Curse Me Under the Mistletoe Read online

  Curse Me Under the Mistletoe

  A Hex on Me Mystery

  Book Five

  KENNEDY LAYNE

  CURSE ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE

  Copyright © 2019 by Kennedy Layne

  Kindle Edition

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-943420-89-6

  Print ISBN: 978-1-943420-92-6

  Cover Designer: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Dedication

  Jeffrey—You’re the reason I believe in miracles every single day!

  Cole—Never forget that miracles do happen!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Books by Kennedy Layne

  About the Author

  Curses and kisses are stirring up a cloud of fresh snowflakes this holiday season in the latest installment in the Hex on Me Mysteries by USA Today Bestselling Author Kennedy Layne…

  Delicious peppermint candy canes, a mug of creamy hot chocolate, and a deadly curse all seem to be connected in the next mystery that Lou and the gang unravel just in time for the winter solstice. Not for the first time, another one of Lou’s premonitions ends up with a dead body. This time, there seems to be a seasonal twist…in the form of a very special type of mistletoe.

  Grab your earmuffs and scarves if you want to help Lou and the gang solve this latest whodunit in a magical winter wonderland this holiday season!

  Chapter One

  There was something about a winter wonderland during the holiday season that was always so magical, it could actually make one believe in Christmas miracles. Chestnuts roasting over an open fire might have been the opening line of a very popular song back in the day, but the actual endeavor was something of a tradition that I’d come to miss over the years. Add in steamy mugs of creamy hot chocolate with an abundance of melting marshmallows dissolving near the brim, and it was the perfect way to spend an evening a week before Christmas.

  “That’s somewhat debatable. Did you notice that the inside of the RV now reeks of that peppermint candle that Piper saw fit to ignite?” Orwin asked with a grimace, startling me out of my reverie. He was casually shuffling the cast iron skillet back and forth over the fire, waiting for the delicious chestnuts to darken to perfection. He was only roasting the special treat because I’d mentioned a week ago that it had been a fond memory from my childhood. “I never did like candy canes much, and now the entire place is one big holiday treat. I think it’s due to the time my brother iced my sugar cookies with toothpaste as a joke. It literally took hours to get that taste out of my mouth. I highly doubt swallowing that much toothpaste was good for a growing boy. Anyway, if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m running on about three hours of sleep between decorating and researching potential leads. We have enough strands of lights on and in the RV for us to be seen from the International Space Station. It’s a good thing we’re on shore power. The generator might not handle the load as we’ve overdone it a bit.”

  I never would have considered you to be a Grinch, Mr. Cornelia. Siblings will be siblings, after all. Although, I now understand why there is watermelon-flavored toothpaste in the bathroom. I daresay your bad mood is due to being confirmed as a distant relative of an immortal Lich. What’s the old saying? You can’t choose your family, or some such odd American colloquialism. Really, you’re just going to give yourself the collywobbles if you continue to focus on something so insignificant.

  That English-accented voice belongs to Pearl Pippa Allifair, who just so happens to be a familiar attuned to our good friend Piper Allifair and our resident etiquette guru. She didn’t fool me in the least, though. She was very well-acquainted with every old adage to have ever been uttered in the past two thousand years while she’d been roaming this earth, and she’d been doing her best to quell Orwin’s revulsion upon discovering his immortal connection as a long-lost blood relative to the oldest living witch in history.

  I don’t believe I’m doing a good enough job, Miss Lilura.

  Speaking of witches, my name is Tempest Darcinean Lilura. Lou to my friends.

  Sadly, I had been the unfortunate recipient of said Lich’s wrath, and let me tell you that it hadn’t been even remotely been a blessing in disguise. It was a flat-out hex. The result had been totally ironic, too—I’d ended up a cursed witch, of all things. Who would have ever thought that was even possible?

  You’d be surprised at what could possibly occur in the supernatural realm, Miss Lilura. I’ve been around to witness rather spectacular situations that human beings are very eager to dismiss.

  As I was saying, I’d actually been a psychology professor at a small community college in the state of Washington in my recent past. I’d had a fantastic life, good friends, and a great apartment until that fateful day when I was hexed by the vilest creature on the face of this planet. A remnant of centuries past—evil incarnate.

  You see, Ammeline Letty Romilda had been believed to be nothing more than an urban legend told in the form of a bedtime story to scare children into their best behavior to avoid her wrath. I recalled childhood memories of hearing different tales on the same subject time and time again. Never in my life would I have ever imagined that she was a real entity.

  A spot of warm cream always helps to keep my nightmares away, Miss Lilura. It might work for you or our friend, Mr. Cornelia.

  “Well, I didn’t know that I was Ammeline’s great, great, great, great-nephew, either,” Orwin responded in disgust, being close enough to read my mind, much like Pearl. He’d been given the gift of telepathy through his bloodline, though he did have to be within six feet of a person to hear his or her thoughts. He pushed up his black-rimmed glasses with his free hand. “At least, I didn’t know until the day she hexed you. I could literally feel my connection to her when she was speaking that arcane curse, so I’m pretty sure I win the unfortunate family connection contest.”

