Tarot Tuesday with Shereen Vedam #TarotTuesday


One of my favorite decks is the Mah Jongg deck. I’ve had it for years. I do a reading most mornings to see what the day is likely to bring. As it’s used so much, I bought a second deck. It’s in pristine condition in my cupboard, for the day when my current deck falls apart, and I need to give it up.

For this post, I’m doing a reading on this blog tour. I’m writing this post two days before the virtual tour begins. When it posts, which will be on the last day of the tour, it will be interesting to see if any of these predictions have come true

First, here’s the deck, and a larger card-interpretation book than the one that came with the deck.

 


 

Now here’s the reading I did with it. I always shuffle the cards and then spread them in a circle, and, while thinking of my question, I pull 13 cards, face down. Then I separate them from the pile as follows:

·        three to the bottom (the east spread; these will be about me)

·        three to the top (the west spread: these will be the challenges I face, and the solution to the challenges)

·        three to the right (the south spread: what’s coming up immediately)

·        three to the left (the north spread: the end result)

·        the last card is for the center (the focus of the reading)

This was the spread I ended up with for the blog tour:

 


My reading on how this virtual blog tour might develop (for entertainment purposes only)

The center focus card: 28 East (East represents the querent and the present situation)

Makes sense, since this is about my blog tour.

The East spread: (this is the querent’s wishes/hopes)

·        Honor card/33 Center (it’s usually about success)

This means I’m focused on promoting my latest release on this blog, and hoping for a successful outcome.

·        Honor card/31 North (this one talks about difficult times)

I suspect it means I need to be disciplined and do the work needed (writing the blog posts and doing the interview questions) to prepare for this tour.

·        Bamboo/8 Mushroom: (a sign of something unusual/memorable is about to happen)

This could mean I’m hoping this tour brings a pleasant surprise or two.

 

The South spread: (this is the near future)

·        Guardian card/41 Farmer/clarified by Bamboo/7 Tortoise (A guardian card always requires a clarifying card; Farmer is about work to be done/Tortoise is about going slow but heading toward eventual success)

I believe this means the work I’m doing will be both worthwhile and blessed in the long run, if I’m willing to do the required work first.

·        Wan/21 Earth (location move indicated)

Also made me shake my head at how accurate these cards are sometimes, since obviously, a blog tour requires moving from one location to another.

·        Honor Card/34 White: (in the South spread this means pay special attention to important documents)

I noted this and had a friend proofread for me before I submitted the posts.

 

 

The West spread: (this talks about challenges and their solution)

·        Circles/10 Pearl: (in the obstacle position, this suggests the endeavor will cost money)

I paid to do this blog tour, so accurate

·        Wan/25 Seven Stars: (in the obstacle position, this suggests plans will need to be revised)

I had to laugh when I saw this card, since some blog stops had to be revised and dates changed. Also, Mercury retrograde occurs right in the middle of this blog, so changes were not a big surprise.

·        Honor Card/34 White: (in the solution position, this suggests either seeing someone before they pass or revisiting an old idea)

In my case, the latter applies, since I had done a Bewitching Blog Tour years ago and have returned to do it again, since I had so much fun the last time.

 

The North spread: (this is the eventual outcome)

·        Bamboo/2 Duck (in the north sector, this refers to a distant relationship)

True. I know the blog promoter, since we’ve worked together before, but we haven’t spoken in years, until I requested this tour. Yet, we’re back here, working together again.

·        Honor card/33 Center (in the north section, it means the objective is achieved)

I hope this means I’m going to be thrilled with this blog tour.

·        Wan/2 Sword: (odd one to have in the North sector of this reading, and as the very last card, because in this position, it means cutting away from the past)

I wonder if this relates to the mushroom card I had in the East Sector, about something memorable that is about to happen. Time will tell.

 

So, the future is done and dusted. Hope you try out a divination method that appeals to you. Happy shuffling on Halloween.

 

 

When the Magic Comes
A Grimm Medieval Mystery
Book One
Shereen Vedam

Genre: Cozy Epic Fantasy Mystery
Publisher: Shereen Vedam
Date of Publication: October 13, 2026
ISBN: eBook 9781989036464
ISBN: Paperback 9781989036471
ISBN: Audiobook  9781989036488
ASIN: B0FVYCWP33
Number of pages: 240
Word Count: 62,000
Cover Artist: Suzie O’Connell from Sunset Rose Books

Tagline: Magic. Prophecy. Murder.

