A Very Merry Witchmas Read online

  Contents

  Back Cover

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A Very Merry Witchmas

  (Main Street Witches #4)

  It's Christmas in Banshee Creek and Kat Ramos and her witch friends face their greatest challenge yet—baking. It's the First Banshee Creek Holiday Cookie Contest and the girls all want to win. But cooking can be tricky in the Most Haunted Town in America, particularly when a creepy urban legend is making the rounds...and there is a formidable new witch in town. Will Kat win the coveted first prize, or will the new arrivals make her life hell...literally.

  CHAPTER ONE

  KAT STARED at the blackened lumps of dough in dismay.

  Her kitchen was a mess, with spilled flour everywhere, egg yolks on the counters, and coconut flakes strewn over the wood floors. The acrid stench of burnt cookies filled the room and she asked herself, not for the first time, why she'd agreed to enter Banshee Creek's first Christmas cookie contest.

  "Because Mars is in Scorpio and that makes people commit to overambitious enterprises," Luanne LaRue proclaimed.

  Kat stared at her in shock. "Did you just read my mind?

  "You said it out loud," the fortune teller said, licking her spoon. "Don't worry, mind reading is not my thing."

  The fortune teller was wearing a red and green apron proclaiming "Happy Winter Solstice" and a big bright smile, and looked far from telepathic.

  "Good," Kat replied, as Luanne got into enough trouble with just her fortunetelling. She didn't need additional powers. "And you know you're not supposed to eat the uncooked batter, right?"

  "I tell you, Mars in Scorpio is bad news." Luanne gave the spoon another lick. "It makes people reckless."

  Kat considered her burnt cookies. "I can see that."

  "And wait until Saturday," Luanne warned. "That's when the red planet hits Antares."

  "That's bad?" Or, more to the point, how bad? Luanne's ominous predictions ranged from annoying to catastrophic.

  Luanne nodded. "Vivian Robson said that Antares causes malevolence, destructiveness and," she picked up a coal-black cookie, "fatalities."

  Kat laughed. Vivian Robson was an early twentieth-century British astrologer and one of Luanne's favorite authors. If Robson said it, their local fortune teller would treat it as gospel truth. "I hit the trifecta then."

  Luanne grabbed the cookie tray, walked to the stainless-steel trashcan in the corner and dumped the contents inside. "Don't worry," she said, making sure every single crumb made it into the trash. "You'll master this recipe before the cookie exchange."

  Kat eyes widened. "For sure? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

  Her friend's fortunetelling abilities were legendary. If Luanne said Kat would produce a decent batch of cookies, she could take that to the bank.

  Luanne considered the question then grimaced. "No, I'm just saying it to make you feel better." She put the cookie tray in the sink. "Let's try again, oh great coven leader."

  Kat sighed and picked up the recipe for snowball coconut cookies. "Maybe I should have picked something simpler, like chocolate chip."

  "No," Luanne said, her eyes narrowed. "Stay away from the chocolate chips."

  Kat was about to ask what she meant when Fiona burst into the kitchen carrying two grocery bags.

  "Out of my way," the candle maker said. "I'm commandeering your oven because mine is too small. My new cookie sheets don't fit inside."

  Kat wasn't surprised. Fiona lived in a tiny studio apartment on Main Street and her cooking area consisted of a counter, a fridge, and a toaster oven. In light of that, her cookie-baking plans were woefully ambitious.

  "Sure," Kat replied. "But I thought you were skipping the contest and doing a holiday cookie candle instead."

  "Oh, I'm still doing the candle theme." Fiona dropped her bags on the counter and took out several rolls of marzipan dough. "I'm just going to do cookies too. That fifty thousand dollar prize is too good to ignore."

  Kat silently agreed. That's why she was entering the contest as well. The prize would finally enable her to buy the Banshee Creek Botánica from Yolanda. Kat had been managing the store for a while now and she loved it, but she needed capital to make the final purchase. The contest would give her that chance.

  If she won, that is. She glanced at the burnt cookie in her hand, the coconut curls charred into wispy coal ribbons. Winning seemed unlikely right now.

  "What are you making, Luanne?" Fiona asked.

  "Oh, I'm just writing the inserts for Amy's green-and-white fortune cookies." She shrugged. "I wasn't going to win anyway."

  Ah, to have Luanne's powers for just one second.

  If this were a regular cookie contest, Kat wouldn't even bother entering. She didn't stand a chance against professional bakers. This event was different, though. This time it was the Banshee Creek business owners who would compete against each other.

  The catch was that only amateurs were allowed to compete.

  Her competition was Caine Magnuson and Cassie Jones, the heads of PRoVE, the local paranormal investigations group; Amy Chan, who owned a Chinese restaurant, but could barely boil water; and Sarah Parker, the manager of the local Poltergeist Pizza franchise. Sarah was British so she could actually bring water to a boil, but that seemed to be her only culinary achievement.

  Fiona was now joining the group, but as far as Kat could tell, the owner of the local candle shop thought take-out was a food group.

  That meant Kat had a chance. Maybe.

