A Gathering of Angels (19 page)

“More decorations? Jeez, Claire, did you leave any for the rest of town?”

She turned to find Annie Sullivan leaning against the front counter, arms crossed and a wicked smile on her face.

“A few. And look who’s talking about overkill—this is, what, your fifth costume change in as many days?”

Annie twirled, her heavy black cloak belling out around her. “I came as myself today. A witch.”

Claire shook her head and skirted the counter, pulling out her costume for the day. When she appeared with the veiled witch’s hat and velvet cloak, Annie burst out laughing.

“Great minds think alike.” Leaning in, she poked at one of the plastic spiders caught in the net veil covering Claire’s face. “Nice touch. Skin crawling, but nice.”

“I thought so.” She reached under the counter, grabbing the already full bowl of candy. “Can you make sure the door is unlocked? I know it’s a few minutes early, but I’m in the mood for people, and some fun.”

“You’re the boss.” With the cloak swirling around her, Annie strode over to the door—and jumped backward when it burst open just as she reached to check the deadbolt. “Son of a—hey, are you okay?”

Claire took off her hat and moved to the door, understanding Annie’s question when she saw the woman’s face. She wrapped one arm around the trembling shoulders, led her to the reading table at the back of the shop and lowered her to the one of the chairs. Kneeling in front of the woman, Claire took her hand.

“Tell me what’s happened.”

Dark brown eyes stared at her, nearly black in her shock pale face. Swallowing, she clutched Claire’s hand, her voice so low Claire had to lean in to hear it.

“I don’t know if you remember me—I come into your shop every year, during the Summer Solstice . . .”

“The festival. Yes, I remember—Regina, isn’t it? You have a beautiful, vivacious daughter, who loves to dance, if my memory is correct.”

Some of the panic eased from her face. “Hillary. She loves it here so much—I’m recently divorced, and we decided to make a new start. I bought the big Victorian on the hill—”

“The devil house?” Annie shrugged when they both looked up at her. “Sorry—just popped out. We all thought it was haunted when we were kids. The man who lived there—Mr. McCarran—completely creeped me out.”

Claire raised her eyebrows, decided to save the tongue lashing for later. “Are you quite finished?”

“I just thought you might—yeah.” Hunching inside the cloak, she crossed her arms, defiant and apologetic.

Claire almost smiled—until she turned back and met Regina’s eyes. “Children’s tales, Regina, nothing more—”

“I think she may be right.” Her grip on Claire’s hand became a vise, the rings Claire wore digging into her skin. Ignoring the flare of pain—she had felt worse, not so long ago—Claire sandwiched her hand. “Oh, God—what if she’s right?”

“Take a breath, Regina. That’s it.” Claire couldn’t use her power to soothe anymore, so she used her voice, her tone gentle, soothing as she talked Regina down from a panic attack. “Slow breaths, just focus on each one. Good, you’re almost there.” The death grip on her hand eased. “Now, tell me what brought you here.”

“I heard,” embarrassment flashed over the fear, “that you can see ghosts, sense them.”

Claire didn’t know how, but what happened up in Huntsville leaked out, and she instantly became the resident ghost expert, along with Simon. To say his church board was not happy would have been a gross understatement. But his congregation already adored him, and to a person, stood in his defense.

“I can. What is—”

“It’s my daughter, Hillary.” Tears slid down Regina’s face, her hand shaking like a winter leaf in Claire’s grasp. “I think—oh, God—I think she might be haunted.”

Author’s Note

A book is never the product of the writer alone. Standing behind them are the people who help make them look good, who help complete the process, and do so with grace and incredible talent. These are my people, and without them, I would still be mucking along, reaching for a dream instead of living it. Thank you, Janet, of Dragonfly Editing, for the last set of eyes on my work; it made all the difference. To Rebecca, for your detailed formatting, and to Christine, for a beautiful cover design, done in record time—you are a lifesaver. A special thank you to Nadica, for the stunning art that graces my cover. It is such a joy and a pleasure to work with you. To my readers, Theresa McClinton and Grace Elliot—my most sincere thanks for all of your help and support. I never could have done it as well without all of you.

And a special thank you to my contest winners, Mindy and Theresa - you let me take a peek into your lives, and put what I found in my story. It was great fun, and a challenge I look forward to taking on again.

About the Author

Cate Dean has been writing since she could hold a pen in her hand and put more than two words together on paper. She grew up losing herself in the wilds of fantasy worlds, and has had some of her own adventures while tromping through the UK, and a few other parts of the world. A lover of all things supernatural, she infuses that love into her stories, giving them a unique edge. When she’s not writing, she loves cooking, scaring herself silly in the local cemeteries, and reading pretty much anything she can get her hands on.

You can find her hanging out at her website:
http://catedeanwrites.com

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http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5694181.Cate_Dean

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http://amazon.com/author/catedean

If you enjoyed this book, I would be grateful if you took a minute or two and posted a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads. Your comments mean so much to me, and would be helpful to others searching for just the right book. Maybe, for them, this book will be the right one.

Other books by Cate Dean

Claire Wiche Chronicles

Rest For The Wicked

Fantasy

Last Chance Jack
—A Fantasy Short Story

When Walls Can Talk
—A YA Fantasy Novella