Book Description:

It’s been said that Kennard of Grimm is destined to be the first in a long line of warriors who battle evil with magic.

Just one problem: he teaches magic at a prestigious university, but he has no magical abilities.

What he has is a dangerous curiosity, piercing instincts, and a responsibility for a baby dragon named Tala. Normal chaos rules Kennard’s life until a student is murdered, and another is blamed. Convinced the accused is innocent, he sets out to find the real killer.

To further complicate Kennard’s life, his mother and sister visit him, sparking Tala’s protective instincts. Then things turn more dangerous when a second body shows up.

The killer’s audacity is mounting.

Kennard must stop the murderer and soothe his indignant dragonet or risk death and destruction on a much larger scale.

If you enjoy your mystery with a hint of fairy tale, you’ll love meeting Kennard of Grimm and his dragonet, and sharing in their epic adventure as amateur detectives in a magical medieval fantasy world.


Excerpt

This is who I am. I’m the widow of a knight. My father was the Baron of Grimm. I’m the eldest of four. And my brother is the first Grimm to insist he can see magical creatures. My name is Violet.

On this November day, in the year of our Lord 1312, an unusual crime was committed at Edensa University, where my brother lives. There had been no warning that this event would be life-changing for both him and me.

As Master of Magical Theory and History, he soon became entangled in the event, for it had magical undertones. I intended to keep him out of harm’s way. But then I became worried, as I wondered if his convictions were not just the result of an overactive imagination.

What if there really are invisible monsters?

* * *

“Surely magical creatures are naught but myths, sir?” Gazi spoke from a bench two rows back. “They don’t exist.”

This late-night class, the first Kennard had held this autumn, would hopefully be the last. It had made for a long day.

The lit torches shadowed Gazi’s strong features, giving him a devilish cast. He suspected the clever lad of being deliberately provocative. At fourteen, he was only seven years Kennard’s junior, yet Gazi might as well have been a mischievous child of eight, the way he sometimes acted.

Kennard addressed his students. “What do you think of Gazi’s question? Is it worthy of our consideration?”

“No!” Fanil lounged on a bench to Kennard’s left and flashed Gazi, his arch-nemesis, an over-the-shoulder smirk. “But such creatures are present in Bernada,” he added, snapping on the bait despite his avowal to the contrary.

Two vociferous rivals for the class fool.

“As if you would know.” Gazi chuckled. “You’ve never been to the sorcerers’ kingdom. No mortal has.”

“Our queen has,” Elspera countered, one of only three lasses registered for his class, and the only one of them present tonight. She sat directly across from Kennard, her favorite spot.

Her maid sat by the door, head tilted, eyes closed, and mouth half open, while releasing soft snores.

Elspera pointed at a portrait of our fair monarch on the wall. Her long sleeve slid down as she raised her arm, revealing a pale hand and wrist covered in intricately painted, darkly dotted patterns.

Gazi straightened on his bench, running a hand through his hair. “I grant, unlike us, God bestowed Queen Amity with exceptional powers. Yet, even she’s never spoken of magical creatures, not in our lands or even in Bernada.” His tone grew soft as his gaze rested on the fair maiden. “Also, this topic is about magical creatures, like ogres, griffins, and water spirits. Not sorceresses.”

“As a sorceress,” Elspera argued, “the queen could be considered a magical creature. If you seek further evidence, what about religious texts, which mention behemoths, demons, and even dragons? They do not lie.”

“My pa says it is blasphemous to discuss witchery,” a lad said from the last row. “The church forbids it.”

Though Gregory had addressed his comments to the class, his gaze lingered by the doorway. Was he hoping he could be anywhere but here? Possibly. Kennard glanced toward the doorway, where Elspera’s maid, having awoken, sat straight and blinked tired eyes. It had been a long day.

His attention returned to Gregory, who hailed from a small village in Greece. Normally, a quiet lad. Why a religious boy wished to attend sacrilegious lessons had once troubled him when the lad’s family applied to enroll him in this class.

Had the Church sent this “little bird” to Edensa to report on Kennard’s teachings, so they could smear his father’s name? For the Baron of Grimm had spoken out against the Pope a time or two.

