The Witch's Complement Read online

  Scott rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t know why Seattle made the runes he inked onto the two most important people in his life fade faster, but the why wasn’t really that important. “Alright. Lie back and let’s do this.”

  It really sucked that Callum’s and Cecily’s ink faded so fast here in Seattle, because other than that, everything about living in the Pacific Northwest was damn near idyllic.

  Zander’s new job was clutch. She was so much happier than Scott had ever seen her in NOLA.

  Cecily had finished her Bachelors in English Lit and now tutored freshmen at the university part time, worked as a barista part time—and connected people with their deceased loved ones as a side hustle that was becoming more lucrative all the time.

  Cecily and Zander’s Mom, Nicole, had been nothing but welcoming and incredible since the day he’d met her, and even more so since they’d moved here.

  Even the house they lived in was perfect. It was just the right size for the four of them—bigger than they needed, really, since they didn’t use the attic bedroom. Their landlord was an old friend of Nicole’s and she was super chill and friendly.

  The only things in the con column that Scott could come up with were that the gray skies and three o’clock sunsets in the dead of winter had taken some getting used to, traffic sucked, and he’d trade a few of his coworkers if given the chance, but that was it. Small, run of the mill shit he’d gladly live with to keep everything else that was great.

  Well, there was one other thing that he wished was different, he thought as he readied his tattoo machine and threw a glance Callum’s way. But it had nothing to do with where they lived and everything to do with the ebbs and flows of life—literally. Callum’s eyes were closed, his features drawn like he was either thinking really hard—or trying not to think at all. Which had been the norm since he and Zander had returned from their short trip to New Orleans to pick up his mom’s ashes last week.

  Scott rolled his stool up alongside Callum’s shoulder and stared at the lines and shading, looking for the best place to start. The shapes shifted under his gaze and he blinked hard to clear his vision.

  Too many hours tattooing was likely to blame—that, or dirty glasses. A minute later, glasses clean and back in place, he wound the cord of his tattoo machine around his wrist to keep it out of the way, then he dipped his needles into the pool of black ink on the table beside him and got to work.

  “Any luck connecting to Miriam?” he asked, keeping his voice low enough not to be overheard, but loud enough for Callum to hear him over the sound of the buzzing. It was a subtle balance.

  “Of course not,” was Callum’s equally low response. “It’s fine, though. Seriously.”

  No it wasn’t, but Scott wasn’t about to say that here. Not while Callum was so thoroughly putting up the front that he was okay, and while Scott had needles pressed to the guy’s skin.

  He wished he could help him, though.

  This time when the runes shifted in Scott’s vision it wasn’t subtle. And it definitely wasn’t due to dirty glasses. They didn’t change, per se, but they... breathed. That was the only way Scott could explain it. He blinked his eyes hard, and behind his squeezed-shut lids, runes drew themselves in his vision, fast like scribbled sketches. Runes he’d never seen before.

  Vigilance.

  Temperance.

  White light.

  Healing.

  The words flitted through his head in time with the images—

  A knock on the panel of his station ended the long blink. He sat for a breath. What the hell had that been? Then he looked toward the knocking, though there was nothing to see but the privacy screen standing across the doorway into his station. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, you good?” It was Abby.

  Of course it was Abby. It was the middle of the day. He was at work. He cleared his throat and tried for his best imitation of nothing-out-of-the-ordinary- whatsoever-is-happening-here. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s up?”

  There was a brief pause like maybe Abby didn’t buy his act. But when she responded, it wasn’t with anything other than her normal friendly tone. “I’m going to go grab lunch. Want me to bring you something back?”

  Oh. Lunch, right. “Yeah. Just get me whatever you’re getting.” He hadn’t yet met a food he didn’t like.

  Except sauerkraut. Fuck sauerkraut.

  “Cool. Callum, you?”

  “Nah, I ate before I came. Thanks though.”

  The shop door closed behind her a moment later and Callum settled in, closing his eyes and laying his head back against the headrest. “I like Abby. She seems cool.”

  “She’s great,” Scott agreed. He waited for Callum to call him out for his previous weirdness—Abby might have dismissed it, but there was no way Scott’s odd tone and behavior had gone unnoticed by Cal. But as he started back to tattooing, Callum didn’t say a damn thing about it. Which meant Scott was a better actor than he’d given himself credit for—or, more likely, Callum was worse off than he’d realized.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cecily’s stomach was sour. It had been like that all morning. It didn’t help that the person sitting in front of her was anxious to hear from their departed brother—who wasn’t coming through. Like, at all.

  Her name was Natalie—and that’s all Cecily had known about her before their meeting. She was a little older than Cecily was—maybe thirty? Her brunette asymmetrical bob was on point, the shorter side revealing three matching stud earrings in descending sizes as they went up her ear. Her eyes were already wet.

  Cecily hated it when this happened.

  Nothing? She sent the question out to Trevor and Bridgette who were nearby, as usual.

