Page 1 of Air Of Mystery (Witches On The Hill #4)

There’s a saying that well-behaved women rarely make history. Which sounds about right to me, because honestly, I don’t think anyone would ever call me well behaved .

Over the years I’ve been called clever but rude, aggressive, driven, obstinate, obsessive, demanding, and of course.

..a bitch. Normally, I’d argue about the bitch thing, but if you switch out the B for a W…

then you’d be right. Throughout history strong-willed women have been labeled in all sorts of uncomplimentary ways.

Yes, I am impatient, but I’m also creative. I push myself hard, demanding excellence, and because of that I’ve enjoyed some success. Willing and eager to investigate the paranormal, I will march straight into places that others wouldn’t dare—all in the pursuit of knowledge and truth.

My name is Skye Golden. I live in a historic, yellow brick home and my family are known as the Witches On The Hill . I am a modern magickal practitioner and the second born of four sisters—elemental Witches all of us.

As to my personal natural element, I am aligned with air.

While the element can’t be seen, it is the very breath within us and is essential for our survival nonetheless.

Representing wisdom, intelligence and clarity air encourages open-mindedness, adaptability and innovation.

It is also the element linked to communication.

..so take a wild guess what I majored in while I was in college.

If you’re wondering how I got into spooky?

Well, the truth is that I began investigating ghosts and hauntings while I was a teenager.

Growing up in Alton, Illinois—one of the most haunted towns in the United States—there was plenty to dig in to.

In fact, it was irresistible. Besides our town’s ghostly reputation, there were also the well-documented hauntings of the Marquette Mansion some fifteen miles down the Great River Road to consider.

My town, located on the banks of the Mississippi River, also has the Native American legend of the Piasa Bird, a history of river pirates, and all other sorts of interesting beasties. Which makes sense to me as we’re right next to the spot where the two largest rivers on the continent meet.

Some experts claim that all the paranormal activity is caused by a convergence of ley lines.

However, my personal theory is that the entire area is an interdimensional cross-rip…

or a tear in the fabric of reality, if you will.

This was the basis of starting my paranormal investigation group and my YouTube channel several years ago.

The program began as a dare to myself and quickly morphed into a popular and successful show.

The first big break had come from when my paranormal team and I discovered human remains in the crawl space of a home we were investigating.

Its renters were convinced their home was haunted and we’d managed to document some pretty impressive events.

The real hot spot of the home had been the basement; when we discovered a crawl space, I shimmied myself up in there armed with a flashlight, my phone, and an EMF detector.

Not gonna lie, I had recoiled violently when I saw those bones sticking partially out of the dirt floor of the crawl space. Fortunately, no one saw me whack my head on the floor joist above. Because that would have ruined my tough-as-nails image.

Instead, I swore at the pain and took dozens of photos with my cell. Afterward I scooted my skinny ass out of there as quickly as possible and told Larry, my tech guy, to call the police.

We were able to document the whole thing for my YouTube channel, and eventually those discovered remains cracked a decades-long missing person’s case and helped the police track down a murderer.

That had earned me the respect of the local police department and the attention of the press, but I was mostly glad to have given validation to the experiences of the family who’d been renting the property.

They’d been traumatized by the haunting and with our discovery of human remains, they decided to move out almost immediately after we had wrapped up the investigation.

When the family was hit with a fee for breaking their lease, I discreetly covered it myself. It was the least I could do for them.

My subscriber numbers jumped astronomically again when I was able to land an interview with some of the witnesses to the violent haunting of ‘the Reaver’ a couple of years ago.

The Reaver, aka Emile Francois, was a local river pirate from the 1800s.

He’d terrorized the area for years until at last he was captured, tried, hung—and finally buried in unconsecrated ground.

It seems his spirit hadn’t been pleased when part of his treasure was found.

The shocking discovery of buried silver and gold coins, and jewels in Ames Crossing had made international news.

Spice from the local legend that the treasure was cursed only added to the interest and the intrigue.

