A Very Merry Witchmas Read online

  They gymnasium was just as Liam remembered. Striped walls bearing the school's colors—purple, black, and white—and the floor was a gray composite with purple and white flecks. Championship banners hung from the ceiling—apparently the baseball team had beaten Middleburg last summer—and posters hung from the walls.

  It was essentially unchanged from his high school days, when he'd been front guard for the basketball team and they'd consistently get trounced by the Middleburg team. Those games always brought out the crowds.

  Ah, nothing like being humiliated in front of your peers.

  Today, however, the place was empty except for two PRoVE staffers who seemed to be counting electric outlets.

  "We're going to need extension cords," Liam noted. "That means a Fire and Rescue permit."

  He said the words with no small amount of trepidation. Their last food-related contest, held at the famously haunted Rosewood mansion, had turned into an electrical catastrophe. Gavin McKay, the town's fire chief, would not want a repeat of that.

  "That's not going to be a problem," Caine asserted, obviously lying through his teeth. "We sent them the basic layout with six cooking stations. All Gavin needs to do is approve it."

  "Famous last words," Liam muttered.

  "Nonsense," Caine said. "The counters will go there." He pointed to the right side of the gym. "Each contestant will bring a cooler with their ingredients. They'll get to take turns using the ovens and an assigned fridge space."

  "How long will we be using power?"

  "About eight hours."

  Liam winced. Oh, Fire & Rescue would love that.

  "Will you be using special lighting? Do you need power for that?"

  Caine scratched his head. "I guess."

  Liam sighed. "Did you put that in the permit application?"

  Caine shook his head. "Nope."

  "You have to amend it, then."

  Caine nodded unhappily. "Gavin isn't going to like that."

  No, the Fire Chief would hate it. "You probably should do it as quickly as possible."

  "Will do." The biker glanced at the wall behind them. "But first, I want to talk to you about the judges' station."

  Liam considered the space. "There are three judges, right?"

  "Yes, all of them celebrities. Elizabeth Hunt will be the Banshee Creek judge."

  "Good choice." Elizabeth was their local real estate agent, but she was also the star of the House Haunters television show.

  "Then we have Jeff Santos from Ghost Talk and Claire from Celebrity Medium coming."

  Liam stared at his friend. Was it his imagination or was there a scathing edge to Caine's voice?

  The PRoVE leader rolled his eyes. "If the voices in their heads don't lead them astray, that is."

  Nope, it wasn't his imagination.

  "I take it you don't like these people very much," Liam said carefully.

  Caine waved the comment away. "Oh, Jeff is fine. We've done a couple of hunts with him. He gets carried away, but he's an okay guy, very cooperative. He brings us to his show, and we, in turn, give him a lot of promo. That's how you have to be in this business. You can't be too competitive."

  "I take it she's ambitious?"

  Caine's jaw tightened. "She's the top-rated paranormal show on television right now, but she doesn't play well with others. We've had a couple of, eh, projects together, and she's been difficult to work with."

  Liam didn't know what to say. He'd never seen Caine this upset with someone before. The PRoVE CEO took great pride on his professional demeanor. He must really detest this Claire person.

  "And the things she comes up with make no sense. Like the Kensington Runestone. Who even investigates the Kensington Runestone? It's stupid."

  "What's that?" Liam asked, racking his brain, trying to remember if he'd ever heard of it.

  "It's a famous fraud from Minnesota. A Swedish-American farmer claimed he'd found a tablet that proved that fourteen-century Vikings established a settlement in America. It was debunked in nineteen ten." Caine threw up his arms. "And this woman claims that it was a Scandinavian demon-summoning artifact. For Pete's sake, they proved it was fake more than a hundred years ago."

  "Demons?" Liam asked, alarmed.

  "Yes, that's her thing. She likes to argue that most ghost stories are actually records of demonic attacks. She claims her Chihuahua is a spirit hellhound, and that it protects her from harm. "

  "A Chihuahua hellhound?"

  "I know, right? And yet she's insanely popular with hordes of adoring fans who show up at all the conventions with leather jackets and stuffed Chihuahuas. Meanwhile, people who are doing real science, gathering and analyzing data, are ignored. She's funny and all, but I just don't understand. It must be her crazy hair."

