Williams Witch Mystery Complete Series Bundle (Ebook)

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I cursed under my breath as a deer dashed onto the road, missing my vehicle by a few inches. I slammed on the breaks. My car slid on the water and screeched to a halt as my tires found traction at the last second. The deer stood in the middle of the street, staring wide-eyed into my headlights. After almost a full minute, it darted out of the light and disappeared into the trees.
Lightning flashed overhead. The boom of thunder shook the car half a second later. Where the deer had stood was a woman lying in the roadway, her arm outstretched toward the car. Her body was still, her blond hair covering her face. My heart raced. Lightning flashed again, and she was gone. What was that?
Rain pounded the windshield, obscuring my view of the roadway. I squinted out the window, the wipers going a mile a minute. Where’d she go? I leaned forward in my seat, stretching over the steering wheel. The roadway was empty. There was no woman. No deer. Only torrential rain. I shook my head and continued on my wayzac.
It didn’t normally rain so hard in the summer. Despite Seattle’s reputation for being the Rainy City, the surrounding areas were dry from June through August. This year, the heat wave stretched into September. Grass had shriveled and browned under the scorching sun. Over the past week, a storm had swept up the coast, causing rivers to overflow and damage homes.
For a claims adjuster, it wasn’t the ideal time to take off work. My request for a leave of absence had been met with resistance, which had led to an argument, a screaming match, and unemployment. I’d never said the words I quit before. It was a first, and a capstone to a tough year. Divorced and unemployed, I was on my way to deal with my grandmother’s estate. I’d hoped to arrive earlier in the day, but I’d encountered delays all the way across the state on my road trip from Spokane to Whidbey Island. I was only a few minutes away from my final destination: my grandmother’s home. Or what had been her home.
It was my house now. My lips trembled, and I clamped my jaw shut. She had always been there. Her death left an aching hole inside me. But at least I would have something to remember her by. That was what people told me, anyway.
I pulled into the driveway and drove up the hill. I parked next to the front door and peered out. The rain came down harder, obscuring the house. Despite the dark, I could see its shape looming above me. It was a massive old two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch. My grandmother hadn’t changed a single detail in fifty years. In the daylight, its cream walls shone in the sun.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the back seat, braced myself, and dashed out of the car. I barreled up the steps two at a time. As I ran, I counted my steps. In the few steps it took to make it under the covered porch, the rain soaked through my jacket. Wind bit into my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I dropped my bag on the doorstep and glanced back down the stairs. In my haste, I had run straight past the stone frog hiding the key. I cursed again and bolted down the steps to grab it. My foot slipped as I tried to leap back up, sending me crashing onto the wet earth. Mud clung to my hair as I pushed myself up.
I limped up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under my feet.
Meow.
I paused midstep. Did I hear a meow?
I scanned the darkness, my hand raised to shield my eyes from the worst of the storm. My grandfather had been allergic to cats, so my grandparents had never had one. The closest neighbor was almost a mile away. It was a bit far for one of the Hendersons’ cats to roam.
Meow.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I shouted. Wind howled through the trees and beat against the shutters, drowning out my voice.
Nothing responded. The rain continued to pour. Muddy water dripped down the side of my face, getting into my eyes. I blinked, trying to clear it.
I called out once more and held my breath, but no answer came. I shook my head and turned toward my new temporary abode. I shut the front door behind me and scurried through the house. Muddy water dripped from my clothes, forming puddles all the way from the front door through the living room, past the kitchen, and down the long hallway to the first-floor bathroom. I flicked on the light and froze in the doorway, staring at myself in the mirror over the sink. My shoulder-length brown hair clung to the sides of my face. My gray eyes were wide. I thought of the deer, its eyes wide and unblinking. A grin spread across my face, and laughter bubbled out. I doubled over, gasping for breath as I laughed. I wiped my eyes, smudging more mud across my face.
Once I got myself under control, I crossed to the sink and cleaned up. After ten minutes, I was mud-free but damp. I studied my reflection. Once I stepped back through the door, I would be done; the moment of mirth would be over. I hovered, clinging to joy for a little longer.
The second I went back into the living room, it hit me: She’s gone.
I trembled as I flipped the light switch and looked around. Growing up, I’d spent almost every summer in this house. It had changed little over the years. It had the same old carpet, now threadbare. A trail of mud cut across it, stark against the pale cream. Custom bookcases lined the walls, the shelves covered with the same knickknacks. Each piece was a memento: the snow globe from our Christmas trip to New York when I was seven, a carved bone from her trip to Alaska, and a large seashell from her honeymoon in Hawaii.
