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Dedication: For my Dad. Miss you!

CHAPTER ONE

Rain spattered the cobblestone street. Aurora tugged on the lapels of her sweater, trying to keep the night's chill from working its way under her collar and down her spine. She hadn't planned on rain. Then again, she hadn't planned on being out alone on Halloween night wandering down the town's most spooky street.

Old town was almost deserted at that hour as the clock ticked toward 11 pm. One hour to accomplish her goal. Pulling her sweater tighter still, she hurried on trying to ignore the wind that picked up, throwing fat, icy raindrops in her face. The wind pushed against her, throwing her momentarily backward. It was as if nature conspired against her, trying to prevent her from reaching her destination.

The sign appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Tina's Spell Shop she read, squinting against the rain. Potions and Potables.

Lightning crackled overhead. Rory jumped. Hesitating, she stood on the street in what had become a veritable downpour. This was what she came for. Why was she hesitating now? In an hour, the opportunity would be gone forever. She hauled on the door handle. For a moment she was certain it was locked, that the proprietor had taken notice of the weather and left early, leaving the neon sign that said Open 'Til Midnight still lit.

But then the door sprang open, admitting her to the gloom inside.

The inside of the shop smelled musty and damp from the rain. Wan light sifted in from the streetlights, diffused by the water-laden air. The old floor creaked under foot as she stepped inside and pulled the rickety door shut behind her. Rory looked around in the dim light. The interior of the shop was lit entirely with candles. They burned on the edges of the display cases, dripping frozen waterfalls of black wax. It would make a huge mess to clean up tomorrow, she thought absently. With another glance at the amount of wax on the counter she realized the candles had been there for a long time.

"Never can have too many candles," said a voice out of the gloom. The owner of the voice stepped into a circle of light. Rory bit back a gasp.

A green-faced witch strode toward her complete with a beak nose and a giant wart on her chin. Upon closer examination Rory realized both the nose and the wart were prosthetics expertly applied, as was the green makeup. By her slender figure Rory guessed that the person beneath the Halloween costume had to be about her age.

As Rory studied her, the witch laughed. "Most of my colleagues wouldn't be caught dead dressed like this, but this is a tourist area and I like the theatre of it all."

"Well, it is Halloween," Rory agreed.

"And what a night for it," the witch said, staring out the windows at the miserable night beyond. "I really count on the extra business at Halloween. But I think the weather has kept everyone in tonight. I was just about to close up shop."

"Well... if you're closing... " Rory said, courage leaving her all at once.

"Oh, no problem." The witch tore her attention form the rain and centered Rory in her probing gaze. Her eyes were amber, she realized suddenly. They made a striking contrast against the green makeup. "You're the only customer I've had in hours. You have my full attention. What can I get you?"

"I'm looking for a book of spells," Rory said, then added. "Nothing complicated, though. I'm new at all of this."

The gaze grew more intense. "Are you certain that's what you need?" the witch asked. "Magic is not something to be tampered with lightly."

"It's just for research." Rory regretted the lie instantly. The witch, for all her theatrical makeup, seemed like a nice person.

Those amber eyes gave her another once over. Rory couldn't be sure whether she believed her or not, but she strode off toward a towering bookshelf. "I'm sure I have a spell book for beginners up here somewhere." A ladder led to the upper shelves. Putting one foot on the ladder, she turned back. "I'm Tina, by the way. Help yourself to some mulled cider there in the caldron. It'll warm you up."

"Thanks." Rory knew Tina expected her to give her own name, but the less she knew the better. If she knew what Rory really intended to do with the spell book, she certainly wouldn't be offering her refreshment.

Rory wandered off in search of the cider. The smell of spice wafted from a black cauldron. She stirred it once with the ladle and poured a measure into a mug shaped like a skeletal fist. The cider sent a wave of warmth all the way to her belly. She hadn't realized how chilled she'd gotten from wandering about in the rain.

Tina climbed down from the ladder carrying a small book. She blew the dust off the cover, allowing Rory to see that the jacket had been designed to look like a miniature grimoire. The title Simple Spells for Beginners was written in blood red ink. "I can give you a ten percent discount on this one," Tina said. "On account of the dust."

Rory glanced down at her watch. Eleven fifteen already. She really had to get going. "That'd be great. I'll take it."

In a swish of black robes, Tina strode to the cash register. "Cash?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure," Rory said.

Trying not to look as anxious as she felt, she handed over the money, while Tina put the book in a black plastic bag that said Tina's Spell Shop, written in silver. She handed the bag to Rory, but didn't let go of it.

"I realize you only want this for research... " Her tone of voice said she didn't believe a word of it. "But really, magic is a dangerous thing for a novice to be playing with." Probing amber eyes added weight to her warning.

"Research," Rory said, giving Tina her most disarming smile. She put her mug back down on the counter and gave the bag a gentle pull. "That's all."

"Okay then." Tina let go of the bag. "Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," Rory echoed. And fled from the store back into the rain.

***

For those disembodied spirits who inhabited the ether, it had been a disappointingly slow Halloween. Inclement weather had battered most of the eastern seaboard, keeping most revelers indoors. Midnight, the hour when the veil between the dimensions was thinnest was fast approaching. And it appeared it would be as uneventful as the rest of the evening.

Until gentle vibrations trembled through the dimensions.

Mischief raised his head. He looked up from the hand of cards he'd been playing with Gareth, a surly misfit ghost cursed to wander the ether forever. "Do you think... ?"

Gareth raised his blond head. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. He smiled, even white teeth made all the whiter by the day's growth of beard he'd been wearing when he died. The beard was a shade darker than his hair. "Nah." He looked down at his cards. "If this is your idea of a diversion, I'm not buying it. Play your hand, or I'm leaving."

Mischief sniffed the ether. "Very well, Gareth. But I think you're wrong. Something's up tonight. And I intend to find out what it is."

***

Rory sat in the middle of her living room. Up until a few months ago the small loft had been home to both Rory and her fiance Sam. The home they'd intended to start their married life in, now it was just a place to live. Two weeks before their wedding, Sam had been killed in a horrible car accident. Their wedding day had come and gone. The white silk dress she intended to wear still sat in the closet. Sam's note to her was still scrawled on the note board in the kitchen: Home by six. Love you!

Except that he hadn't come home.

With a piece of chalk, Rory drew a pentagram on the cement floor. She lit the black candles she'd purchased at the party store and placed one at each of the pentagram's peaks. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. The pentagram was a bit lopsided, but it would have to do. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes to twelve.

Flipping open the book to the spell she selected: To return a lost love, she quickly read down the list of ingredients, then looked down at the aluminum bowl she'd used as a pyre. Sam's picture smiled up at her from a nest of herbs. All she needed now was a lock of his hair. For a moment, she panicked. Then she remembered that Sam's hairbrush still sat gathering dust on the bathroom counter. She rushed down the hall to the bathroom and returned with several strands of light brown hair. The clock ticked. Midnight had arrived.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the pentagram, she added the hairs to the pyre. Aloud, she recited the spell, wincing at the heavy-handed rhyme. This can't possibly work, she thought. But she set the pyre's contents on fire anyway.

And waited.

***

Women found Mischief appealing, though Gareth could never figure out why. Maybe it was his hea...