A Witch on Mintwood Mountain (Witch of Mintwood Book 4)

  A Witch on Mintwood Mountain

  (Witch of Mintwood, Book 4)

  by

  Addison Creek

  Copyright © 2017 by Addison Creek

  Cover Design © Broken Arrow Designs

  This novel is a work of fiction in which names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is completely coincidental.

  License Notes

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  the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  Contact Addison Creek

  Books by Addison Creek

  Chapter One

  Some nights, you just need to let loose and go a little wild and crazy. My way of following that rule involved going with some of my best friends to my local bar, where my roommate was a bartender, and hanging out for a few hours.

  I know, my crazy behavior is shocking.

  On this particular night, Liam, Greer, Charlie, and I were at the bar. Greer was working, and also waiting for Deacon, who was supposed to come and hang out with us. Deacon had promised that Jasper wouldn’t be with him because he had to work late, so I had agreed to make an appearance. Jasper and I were still in a fight, because he was wrong and I was right, and until he admitted that fact there was simply nothing I could do. We would not be speaking.

  The bar was ridiculously packed, so it was much hotter inside than out. The music was blaring, making it difficult for me to hear my friends. Liam, with whom I had rarely gone out, had dressed up for the occasion in a black jacket covered in glitter, and black leather pants. To top off the effect he had slicked back his hair.

  “You look like you belong in the city,” Charlie commented. She had come straight from work, where she had apparently spent the afternoon arguing via e-mail with Hansen Gregory, star reporter for the Caedmon Chronicle in the town next door to Mintwood. Now she needed a glass of wine.

  “Thank you,” said Liam, posing. “I try to represent my shop as best I can.”

  The lighting was dim, but even in the dusty interior of the bar I could make out all the patrons clearly, people eating and drinking at tables, laughing, and playing pool. Greer had reserved the end of the bar for us, but at the moment she was busy “slinging” drinks and didn’t have time to hang out with us. According to Greer, “slinging” was bar lingo. Every profession has its own special jargon, I guess.

  I kept glancing over my shoulder, because despite Deacon’s promise, some part of me was afraid that he might end up bringing Jasper after all, and I knew I’d feel better if I saw them coming than I would if I were taken by surprise.

  Okay, realistically, I just wanted Deacon to bring Jasper. What, he was a pleasure to look at! They both were. It was also fun to see all the other girls staring at them, and for them to have no idea. Sometimes guys were oblivious.

  “You look like you have a crick in your neck,” Liam commented, quirking one eyebrow at me.

  I tried to sit still, but it was difficult. “Sorry.”

  “No worries, I’d still be seen with you in public if you did. Not sure Greer would, though,” Liam teased.

  “What did you say?” Greer stopped in passing and leaned across the bar. She knew we were joking around and she wanted to be in on it.

  “I said you’re doing an amazing job,” Liam yelled over the din.

  “Sure you did,” Greer said dryly, her dark eyes sparkling.

  “Hey bartender! I need another drink!” someone down the bar yelled.

  “How was your day?” Greer asked, carefully drying the glass she held in her hands and ostentatiously ignoring the demanding customer.

  “It was pretty good,” said Liam. “Customers galore, and not all those strange women who were around before.”

  “They’ve disappeared, do you think?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what conference or convention was going on, but it’s definitely over now.”

  “BARTENDER! I NEED A DRINK!” the guy down the bar hollered at increased volume, which was pointless because Greer had definitely heard him the first time.

  “Glad you had a good day,” said Greer to Liam, still calmly drying that glass. “I slept until noon and it was glorious.”

  “I can’t believe you sleep until noon and then have to eat breakfast for lunch. It just sounds awful,” said Charlie.

  “I still eat three meals a day,” said Greer. “I eat breakfast for breakfast, just not at the time you do.”

  “But it’s at lunchtime, so technically it’s lunch,” Charlie explained. Greer rolled her eyes.

  “I want my drink!” This time the guy pounded the bar in front of him, almost knocking over his empty glass.

  Having just finished her polishing, Greer carefully set down the dishcloth, turned around, put the glass away, and sauntered down the bar. Needless to say, all eyes were on her.

  I don’t know what she whispered as she leaned across the bar to the belligerent guy, but his face quickly softened, his eyes widened, and he started nodding and apologizing almost immediately.

  “What did you say to him?” Liam asked when Greer finally came back, having served several people drinks along the way.

  “I told him that if he didn’t start being polite, stop yelling, and start saying please and thank you, I’d tell his wife he was here,” said Greer, grinning.

  “He isn’t doing anything wrong,” I pointed out. He was just sitting at the bar with a couple of other guys.

  “If she knew he was here he would be, but she doesn’t,” Greer smirked.

  “He just wants to have a couple of beers,” said Charlie. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that, provided he stops being rude to you, of course.”

