A Hex a Day (Which Village Book 1) Read online

  Everything.

  I walked away from the meeting with my mom's house keys, a copy of the will, and Eliza's business card. She had told me to call her if I never needed her, and I promised that I would. There would still be more paperwork and meetings required, but my mom had put my name on the house when she'd purchased it. I vaguely remembered her doing that. She'd paid cash, so I'd never been required to cosign on a loan or anything like that. She'd made me sign some sort of document, and that had been it. I'd completely forgotten about it until Eliza handed me the keys.

  Somehow, I left her office in a total daze. Despite everything that was going on with my mom, I couldn't quite shake the fact that there was something strange going on in Which Village. There was something more than I could understand.

  Why did I think the plants had been talking to me?

  Why hadn't they spoken near Eliza?

  And perhaps most importantly, did this actually mean that I was going crazy?

  I got in the car, put all of the documents on the passenger seat, and sat there for a minute. For about the millionth time in the last few months, I wanted to reach for my phone and call Stanley. He'd been my rock forever. He'd always known exactly what to do and how to do it. He'd kept me safe when I hadn't been able to keep myself safe. He'd loved me.

  Perhaps most importantly, he'd taken care of me at every turn. I'd never had to feel scared when he was there because Stanley had been the most considerate man to ever walk the Earth.

  But he was gone, and so was my mom, so I had to face the rest of this experience alone.

  Awesome.

  Chapter 3

  My mom's house was located at the end of a quiet street. It was obvious that she'd chosen the space that she did because it afforded her a certain amount of privacy.

  "Yep, seems like Mom," I muttered. I parked in the driveway of the two-story little cottage. That was what it was, really: a damn cottage. All of the other houses on the road were these massive Victorians with big, towering rooftops, but not my mom's.

  She'd chosen the tiniest, coziest little house, and the worst part was that I loved it. I liked it a lot. The design of the house was sweet and simple, and as I grabbed all of the paperwork from Eliza's office and headed up the front door, I couldn't help but notice just how beautiful it was.

  This was the place my mom had lived. This was where she’d entertained guests and thrown parties and had her birthdays. When she’d written me letters, she’d written them at this house. How much had she loved this place? Judging by the carefully planned lawn and the row of flowers leading up to the house, I’d say a lot.

  And I was struck that I still didn't know how my mom had died.

  It was strange, wasn't it? An accident. I'd meant to ask Eliza when I was at her office. I should have. It should have been the first question out of my mouth. I'd forgotten somehow, though. It was strange. When I'd walked into her office, I'd felt wildly uneasy and I'd just...

  Well, I'd been really certain that the plants were talking to me.

  But I needed to know now.

  Before I went any farther, and before I did anything else, I needed an answer to this question.

  I stared at the house in front of me, looking at how warm and inviting it was. If I went inside, I was going to get distracted again, and I was going to forget. It was no matter, though. Instead of walking into the house, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Checking the number on Eliza's business card, I called it. She answered on the first ring.

  "Eliza Warthog."

  "Hey, it's Jaden Quartz."

  "Miss Quartz," she said. "I'm surprised to hear from you so soon. How can I help you?" Her voice sounded crisp and collected. She was all business, all the time.

  "I know this is kind of strange," I said. "But I forgot to ask you while we were talking."

  "What's your question?" Her voice held a tone that said she didn't have all day and that I needed to get to the point.

  "How exactly did my mom die? You didn't mention."

  "There was an accident," she sighed. "Which is quite unfortunate, and I'm so very sorry."

  There it was again: the same word she'd used the day before.

  Accident.

  Why didn't I believe that was all there was to it? My mom had been a crazy old bat, but she wasn't exactly accident prone. She definitely wasn't the kind of person who died from an accident. My entire life, Mom had been trying to keep me safe in every way. She’d worked her tail off to make sure I was cautious and always prepared.

  An accident?

  That just didn’t seem likely.

  "What kind of accident?"

