A Ghoulish Midlife (Witching After Forty #1) - Lia Davis Page 0,24

a tissue from a box on the coffee table and sat on the couch. “How is this happening? I feel like I’m losing my mind, truly I do.”

I perched beside her, ready to take the fuck off if that ghoul came creeping back in here. But I couldn’t leave Penny with that thing. “Penny, I know you’re hurting something awful, but you’ve got to tell me why a ghoul is making tea?”

“He was William’s,” she said. “He always kept a ghoul to do work around the house and tidy the yard and things.”

I wanted to bang on my ears and make sure I’d heard her right. “You have a ghoul… for housework?”

“Well, of course. You would’ve if you’d trained up properly. I bet you’ve been washing dishes all these years by hand, haven’t you?”

“No,” I exclaimed. “I use a spell like a normal person.” A normal witch, anyway. Not a necromancer.

“Well, you’ve got to take him. Alfred has to be controlled by a necromancer or he’ll get unruly.”

It was getting ridiculously hard not to gape at Penny. “Your husband made a ghoul to do your housework and you named him Alfred?” Please tell me she was kidding. I looked around the living room. “Penny, is this a practical joke?”

She sat up straight. “Have you been taught nothing about your heritage? Did your aunt and grandmother really let you refuse to the point of not knowing that ghouls are a part of life for necromancers?”

I pursed my lips at her. She was grieving something awful and didn’t need me contradicting her or giving her any flak.

“Penny, I know nothing about controlling a ghoul. I can’t take him with me. Your daughter can take care of him, can’t she?”

She shook her head. “No, and I’m not sure how Alfred is still with us now that William is gone. I expected him to disintegrate or something. That’s why I wasn’t sure William was really gone because Alfred was still here.”

Alfred walked back in. I studied him more. He walked with a slight limp and like his spine wasn’t straight. The tray he carried as he advanced to us shook but only a little. Even with his jerky, unsteady moves, I was surprised he got around as well as he could.

And I really needed to do some research on ghouls.

My nerves were on extreme alert. I nearly ran from the room when he handed me my cup of tea. “I don’t know how to control him.”

“Why don’t you tell him to do something and see what he does?” she asked, giving me a pointed, mom look. “William said he couldn’t refuse an order from a necromancer, but then William made him.”

“Sit down,” I said timidly.

He sat. Immediately and without question.

“Do you understand me?” I asked.

Alfred nodded his head, unable to reply through the stitches on his mouth. Odd, I hadn't noticed them until that moment. Why would William sew his mouth shut?

I probably didn’t want to know.

“Are you compelled to do as I ask?”

He nodded again.

I turned to Penny. “Okay, then, I’ll just find a way to release him from his flesh and that’ll be that.” I didn’t have the first clue how I’d do such a thing, but I’d find a way.

Alfred jumped up off the couch and ran toward me, shaking his head vehemently. I squealed and backed into the couch. He grunted and groaned as he shook his head.

“Do you not want to be released?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“You want to live?”

He nodded.

“With me?”

Nod.

Fuck.

I looked at Penny. “What happens if I leave him?”

“He’ll get unruly and eventually start killing.”

Son of a bitch!

“Okay, then.” Looks like I inherited a ghoul servant. What was I going to do?

Penny turned to me and took my hands. “Ava, listen to me. You’ve got to be careful. Alfred isn’t just for dusting. He can fight. You’re going to need him. What killed my William, it wasn’t a random thing? It was a witch hunter.”

I raised my eyebrows. “This isn’t Salem three hundred years ago.”

She sighed and clenched her fists. “Ava, witch hunters are very real. They’re rare, but they exist. William believed that there was one, at least, witch hunter bent on eradicating all necromancers. William was killed by that witch hunter. I’m sure of it.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone have told me about this already?” I asked.

“The witch hunters are so rare. The hunting gene is passed down from father to son and mother to daughter. That’s what the lore says. So, if a father only