How to Stone a Crow (Witch Like a Boss Book 2) by Willow Mason (great novels txt) 📕

A tear ran down Pru’s cheek and she wiped it away with one fingertip. “About your death.”

“They MURDERED me! How can you just sit there making polite conversation when I’m rotting in the ground?” A glass smashed against the wall.

Patrick ran out of the room then stopped, hands raised, unsure where or how to direct his energy.

“Don’t just sit there. YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME. How could you let them get away with this?”

The table slammed into the ceiling, crushing everything atop it into smithereens. I called my magic to the ready, feeling its power pulse in my hands.

Andrew heaved himself out of the chair, panting. His face flushed then collapsed inwards, the cheeks sagging. “You let me think I was still alive. I’ve prepared for the same meeting over and over and over and over. My stomach’s a wreck. My head aches. Can’t you even let me know how it went? DID I GET THE PROMOTION?”

The table slammed down into the floor, the legs digging dents into the hardwood. Pru clung to her chair, staring straight down, letting her hair cover her face. I sent out a protection spell, hoping I was doing it right. If this was how the ghost had behaved the day before, our client had left a great deal out of her narrative.

“You didn’t make it,” I called out on Pru’s behalf. Maybe not a wise choice but the poor woman didn’t seem capable of speech.

Andrew’s head slowly turned around, going full 180 exorcist style as he glared at me over his shoulder.

“Your car crashed on the way to work,” I continued, hoping to distract the poltergeist if nothing else. “There was no meeting, no discussion about your promotion.”

“Fifteen years.” Andrew started to count off on his fingers but quickly ran out. “For fifteen years I’ve been prepping for a meeting that never happened.” His fingers turned into claws and he dragged them down his face, leaving behind deep rivulets that quickly filled in with red. “How could you let this happen?”

“Pru didn’t let anything happen. You’re the one who kept turning up.” I put my hands on my hips and set my face on full resting witch mode. “How dare you blame this poor woman for your behaviour? She wasn’t in control of you when you were alive, and she’s certainly not in control now you’re dead. Take some responsibility.”

Andrew clenched his fists, then jerked his right arm up and down. A large piece of jagged crockery slammed into the ceiling then showered its splintered remains on the table. His raised his left arm and the remnants of the broken centrepiece did the same.

“Wow. Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed.” I held a hand up in a placating gesture laden with sarcasm. “Perhaps you’d like to explain who murdered you before you go off on another rampage. That might go some way toward placating your poor fiancé.”

“THEY MURDERED ME.”

I rolled my eyes, catching Pru’s gaze and giving her an encouraging smile. “Oh, well. They. That narrows it down. Do you happen to know where they live?”

A teapot went flying across the room at light speed, punching deep into the plasterboard wall. A sad trickle spilled out of its tilted lip.

I left the question hanging for another minute, then pursed my mouth. “I take it that’s a no?”

“THIS ISN’T FUNNY.”

“No one’s saying it’s funny, mate. In fact, given the amount of damage you’ve done this morning, no one in this house will ever be laughing again.” I waggled my finger, advancing on the poltergeist with such laser focus that he backed up a step. “You need to invest in some anger management because this kind of behaviour isn’t okay.”

“What did he say?” Patrick asked a few moments later when we’d all descended into silence.

“He doesn’t know or, if he does, he isn’t saying.”

“Why did he suddenly level up?”

“Eh?” Andrew tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing. “Can’t you hear me?” He waved his hand in front of Patrick’s face, then poked fingers towards his eyes, failing to make him flinch.

“No, he can’t hear you.” I waited a beat, then added, “Lucky him.”

“What does he mean by levelling up?”

My eyes settled on the mess surrounding the table, then travelled up to the stains, spatters and chips of crockery embedded in the ceiling.

“Oh.” Andrew flexed his hand. “I’m not sure where any of that came from except…”

“Except what?” Pru asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and standing.

“I’M VERY ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN.” The poltergeist sent another slab of broken plate hurtling across the room, smashing into a framed photograph of him and Pru standing, arm in arm, in front of a punting boat.

“Can’t you remember anything?” Pru wrung her hands together, then tried to grasp her dead fiancé’s sleeve between her finger and thumb. Her arm dropped to her side as it failed to find purchase.

Curious, I leant over and gave him a poke. My finger travelled straight into him, like one of those weird old-style charade surgeons who used to pretend they could reach into your body to pull out disease.

“I need a drink,” Andrew declared, moving to an entertainment unit on the far wall and pulling open a cabinet. “Whatever’s going on is doing my head in.”

“Can you remember what you were doing last week?” I asked, returning Patrick’s thumbs-up sign when he caught the motion on our cameras. Or rather, what few of our cameras remained intact. We were going to have to write off at least two. Maybe three.

“I DON’T KNOW. WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME QUESTIONS? I’M THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE ASKING YOU.” Andrew’s face flushed as he realised he’d been shouting at the top of his voice. “Hm. Sorry about that. I don’t appear to have as much control AS I USED TO.”

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Unfortunately, the drink infuriated him all over again when the liquid poured straight from the glass