HAUNTED HARVEST (EBOOK)

CHAPTER 1

I surveyed the largest hall in the House—the one I’d started calling the ballroom, thanks to its lovely fishbone parquet and floor to ceiling French windows—and tried to contain my anxiety.

This was supposed to be my dearly departed great Aunt Violet’s wake. But it resembled nothing so much as the Mad Hatter’s tea party crossed with a zoo—one in which the animals had staged a jailbreak.

Standing on the stage at the front of the ballroom was my aunt Violet’s coffin. It was a beautiful white and gold affair, and it was open to display her body, clad in what Mrs Grimshaw assured me was one of her favorite outfits, complete with blush pearl stud earrings on her ears and a triple string of pearls at her neck.

Arranged around the ballroom were large round tables draped with white tablecloths and decked with mouthwatering refreshments and beautiful bone china.

And that was where the resemblance to a wake ended. 

Because scattered about the room were also a motley gathering of witches, animal familiars, and magicals that I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams.

“She always did love her Earl Gray with a dollop of honey, did you know?” screeched a little old lady who looked as if she was due to join my aunt in her coffin at any moment. She was hovering beside the open casket with a teacup in one hand and a teaspoon clutched in the other. “I do hope they have the proper kind where she’s going! Just in case, though, here’s a taste to last her the journey.”

Before anyone could stop her, she dipped the teaspoon into the cup, scooped a bit of tea and dabbed it onto my aunt’s lips.

The funeral director groaned and hurried forward to intervene. He stopped short of taking her teaspoon away when her greyhound familiar growled ferociously at him, and was reduced to muttering about my aunt shattering yet again as he tried to usher the old lady along.

I couldn’t help but feel sympathetic. 

After all, my aunt had been in pieces when she died. It was somewhat of a miracle that the funeral home’s embalmer had managed to make poor Aunt Violet look as good as she currently did. I suspect a good amount of magic—and perhaps superglue—had been involved.

“Melva is such a menace. I knew we shouldn’t have opened up the invitation to everyone,” Mrs Grimshaw muttered beside me. She glanced irritably towards me, but I pretended not to notice. Gremlin—my grimoire turned chameleon—however, snapped his teeth at her.

"I don't see how you could have excluded any Atheringtons, Annabeth," Madam Aella said.

"I couldn't, but Miss Joy definitely could."

This time I really couldn't pretend not to notice. "I don't think I could have, actually. Aunt Violet led the Atheringtons for decades. They deserve a chance to say goodbye."

"And they would have climbed the walls like monkeys if you had tried to keep them out, anyway," Simon Smeagal added with a snigger.

"That one definitely would have," Mrs Grimshaw said in reluctant agreement, eyeing a pink-haired youth who had just placed a boombox beside my aunt's coffin.

"Hang on. That's not some random teenager. That’s—" I groaned in mindspeak to my familiar.

"Your Nana Trix," Felix agreed once he looked up from his eclair.

I made to stand. But before I could stop her, Nana Trix began blasting It’s My Life by Bon Jovi and gyrating on the platform around Aunt Violet's coffin.

"Oh no," I groaned. "Why is she doing this?" I knew better than to ask, of course. I knew by now that nothing Nana Trix did ever made sense. At least to anyone else but her.

Surprisingly, though, Mrs Grimshaw didn't look in the least surprised. Horror-struck, of course, but not surprised.

"She just has to have the last word," Mrs Grimshaw spat in disgust. But I noted she didn’t make a move to stop her either.

Nana Trix's word lasted until the last notes of the song died down, because no matter how hard he tried or how fast he ran, the funeral director couldn't get his hands on her or her boombox. 

In the end, Nana Trix hopped off the stage, a smug look on her face and her boombox on her shoulder, while the poor funeral director slumped against Aunt Violet’s coffin.

I sighed in relief when she trotted over to a table across the ballroom from us and proceeded to dig into the refreshments.

However, the peace and quiet I'd been longing for revealed a heated argument that had been going on behind me. One that I barely paid attention to—really, who would, given everything else that was going on—until my name came up.

"I'm just saying that someone should at least have tried to hold a seance to see what Violet thought about leaving everything to her mundane niece!"

"But I thought Miss Joy isn’t mundane. Didn't you hear how she blasted Leo out of the sky with her lightning when he tried to rescue her? Pity she didn’t hit him."

"The lightning was just a coincidence." The first speaker snorted. "The only thing Tempest did was fall off Leo's broomstick while screaming at the top of her voice. Nobody has seen her do a lick of magic. In fact, if you ask me, she's probably not even Violet's real niece. I mean, look at her. The woman's a walking fashion disaster. I'm surprised Violet isn't rolling over in her casket."

"What do you mean?"

"All I'll say is Violet's dead and she's still looking pretty good in her Chanel and pearls, while her supposed niece shows up at her own aunt's funeral wearing what looks like a burlap sack stained with cat vomit."

I glanced down at my Marimekko dress. 