  Eliza sighed. I imagined her sitting in her office, surrounded by her weird-ass plants, and spinning a pen around on her desk.

  Finally, she seemed to decide something.

  "You aren't going to let this go," she said.

  "I am not."

  "Then it's something I'll need to discuss with you in person."

  "Um, should I come back over?" I asked.

  "No need. I only have one more appointment today. I'll come by after. You'll be at Alicia's house?"

  My mom's house.

  "Yeah, I'll be here."

  "See you soon."

  She ended the call quite abruptly, and I wasn't really sure whether I should be happy I was about to get some answers or horrified that she was going to tell me what really happened. Either way, I needed to hurry up and get inside. The neighbors were definitely small-town busybodies. This was the kind of town where nobody had any privacy, and judging by the neck-high hedges around my mom's yard, I'd say it was a safe bet that my mom was trying to stay out of sight.

  Strange.

  I walked up to the door, slid the key in the lock, and turned. Instantly, I heard a screech and jumped back as a flash of black fur came flying out of the house.

  Was that a cat?

  What the hell?

  Mom had a cat?

  I stared as it ran off, disappearing around a corner. I wasn't going to chase it. Not that cat. That was the type of cat that didn't want to be followed. I'd learned my lesson the hard way on that one when I was nine.

  Mom and I had been gardening all day. The house we lived in had a huge backyard, and we'd thought it would be a good idea to plant vegetables back there. It had been a good summer full of snacking on fresh produce, but that particular day was hot and we were both sweaty. I was the one who spotted the little black cat first. Mom had been nervous when she'd seen it. She'd tried to get me to leave it alone. She'd warned me that cats don't like new people, but I hadn't listened.

  Instead, I'd found myself moving closer and closer to the little cat. I'd crouched down and held my hand out. It was exactly the way I'd seen other people lure cats, but for some reason, the cat didn't come to me.

  "Here kitty," I said. "Come here. Here, here, little kitty."

  The cat ignored my calls, and I started to grow impatient. I really wanted to pet it, and I didn't understand why the cat wouldn't come closer.

  Finally, I reached out and grabbed it with both hands so I could pull it close and start petting it. The cat had reacted exactly as a cat would, however. It seemed to think I was attacking it or that I was some sort of threat. The feline had screeched, clawing wildly, and cut my arm deeply before I finally released it and let it go.

  "Ouch!" I had cried out. "Stupid cat!"

  "Now, Jaden," my mother had come over and examined the wound, looking over it as a mother ought to, but she'd been worried about more than my cut. She'd been worried about the cat, too.

  "It scratched me."

  "That's what cats do, Jaden."

  "It didn't have to scratch me," I had started to cry. "I only wanted to pet it."

  My mother had consoled me, and she'd hugged me. I'd asked her to promise we'd never get a cat. She'd only sighed as she looked at me. Somehow, I had the feeling that I'd disappointed my mother somehow, but I didn't quite understand why.

  After
all, it was just a cat. It had only been some silly, mangy thing. I'd wanted to pet it, but that had been it.

  My mother helped me bandage the wound, and we'd never spoken of the cat again. I had a long, silvery scar on my arm because of the cat. My mother would sometimes look at it, but she'd never comment about how I had scared the cat, or about how I should have been more careful that day.

  Now, as I stared at the place where the black cat had vanished, I wondered what else I hadn't known about my mother.

  Had she been a cat owner?

  Or that had that simply been hiding in her home since it was now vacant?

  Feral cats were known for being clever little things. Was this that sort of situation? Was that cat lost? Maybe it was looking for its forever home.

  Turning back to the little house, I stepped inside and reached for the light switch next to the door. It flicked on, and then I was cast into...

  Darkness.

  "What the hell is wrong with the lights?" I asked out loud. They had turned on for all of half a second, and then they'd shut right back off again. I flicked the switch again, but nothing happened.

  All right.

  Weird.