  Orwin shuddered in revulsion.

  “I wasn’t aware there was such a contest,” I quipped wryly, pulling the thick blanket a little tighter around my shoulders. We were somewhere in the middle of South Dakota at some random full-service campsite, and the temperature had to be in the mid-to-low thirties. Once the piercing wind picked up, we’d have no choice but to seek the warmth of the RV. Until then, I’d enjoy the crisp, fresh air instead of candy cane land. Not that I minded. I actually liked candy canes. “Ammeline probably doesn’t even know she has any family left. She definitely didn’t have all her faculties glued together the last time we saw her.”

  I believe you left off a fifth great in your long list of greats, if I’ve done my math correctly, Mr. Cornelia. As for the Lich’s mental wellbeing, a witch is not meant to be on this earth past her natural mortality. No one is, in reality. There is no telling what danger our kind faces with such an abhorrent creature hiding in some cave while dancing around a cauldron in the nude. It’s distasteful to eve
n imagine the sight.

  I lifted my face to the scattered flurries that were coming down from the overcast sky quite randomly, almost as if the clouds above weren’t quite sure they should add more to the ground than what already blanketed the campsite. I understood its indecision, because I was faced with my own uncertainty over our immediate future.

  Christmas was a week away, and this traveling family of mine deserved a timeout from this nonstop mystery solving cavalcade we’d found ourselves on this past year. Unfortunately, my hex might be a roadblock in their holiday vacation.

  You’re not the only one who is bothered by it, dear hexed one.

  My traveling family consisted of myself, Orwin Cornelia, Piper and Pearl Allifair, and Knox Emeric. We each brought our own gifts to the table, though some in particular not by our own choice.

  Orwin’s reason for helping me with the search for a cure to my unfortunate hex had eventually become a need to right the wrong of his family bloodline. He was only twenty-one years old, though he was what I would definitely call an old soul. The elders of his family had known about Ammeline all along. Instead of warning the supernatural society that they were members of, they’d looked out for their own best interests, assuming no liability for their ancestor. Orwin wasn’t exactly going to be welcomed back with open arms after his defiance of the elders’ decisions concerning their family ties to Ammeline.

  Piper was our Wiccan healer who understood the ramifications of letting someone like Ammeline Letty Romilda prey on other supernatural beings. At twenty-two, it was rather hard to believe that she was so kind, optimistic, and selfless at heart. She hadn’t fallen prey to the naysayers, and I doubt she ever would, though it came across as her being a bit naïve.

  Pearl, of course, wasn’t about to let her charge go out into the world all by herself and unaware. The white short-haired domestic cat was one of royalty, dating all the way back to Queen Cleopatra’s era. Long after the fall of the Egyptian Empire, Pearl had been discovered by an aristocratic archeologist who’d taken her back to England during the late 1800s. The wealth of knowledge that Pearl possessed was invaluable, and her mission was to guide Piper through her life…which was why she had come to accept Piper’s rather considerable decision to rid the world of Ammeline’s existence. No witch was meant to be immortal. It was a violation of the laws of the universe and a perversion of our faith and supernatural lifestyle. It had desiccated Ammeline’s body and destroyed her mind until there was nothing left but a barren husk devoid of a soul.

  That brought us to Knox Emeric, the mortal man who’d once been a war veteran searching for answers in the serenity of the forest when he discovered he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess you could say he was much like me, only he’d come away from his run-in with Ammeline as a very special strain of lycanthrope. He was a former military special operator, protective by nature, and was all for justice served. Not a good combination to choose in a person when one decided to curse another with lycanthropy, born again as the vengeful werewolf of abnormal size and strength. Conquering the beast inside himself was a constant and difficult struggle.

  Mr. Emeric is not just any werewolf, Miss Lilura. Being a Canis Lupus Occidentalis of the McKenzie Valley variant is rather prestigious. His species is royalty of its own kind. We all should be constantly mindful of that distinction. Speaking of our resident shapeshifter, shouldn’t he have been back from his run by now? He said he was only ranging twenty miles.

  I looked up at the overcast sky, though I could barely distinguish the outline of the full moon through the darkness. Knox had the special ability to transform at will, but the pull of a full moon was unusually strong. It was often too tough for him to resist the need to change. He didn’t fight his curse, but instead allowed his inner beast to run free once a month. I admired the way he’d handled his transformation from a mere man into something that legends were made of in human folklore.

  I took a sip of my hot chocolate, enjoying what was left of our evening. We didn’t have many like this, and morning would come soon enough…along with the probability of having to solve another mystery. Our search for Ammeline was very limited to the little time we had in between us trying to prevent someone’s death from happening or being forced to bring their killer to justice after the fact. You see, the hex that had ruined my life came in the form of horrific visions.

  That’s right—I had been cursed with premonitions of murder.

  I must say, that last premonition was quite the doozy, dear hexed one. That poor man had been simply kissing his beloved wife underneath the mistletoe. Before we knew it, he’d all but collapsed into a heap onto the floor right next to that enormous Christmas tree. It was only due to the alien hunter’s expertise in the strangest mix of specialties that we were able to find the location.