  Liam smiled. A show about a joke-cracking demon hunter and her trusty Chihuahua hellhound sounded like must-see television. Too bad Caine couldn't see that.

  "If you dislike her so much, why did you invite her?" he asked.

  "I had to," Caine sighed. "She's from Banshee Creek. Her family has been around since forever. In fact, she attended this high school."

  Liam frowned. "Claire? You don't mean Claire Delacourt?"

  "That's her. She was voted 'Most Likely to Reenact the Exorcist' in the Banshee Creek High yearbook. I'm definitely putting that in her intro."

  Liam remembered a shy, dark-haired girl with kohl-lined gray eyes, who wore a lot of black. Claire had, as one might put it, been goth before goth was cool. He hadn't known she'd been into the occult, but this was Banshee Creek. You just couldn't escape it. She now had a successful paranormal show? Good for her.

  "Claire's coming back home?" Liam asked. "Nice."

  "If you say so," Caine said, his tone indicating that he didn't agree at all. "A chunk of the cookie contest show will be about the local-girl-turned-demon-hunter returning to her hometown."

  He seemed depressed by the thought.

  "Sounds like you're giving her a nice welcome," Liam said.

  Caine scratched his head. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way—"

  "Because we're going to take her down." One of the PRoVE staffers intoned as he approached Caine with a notepad. He was young, tall, and thin, with a wispy goatee and a sepulchral demeanor. Liam recognized him as one of the high school kids who'd helped out with the Hagen House documentary. The one who'd wanted to smear fake blood all over the marble foyer. Jeffrey? James?

  Caine grabbed the pad. "Thanks for the floor plan, Jonas. But let's not be too hasty about the Delacourt thing. We still don't have any smoking guns."

  Jonas was not cowed. If anything, the teenager looked even more stubborn. "Oh, we'll have enough smoke for a rock'n'roll concert. I'll make sure of that."

  CHAPTER THREE

  "CAINE WANTS me to what?" Kat asked, aghast.

  She was opening her store and her husband's surprising words almost made her drop her keys. She took off her glove and turned the cold metal key, unlocking the door to the Banshee Creek Botánica.

  Liam grimaced. "He wants you to research the Delacourt family. You They lived in Luanne's house, remember?"

  He was carrying two boxes full of Magical Coconut Snowflake Cookies—that was the name Kat had picked for her contest entry—and he did not look happy.

  "They didn't live in Luanne's house," Kat corrected, as she opened the door and entered the shop. "Honoria Delacourt died there while staying with family friends."

  At least that was what Luanne claimed. Anyway, why was Caine interested in the Delacourts? As a relative newcomer to town, Kat didn't know much about the family. Their name was on one of the library plaques, and she had the vague feeling that one of the creepy town hall portraits belonged to a Delacourt, but that was about it.

  "Right, I should have known that," Liam said, setting the boxes on the counter. "Claire claims that her family has been demon-hunting since the eighteen hundreds and Caine thinks that's ridiculous. He wants to debunk her."

  Kat frow
ned. The last thing she needed right now was a crazy PRoVE crusade. Ever since the "Lucky Ghost" Ponzi schemes hit town the local paranormal investigators had adopted a zero tolerance policy toward fraudsters. "Why isn't Holly doing the research? She's our super-librarian with the mad research skills."

  Liam didn't answer, but his silence relayed a lot of information.

  "Let me guess," Kat drawled. "Holly told Caine to get lost."

  Liam nodded. "Apparently Ben is a big fan of Pookie, the Hellhound Chihuahua."

  Kat smiled. Liam's nephew loved all things cute and furry. "He's pretty cute. Fiona and I were watching clips while we waited for our cookies to bake. That scene where he goes after the revenant spirit is hilarious."

  "Well, Caine thinks the cynophobic revenant spirit is fake and he wants to prove it."

  Kat raised a brow. "In that case, he's going to have to do it without me. I'm one hundred percent hash-tag TeamPookie."

  Liam laughed, glancing at the cookie boxes. "I guess alienating a contest judge is not a good idea."

