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

onto the carpet. He spun and threw the crystal tumbler straight at my head. Patrick pulled me out of the way, his strong hands digging into my upper arms.

Catching my breath, I could feel his rapid heartbeat against my back. When he released his grip, Patrick rubbed my reddening skin gently. “Sorry about that. I think I gripped you a bit hard.”

“Better than picking broken glass out of my face, thanks.”

I waved Andrew back to the dining room table and into his chair. “What’s the last thing you remember from when you were alive?” I tried to ignore the sinking feeling inside. Interviewing the murder victim didn’t seem like such a great advantage any longer.

“This.” Andrew swept an arm across the chaotic mess he’d created. “All I remember is this.”

I relayed the useless intel to Patrick, needing someone to share in my frustration. “That can’t be right,” he immediately stated. “There must have been some transition between repeating your last known routine—like a standard echo—and making the accusation you’d been murdered. Otherwise, how would you know?”

But logic didn’t seem to have much standing in the conversation. Andrew stared sadly at the surrounding mess, in between beats of eye-bulging fury. Pru curled herself against the doorway through to the kitchen. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, given the multitude of things that could cause bodily injury hidden in there, but each to their own.

“How long does he stay?” Patrick asked Pru, his face strained with trying to follow the patterns of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. “Will it matter that we’re in the room with you?”

She checked her watch; alarm spreading like warm jam across her face. “Andrew? Why are you still here?”

“WHAT? IS THERE SOMEPLACE YOU’D RATHER YOUR MURDERED FIANCE BE?”

I could tell from her body language the answer to that was, yes—anywhere, but I just held my breath. “Where do you go when you’re not here?”

Andrew launched himself at me, flying through my centre and out the window. I clutched my torso where the bulk of him had touched, feeling a coldness seep out into my bones.

Ugh. With a shake of revulsion, I moved to the window, staring into the side yard.

“Did someone lose a ghost?” Jared asked, his hair standing on end. “Only I was sniffing along a lovely trail when one decided to fly by.” He rubbed the hairs on his arms, smoothing down the goose flesh. “He didn’t seem at all happy. Is that what people mean by a restless spirit?”

I glanced past him just in time to see Andrew winking out of sight. “Guess his leave wasn’t extended by much, then.” Turning back to Pru and Patrick, I said, “He’s gone.”

Chapter Five

It seemed obvious to me our next stop should be the dearly departed’s not-quite-so-final resting place, an urge that fitted neatly with my desire to check out the oddity in my back yard. Patrick volunteered to stay behind, claiming he wouldn’t be any use since he couldn’t see Andrew, anyway.

Annalisa also declined to accompany us, but she did help me draw up a hasty map. With it in hand, Jared and I set off for the cemetery. The route led us out of the main forest and into a clearing, though judging from the ground it had more to do with a bush fire than natural growth patterns.

Having no shade from tall trees to keep them contained, ferns sprouted in merry abandon across the expanse. In some places, they were so tightly clumped together that I had to walk on top of their actual spines to forge ahead.

“I know you’re not allowed to sell your place, but are there any restrictions on development?” Jared asked as I stopped, panting for breath. “This would be a great spot to set up a hut. I’d love to come out here during the long summer nights and fall asleep sniffing that beautifully tangy air.”

“No, I can’t. Tangy, eh? Sounds like it went off.”

“Can’t you smell it?” Jared thrust his nose upwards and inhaled a deep breath. “Wonderful.”

I took a more cautious approach but couldn’t smell much beyond the damp undergrowth and the crisp green scent of the surrounding ferns. The silver coils of their furled leaves caught the sun and refracted it across their main foliage, twinkling like muted green stars.

“Can you use that talented snout of yours to locate this infernal place?” I called out, unwilling to set off again without a firmer timeline. My ankles felt more strained than if walking through loose sand.

“That’s a great name for a boneyard,” Jared said with a grin. “The infernal resting place of the Briarton clan.”

“Infernally and eternally yours.”

“From here to infernally.”

We grinned at each other until a crow’s caw split the air like an axe through a dry log.

“Geez, they make those things loud out here.” Jared shaded his eyes with one hand while trying to pinpoint the noisy creature. “But at least it’s not a magpie.”

Remembering divebombs from the heavens as I walked home from school, I had to agree.

“The path takes up again over there,” Jared said, pointing to a dilapidated trough drying to cracks in the summer sun. “And I wouldn’t mind cutting through the woods on an angle to reach the stream earlier. This trek has me parched.”

My throat was dry too but the thought of drinking from a stream that close to a cemetery hurt worse than being thirsty. “You can run ahead if you want. Catch me back up on the track.”

He didn’t need a formal invitation, taking off through the undergrowth and dropping to all fours so he soon disappeared. Only the dry crackle of leaves and brush let me know he was still close by.

“All this effort to see a place that’ll probably give me nightmares,” I grumbled to myself as my ankle twisted on a stump that turned out to be half-rotted. “I hope there’s something there worth seeing.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could snatch them