Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) (8 page)

I wasn’t terribly interested in telling my mother everything that had gone down in the past couple of months since I’d lost my powers. She never really listened anyway unless it had to do with her. If I kept that in mind, if I could just accept her as is, this visit could turn out okay.

She stopped pecking at the laptop and gazed at me. “I was relieved when you said you’d lost the ability to talk to spirits. I never liked you talking to the dead.”

“I distinctly remember you telling me it was creepy.” Yes, that’s right, folks, my own mother, a witch herself, thought I was creepy because I had the ability to speak to the afterlife.

She took a delicate sip of her whiskey, her pinky finger extended. “It was, and still is.”

Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “You’re probably right, but Win’s the reason I have all this.”

“Do tell her it’s a pleasure to meet her and give her my condolences, would you, Dove?” Win requested.

“Win says he’s pleased to meet you and he’s sorry about Bart.”

Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrow rose. “Are you talking to him right now?”

Tracing the pattern of the wood tabletop with my finger, I nodded. “I am. It’s why I have the Bluetooth. So everyone won’t think I’m talking to myself.”

“Well, tell him to go away!” she snapped. “We have personal business to discuss!”

“Mom? Did you just hear what I said?”

“Yes, dear. You said you have a ghost.”

“A ghost who gave me all
this
! The house, more money than I know what to do with in two lifetimes, a stress-free financial future, a car, his
friendship
, Mom. I’m not booting my ghost out because you think he’s creepy. Win knows everything there is to know about me. We have no secrets.” Well, not on my part, anyway.

“See
Stephania
stand up for her creepy ghost. I’m all aglow here on Plane Limbo,” Win teased.

And then everything I’d just said obviously sank into Dita’s brain. She stirred in her chair. “Wait, are you telling me that this ghost gave this house to you?”

Ah. Now I had Dita’s attention. Not that it should matter. In a couple of days, she was going to be rich, if what she said about Bart and his life insurance policy held true. Not to mention, he had a villa in Greece. People who had villas in Greece had many bank accounts, and probably lots of olives in those bank accounts.

I smiled, leaning my head on my hand. “He did. It didn’t always look like this. That’s why we had a housewarming party. But if not for him, Bel and I would be out on the street. I had nothing when I was booted out of Paris by Baba Yaga—”

“You have money?” she asked, now sitting up straight, effectively cutting off all talk of me and my tale of woe.

“I do. Plenty of it.”

“Why would a
ghost
leave you his money? Was he once a lover?”

I think my cheeks turned twelve shades of crimson as I looked at my mother. “No, Mom. It’s a long story, but it has to do with a murder and a woman named—”

“Well, how much money?” Mom closed the laptop, her interest clearly piqued.

Whoa, slow the roll now. Why did she care? I could see if she was between marriages, but she surely had boatloads of cash. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I might be in a—”

“Dita?” a voice full of wonder said from behind us.

“Make room for daddy,” Win muttered.

* * * *

“Hugh?” my mother whispered, her lower lip trembling, a perfection of lip gloss and fragile glass. “Is that you?”

So he really was Hugh Granite? My jaw unhinged.

Hugh smiled that perfect smile and strolled toward her, his hands outstretched in a welcoming gesture. “You’re as beautiful as always, Flower.”

And he called her
Flower
.

“Is that
really
you?” Dita asked in her own tone of wonder, taking his hands and letting him pull her to her feet.

If this were a movie, things would be all slow motion and heart-tugging music would be playing right now and I’d be dripping the salt of my tears on my popcorn. I actually had to blink to believe I was really seeing this reunion.

Wowwowwow, were they perfect together, too. More perfect than even Mom and Bart. They were all things beautiful and lean, graceful and supple.

I rose from my seat because I was drawn to their magnetic pull, their combined charisma that heady, but I tripped on the leg of the chair and stumbled, falling into them instead.

As I crashed into Hugh, his strong arm went around my waist. “Are you okay?”

Looking up at him, falling into his gorgeously concerned eyes, I now didn’t just stumble, I apparently stuttered, too. “I’m…yes…um…”

“Stevie? How could you be remiss in telling me Hugh was here?”

