Nice Day for a Witch Wedding: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife in Mosswood Book 8) by Louisa West

Author:Louisa West [West, Louisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

The springy branches of a huge tree danced in the wind as the group of wayward witches stood next to the car looking down at Ballybrack Farmhouse.

It was a long, rectangular building nestled in a shallow valley with a rusted tin roof that seemed very much in want of repair. Its stone walls had once been whitewashed; a feature that was infinitely less charming now that the white had faded into a moldy-looking gray. A small outbuilding squatted to the right of the house, in the middle of a fenced-in yard that contained a handful of scrawny chickens.

On the other side of the house, a large duck pond stretched to the edge of a thick wooded grove. In the middle of the pond was an island that seemed to be nothing more than a large hillock of wild-looking grass. It gave the whole pond the appearance of some strange, aquatic donut.

“Doesn’t exactly look promising, does it?” Gabe asked, one brow lifted dubiously as he looked at the rundown abode.

Maggie was pulling a face that echoed Gabe’s sentiments perfectly, while Declan was looking pensively at his father.

Cillian tucked his weathered hands into the pockets of his jeans, narrowing his eyes at the scene before them. “Luckily we’re not here for Old Hodge’s hospitality,” he murmured, starting down the hill toward the farmhouse. “As far as his house is concerned, anyway.”

“What exactly are we here for?” Rosie asked, trailing in Cillian’s wake. While Cillian was now her father-in-law for better or worse, they’d never had what Rosie would call a particularly trusting relationship. His involvement with the COW—no matter what he claimed—didn’t inspire her to be reliant on him, either. And even though she was grateful for his help in recovering Carol-Ann, she definitely had her concerns about blindly putting the fate of their mission in the hands of someone who apparently couldn’t even feed his chickens properly.

Maude would have been absolutely appalled.

“Hopefully for assistance,” he muttered over his shoulder without slowing his step. The entourage made it a few more yards down the gentle slope before a shout interrupted their progress.

“Stop right where you are!”

A portly man in mud-stained coveralls was waving his arms frantically at them from the paved area just by the door of the farmhouse. He paused long enough to cup his hands around his mouth.

“Stop! Don’t come another step closer!”

Cillian grunted, but kept walking at his usual pace.

The man popped his hands on his hips, but didn’t stop yelling. “I mean it!” he called, agitated. “The whole yard is booby-trapped, the nasty little buggers.”

That was enough to make Cillian rethink his approach. He stopped immediately, the rest of the gang halting beside him halfway down the hillside.

“Who?” he called back, not bothering with any pleasantries.

“Who else?” the man shouted back with a frustrated flap of his arm. “The bloody fairies!”

Maggie’s eyes were suddenly as wide as saucers.

“Real fairies!?” she exclaimed with an excited hop. She landed back on the grass and slipped a little with a squeak of surprise.

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