Witch in Retrograde: Midlife Spirit Guides Paranormal Women's Fiction Read online

  Witch in Retrograde

  Midlife Spirit Guides Book 1

  Wendy Wang

  Copyright © 2022 by Wendy Farley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Designed by Deranged Doctor Designs

  Proofreading by Indie Edits with Jeanine

  1.28.22

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 1

  Sarah Jane Prentice got into her 10-year-old Volvo 740 wagon after work and immediately felt a chill despite the 75-degree heat of late September. She glanced at the passenger seat.

  “Geez Jessica!” Sarah Jane pressed her hand to her heart. “I need to put a bell on you. You scared the crap out of me.”

  The spirit gave her a sly smile and shrugged her translucent shoulders. Sarah Jane sensed the pleasure it gave the spirit and couldn’t really blame her for it. After all, being dead was hard when almost no one could hear or see you. Sometimes people could sense spirit energy, or in the case of Sarah Jane, see spirits, but they were rare.

  Sarah Jane put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “Don’t you have somewhere else to hang out? I’m already late.” Her coworkers swarmed into the police department parking lot, ready to head home after a long day. She tipped her head and gave one of her fellow homicide squad members, Rob Rodriguez, a smile. He gave her a brief wave, completely unaware of the clingy ghost next to her. Jessica had been haunting her for nearly eleven months now since her body turned up dumped off a running trail. Since the spirit realized Sarah Jane, the detective at the scene, could see her.

  The radio clicked on, and metal music blared inside the Volvo’s cabin. “Come on,” Sarah Jane said, her irritation and patience beyond their breaking point. “I am so not in the mood for this.” The spirit continued flipping through stations like Sarah Jane wasn’t even there.

  “Stop it,” Sarah Jane snapped and twisted the knob of the radio until it clicked off.

  “Geez, you're just like my mother.” The spirit’s voice drifted through Sarah Jane's head.

  She finally glared over at the apparition. Jessica had been nineteen when she died. They'd found her near a barely flowing creek bed, posed like a goddess from a greek statue, wearing a toga-like dress. But today the ghost wore a pair of ripped jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that read, You smell like drama and a headache.

  The words on her T-shirt changed almost every time she appeared to Sarah Jane, and she had to admit, she liked the young woman’s snarky sense of humor. Had the ghost owned a T-shirt like it when she was alive? When she was in a better mood, Sarah Jane would ask her. Jessica folded her nearly translucent arms across her chest and sunk down in her seat. Her long dark hair hung like a curtain covering her face, and Sarah Jane had to resist the urge to tuck it behind Jessica’s ear so she could see her better, the way she would’ve done with her own daughter Selena.

  Jessica reminded Sarah Jane a lot of her daughter. Same dark eyes, same dark hair. Although Selena’s calm demeanor and kindness shone in her face. She also exuded a maturity that Jessica didn’t. Her husband Dan had always called Selena their old soul. Maybe she did have an old soul, or maybe it was because Selena was the only girl, stuck between two brothers. Or maybe because she was part of a family of witches, Sarah Jane and Dan had tried to instill a sense of responsibility for the world in all their children at a very young age.

  “I'm sorry I’m so grumpy.” Sarah Jane’s shoulders sagged under the weight of everything she’d had to deal with lately. “It's been a really hard day. And I'm not in the mood for your music. If you'd like to listen to a little classical or some folk rock…”

  The spirit huffed. “Thanks, I'll pass.”

  It always fascinated Sarah Jane how a spirit carried habits and mannerisms into death. She watched the spirit's chest rise and fall as if she were taking a breath. Did the spirit have to work at it to make her body (if you could call it that) move that way? There were always so many questions in her head about spirit life.

  “So, what made today so hard?” Jessica pushed her hair out of her eyes and fidgeted with a small tear in the leather passenger seat.

  “You know what,” Sarah Jane said softly. “Your mother came to see me. Those days are the hardest, because I have nothing new to tell her about your case. And the day’s about to get even harder because…” She blew out a heavy breath dreading the words. “It's my 49th birthday. And my family insists on giving me a party even though I told them I don’t want one this year.”

  “At least you can still talk to your family,” Jessica grumbled. “Do you know how much it sucks to go home and see my mother? I can't touch her. Or talk to her in any meaningful way. I can’t tell her I'm okay-ish.”

  “I can only imagine how difficult that is. I'm sorry.” Sarah Jane pivoted in her seat to face the spirit. She glanced around the parking lot of the police station, no one seemed to notice her talking to an empty seat. “I'm doing everything I can to find the man who killed you. Once I do, you’ll be able to move on, and I will personally let your mother know that you’re in a better place when that happens. I swear I will.”

