Cryptids & Cauldrons: The Witch: Cryptids & Cauldrons, #2

By Stephanie Rabig

 

Fresh off an exhausting personal case, and mourning the life-threatening injury of a friend, Charlene Romero is ready for a break from her job at the ASPCA (A Society for the Prosecution of Cryptids and Assorteds). But then her best friend's daughter, Mia, comes to her for help when her trans boyfriend is sent to conversion therapy, and Charlie knows it might take all of her powers, plus the expertise of her coworkers, to save him and the other teenagers. Because the owner of the camp is a witch whose talents rival even hers…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Rabig
• Release date: Sep 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223695554

Stephanie Rabig

Stephanie Rabig has been a horror fan all her life (her grade-school librarian remembers her because she tried to check out Dracula while in kindergarten). Favorite subgenres include creature features; isolation horror (esp. snowbound. Thanks, John Carpenter's The Thing!); and ocean horror.  She also writes romance-- paranormal and alternate-history--with her partner-in-crime, Angie Bee (check her out on Tumblr @ zombeesknees). Author photo by ctrlaltcassie on Instagram

Book preview

For those who need them, trigger warnings can be found at the back of the book.

Cover art is by Rooster Republic Press.

CHAPTER ONE

"W hat about her?"

The others turned to the empty space where she was pointing, then looked back at Alex with unsettled expressions.

Who do you see? Charlene asked.

I don’t know. She’s a little taller than you, brown skin, black hair, brown eyes. Pretty smile, but she doesn’t smile very much. Are you...you’re telling me she’s not there? Alex asked quietly. Every time I’ve seen you, she’s always right behind.

Instinctively, Charlie reached out to take Elias’s hand, as the realization she’d come to passed over his face.

Amelia?

AMELIA SANK DOWN ONTO the living room couch, wishing she still had her bottle of Xanax. She took citalopram daily to help negate her depression, and her doctor still offered the Xanax for anxiety, but after her stint in rehab he’d recommended that someone else hold on to the full bottle. Apparently he was worried that since alcohol was closed off to her now, she’d turn to a different substance.

As if it was wrong to want to keep her thoughts from turning into a tangled, thorny mess.

Amelia took a deep breath, then another. That was the addiction talking, she thought. She could get through this without alcohol, without―

Without too many Xanax. But Charlie, who had the full bottle for her, always left her two in case of emergency.

This damn well counted, she thought, heading to the upstairs bathroom and taking the two small pills out of the medicine cabinet.

She wasn’t the only one who’d been to rehab; Elias had a run-in in high school, before he’d transferred to their town. His best friend had died on a camping trip when he was a boy, and Elias had witnessed it. When he hadn’t gotten over the whole thing as quickly as his perfectionist parents had liked, they’d institutionalized him for almost a year. It was no wonder he’d turned to drugs for a while, but he hadn’t had a problem in almost twenty years.

At least as far as she knew.

Leaving the bathroom, she thought she heard a noise from Mia's room and turned, but it was just her imagination. She sighed and walked back to the couch. The last thing she needed was for Mia to wake up and hear the two of them arguing again.

She hadn’t even asked Elias if he was all right. When he’d come in, blood staining his shirt, she’d glared at him. All she’d been able to think was, again?

Not allowed to feel guilty about that, she told herself, getting up again to get a glass of water. She started imagining getting a bottle out of the freezer instead, mixing a―

Nothing to mix, she reminded herself. No bottle in the freezer, no whiskey glasses, not even the It’s 5 o’clock somewhere sign one of her classmates had given her at her baby shower. If you’re gonna have a baby, then you’re totally gonna need a drink. After you turn 21, anyway, Artemisia had joked.

Who would have ever thought she’d miss those days? She’d been terrified―how was she supposed to care for a baby? She killed houseplants!―but Elias had been there. She’d had him and she’d had Charlie, and she’d known the three of them could handle anything.

Charlie.

Sitting back down on the couch, she picked up her phone and dialed Charlie’s number.

Busy.

Figures, she muttered. Once she finished her water, she put the glass in the sink and headed to the bathroom, where Elias was putting iodine on his cuts.

Are you dealing? she asked.

Of course not.

Really? Because I've never met any of your coworkers. And now this? You keep getting hurt.

I know. I'm sorry.

Don't apologize. I'm sick of apologies. Tell me what happened. Now. Even as she said the words, she wondered if she was making a mistake. Maybe he had a good reason for keeping the secret; maybe she was better off not knowing.

I have to get things together. Evidence.

Evidence? What the hell are you, CIA?

No.

Then what?

Tomorrow I'll―

Her anger flared then, as bright and undeniable as the sun. "You tell me now. Otherwise I swear to God I'm leaving, and I'll take Mia with me. You're around people who'll do shit like that, how long before one of them follows you home?"

Amy...

Don't. Don't say my name like that, don't look at me like you're heartbroken. He didn't have the right. "Tell me!"

I hunt monsters.

She blinked, taken aback. That isn’t funny.

I’m not trying to be, he said quietly.

