Quit Your Witchin' Read Free

coffee café to the right of us. He was also an old high school acquaintance who’d taken an interest in me since I’d moved back to my hometown, something Win didn’t seem to care for much.
    He was always picking at Forrest, who, of course, is thoroughly unaware of Win’s existence. Win’s dislike of Forrest leaves me scratching my head sometimes. Forrest’s a nice guy who works hard, makes amazing coffee, and has the cutest grandfather ever named Chester.
    But I didn’t have time to address Win’s sarcastic jabs at Forrest today. Today was all about finding our feet out here in the world of commerce in Ebenezer Falls.
    Madam Zoltar’s had been reopened just a week, and we were finally seeing some foot traffic as curiosity got the better of the locals and tourists alike. Everyone wanted to know if the formerly accused murderer, Stevie Cartwright, really could communicate with the dead.
    I won’t get into the murder accusation. Suffice it to say, even though I was utterly innocent and totally exonerated, the fact that my fellow Ebenezers had all but tarred and feathered me during the investigation into Madam Zoltar’s death still stung. So maybe I still feel a little grudgey, despite how kind the townspeople have been since my good name was cleared.
    After checking on Belfry and finding him fast asleep, I pushed open the door of what was once Madam Zoltar’s small apartment, now our storage/coffee room, and wiggled my finger over my shoulder at Win. Pointing to Edward, our grieving boyfriend, who was waiting for me to help him find Kitty’s will, I said, “Let’s do this, Spy Guy.”
    “Is everything all right?” Edward asked, his sweet face lined in worry as I reentered Séance Command Central.
    I patted him on the hand to reassure him before taking a seat at my brand-new reading table. “Everything’s fine. Sometimes I just get so overwhelmed by the spirits and their shenanigans, I need a moment to gather myself and refocus.”
    That’s not a lie, either. Win could make the man above need a moment, so someone like little ol’ mortal me didn’t stand a chance.
    I took in a deep breath and looked Edward square in his eye. “Now, where were we?”
    Edward reached his forefinger up under his round, thick, black-rimmed glasses and wiped a tear from his eye. “You said my Kitty was here—right here in the room with us.”
    “Yes. She absolutely is.” I closed my eyes again and focused my attention on asking the appropriate questions for Win to relay. “Kitty? Edward’s here. He wants you to know he misses you very much and he has a question for you. Can you help?”
    “Kitty says to tell Edward she’s busy,” Win supplied in a dry tone.
    The house that Win gave me is at the height of renovations with his contractor Enzo, and it’s gorgeous—and he’d lose his ever-lovin’ afterlife if anyone were to mar his precious.
    So, yep. When we got back to the house, I was going to draw on the freshly sheetrocked wall with a black Sharpie. Maybe a peace sign, or hashtag #payback.
    I stirred in my chair and cleared my throat, our mutually agreed-upon signal for “quit screwin’ around”.
    “So, Kitty, like I said, Edward has a question for you. He’d like to know where you left your will. It’s not in the place you said it would be, and your ex-boyfriend, Marlon, is threatening to take poor Snape away from your beloved Edward. Where did you put your will, Kitty?”
    “She says she’s still busy.”
    I clenched my teeth and muttered under my breath, “Well what is she doing? Her nails?”
    Edward gripped my hand with his sweaty cold one. “Are you really talking to her? What is she saying?”
    “She said she’s busy. I can’t make her talk to me, Stevie,” Win said in exasperation. “Rule number five hundred and twenty-two clearly states, no former spy interrogation tactics with the spirits. This is inclusive of, but not exclusive to, waterboarding, jumper cables, cigar cutters, any sort of