  “Nothing but static,” came Trey’s response. “But, like, a lot of static. You okay?”

  Rhia, sitting at Cecily’s feet, huffed a sigh at the same time Cecily did. If she responded verbally, Natalie would assume she was communicating with her loved one, and it would be cruel to explain that there were spirits there—just not the ones the woman was hoping for. Besides, Cecily wasn’t so sure she was okay, so better to just not respond to Trevor’s question at all.

  She was fine—she wasn’t, like, in a dire situation. She just felt like shit—and she was worried she might know why.

  She just really, really hoped her instincts weren’t right. Mostly, she hoped that.

  Shit, she didn’t know how she felt about it, but whatever. She didn’t need to think about this right now. What she needed to think about was how to handle Natalie, sitting in front of her, desperate to hear from her brother.

  The guy had come through for a second—that’s the only reason she knew who Natalie was there to see. Or, rather, who was there to see Natalie. Cecily didn’t always have a lot of control over who came through—or, if anybody did at all, as was the case today.

  She smiled at the woman, wishing she could make this work, and knowing it wasn’t going to happen. Trevor and Bridgette could come through because—well, Cecily wasn’t sure why, but they could always come through, and could come and go as they pleased. Other spirits took more effort. “I’m having a really hard time connecting with your brother today.”

  Natalie’s eyes went wide. “How did you know—?”

  “He was here for a second. I saw him for a moment, got the feeling he was your brother—and then he disappeared.” She went on before the woman’s concerned expression could dissolve into tears. “This happens sometimes. It’s not a him-problem—it’s all on me.”

  Now her brows furrowed in question. “I don’t understand.”

  Yeah, neither do I sometimes. But she couldn’t say that. “My vibration has to be in the right frequency, and for whatever reason, it’s not staying there today,” she explained. “Last time this happened, my good friend’s mom died that night. It’s hard to know what’s causing it.” She didn’t think it was anything that dire now. When it happened for the first time a few months ago, she’d eaten bad yogurt on
her way to meet a client. The client didn’t get any answers and Cecily spent the night doubled over the toilet. She had a feeling this time was more like that one had been—only bad yogurt wasn’t the culprit behind her sour stomach.

  “So, what do we do?” Natalie asked.

  “We meet again,” Cecily assured her. “And I don’t charge you for this session.”

  “What if it doesn’t work next time?”

  “That’s never happened before.” She could say that with confidence. “He’ll come through on our next try. In the meantime, let’s schedule another meeting.”

  Twenty minutes later, Cecily closed herself into her car and just took a second to breathe. The sun was making short appearances between the thick, not-quite-spring clouds, so the interior of her car was warmer than outdoors had been and she soaked up the promise of sunnier days and higher temps on the way. She was always so tired of the gray by the time the end of March rolled around. Maybe it was just good old fashioned seasonal sadness that was making her recent readings more unpredictable than usual. She knew it wasn’t her fault, per se, but every time a reading didn’t go well, she felt like she was failing the person who’d taken time out of their day—not to mention money out of their wallet—to see her. That’s part of why she only requested a fifty percent deposit at booking, and the other fifty percent after the conclusion of the reading. Still—she hated it when they didn’t go well.

  Rhia’s panting from the passenger seat pushed her back into motion. “Okay, okay.” She supposed the fur coat Rhia always had on made a warm car less than pleasant. Her stomach gave a roll as she deactivated the do-not-disturb on her phone. Ugh, this nausea was a bitch. But the swell ebbed as quickly as it had come on, so she unlocked her phone to text Scott she’d be a little early to get him from work. Maybe she’d hang out with Abby or organize Scott’s station while he finished up his day.

  Or, wait. Wasn’t Callum getting his runes touched up today? Maybe he was still there.

  Huh. Voicemail. She looked to the call history, but there wasn’t a name with the number, which meant it might be somebody wanting to book a reading—her past clients had her cell phone number and sometimes would give it to a friend so they could book directly. She didn’t mind—it made it easier to know who were referrals and who found her through the expert search engine optimization Callum had set up on the website he built for her a few months ago. She hit the button and brought the phone to her ear. They weren’t going to be thrilled to hear she was currently booking two months out.

  “Hi Cecily, it’s your dad—”

  Shit! Cecily pulled the phone away and hit the red icon to hang up on the recording before her heart even had the chance to start sprinting.

  Why in the hell was her dad calling her?

  How in the hell did he even have her number?

  She supposed it was the same number she’d always had, but still. Ugh.

  Rhia nudged her with a big, white paw, pulling Cecily out of the post-shock stare-into-space she’d fallen into. Rhia’s expectant expression made her smile as she imagined the dog’s comments that would have accompanied the nudge if only she could speak. Hi. You seem stressed, but I’m cooking. Can we go?

  “We’re going.” She tucked the phone alongside her leg, leaned forward, and hit the ignition button on the dash of the Mazda crossover she shared with Scott. She should probably tell him they needed to hit the drugstore on their way home.