She wasn't sure what was worse: the sheer impossibility of what he was saying or the tone of his voice. He sounded so earnest, so sincere; when he got that tone he could tell her the sky was falling and she'd believe him.

Monsters. When Mia had been little and in the ‘there’s something under my bed’ phase, Elias had put little satchels of herbs from Charlie under the bed to ‘banish’ it. At the time, she’d thought it was adorable, that he was engaging with her imagination and also teaching her how to be proactive with problems. Had he honestly believed there was something there?

Had there been?

She fled from the bathroom, yanking her gloves off. And when he came after her, she did something she'd never expected of herself: she grabbed his hand to see, to actually get the truth.

She'd tried to prepare herself for any number of possibilities: maybe he was lying about her CIA guess. Maybe he had gotten back into drugs, and was having trouble paying a dealer. Maybe seeing his friend's death had irrevocably shattered something in his mind; maybe institutionalization had been the right call.

She didn't expect to see monsters.

She let go of his hand, retreating from him like she could dismiss the images that had just  flashed through her mind if there was only enough distance between them.

Tell me this isn't true, she whispered.

I love you.

Which wasn’t a denial.

I love you, too, she whispered, because she did, she still did, even if right now she hated herself for it.

She should just go wake up Mia, get her out of here. Stay at Charlie's for a few nights until she could figure things out.

Would Mia even want to go with her? she thought darkly. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd been thoughtless, been downright cruel.

That wasn’t you, Amelia told herself for the millionth time. That was the alcohol. You never would’ve done that.

Mia had been overly-excited after a trip to the animal shelter, talking and talking about every detail of every animal, waking Amelia up from one hell of a hangover so she could do so.

She’d snapped at her. Told her to shut up.

She’d seen the joy melt off her child’s face, and realized what she’d done. All the times she’d listened to Mia tell a story for the hundredth time; all the times she’d nodded along to some piece of information she already knew; all of that was tainted now. All the kindness and patience of the past nine years turned irrelevant in a few seconds.

Doesn’t matter, Amelia told herself. You got through that, with Charlie’s help, and you’ll get through this.

CHARLIE HAD ANSWERS. But they were ones she didn’t one to hear, ones she didn’t want to believe.

Couldn’t believe.

AMELIA GOT BACK INTO her car, knowing that she had about twenty minutes before the three Xanax Charlie had given her―she hadn’t told her she’d already taken the two at home―would kick in and render it unsafe to drive. Maybe she’d spend the night in the cemetery parking lot. Unless zombies were real, too.

No. None of it was real. Elias and Charlene were―

Were what? Playing a cruel joke? Neither of them were like that. And when she'd taken their hands, the things she'd seen...

She drove up to the corner where she turned for the cemetery, but her eyes locked on the liquor store across the street.

She’d gone to rehab because she’d been drinking when it wasn’t warranted, when there was nothing she needed to escape from. It had become a habit, a crutch. But tonight was different. She didn’t know anybody who could get the news she’d just gotten and not want a drink. 

Just a small bottle. She’d have a few drinks, pitch it in the cemetery trashcan, chew some gum and head on home.

She almost bought something sweet like amaretto, but she wanted a burn right now, wanted to wake herself up out of this nightmare. She paid for the bottle of whiskey in a haze.

Monsters existed.

She pulled into the cemetery parking lot, staring out across the gravestones as she turned off the engine and opened her bottle. When she’d been a little girl on her third-ever sleepover, she’d thought she’d seen something. She’d woken up in the middle of the night and gotten up to go to the bathroom, and when she’d come back there had been a figure standing at the end of Artemisia’s bed. It had been tall and unnaturally thin, and had a sharp-toothed smile that seemed to glow in the moonlight. She’d wanted to scream, to get Art’s parents, but she hadn’t been able to move or even breathe. The creature had turned to face her, and brought a finger up to its lips.

Shhh.

For some reason, that tiny gesture had unlocked her voice, and she’d shrieked loudly enough to wake the neighbors. Artemisia had bolted up in bed, but by the time she turned on the light, the thing had dissipated into mist. Art’s parents had insisted it was a nightmare, and over time she’d forced herself to believe them. But she’d known, hadn’t she always known, that she’d been perfectly awake?

She looked at the bottle in her hand, was surprised to see that it was almost empty.

Shouldn’t risk driving home, she thought, taking another drink. Shouldn't drink anymore, either. Headstones out the window were blurring in and out of focus. Amelia grinned. One tiny bottle and her vision was fuzzy. She’d turned into such a lightweight!

Narrowing her eyes as she focused, she managed to get the lid back on the bottle and then rolled down the window, tossing it into the trash can. Or at least trying to; it only made it halfway there before clattering to the ground. Hush! she said with another grin. Gonna wake the neighbors!

No, better not joke about that.

She opened the door and stumbled out into the parking lot, reaching down to pick up the bottle and nearly falling in the process. The dizzy stage of drunk could be fun; she just hoped she wasn’t headed for the throwing-up part. She dropped the bottle into the trash and made her way back to the car. She actually felt winded. She couldn’t believe it. Ten feet from the car to the trash can and she was having trouble catching her breath.