  "You should make something," Fiona told Luanne. "Even if you don't win, it will be great publicity. The competition will be broadcasted over the Internet, and PRoVE is expecting a large audience."

  "Really?" Kat said, alarmed. "Is Caine planning to, er, do something?"

  The prospect was scary. The competitors would have to bake their cookies in full view of the cameras, and Caine was capable of unspeakable acts if his ratings were at stake.

  "Yes," Fiona said. "But he said we didn't have to worry because it would be perfectly safe."

  Kat snorted. "Caine's definition of 'safe' is entirely too flexible for my taste."

  "I'll think about joining," Luanne said, looking doubtful. "But my business doesn't really lend itself to a holiday theme."

  "There's the equinox," Fiona noted.

  "And stars," Kat added. "You could do star-shaped cookies."

  Luanne raised a brow. "Seriously?"

  Fiona nodded. "They have glitter sprinkles now. You could use those."

  Luanne rolled her eyes. "You know my business is more than that, right?"

  "It's marketing," Fiona suggested gently. "You need a clear brand."

  Luanne sighed, taking off her apron. "I'll think about it. Like I said, Mars in Scorpio makes people do crazy things." She hung the garment on a nearby hook. "In any case, I have to bid you adieu. Caine wants me to do some readings."

  "For the contest?"
Kat asked. "Why?"

  "He's not sure about the judges," Luanne replied. "He thinks they're charlatans."

  "Uh, exactly how can you be a cookie judging charlatan?" Fiona asked. "Always pick the worst cookie?"

  "I could use a judge like that," Kat muttered, glancing at her burnt goods.

  "Not that kind of fraud," Luanne said. "Caine doesn't really care about the cookies. They're just a publicity stunt. He thinks the judges fake paranormal investigators."

  "The Celebrity Medium?" Fiona asked laughing. "And the Ghost Talk guy? Why would he think that?"

  Luanne nodded. "Exactly. He thinks that a bleached-blonde Hollywood floozy who claims to channel spirits and a radio show host who thinks he talks to ghosts may be a little unreliable." She grimaced. "I read fortunes, so, really, I can't judge, but he wants me to check them out anyway."

  "I guess you're our fraud authority now," Kat said.

  "Oh, joy," Luanne replied, picking up her emerald green tote bag with the Madame Esmeralda logo. "I'll see you guys later. Don't stress about the cookies."

  "Bye," Kat replied, with a mournful glance at the porcelain bowl that held her remaining dough. It was time for another try.

  "Looks like our taste tester ran for the hills," Fiona said, taking out a box of shortbread cookies. "Is Liam around? We need a new guinea pig."

  "He's at the high school. They're setting up the cooking stations for the contest."

  The cookie contest doubled as a fundraiser for Banshee Creek High School. Which, come to think of it, was rather worrisome. The profits from the contest had to cover the fifty-thousand dollar prize and fund the high school band's new uniforms. That meant Caine had to attract a lot of viewers.

  How was he planning to do that?

  Her train of thought was interrupted by Fiona, who had poured the cookies into a plastic bag and was now busy hammering them to smithereens with a rolling pin.

  "What are you doing?" Kat asked, shaping her dough into balls, then covering them with coconut shavings. "And why are you using pre-bought cookies? Isn't that cheating?"

  "Nope," Fiona said, still banging. "It's part of the recipe. I'm making Swedish dammsugare."

  Kat stared at the mess of cookie crumbs. "What are those?"

  "It's a traditional Swedish dessert. You mix cookie crumbs and butter and lots of alcohol to make a dough, then you wrap it in marzipan and dip it in chocolate. The cookies are cylinder shapes, and I'm planning to make little marzipan wicks and flames to make them look like candles." She gave the bag one last whack. "I'll probably lose some points for using pre-made ingredients, but I should make them up in creativity and booziness."

  She poured the crumbs into a bowl and opened a bottle filled with amber liquid.

  "This is puscht liqueur," Fiona said, pouring it into the bowl. "I have to soak the crumbs in it until they soften. Then I channel my inner kindergartener and shape them into cylinders."

  "That's harder than it looks," Kat commented.

  Fiona glanced at the misshapen lumps Kat had placed on her baking tray. "I can see that."

  Gee, everyone was a critic.

  Fiona laughed. "Don't worry. I don't think the judges expect perfection. They seem like easy going types."

  "Do you know them?" Kat asked, shaping another cookie.

  "I know Claire Delacourt, the Celebrity Medium person. She bought my Sorceress' Best séance candles for her television show, and I've gotten a lot of exposure from her."

  "Does she cook?"

  Fiona frowned. "Not as far as I know. She has a travel show where she goes around to haunted or spooky places and talks to spirits."

  Yep, that sounded like an ideal judge for a Banshee Creek cooking competition.

  "Are Caine's suspicions justified?" Kat asked. "Is she for real?"

  Fiona shrugged. "She's gimmicky and you know how Caine hates that. He's all about research and documentation, and Claire wears skull scarves and drives around in a vintage hearse with a Chihuahua called Pookie, which must be short for Spookie, or something like that. Caine uses up-to-date equipment and analyzes electromagnetic waves, while Claire touches her hand to her forehead and tells people that the dead guy's spirit is standing right behind them."

