The Whimsy Witch Who Wasn't - Donna Augustine Page 0,5

the tattoo in the morning. It was just a tattoo, and getting rid of it might’ve had nothing to do with what happened. But still, the timing was too weird to ignore. I’d spent the last several months removing a tattoo that now I couldn’t wait to put back on.

In the meantime, I took my kitchen table and moved it in front of the door of my apartment. It was from a secondhand store. It showed its age, but the solid wood was heavy as hell. That wouldn’t stop a ghost, but it made the craziness that had been drilled into me by my mother quiet down a bit.

I showered, put on my last clean outfit, and then lay in bed while the stories my mother would tell me ran through my head. Most kids had bedtime stories of princes and princesses. Mine were about monsters and goblins that would come for me while I slept. My hand went to where my necklace lay against my chest, one of the last things I had from my mother.

I wrapped myself in three layers of blankets, closed my eyes, and tried to clear my mind of all the crazy thoughts trying to intrude, all the horrible stories I’d been told. I tried to obliterate all the memories of my childhood, praying that there wasn’t some grain of truth in them.

“I didn’t bring enough salt.”

My door hadn’t opened. How was there a voice inside my apartment? It had to be another ghost. I clenched my hands on the comforter. Don’t open your eyes. Pretend it’s not there. It’ll go away.

“You’re kidding me, right? You didn’t bring it again? How do you keep a job? If I wasn’t with you, you’d be thrown out on your ass.”

“Why didn’t you bring the salt if you’re such a professional?”

“Because I asked you and you said you had it. Just go find some. These humans always have salt.”

“Not sure I’m going to find anything in this barren wasteland,” a guy said. His footsteps shuffled away, and my bedroom door creaked open.

My heart was pounding. One left. If I could stab him with the knife under my pillow before the other one came back, I had a chance.

I turned, located the man, and swung in his direction. Before my arm completed its arc, the knife was knocked out of my hand. The guy had barely moved, but the knife was lying across the room. I stood defenseless in a worn sweatshirt with holes and faded leggings that had been black once upon a time.

The guy squinted as we took each other’s measure. He had a shaved head except for a single braid that sprouted from the top of his head. There were goggles strapped to his forehead, and he wore a studded black leather jacket.

“She’s awake! Can you hurry up with the salt?” Braid yelled toward the door.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Bounty hunter,” he said.

The other man walked in, this one with a full head of purple hair that formed spikes, wearing a silver jumpsuit that was nearly blinding.

Spike glanced at me where I’d pressed my back against the wall, before holding up salt packets to his friend. “She had some fast-food packets. Little stale and crusty, but they should work.”

“It’ll do,” Braid said, pulling a flask out of the interior pocket of his jacket. He opened it and made a puddle on my floor, and for some reason, all I could think about was the water stain it was going to leave if I didn’t clean it up soon. There went my security deposit. It wasn’t the sanest thought, but this situation wasn’t sane.

He kept pouring until it was large enough that the puddle hit the tips of my toes. He then ripped open the salt packets and sprinkled them onto the puddle. With a smile in my direction, they both stepped onto the puddle and then they were gone.

And so was I.

3

It felt like I’d been tossed out a window and dumped in the middle of a darkly lit room. The two men who’d been in my bedroom were there, as well as an older man that reminded me of a picture I’d seen of Einstein once. If anything was normal, that was the extent of it. This place looked older than most of the historical buildings in Salem, with stone walls and floors and a fireplace big enough for me to stand in. I didn’t recognize it either, not that I’d been in every building