  "No, it isn't. And I'm in it to win it. In a few weeks, this place," she spread out her arms, "will be all mine. We're talking manifest destiny here."

  Liam smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Good luck."

  "Where are you going?" Kat asked, as he headed for the door.

  "I have to take an amended permit request to the fire station," he answered, opening the door. "Otherwise, the Chief will have my head."

  Kat grimaced. The unending stream of permits was one of the few things she disliked about Banshee Creek. Living in a magical town had its downside, plenty of mishaps and accidents, and the town authorities tried to keep the disasters under control by requiring copious amounts of paperwork for every tiny little thing.

  "Have fun with that," she said.

  Liam chuckled and left the store. It wasn't until he was gone that she realized one important fact.

  He hadn't tasted her cookies.

  Sneaky, very sneaky. Well, Liam wasn't as smart as he thought. When he came home for dinner, the cookies would be waiting for him.

  In the meantime, she placed the boxes in a corner, ready for an unwitting taste-tester to visit her store.

  Then she busied herself with her new display. The botánica was already decorated for the holiday season, with a Christmas tree covered with Mexican tin ornaments depicting various aspects of the mother goddess Tonantzin, and various wreaths and garlands decorated with sacred symbols.

  Kat was particularly proud of her candle-studded yule logs, which a local artist had carved with red and green horse shapes. She'd recently become fascinated by the tales of the Scandinavian dísir, female fertility deities similar to the Valkyries, which were worshipped in midwinter. The logs were meant to honor them.

  The reference was obscure, but Banshee Creek attracted a sophisticated, even jaded, clientele that was always looking for something different, and the logs were selling like hotcakes.

  In honor of the cookie contest, however, she was adding a cookbook section to her Christmas displays. The books were eclectic—she had a New Orleans voodoo recipe book next to a tome dedicated to Amish food hexes—but they all had holiday recipes, which she'd copied and framed. It was a good idea, but she was having trouble converting all the books and frames into a cohesive display.

  She was bending over a particularly tricky combination of books that kept falling down when she heard a loud bark behind her.

  She jumped, and the book—Patagonian Food and Religion—came tumbling down. Someone walked behind her and picked it up.

  "I'm so sorry." The dulcet voice was strangely familiar. "Pookie can be naughty that way."

  Kat looked up and found a bulge-eyed Chihuahua staring at her. He lay in the arms of a stunning beauty with long whitish hair—the trendy kind that required expensive shampoos and a trade-your-immortal-soul deal with your colorist—and gray eyes. She was wearing a black leather jacket and dark-wash jeans and Kat recognized her instantly.

  Claire Delacourt, the Celebrity Medium.

  "Mapuche cooking, uh?" Claire said, dryly. "I love it, but it's so hard to find llama meat nowadays. I'm more about the Chilote fish stews."

  Kat laughed as she stood up. The Chilote lived in an isolated island in the southernmost corner of Chile. The island was known for its colorful mythology and indigenous magical heritage, but the ingredients for their foods and rituals were extremely hard to find. "The book suggests using lamb as a substitute."

  Kat was, she had to admit, suitably impressed. She'd thought Claire was a run-of-the-mill paranormal dilettante. That was apparently not the case. The Chilote were fairly obscure, and so U.S. magical practitioners knew about them.

  "That sounds more doable." Claire looked around the store with a smile. "I can't believe this place. When I left town it was just a couple of shelves in a corner of Yolanda's beauty salon. The place has come a long way." She extended her arm. "I'm Claire Delacourt, by the way."

  Kat shook her hand. Claire had an oddly strong handshake. "I'm Kat Ramos. Nice to meet you."

  Claire scanned the store. "Is Yolanda around?"

  "No, she's retired now and I take care of the store. She went home to the Caribbean and I understand she now specializes in piña colada recipes and cabana boys."

  Claire laughed. "That sounds like her."

  Her laugh was easy and natural, and Kat couldn't help but be charmed. Claire was funny and charismatic and it was obvious why she had a hit show. Although little Pookie's adorability factor clearly didn't hurt.

  "I hear that you're here to judge the cookie contest," Kat said. "We're really looking forward to it."

  Claire's eyes twinkled. "It should be interesting. I understand Caine is going to," she made air quotes, "'unmask' me after the competition."