I moved toward the fireplace and gazed up at a photograph above the mantel. It was an old photo, taken when my mother was still around. It hadn’t been a special day. We were walking through the mall to the maternity store when my grandma grabbed my hand and pulled me and my mother into a photography studio. I’d complained the whole time about how bloated I looked, but she’d insisted. Her smile was so big as she sat between my mother and me, my hand draped across her shoulder. I blinked back a tear as I touched the family photo, my fingers hovering over the image of her face.
My grandmother had been one of the few constants in my life. She was always there for me. She’d helped me pick up the pieces after my mother left. The fact I would never see her again felt unreal. I would never stay up late talking to her on the phone. She would never give me more advice on how to handle my recent divorce. She wouldn’t reassure me I was doing the right thing ever again.
My throat tightened. I swallowed, pushing down the sob threatening to escape. I’d had a dream about the call days before I received it. My grandmother always said I had good intuition. I must have picked up on something. Would things be different if I’d warned her? I shook my head, trying to clear those thoughts from my mind. There isn’t anything she could have done to prevent a heart attack. The thoughts still lingered. I’d dismissed the dream, and now she was gone.
The wind beat against the house, rattling the shutters and causing the wooden beams to groan. The insulation and thick layers of wood between me and the wilderness did little to muffle the sound.
I pulled myself away from the photo and wandered through the house, moving from room to room, trailing my fingers along the walls. In the hallway, the floor still creaked in the same place. The wallpaper was still the same muted yellow with faint-pink flowers poking out between intertwining vines. The color had faded, but the print was still beautiful. Every piece of furniture was the same. I paused outside the door to the rear storage room in the daylight basement. Did she keep it the way I left it?
I turned the handle and peered inside. Long, narrow tables lined the walls. The condenser enlarger sat on the far wall, with basins alongside for developing prints. My darkroom was still intact. I smiled.
While my job as an insurance adjuster had required me to switch to digital over the past few years, I missed shooting on film and the art of developing and printing photos. Perhaps I’ll have an excuse to take pictures for fun while I’m in town. I peeked into the cabinets. Although old, the supplies were still good. Tucked into the back corner was my old camera. My grin widened, and I grabbed it to put in my bag.
With a smile still on my face, I closed the door and walked upstairs. On my way up, I pulled out my phone and messaged my daughter, Grace.
Me: I’m sure you’re already in bed. Just wanted to let you know I arrived safe and sound. Hope you’re having a wonderful trip with your friends! We’ll have to tell each other all about our adventures when we get home.
I paused over the word home. Is it still home? After the divorce, she’d stayed with her father while I moved to a nearby apartment. We wouldn’t be living together again. At least, not anytime soon. I deleted home and replaced it with back. When we get back.
I pushed thoughts of my small studio apartment out of my mind. The best thing to do was focus on the task at hand. I returned to my duffel bag and lugged it into the kitchen. I pulled a notebook from the side pocket and opened it to read through the list I’d written that morning. There was a lot to deal with after someone’s death. My top priority was her business. My grandmother owned the local insurance agency, and her clients were counting on me to keep things moving. I scanned the list. The first item was to check her home office for active files so I could bring them by the agency in the morning. I dropped the notebook on the counter and strode through the house to her workroom.
Papers lay scattered across my grandmother’s desk. I flipped through them. It was a bunch of renewals and half-processed applications. I sorted and boxed them up. Once the desktop was clear, I moved on to the drawers. Drawer by drawer, box by box, I packed everything.
I pulled open the last drawer and paused. It was empty except for a large manilla envelope. As I touched it, guilt overwhelmed me. My chest tightened, and a knot formed in my stomach. I froze with the envelope in my hand. With each passing second, the knot in my stomach grew. My throat became thick.
What’s happening? I shook myself, pushing aside the guilt as best I could. Grief is illogical. There’s no reason I should feel guilty over an envelope. It’s not like there was an envelope in my dream. I exhaled and forced myself to turn it over. Written across the front in my grandmother’s familiar script was my name: Dani.
I gasped and dropped it. The moment the envelope left my hand, the guilt subsided. I leaned back in my chair, my heart racing.
What’s wrong with me? I sat up straight and picked it up again. My hands shook as my fingers closed around it. The guilt returned, joined by the image of my grandmother tucking the envelope away. I couldn’t explain how I knew, but I was certain she had placed it there only days before her death. She’d hidden the envelope there for me to find.
I ripped it open and pulled out a worn leather journal with a piece of parchment paper, folded in half, pinned to the front.