Sure, it was a little big. I'd lost weight—having Nana Trix as a housemate for a month will do that to you—but I didn't think it looked that bad on me. And Anita had told me that funerals were usually bright and colorful affairs among magic users. Wearing black was a strict no-no since superstition held that mourning the dead too much might cause them to rise again. It was far better to wear bright colors, celebrate their life, and nail the coffin shut tight before lowering it into the ground.

"Don't mind her," Madam Aella whispered as she leaned in closer to me. "Abigail Puddleduck has always been a little..." She bit her lip as she wracked her brain for a suitable adjective. "Well, a little much." She shrugged and leaned back.

"Much what? Delusional? Obtuse? Suitable to be used as a scratching post and vomit depository?" Felix growled.

"Down, boy," I said to my familiar.

"Down the back of her neck, more like." Felix sent back as he glared and began hacking up a hairball.

"Only if you can do it discreetly, please. I really don't want to get into a hair-pulling contest at my aunt's funeral."

"Discretion is my middle name." Felix said as he slunk off towards Puddleduck.

I sighed.

Abigail wasn't the only one who was questioning my leadership of the Atherington coven, though. Similar conversations have sprung up all around the ballroom throughout the wake. And furtive glances had been sent my way ever since I made an appearance in the room. I tried my best to pretend I didn't notice. But the covert disapproval was wearing on me.

"Don't worry. You'll prove them all wrong soon," Mrs Grimshaw said in what I'm sure she supposed was a reassurance.

But all it did was strike fear in my heart. There was no time for me to panic, though.

The funeral director must have decided that it was time to move on—or else he was afraid that something truly horrible would happen if he didn't hurry us along, not an unreasonable worry considering the impromptu seance that was underway judging by the pentacle someone had daubed on the floor with red wine—and before I could blinked, a collection of pallbearers were lifting my aunt's coffin onto the shoulders and heading through one of the open French doors to the lawn beyond.

I nodded at Sir Victor Reynolds, the vegan vampire whose property adjoined my aunt's—well, my estate, now—as he passed with Aunt Violet’s coffin jauntily held on his shoulder, then at several other Atherington members who were huffing and puffing as they tried to keep up with him. 

Then I joined the procession to lead everyone out to my aunt's funeral.

Prayers were said. Songs were sung. Even a short speech or two was made.

I didn't hear a thing, though.

All I could do was stare at the mound of dirt that was waiting to cover my aunt's coffin.

"Ahem, Temmie!" Anita jabbed me in my ribs. "You're up!"

I gave her a thankful look, wishing she was senior enough in the coven to have sat with me during the wake. But Anita was a brand-new member of the Atherington coven—thanks to yours truly—and she was so in love with its rules and regulations that she adhered to them even when she didn't have to.

I took my place in front of everyone and sucked in a deep breath.

As the heir to my aunt's estate and position, it was my responsibility to inter her to allow her magic to flow back into the land. Unfortunately, I had to do it using my own magic.

Which was unpredictable at best.

"Just try not to bury us along with her, will you?" Felix said warily.

I glanced down at my familiar. "How did the mission go?"

"Perfecto. It's not down her neck, but Puddleduck is sporting a particularly odd-looking hair ornament at the moment."

A swell of inappropriate pride rose in my chest. "I hope I get a chance to see it."

"Oh, you'll probably smell it before you see it," Felix smirked. "It's fortunate that she chose to wear that little lacy fascinator. My work of art will be plastered on her all day before she notices it. Now, enough about me. It's your turn to shine, so get that dirt and bury your aunt this instant!"

I grinned and stuck out a hand towards the mound of earth before I could second-guess myself. Summoning my magic, I chanted a little spell under my breath: “Under the soil, safe and sound, let your magic feed the ground.”

Truly powerful witches didn't need to use spells like this. But it was useful for beginners like me who needed to learn how to focus their power.

A moment passed after I spoke the words. 

Then it was as if the entire estate sighed. 

Earth rippled beside the coffin, covering it in slow, gentle waves. Once the ground stilled, specks of green appeared, blooming into a carpet of soft, dewy grass.

"Nice touch," Felix said as the crowd sighed.

But I wasn't done. I hadn't mentioned it in the spell, but I had kept an image in my mind of what I wanted—a final gift for my aunt.

Slowly, a little sapling began to poke out of the ground just over the head of where my aunt's coffin had been. Before our eyes, it grew and grew until it had turned into a small tree dripping with purple trumpet-like flowers.

"A jacaranda!" someone exclaimed.

"How beautiful," another cooed.

"I told you she was her heir. She must have found the spell in the grimoire."

I smiled and finally released my magic. When I surveyed the crowd, everyone's eyes were on the tree—everyone except Inspector Jack Kalahari’s.

He was gazing straight at me, his eyes piercing even from a distance.

I looked away, my cheeks heating.

"Ugh, not again." Felix rolled his eyes. "What's it going to take for you to stop drooling over him?"

I opened my mouth to shoot back a reply, then froze.

A tall gray figure stood in shadow by the hedge, wings half-furled.

"LeBeau!"

"Not quite what I had in mind, but…"

"No, I mean LeBeau’s here! Come on!" 

I grabbed Felix and ran.

I couldn’t lose my aunt’s gargoyle butler—not before I found out what he’d really been up to.

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