Here Comes the Witch (Excerpt)

Chapter 2

The stupid wind chime jangled as Liam Hagen opened the door. He grimaced and closed the door gently behind him, avoiding Yolanda's low-tech but highly efficient alarm system. He had an important meeting today, possibly the most important one of his life, and the last thing he wanted to do was negotiate a ghost cleansing with the local santera.

But that was exactly what he was here for. His project at twenty-four Witchduck Drive was stalled because the workers claimed that something was messing with the tools. In Banshee Creek "something" could be anything, a ghost, a faery, a welder with a hangover.

Anything at all.

The easiest way to get the project back in track was to get Yolanda to do a cleansing. She'd bring some colored water and beads and nag his workers into using it to clean the site. Then she'd light up candles and things and chant for a while. The whole thing would look ridiculous.

But it would work. It always worked.

Well, almost always. It hadn't worked last year. He'd paid Yolanda a pile of money to clean up his most expensive property and she'd shown up with a pickup truck full of white rose petals, salt and scented water. They'd spent the entire night washing the house. First, they'd wiped salt water around every window and doorway, a task that had seemed endless at the time because the house was huge and it had many windows. Next, they'd lit candles in every room and washed the floors with a rose water mixture. Finally, they'd left Yolanda alone with her statues and spells to do whatever it was that she had to do.

It hadn't worked. That particular property was still unsellable. Well, that couldn't be helped. Hopefully, his upcoming meeting would go a long way toward fixing that problem.

Which was why he had to get twenty-four Witchduck taken care of, ASAP.

"I need a cleansing," he said. "At the old Lotham place. The guys say there something there messing things up. A poltergeist or something."

"Poltergeist?" Yolanda perked up, eyes gleaming with greed. "That will cost you."

He didn't doubt it. The santera's services were not cheap. They were, however, worth every penny. Keeping a work site running in Banshee Creek wasn't easy, and he had to think of this as a business expense.

One that would be hard to explain to the IRS.

Yolanda grinned. "I'll send you a bill. This will be expedited service, I presume." She walked over to the door and flipped the Closed sign around. "I'd better go find out what it is."

Why was she was closing up the shop? Oh, that's right. Her last assistant left a few weeks ago to join a vegan coven in Brooklyn and she hadn't found replacement. That wasn't good. It would probably up the price.

Yolanda took off her apron. "I'll exit through the salon.You two stay here and...get acquainted. I think you have a lot to talk about."

That's when he noticed the girl behind the jewelry stands.

She was tall, with dark eyes, tan skin, and curly black hair with reddish streaks that gave her an artsy air, just like the pictures the private detective had sent him. But the grainy, low-quality pics hadn't done her justice. She was dressed in monochromatic business clothes, but the morning sun came through the window and hit the unruly mass of curls turning it into a fiery halo. Her eyes, he realized, weren't brown, but a deep golden color, similar to the pretty stone that hung around her neck. In her floaty, cream-colored blouse, she looked like one of Yolanda's goddess statues.

Which was oddly appropriate. She was, indeed, his salvation.

"Ms. Ramos?" he asked, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I'm Liam Hagen, the owner of the Hagen House."

Her grip was warm and strong. How odd, her hands were callused, as if she did manual work. He'd seen her profession listed as "jewelry designer," but hadn't realized that she actually made her own stuff.

She built her pieces with her own hands. He liked that.

She licked her lips nervously, and he was suddenly painfully aware that she had a truly luscious mouth, very kissable.

He stopped that thought immediately. He wasn't here to kiss her, at least not...

Rats, this was more complicated than he'd thought.

"Nice to finally meet you" she said, shaking his hand firmly. "I sent the rest of the documents last night. I hope everything went through."

Ah, yes, the paperwork. She'd sent him a lot of papers, including birth certificates, baptism records, immigration papers dating back to the eighteen hundreds, and property records. They had everything short of a DNA test.

This had to work.

"Yes, I was really impressed with the amount of documentation you had." Her family had moved several times, yet her records were better than his even though his folks had lived in Banshee Creek for generations.

Actually, he was impressed with her, period. He'd been a bit nervous about the plan, but this self-assured woman —poised and perfectly dressed for the occasion —assuaged his worries. She appeared to be the perfect business partner for this eccentric enterprise.

She smiled. "My grandmother was really into genealogy, and her Ancestry.com addiction was pretty epic. She even went to the local Knights of Columbus office and dug into their archives. I think she got a kick form having Italian ancestry. She said it explained both her fondness for pizza and her killer meatballs."

"Well, her hobby turned out to be a good thing." He was certainly grateful for it as it had saved him a lot of work.

She laughed, a merry, tinkling sound, much like the sound of Yolanda's wind chime. He liked her laughter. It made him feel good.

"That's easy for you to say. You didn't spend your childhood in dingy church basements, looking through old papers."

True, but he'd definitely spent the last couple of months that way. That's how he'd tracked her down. He'd dug up some records, found some names and birthdates and then hired a private detective. It had been hard but he'd eventually found her. Now, hopefully, all that effort would pay off.

In spades.

"Some of the stories were interesting," she went on and he suddenly realized that the chattiness was an attempt to cover up her nerves. It was an endearing trait.

"Particularly, the ones about the Santellis," she continued. "There were business scams. love affairs, vendettas, and even bloodshed. The New York branch of the family was very, er, colorful and somewhat tragic."

That was putting it mildly. The Santellis were charlatans and swindlers who sold phony potions and remedies to credulous audiences. The New York branch had Mafia connections and a long history with local law enforcement that included fraud charges, bootlegging, and contraband. The Banshee Creek branch was not far behind, he thought bitterly. It was just a different type of tragedy.

One with consequences. And long-lived ones at that.

"I loved hearing those stories," she finished with a sigh. "They were so exciting."

An image popped into his head. A little girl with dark curly hair stuck in a dusty file room, dreaming up thrilling stories. It was hard to reconcile that vision with the businesslike creature standing before him.

For the first time he wondered why she was doing this. He'd assumed it was the money, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe it was more than that.

"Well," he replied. "I'm glad you like excitement. Banshee Creek can definitely deliver on that." He took a deep breath. "And speaking of excitement..."

He looked deep into her amber-flecked eyes. She was perfectly still, as if she were holding her breath.

"Shall we go get married now?"