ceiling and walls encrusted with ornate crown moulding. She entered hesitantly, feeling out of place in all the grandeur, and treading lightly on the dusty but smooth wooden floor. Looking up, she marveled at three crystal chandeliers, also covered in dust, hanging suspended above her. A grand staircase wound up and around the edge of the room, leading to the second story. Doors opened to her left and right, and through them she caught glimpses of parlor furniture covered in old sheets. At the far end of the great hall, another set of doors led to a dining room. A massive table filled the space, surrounded by over a dozen chairs, all draped in dust-covered sheets.

  “This place is beautiful,” Lily murmured, half to herself, half to Sebastian who stood behind her, hands in his pockets. “Why did they abandon it?”

  “Feeling a bit chilly?” Sebastian asked, ignoring her question.

  Now that he mentioned it, Lily became aware of a deep chill creeping over her. It wasn’t the normal cool of a shaded and well-ventilated summer home. It was the biting chill of a cold, empty house in winter. Her breath fogged the air in front of her and she shivered.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  “That, m’dear, is the resident ghost, Francis Jackson.” Sebastian grinned, then called out to no one in particular, “Francis, old boy, come out and say hello to my friend, Lily Singer. Remember, I said I’d bring someone who could fix our little problem?”

  The grand hall echoed with his voice, then silence fell. Lily noticed the birdsong and soft rustlings of summer outside now sounded hushed and distant.

  A breath of icy air washed over her and she jumped, looking around for its source. There, between her and Sebastian, a gray shape materialized. Though its edges were fuzzy and indistinct, like smoke, the shape was recognizable as a tall, handsome man in a dressing gown. He had a trim mustache and goatee and looked to have been in his mid-thirties when he died.

  “Hello, Miss Singer. Welcome to my home,” the ghost said, voice as faint and wispy as he was. He gave a flourishing bow, reminding her so much of Sebastian she felt the momentary urge to giggle. Behind his gallantry, however, she could hear a note of deep sadness. She wondered how he’d died.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” Lily said, standing awkwardly. Should she curtsy? Bow?

  The ghost of Francis Jackson waved his hand, dismissing her formality. “Please, call me Francis,” he said.

  Lily nodded, not sure what else to say. Would it be rude to ask how he’d come to haunt this house? She shivered again, involuntarily.

  “Do excuse me, my lady. I forget sometimes how very…chilling my presence can be.” Francis did something, and the room got warmer, though still not as warm as it ought to have been.

  Lily muttered a thanks, trying not to blush.

  Sebastian saved her from the awkward moment by suggesting they all go sit down so Francis could fill her in on the details of their “little problem.”

  Francis led them to a side parlor, well lit by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the front and side porches. It was filled with several wingback chairs, various couches, some side tables, and even a piano in the corner. All were draped with dusty sheets, and one chaise lounge already had a Sebastian-sized indent in it. Obviously this wasn’t the first time he’d been here chatting with Francis.

  The two humans settled onto pieces of furniture. Lily eased gingerly into a wingback, trying to disturb the antique chair as little as possible, while Sebastian flung himself across the already-dented chaise lounge as if he owned it. Lily glared disapprovingly in his direction, but he ignored her.

  Francis, too, sat in a wingback chair, though part of his insubstantial body sank beneath the sheet draped across it, so all they could see of him was from the knees down and the chest up. The ghost glanced longingly to one side, at the end table beside his chair. Lily wondered if it had held his pipe or snuff box in years past.

  “I was born in the late 1800s and raised in this house,” Francis began in his wispy voice. “My father was a wealthy businessman, and he built it for his wife, who came from rich plantation stock and was used to such grandeur. I grew up rather spoiled, I am sorry to say, and in my younger years was quite the ladies’ man. My parents threw balls and parties almost every week, and at each one I would woo another girl. But one night, I met a ravishing young lady named Annabelle Witherspoon. She was the picture of fiery passion, with long red curls and luscious lips. I was enamored at once and employed every gentlemanly and romantic gesture to gain her good graces. We fell deeply in love, and I proposed to her soon after. It was rash of me, I know, but I was young and drunk on love.

  “Sadly, the naive perfection was not to last. I had proposed heedlessly and ignored many warning signs. Annabelle was witty, quick to laugh, and kind-hearted in her own way, yet exceedingly vague about her family and past. It was only later, after severe disapproval from my parents prompted an investigation into her background, that I discovered the ruin of her family name and the loss of their fortune several years before. In addition, she displayed frightening mood swings, as sweet as a buttercup in spring one moment, then cross and unpleasant as a spoiled child the next.

  “I ignored these episodes, passing them off as isolated outbursts, perfectly normal in one as fiery and passionate as she. But when I confronted her about her family, the mood swings increased. Strange things started to happen when she was in one of her moods. Small trinkets flew across the room toward me of their own accord, as if she had thrown them, but not by her own hand. Objects which were not there before appeared underfoot, tripping me. Doors with no keys locked, holding me prisoner to her whims.

  “Finally, my parents put their foot down and insisted I break off the engagement. They would let no such unruly, red-headed waif into their household, they declared. I still loved her, but I was nothing without my parents’ fortune to fund my
lavish lifestyle, and I feared they would cut me off should I stand beside her. I tried to put her away quietly, and asked, rather ashamedly, for the return of the ring I had given her, as it was my grandmother’s.”

  Francis’s wispy voice grew even more quiet as he recounted the painful event. “As I had feared, she flew into a rage, calling me ghastly names which, on reflection, I admit I fully deserved. Yet, having been jilted by her one true love, and with no recourse, she relented, declaring I would regret my faithless cowardice. She began throwing things at me—anything in the room she could lift—and shouted words I did not understand, perhaps from some foreign language, yelling as one crazed that I and my house would be cursed forevermore. Then she fled, sobbing, and I never saw her again.

  “Though shaken and ashamed, I diverted my attention to other women and fine wine, eventually finding a respectable girl of good family and fortune to please my parents. We were wed, and my unfortunate past seemed forgotten. But alas, happiness was not to be mine. Slowly, imperceptibly, a pall crept over the house. It drove my parents to depression and sickness. My father was constantly distracted, making poor business decisions and endangering the family fortune. My wife grew cold and distant, and we fought often. An air of misfortune seemed to hang over us. I drowned my sorrows in the bottle, knowing, somehow, that I was to blame, and wondering what Annabelle had done to us. Sometimes, I even wondered if she had been a witch.”