My Dearest Dani,
I have had the feeling of late my days upon this earth are dwindling. It is the way of things. Everything ends eventually. I have lived my life with few regrets. The one and only thing that haunts me is what I have done to you. A deception. I can only wish you will find it in your heart to forgive me. But for over twenty years, I have lied to you.

I couldn’t read any further. My vision swam with tears. I folded the letter and slumped against the chair. With each word, the guilt and shame grew. My heart raced, and I gasped for air. I shoved the letter and journal back into the envelope, dropped it where I’d found it, and slammed the drawer. I bolted from the room, fleeing to the kitchen.
My mind whirled between widely different trains of thought. My grandmother’s words lingered in my mind. What did she lie to me about? We talked about everything. Didn’t we? Also, what do I have to feel guilty about? Not telling my grandma about my dream? I groaned and hung my head. During moments like these, when I was alone, doubt crept in. What was she hiding?
Tomorrow was going to be exhausting. The unexpected letter had set my nerves on edge, and I needed to relax before I could finish reading it. My duffel bag sat on the counter. I strode to it and unpacked things for the morning: oatmeal, a can of soup for lunch, and a box of chamomile tea. I put the kettle on and leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the water to boil.
I stood there, mulling over the feeling of guilt. It felt foreign somehow, like it came from outside of me. How could guilt come from outside of me? No. It has to be something I did. Right? Is this about Ed? Was I too hasty in getting a divorce?
Last year, my grandfather passed away. I’d visited him every day for a month in hospice. On the last day, his eyes cleared. He’d clutched my hand and told me not to worry because he had lived a good life with no regrets. Every day, he chose happiness. As he gripped my hand, he told me I needed to choose happiness as well. I’d thought I had, but after he passed, I reexamined my life choices. My career. My marriage.
With the gift of hindsight, I knew staying in my marriage was a mistake. I’d married a man who made grand gestures. But after I said “I do,” he changed. He became someone who chose his yearly camping trip over being there for the birth of our daughter. I’d fumed but stayed. I’d chosen what was expected, what made sense. But never happiness. I hadn’t chosen happiness in years. I’d waited until our daughter graduated from high school then filed the paperwork. It was never too late to choose happiness.
The kettle screeched. I took it off the stove, my movements mechanical and practiced. Every summer for years, I would visit my grandparents, and during every stay, I would make the tea.
I rested against the counter and sipped my tea. Normally, the chamomile would calm my nerves, but not today. I hunched over the cup and breathed in the tea’s scent. It was woody, with a hint of apple. The smell mixed with the scents of the house. I was home. I’d finally chosen happiness.
Then why do I feel so guilty? I turned it over in my head. It felt foreign somehow. The guilt wasn’t connected to Ed, the divorce, or my daughter. The guilt was tied to the letter. A letter I had not written. What did she mean by “lied”? Am I somehow feeling her guilt? I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous.
I marched back to my grandmother’s office and faltered in the doorway. How bad can it be? I straightened, threw back my shoulders, and strode into the room.
The second I touched the letter, the guilt returned. I sat, holding the paper as the wind howled outside. Trembling began in my fingers and moved up my arms as I unfolded the page and continued to read.

But for over twenty years, I have lied to you.
It was not an easy decision. For many years, I justified it by reminding myself it was your mother’s request. That does not make it right. I took something from you. And now, after all this time, I don’t know how to explain. I should have sat you down and talked to you face-to-face, but I could not bear the thought of your disappointment. Another regret. Cowardice.
With no other way to say it, I will put this simply. You are a witch.

