Zoe’s scream sliced through the bookstore. She shrieked and stumbled in the aisle, knocking the travel books to the carpet.
The wolf, skeletal, merciless, hunched it shoulders, readying to spring. Harry’s spirit whispered a curse.
In spite of everything, pity surged through me for the woman. But I didn’t turn away.
I saw the animal spirit tear at her neck.
I saw Harry’s malformed ghost reach into her heart.
I saw the sheriff grab Zoe’s wrist. In a back-and-forth motion, the gun was in McCourt’s hand. McCourt skipped backward. “On the ground! Get on the ground!”
Zoe’s eyes bulged. Moaning, she convulsed, knees hitting the thin carpet, hands covering her head.
The sheriff swore and jammed the gun into the back of her pants. Deftly, she handcuffed Zoe’s hands behind her back. “Okay. I don’t know what that was about, but I’ll take it.”
“Don’t let them get me,” Zoe whispered, eyes squeezed shut. She shriveled, rolling to her side and tucking her knees to her chest. “Keep them away.”
“Better put that dog out,” the sheriff said and reached for the radio on her jacket collar.
“It’s not Bailey she’s seeing.”
The sheriff paused, thumb over the radio button. “Then what is she seeing?”
The wolf’s nose was at Zoe’s neck now, its teeth bared, growling.
“The book.” Harry’s hands passed harmlessly through the Necronomicon's cover. “It’s mine. Give it to me.”
But the ghost could do nothing with the book. It belonged to the sheriff, and then the heirs, and then I’d do my damnedest to buy it. Unseen and unknown, Harry would haunt McCourt’s office. I wouldn’t be able to help him until he could see past his obsession to the light waiting just beyond his left shoulder.
“What is she seeing?” the sheriff asked again.
I sighed. “What she needs to see, even if it isn’t what she wants.”
So did I. My sisters and I had attracted the interest of dangerous people, and others might know about what we could do.
We’d face that danger, eyes open.
Read more about Lenore and her witchy sisters in The Witches of Doyle cozy mystery novels.
Photo (top) by Smart on Unsplash. Photo below by Daniil Kuzelev on Unsplash.
About the Author
Kirsten Weiss has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. The latter gives her heartburn, but she drinks it anyway.
Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes genre-blending cozy mystery, supernatural and steampunk suspense, mixing her experiences and imagination to create vivid worlds of fun and enchantment.