  Kat laughed. "Caine would definitely not approve of that."

  "No." Fiona stirred her cookie mixture vigorously. "Plus she's a lot more popular than PRoVE. People adore her show. I think Caine's guys resent that."

  "He's going to try to take her down, isn't he?" Kat asked.

  "Maybe," Fiona answered, examining the marzipan packets with a doubtful expression. "But he probably shouldn't. Claire Delacourt is a savvy businesswoman who doesn't take crap from anyone. I fear this time Caine has met his match."

  Kat shrugged. She was more worried about herself. She stared at the not-very-round-at-all spheres on her tray. Hopefully, savvy Ms. Claire Delacourt wasn't much of a cook.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BANSHEE CREEK High School. Ah, memories.

  Liam Hagen regarded the low-slung building with mixed feelings. His alma mater looked harmless enough, with orange brick, modernist windows, and a large statue of an aggressive-looking owl near the entrance.

  The statue was new, a gift from fabulously wealthy graduate and former high school football player, Gabe Franco.

  The school's football team was called the Banshees and their mascot was the barn owl. You'd think it would be hard to make a fluffy barn owl look intimidating, but Gabe's sculptor had managed it.

  The owl, however, wasn't the scariest thing in the school.

  "C'mon," Caine said, walking toward the entrance with his trademark long stride. "We don't have that much time."

  Liam followed the burly biker at a more leisurely pace. "Why do we have to do this here?"

  "I don't know," Caine replied, fingering the tassels on his leather vest nervously. "It seemed like an easy venue. We can use the cafeteria and lab equipment if we need to."

  The defensive tone was unusual for the PROVE leader, who was usually pathologically self-assured.

  But that didn't surprise Liam. Banshee Creek High School had that effect on people.

  "Anyway, why is everyone so reluctant to work in this building?" Caine asked. "I'd love to get a good investigation going here, but they don't allow teams in, which is a pity."

  "You didn't grow up here," Liam replied. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Is it the ghost?" Caine asked skeptically. "It didn't sound that scary to us."

  Liam stifled a sigh. He knew from experience that nothing ever sounded scary to the PRoVE leader.

  "Not really," Liam replied.

  Lorena Wills had supposedly been found dead in the high school gym after the homecoming dance in 1956. She'd suffered from a heart condition, so the authorities concluded that the death was due to natural causes. Still, this was Banshee Creek, and several students subsequently reported seeing a spectral teen in a chiffon gown and corsage wandering through the hallways. A few boys even claimed that the spirit had asked them to dance with her in the gym. The legend was that anyone who accepted her invitation would be found dead the next morning. However, the school had experienced no suspicious deaths in the past fifty years. Lorena Wills, it seemed, was harmless.

  "We just don't like the high school," Liam muttered, as they entered the building.

  That was undoubtedly true. The school was fine for all intents and purposes. It was one of Virginia's highest scoring high schools and it sent most of its graduates to college. The football games were well-attended, and the marching band, one the best in the state, was known for its yearly Halloween concert. They'd won a competition the previous year for their rendition of Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain."

  And, yet, the locals avoided the place. Tourists joked that it was the inspiration for Sunnyvale High in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series. They claimed, incorrectly, that Banshee Creek's geomagnetic fault lay right under the building.

  The townsfolk ignored such rumors. The
y quietly donated money for the school and cheerfully volunteered to improve the landscaping and clean the grounds, but they avoided going into the building. At least the adults did. The kids had no choice.

  And neither did the teachers. That's why Banshee Creek had the highest starting teacher salaries in the state.

  Even the PTA meetings were held at the town library.

  The kids were fine. They went to school, complained about classes, and cheered their teams as they battled their Middleburg rivals. Whatever spectral miasma polluted the linoleum hallways didn't seem to affect the students, who got good grades, collected trophies, and graduated with cheerful regularity.

  But the adults were different.

  "I noticed," Caine said, leading the way through a corridor decorated with inspirational passages. Do Your Best. The Sky's the Limit. Reach for the Stars. An enterprising student had added and you'll burn into a cinder to the last one.

  Kids these days. There were a couple of half-hearted holiday decorations, including an owl dressed like Santa Claus and a banner wishing the students a happy nondenominational winter solstice holiday.

  "I thought my team would rebel when I said we were doing the contest in the high school," Caine continued. "I suspect Gus will call in sick that day, and Gus never calls in sick, not even after we visited that sketchy taco truck in New Mexico."

  "I wouldn't be surprised." Liam tried to remember when his attitude toward the school had changed. He'd returned from his freshman year at college and attended a few football games. He hadn't shunned the school then. He'd gone to Holly's graduation after his sophomore year and it had been fine.

  Then he'd taken a summer job doing drywall and been assigned to fix one of the gym walls. He'd spent much of that summer stuck in the hellishly hot basketball court laying mud. And every single day he'd had this weird feeling, as if someone were watching him, expecting him to do...

  Something.

  That's when he'd realized he didn't like the high school anymore, and that the rest of the adults in town seemed to share his unease.

  "Here we are," Caine exclaimed, pushing open a pair of steel doors.