  “Yeah.” Jessica’s voice cracked, and she shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “You know it would help if you could give me a description. Or better yet, tell me where he is. Tell me where he kept you for those five days, and I will go get him right this minute and make sure he never does this to another girl.”

  The spirit hugged her arms around her body, and a stricken expression crossed her pretty, oval face. “I've told you a million times, I don't remember.”

  Jessica's voice dropped to a whisper. The sound skittered across Sarah Jane's senses. The spirit began to flicker as if she had suddenly lost all the energy it took to power her apparition.

  “Wait. Don't. I know it’s scary,” Sarah Jane said even though a part of her wanted the ghost to disappear. Her family was already going to be pissed at her for being late. “There are techniques I can use to help you remember.”

  “No.” Jessica vanished. Sarah Jane slapped the top of the console between the seats and sat back, defeated. There was no point trying to call Jessica back; she wouldn't come. Sarah Jane had been trying for the past eleven months to get Jessica to discuss her murder, but it wasn't working, and she knew the spirit wouldn’t move on until her case was solved.

  Sarah Jane pinched the bridge of her nose and then massaged her forehead. The headache she’d had most of the day lingered just beneath the surface despite the two Excedrin she had popped earlier. Her phone chimed, letting her know she had a new text. She dug it out of the pocket of her tote bag.

  Amykins: Where are you? Everybody's here.

  She frowned at the text from her younger sister Amy and quickly jotted off her reply.

  Sarah Jane: I'm leaving work now.

  The phone rang in her hand, and she almost dropped it in surprise. Her sister's name appeared on the screen. She pressed the icon to answer. “What's up, Amy?”

  “Since you're going to be late anyway, can you stop at Safeway?”

  “Why? Can’t you send one of the kids out? Ask Dalton to go.” Sarah Jane knew her twenty-three-year-old son was probably the first to arrive at the house, and he probably brought his laundry.

  She heard her sister's loud sigh.

  Sarah Jane found herself giving in. It seemed easier than resisting after this miserable day. And, after all, how could she argue with her younger sister, who had sacrificed so much when Sarah Jane's husband Dan had gotten sick. Amy had moved in as soon as the diagnosis came and practically held their family together for almost three years. She cooked meals for Sarah Jane’s two youngest children who were still in middle and high school at the time. She schlepped Dan to every appointment he had because Sarah Jane had to work.

  Dan had long-term disability through his company, but it wasn't enough to allow Sarah Jane to quit her job. She’d had better health insurance even though he worked at an up-and-coming software company for the healthcare industry, and she couldn’t afford to lose her job. So, Amy came to her rescue.

  Sometimes Sarah Jane wished she could've talked Dan into cashing out some of his
401k so she could stay home with him, but he wouldn't hear of it.

  “That's our retirement, baby,” he had told her. “I'm going to get better, and then we'll need that money so we can travel the world.”

  Only he hadn't gotten better. And eleven months ago, while she was on the job hiking a popular walking and bike trail that ran along the waterway into the heart of San Jose to examine the body of a young woman who had been murdered and dumped, he died peacefully in his sleep in the hospital bed they’d set up in the living room.

  Sarah Jane sighed, the weight of all she carried heavy on her shoulders. She sensed Amy waiting on the other end of the line. “So, what do you want from Safeway?” She tried not to sound put-upon.

  “Could you pick up some more chocolate ice cream?”

  “Amy, come on. You know I don't even eat ice cream.” Sarah Jane gritted her teeth.

  “You don't eat it, but everybody else does, including your children,” Amy scolded. Sarah Jane closed her eyes and pressed her lips together tightly so she wouldn't say anything mean and counted to ten.

  “Fine,” Sarah Jane finally said quietly. “How much do you need?”

  “If you could get two containers of Breyers chocolate, that would be great.”

  “All right. I'll be home in a bit.”

  “Thank you so much,” Amy said in a singsong voice. Sarah Jane ended the call and tossed her phone onto the empty passenger seat. She turned the key in the ignition and when she put the car into reverse, Jessica's voice drifted through her head.

  “Happy birthday, Sarah Jane.”

  Chapter 2

  The long crack extended from the fractured glass in the upper corner of the mirror, distorting his image and cutting him in half. The break had happened a long time ago. His mother had gotten angry about something, he couldn’t even remember what now, and she had thrown a heavy quartz crystal obelisk at his head. He’d ducked, and the mirror bore the brunt of her anger.

  Alive, she seemed to have two moods, hateful bitch or guilt-wielding mama bear. Now that she was dead, he was the one in control. All it took was a flash of a bundle of sage or a shake of the box of salt in her direction to keep her spirit in line.