My mother’s question, her eyes wide with curiosity as she demanded an answer, angered me.

My jaw unhinged for the second time today. “Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe because you were here with your new husband? Or maybe the same way you didn’t tell me he was my
father
?”

“Bloody hell, Stevie. There are gentler ways. Have we still not perfected our subtleties? In order to garner the results you wish, you must read your antagonist, not rile her. Stand down, Dove.”

Dita gasped, gripping Hugh’s arms, but he took a step away, disentangling himself from her and putting an arm around my shoulder, his gaze locking with mine. “All these years,
you
didn’t know either?”

Was this really happening? Right here in my sparkly kitchen? Numbly, I shook my head. “I had no idea who you were—or that you didn’t know I existed.”

His eyes went from smiling to angry, narrowing in on my mother. “How could you deny my beautiful daughter knowing she had
me
for a father, Dita?”

Okay. That wasn’t exactly the noblest response a child hoped for, but it would suffice. Plus, my dad thought I was beautiful. That was kind of preen-worthy, coming from a movie star in Japan.

But now my mother narrowed
her
eyes, raising her hands in the air.

Oh, goddess. I knew what lifting her red-tipped nails meant. A spell was coming, and I had no defense against her magic. There was a sudden cool wind in the kitchen, swishing my mother’s hair around her face as her eyes went brilliantly hot.

Sweet Pete in a thong, bad spell alert!

So I jumped in front of Hugh and shook my finger at her in stern warning. “Mother! Don’t you dare use your magic!”

But she was seething, her eyes flashing dark, her signature wind whipping the takeout menus around on the fridge.

“I should turn you into a urinal!” she shouted at Hugh on a dramatic sob before sweeping past us and out of the room with a huff.

But my father just chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at his shortly clipped nails and buffed them on his suit coat. “Still the same old Dita, I see.”

Obviously he was accustomed to my mother’s melodrama, but he had some splainin’ to do. In that second, something dawned on me. Was Hugh paranormal?

“Where have you been all this time, Hugh?” Then I held up my hand. “I mean tonight. Not all my life. Let’s start there.”

He blinked as though I’d gone mad. “In the upstairs bathroom, running lines, of course.”

Was this all really happening? I worried my lower lip with my teeth. “Lines?”

“Certainly. You don’t get to be an international star if you don’t know your lines, Daughter.” Then he paused, dramatically, lifting his chin when he spotted his reflection in the windows before taking my hand. “You said we’d chat later. It was obvious you were very busy with your beautiful party, and being a star, I didn’t want to distract from your shining moment, as so often happens when I’m in a room. It’s only natural people recognize me from my many movies and appearances and create a fuss. So I took my leave and went upstairs to memorize my lines for my next movie and let you have your spotlight. I think you’ll find I can be very gracious, indeed.”

I’m pretty sure Hugh had no idea how incredibly arrogant he sounded. In fact, I know he didn’t, simply because he looked at me with such tenderness. He really believed he’d given me some rare gift and he didn’t think it was at all arrogant.

And who was I to tell him otherwise? Yet, it was the way he presented this gift that intrigued me and touched my heart. Without an ounce of reservation. He was what he was, and he didn’t hide it. Egotistical or not, I had to admire that.

So I patted him on the back and waved him to a chair. “You’re a real sport, Hugh. But do you have any idea what happened down here while you were holed up in the bathroom?”

“A party, of course. I was so engrossed in learning my lines and correcting some monumental error on the part of the writers, who have obviously made a mistake, casting me as anything other than a strapping man of wealth and great intelligence.”

“So you were in the bathroom for
five
hours? The party started at seven, came to a screeching, murderous halt at nine, and it’s almost twelve now. Didn’t you hear all the chaos?”

He winked and puffed his chest out as he sat, pulling a pair of earbuds out of his jacket pocket. “I had these in. Music soothes me when I rehearse. Also, I’m nothing if not studious. I like to prepare all my angles and make notes for the cameramen so they feature me at my absolute best.”

I sat down next to him. “Someone was murdered during the time you were perfecting angles, Hugh.”

He gasped. His look of surprise, whether acted or real, was on point.
“Who?”

