The Girl with the Uninvited Ghost: Pandemonium Cozy Mystery #1

Chapter 2

Dim light trickled through two narrow rectangular windows flanking the door, partially illuminating the front hall. Mahogany could make out a coat rack piled with heavy tweed jackets. Beyond that, shadows lurked at the edge of the glow, and the oppressive aroma of dying flowers, dust, and kerosene clouded the air.

Mahogany wrinkled her nose and grasped the silver pentagram necklace she'd worn as long as she could remember. "Bazgul, light."

The demon spider began to emit a blue-green glow, brightening the foyer.

Near the entryway's center stood a squat, round table holding a vase of wilting roses. Their drooping flowers kissed the dusty tabletop on crooked stems. Inset bookcases lined the walls—the shelving bowing under the weight of their contents. Teetering piles of books had bled from the overstuffed shelves at the edge of the worn parquet floor and lay stacked in haphazard heaps.

Mahogany took another step into the cluttered foyer, and something crunched under her turquoise cowgirl boot. She glanced down, revealing a shattered hurricane lamp. The metal mount was still attached to the base of the antique light. Two screws caked with plaster dangled from the support as if they had been ripped from the wall—the scent of lamp oil coiled in the air.

With a rising sense of dread, Mahogany took in the foyer again. Her first impression of an untidy wizard vanished. The mess was more than clutter. Someone had deliberately trashed the place. Books lie in disarray as if flung from their shelves to lie on the floor, their spines broken and pages torn. A painting of the Massachusetts Witch Trials hanging near the stairs bore a giant slash slitting the canvas in two.

"Bazgul, I have a bad feeling."

The demon spider shifted on his master's shoulder, mandibles chattering.

"Oh, I want to get out of here too, buddy. But we have a job to do." Mahogany took a deep breath, settling her nerves. From her pocket, she pulled a crumpled list and scanned it. "A figurine of an Egyptian cat containing -" a moan from a room to her right cut her words short.

Fear gripped Mahogany's stomach. "Hello?" she said into the ransacked house.

A moan answered her, and she followed it.

Mahogany found herself in what appeared to be a study. A mixture of silver moonlight and yellow street lamps streamed through a large arched window facing the street. Two red velvet sofas flanked a large stone fireplace, between which sat a low coffee table. Above the mantel hung a massive gilded mirror, reflecting the room. Rows of books lined the walls.

As she glanced around the study, Mahogany found it in the same disarray as the entry hall; books flung from their shelves, pictures ripped from the walls, broken glass crunched underfoot."Hello?" Mahogany said again. She tiptoed to the center of the room and peered between the large couches. A pair of dirty sneakers, more gray than white, peeked out from the edge of a low coffee table between the sofas.

Mahogany crept over to the sneakers and found them attached to the feet of a young man. A wide halo of blood encircled his head. Nearby lay a bust of the Prophet Mother Shipton, identical to the one in her own home, save for the strands of dark hair which clung to a red stain along the marble's bottom edge.

The young man moaned again, and Mahogany moved to his side, stepping over a large crystal vase. A dozen or more red roses lay wilting on the floor.

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

The young man opened his eyes. "I don't. I didn't see."

Mahogany placed a hand on his chest. "It's OK. You're going to be fine." She reached into the back pocket of her jeans for her cellphone.

"Mike," the young man groaned. "You have to help Mike."

"Who's Mike?"

At that moment, a metallic glint caught the corner of Mahogany's eyes. She turned her gaze from her phone and spotted a body of a bearded older man on the opposite side of the coffee table. Behind a pair of round glasses, his unblinking eyes stared straight ahead. Pupils dilated in death. Over the top of the coffee table, the hilt of a long, jeweled dagger protruded from the wizard's back.

"Mike, I presume," Mahogany said to the dead wizard.

Bazgul hissed and tensed on her shoulder, his blue-green light snuffing out. A floorboard behind Mahogany creaked.

The hair on Mahogany's neck rose, and she craned, peering over her shoulder. A figure clad in a dark hoodie stood over her, a fireplace poker griped in their upraised hand.

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A/N: Oh boy. Mahogany has found herself in a sticky and potentially deadly situation. Will she get out of it? The only way to know is to keep reading.

I have dedicated this chapter to the great poet OwainGlyn. His fantastic epic poem The Whole Cole Store will not only entertain, but it's also sure to make you howl with laughter.