The vlog episodes about the Reaver had put me on the international map.

No pirate pun intended.

Now here I was, almost thirty years old with a successful career, and living rent free in the converted attic apartment of my family’s ancestral home. My family was happy, and my sisters were pairing off faster than you could say abracadabra …leaving me the odd one out.

Then again, I was a little odd anyway.

I always figured when the right guy came along, I would know.

My intuition was usually spot on, so I kept my eyes open, watching and waiting for Mr. Right.

Then wouldn’t you know it? I did meet someone—a very interesting and attractive man.

But it seemed that between life in general and Cordelia and Kenna’s adventures, any chance of us getting to know each other better kept being side-tracked.

Which was a damn shame because Charlie Smythe was one intriguing man.

We’d first met almost a year ago at the third annual Marquette Mansion Halloween Masquerade Ball.

I’d been flattered by his interest. He had blue eyes that missed nothing, and despite the formal suit he wore, he moved quietly, with the lethality of a warrior.

My first thought when I saw him had been... Oh. My. Goddess.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said.

Confidently, I stuck out my hand. “Skye Golden.”

“Charlie Smythe,” he replied. Taking my hand in his, he lingered. “That’s a hell of a dress, Ms. Golden.”

The comment made me grin. “I thought it was appropriate in more ways than one.” My masquerade dress had a black velvet tank style top that was cinched in at the waist with a silver ribbon.

The skirt of the dress was long and slightly poufy, featuring horror-style white ghostly faces that had been screen printed over the crinkly black fabric.

It was elegant and very Halloween all at the same time.

Charlie didn’t smile at my statement. Instead, he looked me over slowly. Deliberately. “Phantoms for Halloween? Is that what you mean?” he asked.

“I do an online paranormal investigation show,” I explained.

“Oh. Haunted houses and so forth?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That tracks,” Charlie said, not taking his eyes from my face.

His stillness and non-reaction had me lifting my brows. “Does the paranormal make you uncomfortable Mr. Smythe?”

“Not at all,” he said easily.

The air was practically crackling with electricity and tension between us. I’d never experienced anything like it. Sizing him up every bit as carefully as he was studying me, a sudden insight slammed into me.

There’s an air of mystery about him, I realized, as he continued to hold my hand. Shadows in his eyes, and scars on his soul.

“Dance with me,” he said.

Taking in his name badge, I tipped my head to one side. “Aren’t you on duty?”

“I’m on break,” he said.

“In that case…” I slipped my free hand into the crook of his opposite arm, and we headed toward the dance floor.

He took me in his arms, and I discovered that he was solid as a rock. Fighting back a very inappropriate purr of appreciation, I resisted the urge to let my fingers trail over his shoulder.

Even as he’d danced with me and carried on a polite conversation, I could tell he was scanning the room, looking for trouble or a security issue. It was impressive seeing him at work and yet still managing to keep his attention on me at the same time.

I tried to dismiss the intense physical attraction that I felt for him by telling myself it was simply a natural feminine awareness.

A tall, attractive, and very buff Alpha male was bound to make any woman perk up a bit.

With my left hand on his shoulder and my right hand in his, we danced around the floor.

Once, then twice. By the third dance we were standing closer together, close enough that my breasts had brushed against his chest.

He had just pulled me in closer when our enchanted evening hit a snag. There’d been a security incident and Charlie was called away.

The ‘incident’ ended up being my sister Cordelia facing down the stalker who was hell bent on killing her. Cordelia had thrown down some major elemental magick that night to defeat her attacker, and Charlie had witnessed it all.

To his credit, I heard that he’d barely blinked. Maybe it was an ex-military thing. But he didn’t freak out, and he didn’t interrogate anyone in my family for answers that night. Instead he simply seemed to take it all in stride.

Now I wasn’t merely interested in the man, I was completely fascinated.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t see him again until the following spring when Cordelia and Tim got married.