  Maybe I'd need to flip the breakers. I wasn't sure. Luckily, I had a little flashlight on my key ring, and I pulled it out and flicked it on. I spun the flashlight around, casting light throughout the room.

  Mom's house, at first glance, seemed rather neat and tidy. It was orderly, to say the least. There was nothing on the floor. There was no mail piled on the little table in the entryway. It looked like the type of house you would visit, but never live in.

  "Nice to see some things never change," I muttered.

  I went to the front windows and pulled the curtains open. There was a shade there, too, so I pulled that up. Finally, the house was filled with light, and I could get a good look at everything I was dealing with.

  It was adorable.

  The living room was painted white and there were white bookshelves with white-covered books. There was a white coffee table with a vase of white roses. They were real flowers, and they'd started to wilt, but it didn't matter. They still looked beautiful.

  "Pretty," I murmured, looking around. Could I see myself living in a place like this? My mom had obviously liked it. She hadn't wanted to leave Which Village. She'd stayed for an eternity. Was that what I should do, too?

  There was a part of me that didn't think I'd be able to fit in here. Ever. I had traveled the globe and I'd met so many different types of people that a place like Which Village just could never suit me.

  Or could it?

  I quickly went through the first floor of the house. It seemed simple enough. Once I got all of the windows open, it was easy to see that my mom had spent a lot of time in the little cottage. The first floor had a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and a room that was completely full of books. There was a second floor, and I started going up there with my flashlight held high.

  It didn't take long to see that the cottage was basically exactly what I expected. There were two bedrooms upstairs. They were both narrow and small. Attic rooms tended to be on the tiny side. The ceilings were slanted, as though they had been an afterthought in the design of the house. I didn't mind too much. One of the bedrooms was obviously my mother's. Her bed frame was white. The mattress was covered with a white duvet and, surprisingly or not, topped with white throw pillows.

  Since when did Mom like white so much?

  The other room was some sort of craft room. It was full of bookshelves and boxes and all sorts of chaos. There was a big table at one end of the room with something on it that looked like a cauldron. Okay, so maybe Mom was getting ready for Halloween a bit early. Cool. There was a little bed in one corner that looked like a sort of guest cot. I figured I could sleep there, at least for tonight. Crashing in my mom's bed felt kind of weird and a little invasive.

  Logically, I knew she was gone, but it still felt wrong. We hadn't talked in forever. If she was looking down on me and watching over me,

  Satisfied that the house was in relatively good shape, I decided to go figure out what was wrong with the lights. There had to be a circuit breaker in the basement. There had been a door in the kitchen that I hadn't explored, so I headed downstairs and pulled it open. Sure enough, there was a set of creepy-looking stairs leading down.

  Was I about to be murdered?

  Who knew?

  I thought about sending a text to a friend with a warning. Something that said, "Hey, if I don't message you back in an hour, tell the cops to come look for my body." The problem was that I didn't have any friends. My high school buddies had all gone off and gotten married and had kids and vanished from the face of the Earth. The people I'd met traveling were like me. They moved around from place to place and it was hard to keep in touch.

  There was Stanley, but...

  I swallowed hard and stared at the blank space ahead of me. I flipped the switch on the wall, but nothing happened. I turned back to the darkness, staring.

  Stanley wouldn't have been afraid.

  He would have been bold.

  That was the thing about him. He had always been so wonderful. He'd done his best to try to keep me going no matter what. Anytime I'd been nervous or afraid, he'd been by my side whispering that I could do it.

  "You can do it," I said out loud.

  Then I took the first step.

  Creak.

  Second step.

  Creak.

  "Damn, Mom," I muttered. "Try fixing your stairs."

  I held the flashlight ahead of me, but I couldn't see much. There were some dust particles floating in the air, but that was all I really got. I managed to reach the bottom of the staircase without slipping or falling through a rotten stair, and I got to the breaker box. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I flipped a couple of breaker switches.

  And then the lights came on.