Kennard’s fist had clenched at the possibility of his behavior being used to attack his father. In the end, he met Gregory, and his instincts insisted the lad had good in him. So, deciding an enemy close at hand was worth three in the bush, he’d admitted him. Time would prove if he’d been wise or not.

 


About the Author:

Once upon a time, USA Today bestselling author Shereen Vedam read fantasy and romance novels to entertain herself. Now she writes heartwarming tales braided with threads of magic and love and mystery elements woven in for good measure.

Shereen's a fan of resourceful women, intriguing men, and happily-ever-after endings. If her stories whisk you away to a different realm for a few hours, then Shereen will have achieved one of her life goals.











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Bound Beauty by Jennifer Silverwood


The Cursed House in the Woods Guest Blog by Jennifer Silverwood

I live in a cabin in the woods. The farmhouse sits deep in the woods on land that's been in my family for more than four generations. Like any old home, this place is riddled with stories and ghosts. At the far end of our property is a Native American burial ground. The Old San Antonio Road runs right behind our house, where hundreds of pioneers and legends like Davy Crockett and Sam Houston used to enter Texas before it was a country or state. 

We haven't always lived on the old family land. For years after Nanny passed, a family allowed to rent another house on the property abused and tore up the old farmhouse. They threw my grandmother’s clothes into the woods, and used floorboards for kindling. Before my father and brother finally kicked them off the property (rifles in hand) this family carved curses on the walls and threatened to return one day. But they never did…

My childhood was spent with my family rebuilding the cursed farmhouse. In the early years, conditions were so bad we basically camped inside the torn-up farmhouse. We kept a massive burn pile near the abandoned house the bad family had rented. When night came, we would sit around the fire, beneath a sea of stars and tell stories about the old folks and the lives they lived. 

One night, most everyone had gone to bed, save for myself, my brother, and a family friend. The conversation fell to the crackling of the fire when from the abandoned rent house we heard a slow knock, knock, knock. The few of us sitting outside froze and looked at each other. We sort of laughed it off. Until the sound came again, from a different part of the house: knock, knock, knock. 

My brother and his friend rose to investigate with a flashlight and a rifle. I lingered behind while they entered the abandoned house. And the moment they crossed the threshold, the sound came again, much louder: knock, knock, knock. 

I waited, watched, and listened beside the fire, frozen in fear. Was the person making the sound inside the house with them? Were they outside, in the woods, watching me? Had the renters finally come back years later?

My brother stuck his head through the hole leading into the attic and shined his flashlight… and found nothing. No animals, no drifter wandering in for shelter from the woods, and no renters. Nothing.

Time and the forest have slowly swallowed up the abandoned rent house since that night. My father has pulled boards from it to mend the once cursed farmhouse. And in a windowless room at the back of the home is a chalk painting of a unicorn slowly fading on the mildewed wall. Sometimes I wonder if the renters did return… in a different way. 

To this day, every time I walk near to the house, I feel something watching me through the windows. There are places in this world that have long memories, that raise the hair at the back of your neck and send chills down your spine, places where bad people did bad things once, places best left alone.

Bound Beauty
Wylder Tales 
Book Three
Jennifer Silverwood

Genre: Dark Fantasy / Fairy Tales
Publisher: SilverWoodSketches
Date of Publication: July 14, 2026
ISBN: 979-8186406099
ASIN: B0GY9XF3LC
Number of pages: 390
Word Count: 96,456

Cover Artist: Qamber Designs and Media

Tagline: Forgotten gods haunt her steps, and the cursed prince she left behind isn't done fighting for her soul.

Book Description:

Vynasha is bound to the prince of Bitterhelm. Even if she were to die, her spirit will remain trapped with him in the castle forever. But she won't give in to Grendel without a fight. With the aid of an oracle, a witchling, and the wolf that claims her heart, Vynasha plans to claim her power as the curse breaker.

Ceddrych guards their nephew secretly while fighting to keep the feral beasts roaming their borders at bay. But the monsters are closing in, and the madness he has struggled with drives him to one desperate, unforgivable act.

A war is about to begin between the forgotten people of Wylderland and the cruel might of Bitterhelm. Beings of prophecy and legend unite in the epic third chapter of the Wylder Tales Series, a romantic gothic re-telling of Beauty and the Beast.