The ceremony and reception were also held at the beautifully gothic Marquette Mansion; and I was standing up as a bridesmaid for my youngest sister—which allowed me zero free time.

The family had all stayed at the hotel for the weekend, and we were crazy busy with the wedding.

Meaning that I had only spotted Charlie from a distance, which was probably for the best.

Because my reaction to him was visceral.

My heart raced and my stomach tightened every single time I caught a glimpse of him.

I considered going over to talk to him, but he seemed to be there one moment and gone the next.

After a few times, I gave up. Besides, if he had truly wanted to talk to me, then he would have.

Cordelia inviting him to join us for breakfast the morning after the wedding didn’t count.

Worse, Kenna had practically strong armed him into sitting right next to me.

Once he took his seat we didn’t look at each other, let alone speak. Using the unoriginal explanation of needing to get going—because I’d volunteered to take my parents to the airport—I’d excused myself and headed up to my room to pack.

My mind on a dozen different things, I was fishing around in my purse one-handed, trying to find my car keys, while simultaneously rolling my luggage through the lobby and out the door...and suddenly he was there right beside me.

“Allow me,” he said, taking the rolling suitcase from my hand.

“Oh!” I jumped in surprise. I hadn’t heard him approach. “Thanks.”

Before I could say anything else he was taking the garment bag from me as well and draping it over one of his arms. “Let me walk you out to your car.”

“Okay,” I said, inwardly cringing at my awkwardness around the man. Then a second later I felt even more self-conscious, wishing that I had something better on than jeans, a casual shirt, and a basic face.

He held the hotel lobby door open for me, and I followed him out to the parking area. “What are your plans for the day?” he asked as we walked across the lot.

“I’m taking my folks to the airport this morning to catch their flight back to Florida,” I told him. “I thought I’d zip down a bit early, load up my car, and pull it over to the entrance for them. So it would be easier—I mean faster—for them to load their luggage.”

And I’m babbling, I realized. Which I never did. Taking a deep breath, I made the supreme effort not to sound so nervous. Relieved that we’d arrived at my gray sedan, I blew out a calming breath and popped the locks on the trunk.

Charlie put my garment bag and suitcase neatly inside for me. After he closed the trunk, I found myself standing very close to him. I was tall at five foot ten, but still I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes.

“Appreciate the help,” I said.

“I’m off duty this afternoon,” he said, his eyes on mine. “Maybe you and I could go and get some dinner.”

The invitation totally surprised me. I hadn’t known that was coming...and usually my intuition was impeccable.

Stepping back, I ran my gaze over him as I considered his request. His dark blonde hair was cut short on the sides with more length over his crown.

His mustache and beard were trimmed neat and close.

The short sleeves of his Marquette Mansion Hotel polo strained against his biceps and the khaki slacks he wore were impeccably pressed, making me wonder if that was a holdover from his military days.

After dancing with him the year before, I knew for a fact the man was solid muscle. ..

I felt that shimmer of attraction once more, and my stomach tied itself in knots from sheer longing.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

Caught, my eyes returned to his. “I was only wondering how tall you actually were.”

One side of his lips curved up in the smallest of smiles. “I’m six foot three.”

My phone chimed, alerting me to a text message. I pulled it from my back pocket and checked the screen. It was from my father, telling me they were headed down to the lobby.

“That’s my folks,” I said. “They’re on their way down.”

He stepped back with a polite nod.

“Charlie,” I said before he could walk away and disappear—again. “What time did you want to do dinner?”

His smile returned. “Six o’clock work for you?”

“It could.” I tipped my head to one side. “Want to meet at The Bloody Barrel ?”

“Sure,” he said.

I smiled. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, you will.” He inclined his head, turned smartly on his heel, and walked away.

I found myself watching him as he marched across the lot and back toward the garden entrance of the hotel. “That is one fine looking man,” I said under my breath.

This turn of events was unexpected, but I was truly looking forward to the opportunity to finally get to know Charlie Smythe better.