  Kat's mouth fell open. "Er..."

  Claire laughed again. "Oh, don't worry. This happens all the time. Caine is actually a good guy. I'm sure he'll be fair." She gave her pet a little pat in the head. "The truth is, not everyone loves little Pookie here."

  Kat relaxed. Claire apparently did not take the local anti-Celebrity Medium conspiracy personally.

  "Don't worry, Poo," Claire cooed. "You'll get some yummy cookies to make up for the nastiness."

  Did the dog roll its eyes at that statement? He certainly seemed to be following the conversation. Chihuahuas were supposed to be intelligent dogs, but this animal seemed almost sentient.

  "The bakery has doggie biscuits," Kat said, feeling a bit uneasy as Pookie's googly eyes widened in response. "The Ghost Dog Treats are very popular."

  "Yes, I heard that Patricia took over the family business. I should go say hi." Claire glanced down at the cookbook she still held in her hand. "But first I need to get some supplies. Do you, by any chance, have araucana nuts?'

  Kat raised a brow. The fruit of the monkey puzzle tree was quite rare, as the species was endangered. It was not a common magical ingredient and few shops carried it.

  The Banshee Creek Botánica, however, was no ordinary store.

  "Yes," she replied firmly. "We have piñones in the ritual supplies section. Come with me."

  Kat led the way to the back of the shop, where herbs and powders were stored in antique apothecary jars. She reached up and grabbed a glass container with an intricately carved top.

  "Here you go," Kat said. "How many do you need?"

  "Half-a-dozen will do," Claire answered, counting off on her fingers. "I'll also have three tablespoons of cinnamon and a bunch of laurel. You have agave leaves, too? That's fantastic. I'll take two of those."

  Kat carefully put the ingredients into bags, trying not to grimace. Claire was picking out her rarest ingredients. Where was she going to find lleuntes berries in the northern hemisphere? She was going to have to call Yolanda to ask for the contact information of her South American supplier.

  Finally, Claire was done. She paid for her purchases, including a reusable canvas bag with the botánica's "exorcisms a
re extra" logo, with a credit card.

  "Thanks a lot," she said, grabbing her bag and heading out. "This will come in handy. C'mon, Pookie, let's hit the bakery. It's time for a treat."

  "Have fun," Kat said. "I recommend the Yule-some Yeti Peppermint Shake. It's delicious."

  Claire grinned. "Sounds good. I'll drink anything as long as it doesn't have coconut. I hate coconut."

  Kat froze.

  The door closed behind Claire and Kat was left alone with her thoughts.

  Where did Claire learn so much about Patagonian magic? How was Kat going to get her hands on more piñones? Where would she be able to find a new cookie recipe without coconut flakes?

  And, most intriguing, why did Claire Delacourt need materials for an obscure Mapuche protection spell?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "SHE JUST asks you to dance?" Kenny, the PRoVE intern asked. "That sounds sketchy. Has anyone gotten an EVP on that?"

  Liam tried to ignore the conversation taking place next to him. EVP was short for Electronic Voice Phenomena, which PRoVE recorded and analyzed with a variety of arcane devices. The recordings were usually low-quality, inconclusive, and controversial. Sometimes they led to fistfights. Liam had worked with the paranormies enough to know not to get involved in any EVP discussions.

  They were back at the gym, as it would be an hour at least before Fire & Rescue finished inspecting the electrical layout. As expected, the fire chief had not been happy with the amended permit request, and he'd asked PRoVE to test the set-up for him.

  Tonight.

  Fire & Rescue did not mess around.

  While the firefighters did their inspection, Liam sketched a few ideas for the judge's table. A stationary camera would focus on the judges, which would result in copious amounts of footage. Caine wanted the table to be appropriately ornate.

  "The Baltimore guys got 'last dance' in what sounded like a woman's voice," Cassie replied. "It sounded more like 'empanada' to me, but they are sticking by their conclusions."

  "Have you ever done an investigation here?" Kenny asked.

  "No," Cassie replied. "They don't let in teams. Lorena only appears to young men and that's part of the problem. We've had some high school students try to catch her, but their data is always messed up." She shook her head. "Kids these days."