Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(91)

Abby thought that sounded great. “Let’s do that.”

Cassandra shook her head and Abby’s shoulders fell.

“The potion needs three weeks to ferment. A month to work well. About six months to work well enough to fight back. It isn’t often you need to fight a ghost. I didn’t have any in my larder. I made a batch after Mrs. Truman called and explained what was going on but it won’t be ready in time,” Cassandra told Abby.

“What happens if I take it early?” Abby queried.

“You get sick. Very sick. Stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting, fever, delirium, cold sweats – you name it, you’ll get it. It only lasts a few days, a week at most, but you’ll look like death and not only will you want to die, those around you who don’t know you took the potion, like your boyfriend and, say, doctors, will think you are. Dying that is,” Cassandra said.

“Well, that’s out,” Abby muttered.

Cassandra leaned toward Abby, her eyes going soft, and said gently, “I’ve sent out feelers to see if any other witches have a usable potion, Abby. I know it doesn’t sound good but maybe we’ll catch some luck.”

Abby gave her a small smile before asking, “What’s option four?”

“Option four is your cat,” Cassandra told her.

Abby blinked. “Zee?”

Cassandra nodded. “Not all felines have the ability, but your cat does.”

“What ability?” Fenella asked.

Cassandra looked at Fenella. “Ghosts don’t like cats on the whole. But cats like Abby’s they’ll avoid like the plague. Cats like Abby’s can do what Abby could do if we had a usable potion. See the ghost, even when hidden, sense it before it comes and fight it.”

“Fight it?” Abby prompted.

Cassandra leaned forward and nabbed a scone and a knife. “Fight it, yes, but not destroy it. Fend it off. Say, if Vivianna was stalking you or even attacking you, your cat could do her damage. Weaken her. Make Vivianna disappear until her strength returns.”

“Let’s do that!” Fenella screeched.

Cassandra’s eyes went back to Fenella as she cut open her scone and started to slather it with cream. “Two problems with that.”

“Bloody hell,” Abby muttered and thought, Great, two more problems.

“One,” Cassandra continued, “when Vivianna came back, she’d be angry. Very angry. Abby would be gone but your family would be in targeting range.”

“That’s not good,” Mrs. Truman commented under her breath.

“Two, I said Abby’s cat could fight it, I didn’t say her cat would win,” Cassandra noted. “And Vivianna can’t die. But Zee can.”

“That’s out,” Abby stated instantly.

Everyone went silent.

Then Fenella cried, “So what are we going to do?”

“I need a scone,” Abby muttered, leaning forward and seizing her own scone.

“I’ve got some amulets, some powders, some potions. All for protection. Some of it pretty potent stuff. I’ll give Abby everything I’ve got and show her how to use it,” Cassandra answered Fenella.

“And then what?” Mrs. Truman asked.

Cassandra sat back with her fully-loaded scone and responded, “Then we hope,” she took a big bite and chewed.

Suddenly Mrs. Truman’s back went ramrod straight and she looked from right to left.

Then she said, “That better be Jennifer.”

“What better be Jennifer?” Fenella asked.

The doorbell rang and Cassandra, Fenella and Abby stared at each other in astonishment. They hadn’t heard a thing that would herald a visitor.

Then again, nosy Mrs. Truman undoubtedly had super-powered ears.

“Is Jenny coming over? I thought she was out with her pensioners on a field trip,” Abby asked, going for a double dip of clotted cream. Since she’d likely be dead in a week’s time, she might as well go to her grave with clogged arteries and cellulite.

“Yes,” Mrs. Truman answered while getting up and bustling toward the door, “she’s got a lead. She was checking it out. She must have news.”

Then Mrs. Truman was gone.

Abby spooned jam on her scone and glanced from Cassandra to Fenella. “It’s nice of you both to do this.”

Fenella just smiled and waved her hand in front of her face.

“I’m not nice,” Cassandra said, “I’m getting paid thirty quid an hour for this gig.”

Abby’s hand froze and the jam slipped from her spoon back into the pot. “What?”

Cassandra’s eyes went from the jam to Abby. “Thirty quid an hour.”

“But,” Abby began then looked back to her scone and jam, clearing her throat, “I didn’t… that is to say, I’m happy to pay you, I just didn’t –”

“I work for Mrs. Truman. She’s paying me,” Cassandra informed Abby and Abby’s mouth dropped open.

“Really?” she breathed.

“Sure,” Cassandra replied.

“I’ll have to pay her back,” Abby muttered while squishing the top of the scone on her jammy, creamy bottom.

“I wouldn’t try that,” Fenella warned.

Abby looked at her. “You wouldn’t?”