“Mom’s husband Bart.”

Hugh made a sad face. “Poor Dita. No wonder she’s so out of sorts.”

I nodded. Sure. That was definitely the reason. Obviously he, too, was blinded by my mother and her wicked charms. “So can I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Of course, Daughter.”

I had to wonder why he kept giving me a familial label. Maybe he was using it out loud so he could adjust to it, as much as I was using it internally in order to do the same.

“Mom never told you about me?”

He sighed, long and wistful. “Unfortunately, she did not. Alas, our love affair was fleeting—like sands through the hourglass, it came and went. We were never meant to be, you see. Ill-fated from the start.”

“Star-crossed lovers,” I whispered. If I’d ever had fantasies about my parents and how they met and fell in love, this one was high on my list.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “It had nothing to do with stars. We met at a rodeo convention in Galveston, Texas. She was a rodeo girl and I was traveling with a production of
Oklahoma!

“Hah!” Win barked in my ear. “Bloody fabulous!”

Hugh cocked his slick head, frowning. “Who is that?”

My brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Who’s the fellow with the British accent?”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “You can hear him?”

Hugh chuckled a laugh. “You’re delightful! Of course I can, Stevie. I didn’t say so earlier because he was offering sound advice and I didn’t want to frighten you further, but I’m one of the few warlocks in the world who can communicate with the dead.”

No. Way. I’d never met anyone else who communicated with the afterlife. I knew others existed, but we’re rare. With the exception of Baba Yaga, who could communicate with Satan himself, I suppose, this was a first for me.

I must have inherited my powers from Hugh.

“Me too!” I yelped in excitement, until I realized that wasn’t really the case anymore. “I mean, I used to communicate with the dead. Not so much anymore since I lost my powers, though.”

He gasped again, the intake of breath making me jump as he gripped my hands in his larger ones.
“You lost your powers?”

“Well, I didn’t really lose them. They were slapped out of me. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday when you have extra time on your hands.”

Now his face was grave, exaggeratedly so, but still, grave with concern. I think it was concern, anyway. “Who would do such a thing to my daughter?”

“Again, looong story. But a good one, too. Anyway, introductions are in order, I guess. Win, meet Hugh. Hugh, Crispin Alistair Winterbottom. Or Win, as we call him.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Win said, his warm aura surrounding me the way it always did when he wanted to let me know he was being supportive.

My father (my father!) lifted his square, dimpled chin and nodded regally. “The same. We have much to talk about.”

“Indeed, sir. I’m happy to answer any and all questions. Shall I take my leave so that you might have privacy with your daughter?”

I loved the way Win said
privacy.
It always cracked me up when he used a short “I”. It was so upper-crust British.

“I have nothing to hide,” Hugh offered amicably. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I’m more interested in hearing how my daughter lost her powers.”

“Like I said, we’d need a lot of time to ride that pony.” I wasn’t ready to rehash just yet. “So, mom…”

He winked, his strong jaw lifting. “Yes. Your mother. She’s quite a handful, isn’t she?”

“You’re not angry with her?” I asked in disbelief. “I mean, she didn’t tell you I existed and probably never would have.”

Was I angry with her? Should I pile that on top of all the other things I was angry with her about?

“No, Daughter. Certainly I was at first. But that passed. Anger is a wasted emotion if there is still treasure to find. Finding out about you was a treasure. I won’t allow anger to interfere with what I hope will be a budding relationship with you. Dita…is Dita. I might have only spent one night with her, but she’s easy enough to figure.”

Then I looked at him pensively. “So one last question. Does this mean you’re going to disassociate yourself with me as well, because I’m not part of the coven anymore? There aren’t many left who are willing to associate with me.”

I prepared myself for the inevitable answer. He
was
a lot like my mother. She didn’t like messes of any kind. I imagined that trait was something she looked for in a man, too—even if it was only for one night. When the goin’ got tough, Dita got goin’. I wanted to be ready for the rejection.

Though, I couldn’t really blame him. I was a sticky proposition, especially if you were only just meeting me for the first time. Were I Hugh, I’d cut ties and behave as though this had never happened.