Legacy of the Witch

Chapter 1

Of all the life-ruining mistakes I'd ever made, being late was not going to be one of them.

I double checked the campus map. My advisor's office should have been directly ahead of me. Instead, there was a wide swathe of grass dotted with crimson leaves and way-too-young students.

At least they seemed too young to me. They had to be too young, because the alternative was that at forty-seven, I was too old. Too old to start over. Too old to rid myself of my growing collection of ghosts. Too old to get a degree. Too old to use that degree as a springboard for my dream business and dream life and dream whatever the hell I was doing.

But I couldn't think that way. I had to have hope or I'd be stuck in the purgatory of widowhood.

I crumpled the campus map in my gloved hand. What was I doing? Everything was shifting—inside and out, above and below, and—

"You lost?" A man who could have been in his twenties grinned, attempting a covert up and down glance. At least I still warranted the occasional masculine appraisal.

"I'm trying to find the Heritage Building," I said. And I hated being late. My usual timeliness came from the Penn German in me, though I'd never lived in Pennsylvania before now.

He pulled a phone from the rear pocket of his ripped jeans, tapped the screen. The man nodded past a maple, its remaining leaves splashes of fire. "It's thataway."

I grimaced. "Thanks." Duh. I could have used my phone to find the building. But I'd grown up on paper, not screens. "You're a lifesaver." Stomach churning, I trotted across the damp lawn.

"Any time," he called after me, and I gave him a wave without looking back.

I'd only been on campus a few days in the last year—quick flights in and out. Most of my folk art program was online. Until now. Today would be my first in-person meeting with my thesis advisor.

Ghosts of disappointments trailing behind me, I jogged across the pavement to the three-story brick building dotted with cupolas and white-painted eaves. I pushed open a door and hurried inside the high-ceilinged foyer, its pointed arches adorned with elaborate wood carvings.

The campus wasn't as grand as the bigger colleges and far from Ivy League. But Babylon College was up and coming. More importantly, it had the degree I wanted in the area I wanted to be.

Though it hadn't come cheap, it didn't come with an Ivy League price tag either. Still, at the thought of the expense, guilt tangled with my anxiety, and suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. The life insurance had been there to get my life back on track after—

"It was supposed to be an investment," my husband whispered. "A safety net."

My throat tightened. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the echo of David's voice. The past was past, and this was present, and present wasn't the time for ghosts. If I didn't focus, I'd be late for my future.

Office 302. Third floor. I glanced at a cluster of students waiting outside an elevator. Jogging past them, I climbed the wide, wooden stairs.

I huffed down a hallway, my low heels click-clacking on the linoleum. How late was I? I skidded to a halt in front of room 302. A brass nameplate glittered on the door:

DR. EZEKIAL STOLTZFUS

The air molecules in the hallway compressed, my ghosts squeezing closer. My father, skeptical. My mother, curious. My husband, sardonic. Not for the first time, I wished I could see rather than just sense them. If I could see them, I'd know they were real.