  He leaned a little to the left of the crack to get a better look at himself, then flipped up the collar of his light gray oxford, wrapped the solid black tie around his neck, and tied it with a Half Windsor knot. When he finished, he straightened the tie and inspected his handiwork in the mirror. He liked to look his best at work; it made hunting easier.

  After tucking his shirt tails into his black trousers, he buckled his matching leather belt, then put on his freshly shined, lace-up shoes. Impressions were everything. Not that it would matter at five-foot-eight and a hundred and forty-five pounds soaking wet. Most people barely noticed him, especially in the uniform. It didn’t stop him from raising a hand, giving a brief salute to the women on campus when he passed them on his rounds.

  He liked to look them in the eye. If one of them smiled back at him, he made a mental note of her face, her body, and whether she could be part of a future project or not. If he saw her again, he’d make some excuse to talk to her, to get a feel for her. If she passed that test, then the real quest to include her would begin. The women were always interested when he told them about his art. Well, most of the time. Sometimes the ones that showed little interest were actually his favorites. Then he’d embark on a campaign to convince his potential subject to participate in one of his projects.

  So far, he’d completed eight, and he was almost finished with his ninth project. Soon he’d go on the prowl for just the right media for his next masterpiece. It might take weeks or even months to gather what he needed, as it had for this current work in progress.

  He heard the metallic squeaking of a bed coming from the back of the house and made a mental note to shore up the insulation again.

  His mother’s ghostly voice drifted through his head. “That’s what happens when you give them too much freedom.” She appeared in the mirror as if she were standing behind him. If he turned, he might see her; he might not. It really just depended on her mood.

  “Stop it, Mother. I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “What? I’m trying to protect my baby boy. If someone hears her…”

  “No one’s going to hear her. I’ve cast a muffling spell. If any noise does get through, the neighbors will think it’s the television or something.”

  His mother scowled, and her ample jowl shook. “Your hubris will be your downfall. Mark my words.”

  “Sure, Mother, whatever.” He turned away from her image and quickly ran a brush through his short dark hair, then set his baseball cap with the security company’s logo just right. He took one last look, pleased with himself, then headed out of his room to deal with the noise problem.

  He headed for the kitchen at the back of the house on the main level, then passed through the defunct beauty salon his mother had set up illegally twenty-five years ago. That’s where he learned how to shampoo for his mother and watched her style, clip, and curl the hair of the women who entered through their back door. She had only one styling chair and two pink vinyl reclining chairs pushed up against sinks with matching pink bowls. One day, the old dryer chair finally shorted out. The damn thing had nearly caught on fire and smoked up the place. His mother had pushed the ruined dryer into a corner, unplugged it, and covered it with a black cloth. He’d never moved it.

  The smell of burnt plastic sometimes surfaced on rainy days, even though, after the disaster, his mother had made him scrub the place from top to bottom. He pulled his key ring from his pocket and slipped the key into the deadbolt leading to the secret room he’d built off the salon.

  She screamed as soon as he entered the room. It surprised him that she had any voice left at all. She liked to scream a lot. He closed the door quickly behind him and flipped on the overhead light. She struggled against her bindings, handcuffs that held her to the cot.

  “Sweetie, we talked about this,” he said. “The more you fight, the more difficult it will be to put you in the installation. You want to live forever, don’t you?”

  Her chest heaved up and down, but she grew quiet.

  “Please let me go.” Her raspy voice sounded painful. “Please, I swear to God I won’t tell anybody about you. Or this place. Please, just let me go.”

  He sat on the bed next to her and stroked her cheek. “You are my Artemis. How can I let you go?”

  “My name is Haley, not Artemis. Haley Brooks.”

  “Oh, my beauty. My Artemis. You only have a little longer. I promise. You’ll be free tonight.”

  “Wait.” She looked at him with a quizzical expression. “You’re going to let me go?”

  “Yes. I have to let you go so the world can see you, can see my Artemis the way I see you. Your voice sounds terrible. Would you like some water?”

  She grimaced, and her throat undulated when she swallowed. She frowned and nodded her head.

  “I thought so,” he said. “I’ll be right back with a bottle of water and a fresh diaper. Can’t have you heading out into the world with a diaper rash, can we?”

  She wept softly.

  “There, there, my love, my beauty, my masterpiece.” He stroked her hair. “The world is going to love you as much as I do.”

  Chapter 3

  Dread rolled over Sarah Jane like a thick wave of fog once she turned onto her street and slowed the Volvo down to approach the fifty-eight-year-old ranch-style house she now shared with her youngest son, Larkin, and her sister. It had been over twenty years since she and Dan bought the house with a down payment his mother had given them.