  They were so bright at first that I shut my eyes, counted to three, and then opened them again. At least it had worked and I didn't have to talk to anyone about rewiring the house or fixing any of the electrical outlets.

  The basement was perhaps the only space in my mother's house that felt familiar. It was messy, but the walls weren't painted white and the concrete floor made me feel like I was back in my childhood home with its unfinished basement and dangling ceiling lights. There were a few boxes in one corner with my name on them. There were gardening tools and snow supplies. I saw a set of skis, some shovels, and even a garden hose.

  Mom had been a busy lady, it seemed, and she'd collected things. I walked around for a second and examined different things. Mom had always been a bit of a neat-freak, but the basement had always been my zone. As a kid, I’d hidden in our basement and built forts and explored. I’d created imaginary, far-off lands and far-away places.

  Now I was being given another chance to hang out in the basement, only this wasn’t a place filled with memories for me. This was a place my mother had stored her unwanted belongings. Perhaps this was where she kept things that were better left forgotten.

  It wasn’t clear whether I’d be in Which Village for a day or a week or longer. I still hadn’t made up my mind as to what I was going to do with the house, but one thing was for certain: I didn't want to spend too much time sitting still. If I did, I'd start to go crazy. I was the type of person who always needed to be active and moving around, so I grabbed one of the boxes with my name on it and hauled it up to the living room.

  I was surprised to find that an entire hour had passed. How was that possible? I set the box on the living room coffee table, but then I went into the kitchen to see what kind of food Mom had left behind.

  I was starving, and I needed to have something to eat. Besides, I'd need to go through everything and make a grocery list. If I was going to be staying long enough to go through her things, I'd need food to eat. I couldn't depend on takeout. I wasn't even sure if Which Village had a lot of restaurants. I hadn't seen any sort of fast
food places this morning. Surely there was a diner or something like that.

  The cupboards had ordinary fare: soups, stocks, and some noodles. The freezer was completely empty, save for some freezer burn. The inside of the fridge made me gawk a little, though.

  "That can't be food," I muttered, looking at an assortment of glass jars on the top shelf. I was getting Halloween spooky vibes. The jars didn't look like they contained blood, but rather, potions. That was insane, but that was what I thought they were. I looked at the labels on each jar. One said "ELEMENT OF DESIRE" and another one said "LOVE SPEAKS." What the hell did that mean?

  Ignoring that, I grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge door. It was a twist off, so I quickly opened it and started chugging. I let the fridge door slam shut, and I went to the living room, sat down, and started drinking. I'd barely finished half of the drink when there was a sound at the door.

  It wasn't a knock so much as it was a rustling.

  I got up, went to the door, and yanked it open. There was a woman there. She was probably around my age, but she had bright pink hair that hung in two braids, so it was impossible to say. She could have been 19 or she could have been 40.

  "Hi," I said, raising an eyebrow, as if to ask what the hell she wanted.

  "Hey, I brought Jasper back," she said. She held up the cat that had run by earlier. I stared at it curiously.

  "Jasper?"

  "Yeah," the woman said. She bounced the cat a little, obviously wanting me to take it, but I only looked at it. She was holding the cat with two hands, and it was obviously uncomfortable and dangling. Finally, I took pity on the little guy and took him.

  "Does Jasper live here?" I asked.

  The woman's eyes suddenly narrowed.

  "Who are you?"

  "Who are you?" I asked her back, irritated. My mom was dead and I was having kind of a weird day. I felt that it was okay for me to be slightly nippy with strangers.

  Suddenly, realization seemed to dawn on her.

  "Oh, you must be Jaden," she said.

  "Excuse me?" How did this pink-haired woman know my name?

  "Alicia's daughter? That's you, right? I'm Natasha. I live across the street." She held out her hand. I was holding Jasper awkwardly, but I managed to get a hand over to her so we could shake. It was a weird semblance of normalcy, and it made me feel slightly better about the situation I'd found myself in.