A Witch of a Time by Amanda M Lee

Author:Amanda M Lee [Lee, Amanda M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B014QQC2VI
Publisher: WinchesterShaw Publications
Published: 2015-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

“What ghost?” I asked, instantly alert.

“There’s a ghost on the back porch,” Twila said.

“Who?” Bay asked. “Did you recognize her?”

“The sun is so bright back there,” Twila said, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “I didn’t get a good look.”

“She means she was afraid to look,” Thistle said, pushing away from the counter and heading for the door. “She’s afraid of ghosts.”

“I am not afraid of ghosts,” Twila said. “I just think they’re … freaky. I’m glad I only see them on rare occasions.”

“That’s the same as being afraid,” Thistle said. “Come on. I’ll bet it’s Peg Mulder.”

I followed the line of excited witches – and a mostly “meh” Marcus and Sam – until we stood by the big bay windows at the back of the living quarters. The porch looked empty to me. Of course, I’d seen only one ghost in my life – and that was because Bay’s life had been in danger. I wasn’t really expecting to see another one now. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a ghost out there,” Bay said. “It looks like the photo of Peg Mulder, but Twila is right about her being … blurry.”

“Blurry?” That didn’t sound good.

“Blurry isn’t the right word,” Bay said, her face thoughtful as she stared out the window. “She’s … brighter … than a normal ghost.”

“That must be because we pulled her over from the other side,” Thistle said. “That could explain why she looks different.”

“Does that mean she’s an angel?” Marcus asked, awed.

I wanted to laugh at the question, but given the surreal nature of the conversation, that didn’t seem wise. Besides … . “Is that a possibility?”

“Are you asking me to comment on the nature of life and death?” Bay asked. “If you are, I don’t have any answers for you. I don’t know what happens when you cross over.”

“I’ll bet the woman on the porch does,” I suggested.

Bay worried her bottom lip with her teeth, conflicted. “We called her here to ask how she died,” she said. “We now know she really is dead. I don’t feel comfortable asking about … other things.”

Sometimes I forget how sensitive she is. I brushed Bay’s hair, smoothing it. “You don’t have to ask her anything you’re not comfortable with,” I said. “Just ask her whether she knows how she died and … well … where her body is.”

Bay nodded, her face lightening considerably. “Okay.”

“Screw that,” Thistle said, pushing between us. “I want to know what’s on the other side. Let’s go.”

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