  Then tell him her dad had tried to call her.

  Yuck.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Callum’s shoulder was stinging as he slipped his arm back through the sleeve of his t-shirt. “You want a ride home?” he asked Scott, who was putting away all of his supplies. “I can hang around until you’re finished.”

  “Dude, I don’t wrap up here for another two hours,” Scott replied. “Besides, Cecily’s coming to pick me up after her—meeting.”

  Ah. “Is this one of her meeting-meetings?”

  Scott chuckled and threw a paper towel into the trashcan beside him. “Something like that.”

  Got it. Cecily was building a business meeting with people who were looking to connect with their deceased loved ones. Her website was kickass, that much he knew. The rest of it? He couldn’t imagine being a medium-for-hire. There was no dollar amount that would make him channel strangers’ dead relatives day in and day out, on demand—well, that wasn’t true. There was a totally a dollar amount that would make it worth it—it was just a hell of a lot more than anybody in their right mind would be willing to pay. He’d communicate with friends’ deceased family or friends, no problem—and at no charge—but a stranger? Ugh. He didn’t like living people enough to want to do that, let alone the dead people he’d be forced to talk to.

  “Is Rhia with Cecily?” Scott asked as Callum hopped down from the table.

  “Yeah, she took her.” Scott had runed the hell out of his station, so Callum was safe to sit here without Rhia or Zander as protection. And the drive from home was quick.

  “No Rhia with you is just another reason for you not to hang around,” Scott remarked.

  Callum laughed under his breath as he shrugged and tried not to roll his eyes. “Nah, the bar next door is creepy as fuck, but nobody bothers me in there so...”

  They were good at having conversations where they said everything required to let the other know what they were talking about—without saying anything that would tip off the people around them. The last thing Scott needed were his co-workers knowing his best friend talked to ghosts. And his girlfriend. And his girlfriend’s sister kept them all safe by hiding them behind her own spiritual veil.

  That would just be awkward for everybody.

  “Can you pick up ground turkey on the way home?” Scott asked after he snapped off his nitrile gloves.

  “I can,” Callum replied, “but Cecily mentioned something about going to the store this afternoon when she was leaving. I’ll text her and find out.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Callum pulled the screen aside and stepped out into the hallway between stations. Everybody had come back from “lunch” (around four) while Scott had been working his rune tattoo touch-up magic, so now the shop was bustling and busy. He gave a wave to Abby as he passed her at the front desk. She gave a wave while she chewed a bite off of a genuinely gigantic burrito.

  “You want to schedule another session?” she asked after forcing the bite down.

  Callum shook his head. “Nah. I’ll just keep abusing my best friend privilege and slipping into his schedule gaps.”

  Abby laughed. “You can do that, but the gaps are getting harder to find.”

  Stupid Scott being all successful and shit, Callum thought with absolutely no seriousness. He groaned comically. “Fine. Does he have anything three weeks from now?”

  Abby set the burrito down, wiped her hands and turned to the computer beside her. A few seconds later, “Nope. How about four weeks?”

  Scott’s voice came calling from the back of the shop. “Put him down for after my last appointment one of the days that third week.”

  “You got it, boss!” Abby called back, then turned to Callum with a smirk. “Best friend privileges indeed.”

  Callum could only shrug. It’s not like he could tell her why Scott was willing to stay late at work to make sure his tattoos were crisp.

  “Why do you get them touched-up so often?” Abby asked as she entered the appointment into the computer. Her eyes met his like she wanted to take the question back. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Callum had figured this would come up at some point. He went to rub the back of his hair but stopped when his stinging shoulder pulled. “It’s a long story.” He lifted his voice loud enough for Scott to hear and know he was saying it to rib him. “I’m basically Scott’s sketchpad. I’m where he puts all of his stupidest ideas!”

  “Fuck you, Callum!” came Scott’s sing-songing retort.

  He smirked and dropped his voice.
“Of which he has a lot. So I’m here a lot.”

  To Abby’s credit, she didn’t look like she bought it. “Uh huh. Well, you’re booked for Wednesday, three weeks from now, at nine. Unless that’s past your bedtime?”

  Scott’s chortle could be heard from the back.

  “Nah, nine is great.”

  “Hey, Cal.”

  Callum stepped on the brake with more force than was needed and the car lurched to a stop at the red light in front of him. He turned to Trevor, who had just appeared in his front passenger seat. “You are not supposed to do that while I’m driving.”

  “My bad,” Trey replied. “I’ll fade in more slowly next time. Want me to start low and slow? How about this?” He cleared his throat. “Caaaaallluuuuummm.”

  From the backseat, Bridgette’s laugh announced her presence.

  Callum drew a breath and looked at the rearview. Sure enough, her semi-opaque blond hair was shining in the sunlight streaming through the back window. “Hey Bridgette. You’re both the worst. What’s up?”

  Trey laughed, but Bridgette brought him back to business when she leaned between the front seats. “Have you noticed fewer spirits around you lately?”