  “Of course,” the rest of us acknowledged.

  We were in the full swing of the evening when someone surprising showed up. We didn’t mind, but there was definitely one man at the bar who did.

  Our conversation went quiet when we all noticed a serious-looking woman marching up to the bar, her eyes locked on one rounded back. The woman wore an ill-fitting pantsuit, and her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun.

  “That’s Mrs. Michell,” said Liam, gulping.

  “Who is Mr. Michell?” I asked, thinking I already knew the answer.

  “UH oh, looks like Greer didn’t have to tell his wife anything,” said Charlie, biting her lower lip and trying not to grin. Indeed, the rude man’s wife had found him out and had now arrived at the bar, a place where she clearly didn’t belong, to collect her spouse and insist that he come home posthaste. The man looke
d terrified, as well he should.

  Mrs. Michell jabbed her husband in the shoulder to get his attention, then started yelling before he could even react. When he did manage to turn around in response to the prodding, he started blathering; we could see that from a distance, even if we couldn’t catch the words. The two guys who were with him shrank away and tried to act like wallpaper.

  “It’s all fun and games until you lie to your wife, and then it’s big trouble,” said Charlie.

  “Maybe they deserve each other,” said Greer, shrugging. She had wandered back down the bar to get as far away from the commotion as possible.

  “You said you’d be straight home after work!” Mrs. Michell yelled.

  “I only stopped here for a bit,” said the man.

  “This is a bar! It is a place of ill-repute! You will not lie to me about your whereabouts and you will not be seen here,” she yelled.

  By now the entire bar had gone quiet. Some brave soul had even reached around the bar to turn the music down just enough so that the argument could be heard clearly throughout the establishment. Mr. Michell appeared to be aware of this, while Mrs. Michell had no idea.

  “Your lies have resulted in the worst of all offenses,” said Mrs. Michell.

  “You don’t trust me anymore?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low enough so that we couldn’t hear what he was saying. Luckily, we were sitting forward and caught every word.

  “No, I’ve had to come into a bar,” she sniffed. “I haven’t trusted you for years!”

  “You what!” sputtered Mr. Michell. Despite the fact that he’d just been caught out in a lie, this information clearly took him by surprise.

  “You remember that time you told me you were going camping for the weekend?” the wife said.

  “Yeah . . .” he said, his tone implying that he was afraid of what was coming next.

  “You didn’t catch anything. I think you were at a casino,” she told him triumphantly. She’d been waiting two years to say it, and the satisfaction glowed in her face.

  “Now listen here, just because we didn’t bring any game home with us doesn’t mean we weren’t out camping for the weekend. We’re not good shots, but we were camping,” one of Mr. Michell’s friends said, coming to his defense.

  That was a grave error.

  “Does Molly know you’re here?” Mrs. Michell asked.

  The man didn’t answer. Mrs. Michell thought she had him until she realized that the answer was yes, so she turned to the third man and demanded the same answer. Both men told Mrs. Michell that their wives were fully aware of their husbands’ current location.

  “Don’t think Molly minds when I stay out late sometimes. She says I talk too much and I leave my dirty socks on the floor,” said Molly’s husband, almost sounding forlorn.

  But now Mrs. Michell’s facial expression had changed. For a split second she looked like she was going to explode; her husband clearly took the same view, because he leaned away from her. At that moment, Greer decided that this little distraction had gone on long enough, so she started making her way down the bar.

  Mr. Michell saw Greer coming, and before he could be totally surrounded by two women who were mad at him, he pulled out some money, tossed it on the bar, and took his wife by the arm.

  She was still scolding him as he led her away.

  “Hey, Deacon,” Charlie cried, as Greer’s kind-of-boyfriend appeared at the bar. He wore a button down shirt unbuttoned just far enough to show off his upper chest, and his hair was pulled into a ponytail. He looked good as usual, and it was easy to tell, because Greer couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

  “Hey, I hear this place has the best bartender in town. Can you confirm or deny?” he asked.

  “She’s the best bartender in the state,” said Charlie, her face very serious.

  Deacon grinned, grabbed a barstool, and brought it over. We made room for him so we could all sit at the bar and keep Greer company.

  “I like this place,” said Deacon, looking around. “Why was it quiet when I came in?”

  “There is justice in the world,” said Charlie cryptically.

  “Oh, I see. Now everything’s clear,” said Deacon, smiling. “Carrot, how’s it going? Liam?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “I noticed you were sure to use my nickname while Greer’s busy.”

  Deacon’s grin widened. “I can’t say I noticed that I did that.”

  “We’re good here,” said Liam. “Happy to be out and about. There’s rarely a break from running a store.”

  “A night off was definitely in order,” Charlie confirmed. “I wouldn’t have thought there could be too much excitement in Mintwood, but we have enough stories to fill two papers.”