Excerpt

IN A FORGOTTEN CASTLE IN WYLDERLAND…

Alone with Grendel, the man she had been tempted to love, the prince she loathed, Vynasha didn’t want to wake up. Let her sleep for a thousand years like the cursed princess, Morana. Let these walls crumble, the rose garden spread throughout the keep with thorns and vines to keep the world out forever.

“I know you are awake, Ashes.”

Vynasha opened her eyes. The prince stood before the hearth, his back to her. He hadn’t changed clothes since she had last seen him. Yet his faintly luminous skin had dimmed from bronze to the dull gray she remembered. “What happened?” she asked.

“A fever in your sleep. Odym says it was the runes.” Grendel’s shoulders hunched as he hung his head. “I should not have come, I know this. But I…” he twisted to face her. “Forgive me, Vynasha, but I cannot stay away from you any longer. I could feel your pain through the bond, yet there was nothing I could do to stop her,” he growled. “Do not ask me to leave you again, I beg of you.”

Vynasha should have been disgusted, but she was coming to accept the fact that Odym had been right. No matter how she truly felt, they needed each other. And she could not deny the way his words danced about her mind and breathed life back into her limbs.

“I wish I could tell you I was different,” he continued, “before my mother cursed me. But the truth is, I was always a monster.” Grendel drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin, pushing away from the fireplace mantel. He shook his head and held his hands before him, palms upturned. “I never wanted to be my father. I shall not make his mistakes, and so I will be honest with you, Ash. No more secrets.”

She shuddered and desperately wished she could bathe, could banish dreams of Nymwe and be rid of the prince. The dread she felt before only grew as Grendel paused, clenching his fists as though steeling himself for words he could not take back.

“I owe you everything, so much more than you know. When you willingly accepted the curse, you took some of the monster into you. I have not been forced to change into a beast ever since. It has given me time to remember myself in your absence, who I was and who I hope to be.”

Vynasha ground her sharp teeth. So they not only shared a bond with his spirit, but she had taken part of his beast? That they were forced to share something she had learned to take pride in made her ill.

Whatever he saw in her face must have pained him, enough for him to turn away. “Forgive me. I shall go. I should have never hoped…” He shook his head, dispelling whatever he might have said as he took two more steps to the door.

She traced the tip of her tongue on her lip, tasting the blood she spilled to forget. His hand was on the doorknob when she said, “Wait.” The strength behind her command surprised her and caused the prince to freeze in place.

Vynasha lifted her hand with surprising ease. “Stay?”

We need each other.

His graying skin flickered to golden life as he turned with hope burning in his violet eyes. “Always.”

At his word, his promise, Vynasha released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Even then, a small corner of her mind railed against her actions, at the feelings she couldn’t seem to control. It must Grendel’s influence, his feelings trickling through their bond.

This is wrong.

Still, she couldn’t deny how the persistent itch beneath her skin abated with him beside her, holding her hand. It shouldn’t have mattered. Truly, she hated how easily she gave in to these feelings. She could never tell him. Grendel had bound her life to his. Even if she were to leave, to beg the wylderfolk to take her back into their home, she would never be rid of him. And the longer she remained in the prince’s castle, the less she wanted to be free.


About the Author:

Jennifer Silverwood lives in the middle of an enchanted forest surrounded by cursed books, nosy spirits, and mischievous goblins she calls her children. After beginning several nonsensical degrees, she found her calling helping other authors bring their books to life. Jennifer is the author of two fairy tale fantasy series: the Borderlands Saga and Wylder Tales. Because she wasn't satisfied writing in one genre, she also invites you to explore uncharted space with the Heaven’s Edge Novellas—and dare to fall in love again with the standalone romance titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight.









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My Delightfully Haunting Salem Ancestors with S.A. Sizemore #Horror #ParanormalThriller




Several of my ancestors are buried at Charter Street Cemetery. It is the second-oldest European American burying ground in the United States, clocking in at three hundred and eighty-nine years, and, perhaps, the most haunted place in Salem, Massachusetts. During my ancestors’ time, it was referred to as The Burying Point because it sat perched on a rise overlooking the South River. 