  The alien hunter reference was due to the fact that Orwin was a bit of a conspiracy nut. I say that with complete affection, mind you, even though everyone was pretty sure he’d made all of us our own aluminum foil hats and stored them inside the RV somewhere as an emergency backup plan.

  I no longer have to wonder how Mr. Cornelia came to be that way. Discovering oneself to be a distant blood relative of the infamous Lich Queen would have me seeing conspiracies around every corner, as well. I’ll attempt to tone down my good-natured jesting, though I don’t promise I’ll always be able to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Like any time in the near future?” Orwin asked as he shot Pearl a sardonic glance.

  She was currently sitting in the chair that Piper had occupied most of the evening before seeking privacy inside the RV to call her parents. At the age of twenty-two, I wasn’t sure how she was going to explain that she couldn’t make it home for the holidays. Another rush of fresh guilt hit my system.

  “Truthfully, it wasn’t that hard to locate the couple,” Orwin replied with a shrug of modesty. “You were able to describe most of the ornaments on the tree, and the fact that there were two bulbs with the birthdates of their children was a goldmine of information, really. Then there was the genus of the tree and its distinct color of blue-green. It was a windfall.”

  I know I asked you this the other day, but have you seen a black van following us in the rearview mirror by chance?

  “I’m offended you think I can’t outsmart the infantile efforts of the NSA, cotton ball.” Orwin pulled the cast iron pan closer to quickly glance at the chestnuts. “I’ll have you know…”

  While Orwin and Pearl debated over his ability versus the NSA’s security measures, I enjoyed my hot chocolate and thought back to the premonition I’d had about Mr. Edgar Booneville all but collapsing from what looked to be a natural, everyday heart attack. Only I never had visions that didn’t amount to murder of one sort or another, which put us directly on the path toward North Dakota.

  Usually, my premonitions had around twenty-four hours before they came to fruition. Unfortunately, we’d been in South Carolina in search for Ammeline when I’d been hit with the effects of my hex. We’d tried our hardest to make it to our destination, but accidents and detours had us finally accepting that we wouldn’t be able to prevent Mr. Booneville’s unfortunate and untimely death. That was the hardest aspect of my curse to accept, and the weight of guilt that rested on my shoulders was astronomical.

  Anyway, we’d ended up stopping at this campsite to stretch our collective legs and get some rest for what was sure to be a tough mystery to solve. If Mr. Booneville hadn’t keeled over from a simple heart attack or some other natural cause, we’d have to wait for the autopsy report to give us the cause of death. In the meantime, we’d be well-rested to begin investigating who would want to kill the man in the first place. Better yet, who could benefit from murdering a sixty-seven-year-old retiree?

  “No one is getting any rest until we get a timer for those strings of Christmas lights that are hung from one end of the RV to the other,” Orwin said with determination, having picked up on my thoughts after he’d finished roasting
the chestnuts over the campfire. He began peeling off the shells he’d already finished roasting so that he could then simmer the cooked nuts in butter and cinnamon with a bit of rosemary and a touch of unrefined sugar. My mouth was already watering. “By the way, Mr. Booneville had a life policy of only a half million dollars. His wife was the recipient. That’s not a whole lot considering their lifestyle.”

  Suspect number one. My sweet Piper already has Mrs. Norma Booneville typed into that murder solving app of hers. It came in quite handy with that haunted house case we worked on a couple of months ago, although it didn’t take into account actual supernatural spirits. That does make it tougher on those haunted house cases.

  “Hey,” Piper exclaimed after having opened the door on the RV. She was dressed in her plum winter jacket, with a matching scarf and a knit hat that had one of those holes on top for a ponytail. Her blonde curls bounced as her boots hit the ground. “Orwin, did you know that the small town we’re driving to tomorrow is less than an hour away from that renowned UFO sighting in 1975? Dad mentioned it on our call. We’ll have to scope it out when we’re through with the case. By the way, Dad is sending us cookies to be delivered at the post office in Covered Bridge, North Dakota. I already went online and reserved a post office box in my name. We should be able to catch up on the mail.”

  Piper closed the distance to her chair where Pearl had been curled up and enjoying the heat. I didn’t know if Piper’s optimistic personality was due to her being a healer, but she definitely was the lone ray of sunshine in the group. Nothing ever brought her down, and she was always looking for that silver lining Pearl was trying to convince me existed.

  You’re not going into one of those moods of yours again, are you? Do you need to hear a knock-knock joke, dear hexed one?

  “No, it’s rather hard to have a pity party with ‘Frosty the Snowman’ playing in the background,” I replied with a half-smile, focusing on Piper as she scooped Pearl up into her arms and took a seat. We all didn’t need to be out in the middle of the wilderness this time of year, though. “Piper, I want you to know that you could always take the Jeep Wrangler and drive home for Christmas. Orwin and I can investigate this murder mystery, and then we’ll meet up with you someplace between North Dakota and Pennsylvania.”