  “Glad the reporter business is going well,” said Deacon.

  “How are you?” I asked. My heart had stopped thumping wildly when Deacon arrived without Jasper. I was more than a little disappointed, but there was no way I’d ever admit it. Maybe I just liked arguing with Jasper, that was all. It’s not like I liked him as a person or anything, that’s just crazy.

  Deacon’s eyes flicked to Greer and I could have sword a little blush crept onto his cheeks, “I’m good.”

  When we finally headed home, happy but tired, Paws was sitting on the porch as usual, surveying his kingdom. A light shone from the living room window, even though it was very late. As we trailed inside the farmhouse I still managed to greet the woman sitting on the couch knitting.

  “It’s about time you got home,” Aunt Harriet smiled at us.

  Chapter Two

  Much to my mother’s dismay, she and my aunt Harriet looked a lot alike. They had the same small nose and bright cheeks, and the brown eyes were identical. Aunt Harriet did her best to distinguish herself from my mother (and from anyone else who had to make clothing choices in the morning) by wearing very distinctive outfits every day.

  “I’ve never once bought a new piece of clothing,” she once told me proudly.

  “And it shows,” my mother had sniffed.

  A week into my aunt’s visit, I was beginning to think she was conjuring clothes out of thin air. I hadn’t seen the same outfit twice. Charlie had suggested that we write a blog about her fashion choices, and Greer had even said that she liked one of my aunt’s sparkly scarves.

  On this particular evening, we were all sitting around the table in the kitchen nook, chatting and eating. Greer had been off that day, so she and my aunt had decided to whip up a feast for us to enjoy.

  So far, for the entire week Aunt Harriet had been there, we had barely spoken of spells or magic or witches. My aunt had regaled my friends with tales of her travels – backpacking through Europe, seafaring in Alaska, going on safari in Africa – all of it under the cover of her day job as a travel writer, but really for witchy purposes. The best travel was witch travel, according to her.

  That night at dinner I had resolved to talk to my aunt about some of the important matters of the day that were not related to wild horses, how to fry the perfect egg, or the best place to find consignment blouses.

  “Aunt Harriet, you must have learned about a lot of world magics,” I mused as Greer served the turkey. As I talked, I kept an eager eye on the eight side dishes laid around the table. I was hungry

  “Yes, I sure did,” she said. “I rather appreciated the fact that not all cultures are like this one. The witches here are too cold and standoffish. I always found that making friends was easier elsewhere.”

  “Did my mother ever travel with you?” My mother also liked to travel and to live in other places, a preference that partly explained her move to Costa Rica. The other part of the explanation was that in her mind, another continent, or nearly so, was just far away enough from the family to be acceptable.

  “No, she didn’t. As I’m sure you know, your mother and I haven’t gotten along in a long time. I always thought we’d grow out of it. I thought she just needed to get her magical powers like I had, and everything woul
d be fine.”

  “But then she didn’t get them,” I said quietly.

  “She was very disappointed,” my aunt acknowledged.

  We all sat in silence until Greer said, “Dig in!”

  Harriet cut up her turkey and took a big bite. “Yum,” was her opinion of the meal.

  “This is a delicious dinner,” said Charlie, echoing Aunt Harriet. “Greer, will you teach me how to make it sometime?”

  Greer paused in fear. Charlie was a horrible cook, to the point that no one thought her abilities were even salvageable. Maybe with practice Greer would someday let her boil water under supervision, but today was not that day.

  “Sure, anytime,” Greer lied.

  Charlie beamed, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder.

  My aunt, having already noticed that Charlie was subtly kept out of the kitchen, smiled.

  “How is it being back in Mintwood?” Charlie asked her. “Everything must have changed a lot from how you remember it.”

  “Actually, not that much,” said Aunt Harriet. “That was always one of the things I liked about the town, that everything stayed pretty much the same. It’s nice to have something you can count on.”

  “Has anyone in town been surprised to see you?” I asked, gathering a forkful of asparagus.

  “Oh, they’ve all been surprised. I think that when I didn’t come back for Mom’s funeral, they all assumed I was dead, except for the people who hoped I was.” She laughed uproariously. “I’ve only seen a couple of people so far, though. I’ve mostly been here.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t reach you in time so you could get here for the funeral,” I said.

  My aunt’s face darkened. “It’s not your fault. I was busy fighting a ghost outbreak in Nebraska, and I hadn’t left word of my location with anyone. I wasn’t expecting Mom to . . .” Aunt Harriet trailed off into silence. Then, with a visible effort, she got herself under control, gave us a shaky smile, and added, “Your mom wouldn’t have wanted me here anyhow. I’m glad you were here to take care of everything, even if I couldn’t be.”