One of the cemetery’s ghosts is a classic Lady in White who wanders along the southern perimeter wall. Perhaps she is searching for her grave which may have washed out to sea during a particularly bad storm. 

There’s also a house built right on the edge of the cemetery with its large sitting room windows facing out toward the headstones. Anyone visiting would have felt as if they were having tea with the dead. Nathaniel Hawthorne found it so interesting he wrote a short story about it, bestowing upon it the nickname Grimshawe House.

 

Grimshawe House next to Charter Street Cemetery © 2025 S.A. Sizemore

Then there’s the memorial for those who were unjustly executed during the Salem Witch Trials. That sits at the north end of the cemetery. My family, of course, were involved in the trials. They weren’t the innocent victims, though. My folks were the ones who sent at least a dozen souls to the gallows and ruined countless other lives by getting them locked up in prison for months on end.

I should feel uncomfortable standing there, but I don’t, because I know how to properly pay my respects.

For a short window of time early in the morning Charter Street Cemetery is quiet. At dawn, the only things running around are the squirrels looking for some acorns that may have fallen onto one of the decomposed granite paths.

Once the cemetery opens at ten a.m., tourists meander through the narrow pathways until closing time at four p.m. Most are not entirely sure what they are looking at. Some even try to touch the ancient stones before a docent tells them not to. Others whisper that they think it’s part of a movie set. 

I try to keep my mouth shut and yearn for some quiet while I visit the graves of my distant cousins, aunts and uncles, and my tenth great-grandparents.

Every night, especially when the weather is nice, the witch trials memorial becomes the star of the show. Its rectangular park, surrounded by a stacked granite stone wall, fills with people from dusk until about eleven p.m. Walking tour guides, one after another, bustle in, tell stories, and move onto their next location. Some groups are small. Others fill the memorial with dozens and dozens of people.
 


Salem Witch Trials Memorial © 2025 S.A. Sizemore

In August 2025 my ancestors made sure I could have some quiet time with them. Perhaps, in their weird way, it was a different kind of ghostly interaction.

A family of skunks had taken up residence under the house at the edge of the cemetery, the one with the graves outside its sitting room. Most nights this marauding band of black and white, and potentially smelly, mammals scurried through the headstones and weren’t to be seen for the rest of the evening. 

But when I got to town, this family of nocturnal sulfur sprayers decided to get up-close and personal. Instead of darting into the shadows, one of them made a beeline right into the grassy center of the Witch Trials Memorial. I heard a tour guide say this was the first time they had ever seen one there. Of course, it was.

I grew up with skunks in my back yard, so I knew how to give them space and make sure a violent olfactory altercation didn’t not occur. The tours, however, weren’t about to chance it. They all stayed at the entrance to the memorial avoiding the skunk. 

Meanwhile I got to have night after night of quiet contemplation with my ancestors. 

Coincidence? Maybe. 

The skunks became their own kind of haunting, inciting fear and trepidation in all who saw them, except for me.

 

Charter Street Cemetery © 2025 S.A. Sizemore

So, what did I experience while I stood on the edge of the cemetery all by myself for several nights? I felt nothing but calm and peace. Even when the tree limbs danced under the security lights and cast odd shadows, nothing made me feel uncomfortable about the space I was in. To be honest, it was more like a family reunion where everyone wanted to just sit around and hang with me while I wished them well. 

There were a few odd sounds. On a couple of occasions I thought I heard something like a stone hitting a headstone, but it was probably just acorns falling from several of the cemetery’s ancient oak trees that time of year.

It wasn’t until I got home, that I made a discovery.

I took my DSLR camera with me to Salem and was shooting in RAW format so I could more easily adjust the color and lighting later on. (RAW is a digital photo file that isn’t processed or compressed, so you get a lot more data from the camera’s sensors.) What I found when I started reviewing the photos was quite startling. In multiple images there were two anomalies, one greenish yellow and one blue. They looked like small birds flying between the headstones. My first thought was lens flare, but it was the strangest lens flare I had ever seen. My camera, which I’ve been using for a long time, had never captured anything like it before. 

When I showed it to a friend who’s a photographer, he was also startled by the images. He agreed that it was probably an unusual lens flare. But he also said of all the types of lens flare to show up, it was interesting that this particular one looked like angels darting around the cemetery. 