...she was really having trouble.

Panic reared through her drug-and-alcohol induced haze long enough to get her to pick up her phone and open her contacts list. By the time her husband picked up, she’d almost forgotten why she’d called. Elias? I don’t feel so... She dropped the phone, struggling in earnest to breathe now, and she heard Elias’s voice coming from the phone, shouting her name, before that, too, faded.

SHE COULDN’T REST.

SHE’D THOUGHT DEATH would be peaceful. Whether that meant floating around a stereotypical Heaven on cherub-like wings or just nothingness, just sleep, she thought she’d be at peace.

But she couldn’t leave.

She wandered, unseen, doomed to watch her daughter grow without her, to watch the looks Charlie began to give her husband.

Then a girl. Young, also lost. Her name was Alexandra.

And she could see her.

Finally, some measure of peace arrived. Because now that they knew she was here, it was only a matter of time before she figured out a way to get her life back.

CHAPTER TWO

A re you sure this town actually exists? Nik asked, wincing as the car hit yet another pothole. Belasco, I’m not sure your car can take much more of these roads. 

She’s tougher than she looks, Belasco said, casting a quick glance at their passenger in the backseat. You doing okay?

I’m all right, Charlie said, leaning forward from her position in the middle to stare out the windshield. Belasco nodded and returned her full attention to the sad excuse for a road.

There, Charlie said, pointing to a battered wooden sign, which read 'Langfell, 3 miles'.

"How did the Informant even find this place?" Nik asked.

It was on the news a couple of years back, Belasco said. Bad fire, a lot of people died. Figured she should check up and see how everyone was doing. It’s not good.

Disasters can influence people to contact things they never would’ve dreamed about before, Charlene said.

Nik nodded, his fingers itching with the need to write. He wondered what they would find at this town. Perhaps the townspeople had performed a spell to draw back their loved ones, calling forth a flood of ghosts? Or maybe they’d figured out a way to fall into endless trances so as to see their families again, and would all be trapped in an unnatural sleep...

He just hoped they weren’t about to come across a demon.

The Informant say exactly what she saw? he asked.

Flowers.

Nik leaned back in his seat, his enthusiasm deflating. Sounds fascinating.

I’m sorry she didn’t discover a massacre, Belasco said.

That wasn’t what― He lost his train of thought when they pulled into town and Belasco slowed the car to a stop. Nik opened his car door, staring. Okay, he murmured. "This is a little creepy."

Belasco nodded, looking around for any signs of life. All the way up here, it had been bare trees and roads half-dusted with snow. But in Langfell, magnolias bloomed everywhere, the oversize blossoms draping down from trees, carpeting the sidewalks, and vining up the sides of the small houses.

Nik slowly moved further away from the car, his gaze drifting from the multitude of magnolias to a garish pink bird bath on the nearest lawn to a sculpture on the same lawn, of a little girl running to her mother.

Odd, he thought, moving closer. It wasn’t the cheap, ill-formed concrete of most lawn statues he saw; this was actually good. He’d seen beautiful art pieces in Wichita when he’d visited his parents there, but those had been more of a copper-greenish color; they didn’t have lifelike painting jobs. He couldn’t imagine a town this small getting enough of an art grant to―

The woman’s eyes moved, locking onto him.

Shit! Dominik yelped, nearly falling on his ass in a scramble to get away.

What? Charlie asked, and then her gaze landed on the frozen pair. Back in the car.

Belasco and Nik clambered into the vehicle, Nik barely having time to get his door shut before Belasco put the car into reverse, careening back onto the ill-maintained gravel road.

"What the hell was that? Nik exclaimed. Were those―were those actually people?"

Yes, Charlie said, leaning forward and draping a heavy necklace onto Nik. Iron beads, she explained, placing one around Belasco’s neck as well. Here, she continued, handing them each a baggie full of salt. To make a circle around yourself if need be.

I thought the charm bags you gave us earlier were supposed to help, Nik said.

They will. These are just a few extra precautions.

What does all this mean? Belasco said, her nose wrinkling against the overwhelmingly sweet smell of magnolias that had permeated the car.

Every spirit has a scent, Charlene said. Most are never noticed because they never become that strong. Sometimes you’ll catch a whiff of it during a summoning or banishment. But something here is so powerful that the physical manifestation of its odor has covered the entire area. We’re not going to defeat that; not within its own territory.

She got out of the car then, sitting down in a bare patch of earth at the side of the road. Nik and Belasco followed her out.

Can’t you...I don’t know, try to talk to it? Nik asked, his curiosity piqued despite the frightening image of the frozen woman and her child. I mean, it smells like flowers, not sulfur. Doesn’t that mean it’s one of the nicer spirits? Charlie looked up at him, her usually lively face entirely impassive, and he bit his lip.

How much work with spirits have you done?

Not much, he admitted. I usually study the more physical cryptids.

Spirit work is different, Charlie told him, smoothing out a patch of earth. Belasco, could you get my bag from the trunk?

Sure.

"Now, if one of the things you hunt has sharp teeth and claws, it’s a safe bet it evolved as a predator and you might