I blinked and reread the sentence. No matter how many times I reread it, the words did not change. My grandmother believed I was a witch. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. Was she suffering from dementia at the end? Witches don’t exist. I sighed and continued reading.

I know, my little bird. You are most likely sitting in my office, questioning my sanity—but it is the truth. You are a witch. As were your mother and me. It is a trait which runs through our family line, from mother to daughter. Have you never stopped to wonder why your intuition is so strong? How you are always so certain when someone has lied? Or how you know, before being told, something impactful, something ground-shakingly important, has happened? The strongest gift of our family is the Sight. When focused, we can see the future. We can see the past. We can see the strands of Fate itself.
There is much more we can do. Magic is a wondrous thing, shaped by our intentions. We can make the world more beautiful. Or much, much darker. Which brings me to the theft. The violation. The hole I have given you.
Within our family, we are an ill-fated bunch, and as we come into our own, the Sight can be too much to bear. It can drive you mad. It can be painful. Deadly, even.
Do you remember when you were thirteen years old and you had a seizure? The one and only of your life? You almost died. You were comatose for almost a week. The Sight was too strong for you. So as your mother requested, I did the unthinkable and suppressed your powers.

I had almost forgotten that winter. Nightmares had plagued me for weeks. When I woke up that morning, I discovered it had snowed overnight. I rushed outside in my pajamas. I was standing in the yard when it happened. A waking nightmare. My world went dark. My mother found me half an hour later, nearly covered in snow. I slept for six days, and when I woke, I felt foggy but never had a bad dream again. Was it a good thing? I always thought it was. Oh, Grandma. Why didn’t you ever tell me about this in person?
A single tear dropped onto the page. I stared up at the ceiling, blinking until my eyes were dry. I shook myself and continued.

Now that I am gone, however, those powers will return.

My heart skipped a beat. I reread the line. What does that mean? Are the nightmares coming back? Is she telling me I’m going to die? I leaned forward and gripped the page.

I did what we thought was best, but what is best and what is right are not always the same thing. The coming days may scare you. They may be dangerous. And for that, I am sorry.
I have written down everything I have learned. Inside this journal are some simple lessons to help guide you. You are strong, and while I am sorry to burden you with this, I know you will find your footing. In time, I hope you can learn to forgive me.
With my eternal love,
Gran