I’ll let you be the judge. Here’s one of the photos.

 

Charter Street Cemetery Angels © 2025 S.A. Sizemore

Another spectral moment occurred as I visited the property of my 11th great-uncle, Deacon Nathaniel Ingersoll, in what was once Salem Village and is now Danvers. Nathaniel was the patriarch of the family and many of his sisters’ children lived right around him. He and several of his nephews filed multiple complaints against their neighbors in 1692 which helped fuel the witch panic. Nathaniel’s wife, Hannah, is also my blood relation. Her sister, Margery Collins Williams, was my tenth great-grandmother and part of a group of women called upon to examine the accused for a “witch’s mark”.

While I visited the property in Danvers, I took several videos. In most of them, you can hear a small breeze and every once in a while a car drives by. You can also hear me talking from time to time as I explain where we are. In the last video you can hear what sounds like whispering. Then, there is a loud bang. I don’t recall hearing such a noise at the time we were recording, and I probably would have said something about it.

 

The Ingersoll Ordinary © 2025 S.A. Sizemore

After turning up the volume and listening to the recording several times, I decided to have others hear it, as well. We all started agreeing on what we heard. Two distinct voices, one female and one male, seem to say two sentences.

“My niece is there,” says a woman in a hushed voice.

Then an older male voice says, “Let me work,” followed by something that sounds like a hammer hitting a board.

Both voices have rhotic New England accents, meaning they pronounce their “Rs” fully, very much like my North Shore ancestors would have.

My final spectral encounter happened as I walked down what used to be Ingersoll Lane (now Daniels Street) in Salem. While I was speaking about my eighth great-grandmother, my wife watched a small feather waft past my head and hit me on my left shoulder. I kind of brushed it off as if it was nothing… until it happened again a few moments later as we walked further toward the edge of the South River. 
 


The corner of Daniels and Essex Streets in Salem. © 2026 S.A. Sizemore

The significance of feathers to this particular ancestor? Elizabeth’s occupation was a muff (hand warmer) and tippet (scarf) maker. She just happened to adorn her fashion accessories with feathers, which was a bit unusual in the 18th century.

At that point I finally said out loud, “Hello, Great-grandma.” 

Of course, my encounter with her is going to end up in one of my books. 

Want to learn more about my hauntingly delightful Salem ancestors? 

Check out my new multi-award-winning book series that starts this September with Whispers of the Pale Witch. It’s a story four hundred years in the making.

Shall we begin?
BeckettCoven.com


Whispers of the Pale Witch 
Beckett Coven Series
Book One
S.A. Sizemore

Genre: Horror/Paranormal Thriller
Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing
Date of Publication: September 29, 2026
ISBN: 978-1-961967-99-1
ASIN: B0FTBTKG9J
Number of pages: 398
Word Count: 98,000
Cover Artist: Kelly Moran

Tagline: Shall we begin?

Book Description: 

Some secrets should just stay buried. 

After the sudden death of her great-aunt, Kylie Beckett lands her dream job as a forensic photographer in the small seaside town where she was born. But once there, a series of murders and the theft of a dangerous relic force Kylie to uncover the dark truth about her ancestors. 

With the help of newfound family, she learns to harness unconscious powers to stop the vengeful and unstable Pale Witch before she unleashes a demonic spirit on Salem, Massachusetts once again. 

Shall we begin?

Excerpt 2 from Chapter 3

Elizabeth was distracted. This is just so damn overwhelming, she thought as she studied Kylie’s face.

The last time they were both on this porch, Elizabeth held her small toddler hand and tried not to cry as they hugged goodbye. Now, Kylie Beckett was a grown woman standing in the doorway some twenty years later. Elizabeth waited decades for this moment, but it felt unexpectedly awkward and strange.

Kylie had the same caramel complexion and bright smile of her African American father, along with a feminine version of his athletic build. Her mother’s Anglo-Saxon features were also apparent in her soft reddish-brown hair and intense amber eyes. She looked rather androgynous without any makeup or earrings. Her t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers were more appropriate for Southern California this time of year than the coming New England autumn.

The rain poured down hard on the porch roof.

“You can come inside if you like.” Kylie motioned for her to move forward.

