A Ghoulish Midlife (Witching After Forty #1) - Lia Davis

Chapter One

The door of my Hyundai sedan closed far too softly. I glared at it; certain it was mocking me. Older car doors slammed much more satisfactorily. They were heavier and the extra weight hitting home could be heard from across the parking lot. Newer models, like my cobalt blue Dia here, weren’t all about letting people know I had arrived. It was disappointing, really.

But what else was I to expect? Not much was the same anymore. Even phones were less satisfying these days. Who ever heard about slamming a cell phone down in somebody’s ear? Oh, sure, I could slam it. But then I’d have to buy a new phone.

Pft. Whatever.

I was tempted to open the door and try again—really slam it, put some elbow grease into it. After nine hours on the road with only one short bathroom break, I’d seen enough of the inside of that car to last me an awfully long time. Not to mention driving alone was making me talk to myself, and I wasn’t that funny.

Stretching with my hands on my lower back, I scanned the grocery store parking lot. There were exactly three cars, and the building was much, much smaller than I remembered it. That was how things were when remembered from the perspective of youth, though. Everything seemed large during childhood. Although, it could’ve been a result of living for so long in a large city where the buildings were giant compared to that of a small town.

The last time I’d been in this particular small town was just last year for my Aunt Winnie’s funeral. Why had so many of the people I loved died on me in the last five years? First Clay, then my favorite Aunt. Two didn’t seem like so much until the grief layered in.

With a heavy soul, I’d made the trip on my own then, too. I’d hated traveling without my husband, but he was gone now. A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it and took a deep breath. It’d been five years since I lost the love of my life. Well, the first love of my life. The second had left me several weeks ago for a dorm, parties, and medical books.

Thinking of the little devil, I pulled out my phone and sent him a text. Wallie had insisted I message him the moment I arrived in Shipton Harbor. Nothing like having an overprotective son watching over me. Even if he was watching from Harvard University. I should have never taught him how to scry or that locating spell. I’d never have any peace now.

Me: I made it alive. I think. Unless I died and my ghost drove the rest of the way.

Wallie: Your ghost can text? That’s impressive. So, will you just haunt Aunt Winnie’s house for the rest of eternity?

Me: That’s the plan.

Wallie: Cool. I’ll make sure to visit on holidays. If med school kills me, I’ll be moving in.

I laughed and replied with: Oh, no way. You find your own magical house to haunt.

Wallie: LOL. Love you.

Me: Love you too. I’ll call you later.

After locking the screen on my cell, I slipped it into my pocket and took another cleansing breath. The fresh scent of the ocean filled me. That was when I noticed the crisp, cool air that had wrapped around me like an old friend. I never used to like the cold, but for the last couple of years, I’d craved it. Hello, early hot flashes.

With a sigh, I headed inside the store, wishing Clay were walking beside me. I grabbed the cart while I organized my grocery list in my mind. Just as we had done once a week, every week, during our twenty years of marriage. Another ache formed in my chest, tightening it. I closed my eyes briefly and pushed away from the loneliness. Clay would’ve kicked my ass if he knew I was still grieving him this strongly. We’d promised each other long ago if one survived the other, we wouldn’t mourn. We would find the strength to move on and learn to live again.

I’d only agreed to the crazy-ass pact because I genuinely believed we’d die within months of each other at the ripe old age of one hundred and two. It never occurred to me we’d part ways at thirty-eight.

But a promise was a promise. I would try to keep it. That was why I’d returned to Shipton Harbor, to fix up the old house and put it on the market—hopefully,