I leaned back in the chair. A witch? A minute ago, the notion was laughable, but my grandmother’s words settled inside me and felt true. Before I’d gone into labor, I’d known Ed wouldn’t be there. I’d known my grandmother was dead before anyone called me. I’d known.
I wasn’t sure how to feel. Rage fought with understanding. As a mother, I would do anything to keep my daughter safe. But am I safer? Didn’t this kick the problem down the road, and now I have to deal with it on my own?
I turned it over in my mind repeatedly. Best and right. It was both and neither at the same time. I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered to myself, “They loved me. This was done out of love.” I repeated it to myself a few times until the rage subsided.
The wind slammed into the side of the house, shaking the windows. A latch rattled, and the window blew open. Rainwater hit the desk. Cursing, I surged up from the seat and slammed the window shut.
Meow.
I paused, the latch of the window still between my fingers. The wind pushed against it, trying to pry the window from my grip. That sound again. It was a definite meow. Its source was hard to pinpoint. It was near the house, but I couldn’t tell if it was next to the house or if the wind had carried the sound. I peered outside. The rain hadn’t let up since I’d arrived. I could only see a few feet away from the house. The tree line was dark.
Meow.
I dropped the bundle back into the drawer and returned to the kitchen to grab my jacket. It was still damp from my mad dash inside. I shrugged into it and stepped out onto the porch. I stood still, straining my ears to listen. The wind blew against my face. I shuddered, thinking about the damage a storm like this could do—then paused. I didn’t have to worry about it.
I giggled. It was the first time in a long time I didn’t have to worry about it. I was unemployed. I wouldn’t have to climb up onto the roof or crawl under a house to check for damage. It wasn’t my job anymore.
The giggle stopped as I realized how much I would miss my job. Being an insurance adjuster had been my life for the past eighteen years. What would I do next?
Meow.
I turned toward the sound and trudged around the side of the house. The wraparound porch provided limited protection from the wind. As I moved, the meowing became louder and more insistent. I paused outside the office window. I squinted against the rain. Knowing my luck, the cat was hiding out in the trees. I bit my lip, pulled my jacket up over my head, and dashed out into the night.
I stumbled forward, my eyes searching the ground and tree line, uncertain for what I was looking for. Something cat shaped? Would I be able to tell in the dark?
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I said, hoping it would come find me instead.
The meowing continued. I closed my eyes and tried to pinpoint the sound. The howling wind made it difficult. It came and went in bursts, the wind carrying the noise away. The rain muffled everything. I called out again, and it meowed in reply.
The sound seemed to be coming from the house. I chuckled and turned back, my eyes sweeping the ground. Right next to the stairs was a small white spot I mistook for a plant. I looked past it and tracked backward as it moved. I inched closer, my eyes trained on the white spot. “Psst, psst, psst.”
It meowed in return. I jogged back to it and crouched by the porch. A white face with large blue eyes glowered at me from under the overhang. Its fur was soaked and clung to its small body. A large puddle had formed around the cat. The poor creature paced frantically around a small island in the mess, meowling as the water rose around it.
“Well, come on out, then,” I said. The cat turned and circled the spot. That was when I noticed the kittens. They were tiny; their eyes hadn’t opened yet.
My knees rested in the mud as I crouched. Mudwater soaked through my jeans. I would need to take a shower anyway, so I shrugged off my jacket and laid it down in front of me.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. I inched forward, pushing my jacket toward the cat. “You can all come inside, I promise.”
I held my hand out toward her, letting her sniff my fingers. Her pale-blue eyes flicked between me, the jacket, and the stormy night sky.
“It’s warm and dry inside.”
She inched forward and ducked her head under my hand. I scratched her behind her ears. Her fur was slick from the rain but still soft. Under the thick layer of fur, her ribs were covered by a thin layer of muscle.
Rain poured down my spine, making me shiver. Despite the warm night, the wind made it much colder. “See? I’m not so bad. I have a can of tuna you can eat.”
I continued to pet the cat for another moment, my hand moving farther and farther down her body. Once she was used to me petting all the way to her tail, I lifted her and sat her down on my jacket. She tried to dart back toward the porch, but I held her steady in one hand as I collected the kittens with the other. I piled kitten after kitten into my jacket. There were six in total. The last one was so small, it fit in the palm of my hand. I searched around to make sure I had them all. They were all there.
I bundled them in the jacket and scurried inside. I held them to my chest, the kittens squirming around in the jacket, until I got them into the mudroom and deposited them in the utility sink. Mud clung to their paws. They meowed and thrashed about, leaving trails of dirt behind them. I murmured to them as I emptied a cardboard box and lined it with some spare sheets. I dried them off as best I could and dropped them one by one into the box; the mother was last.
“You must be hungry, girl,” I said, stroking her on her head as she settled in.
She headbutted my hand and purred.
Growing up, I had a dog but never a cat. I wasn’t sure what to do with one. Does she belong to someone? She didn’t have a collar.
As I located the can of tuna, I decided I would take her by the vet in the morning to check for a chip. She wolfed down the food. Once she was done, she curled up on her side. The kittens piled up against her. I watched her for a few minutes before I got up to take a shower. If I were going to stay in town longer, I would have hoped she didn’t have an owner. I’d always wanted a cat. But I was only going to be here for a few weeks. Then I would be back in Spokane, living my old life, and the apartment lease didn’t allow pets.
I settled into bed. If what my grandmother wrote in her letter is true, will I ever be able to return to my old life? What does it mean to be a witch? I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.

• Potions and the Pleasantly Poisoned
• Tomes and the Tangled Trail
• Divinations and the Disappearing Dead
• Hexes and the Haunted House
• Spells and the Suspiciously Silent
• Grimoires and the Ghostly Guest
• Enchantments and the Eerily Ensnared
• Rituals and the Restless Remains
• Charms and the Cursed Coven