Elizabeth glanced past the front door towards the cellar. A pained look flashed over her eyes. “It was me.” She touched a tiny bronze cylinder hanging from a chain around her neck. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t completely honest. I was the one who found Hester after the heart attack. I haven't been able to step foot in the house since.”

There was an awkward pause between them.

Kylie was thrown upon meeting Elizabeth. After their phone conversations, she had pictured someone quite different. Instead of the frumpy, busy-body white woman she imagined her to be, Elizabeth was by far one of the most strikingly beautiful women she’d ever met. It was strange, though. She felt familiar, like a childhood friend, not just a recent acquaintance.

“I meant to be here when you arrived.” Elizabeth tapped some raindrops from her umbrella again. “My assistant only just told me you called. We had a very busy Friday afternoon.” She pointed to the left of the doorframe. “The switch for the porch light is on the wall just by the coat hook.”

Kylie leaned over to flick it on. The porch became bathed in a warm glow as if the house was coming back to life. A moth tapped on the ceiling lamp after missing its warmth.

“When do you start your new job?” Elizabeth asked.

“Monday.” Kylie brightened. “Thank you so much for the introduction. I’m really looking forward to it.”

A warm smile crept across her mouth as Elizabeth noticed the tiny, white seashell on a black cord around Kylie’s neck. More emotions rose inside her.

“I'm sorry.” Kylie rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to seem inhospitable, but she was very tired. “It took a few days to get here, and I still need to pull some stuff out of the car before I get to bed.”

“Of course. Of course.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no worries.” Kylie peered out at the rain and then back at Elizabeth’s impressive heels and expensive suit. She waved her hand. “I've got it. Just bringing in a couple of things.” She paused for extra emphasis as she said, “I really do appreciate everything you've done for me over the last few weeks.”

Elizabeth thought her heart was going to break right there and then. Her fingers fumbled around in her vest pocket and fished out a white business card. She handed it to Kylie. “Here’s my contact info again in case you need anything. I'll have my assistant set up a time for us to talk. Maybe The Roof on Sunday for brunch?” She opened her umbrella, but the showers magically abated as she descended the porch steps.

“Sounds fun.” Kylie nodded in agreement, not having a clue what The Roof was.

“And we can discuss the lawsuit,” Elizabeth said as she walked down the path.

“W-wait, what?” Kylie stuttered. “What lawsuit?”

“I emailed you about it.” Elizabeth turned slightly. “Beulah Prudaetor is contesting your aunt's trust. But don't worry. She can't take this place from you. I'll make sure of that.”

“But...” Kylie moved forward and wrapped a hand around the white porch post. She looked past Elizabeth at the neighborhood beyond. She liked this place. Loved its quirkiness. Hester’s house already felt like home, even though she’d only been there for a few minutes.

The stress on Kylie’s face drew Elizabeth back to the porch. “Please don't worry about it right now. Go in and get a good night's rest.” Then, she broke her promise and said what she had planned to hold back. “You look so much like your father and so very much like your mother.”

“You knew them?” Kylie asked while startled and curious by the sudden compliment. “You knew my mother? I never did.”

“I know.” Elizabeth pushed down her emotions and patted Kylie's hand. “You get settled in. There will be plenty to talk about and lots of time in which to do it...now that you’re back.”

Before Kylie could see her cry, Elizabeth walked out to the rain-soaked street. She got into her brand-new, white, electric sedan and drove off.

Kylie was alone again on the porch.

The rain paused long enough for her to run out to her hatchback and bring in a few boxes. Before going inside, she picked up the business card she had set down on the porch railing and read it aloud, “Elizabeth Ingersoll, Esq.”

There was so much to focus on in such a short time. Kylie hadn’t noticed the surname until now. Ingersoll was her mother's last name.

“Elizabeth is family.”

 

 

 


About the Author:

Drawn to playwriting from an early age, S.A. Sizemore began writing professionally while studying English and theater arts in college. After producing several plays regionally in Southern California, Sizemore pivoted to the themed entertainment industry. Whispers of the Pale Witch is the first installment of the Beckett Coven series inspired by Sizemore’s ancestral connection to the Salem Witch Trials. She is a full member of the Dramatists Guild of America, proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, European and Cherokee/Chickahominy decent, and resides in California with her wife and two dogs, Agatha and Harry.









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