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    Alpaca and Apparitions: Windflower, #3
    Alpaca and Apparitions: Windflower, #3
    Alpaca and Apparitions: Windflower, #3
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    Alpaca and Apparitions: Windflower, #3

    By Andi R. Christopher

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    About this ebook

    Previously published as Alpaca and Apparitions by Andi C. Buchanan

    Mildred Windflower - witch and successful fibre artist - has been touring the world, demonstrating her craft and taking up prized residencies.

    Now back in Aotearoa, she hopes an isolated farm cottage will give her time alone to work out what to do next.

    She expected quiet. Instead she finds strange noises in the attic, and signs of an old mystery, while across the fence the quirky, gorgeous Anneke has returned to the family farm and is building up a herd of alpaca.

    Something supernatural is going on: it's up to Mildred to determine what is warning and what is threat. And ideally without making a total fool of herself in front of Anneke.

    Alpaca and Apparitions is the third in the Windflower series that started with Succulents and Spells, but can be read as a stand-alone.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSleepy Squid Press
    Release dateNov 29, 2023
    ISBN9780473700287
    Alpaca and Apparitions: Windflower, #3

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      Book preview

      Alpaca and Apparitions - Andi R. Christopher

      Alpaca and Apparitions

      Andi R. Christopher

      Copyright © Andi C. Buchanan 2021

      This edition:

      Copyright © Andi C. Buchanan 2023

      This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act 1994, no part may be reproduced by any process without the permission of the publisher.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

      ISBN

      978-0-473-70027-0 (paperback)

      978-0-473-70028-7 / 978-0-473-70029-4 (ebook)

      Contents

      1.Alpaca and Apparitions

      2.A note from Andi R. Christopher

      3.About the author

      4.Also by Andi R. Christopher

      Alpaca and Apparitions

      Mildred Windflower gently dislodged the cobweb that hung over the lock of her new home. The door stuck in its frame; she had to use her shoulder to push it open. It had been years since anyone had lived here, but she blinked a few times and let herself see through the dust and the tobacco-stained walls, to what it could be. She could make this old cottage a home. It had all the potential, the wooden flooring, the original windows– with a little care, she could be very happy here.

      Will, a friend from years back, had said as much himself when he gave her the keys to this cottage. It wasn’t in a fit state to charge money for, but he knew she’d do it good, so it was hers for a couple of years in exchange for some upkeep and occasional babysitting of the rabble, as Will referred to his five – five! – children. She smiled at the thought of her live-wire high school friend having kids now – even in her mid-thirties she barely felt old enough for parenthood – but he seemed to be rising to the challenge. She’d accepted his invitation to join them for dinner this evening, which meant she had a few hours to unpack the car and make sure the cottage was fit to stay in overnight.

      A quick survey of the house revealed two bedrooms, each with basic furniture; a small living room; and a kitchen just wide enough for a small dining table. A wooden ladder leaned against one wall, above it a hatch to the roof space. She stretched and touched the ceiling, just to see if she could. Sometimes her height made her feel claustrophobic in lower spaces, but she felt like she had enough room here. Syl – her silkworm familiar, and technically a caterpillar – emerged from the stitches of her jersey, and Mildred reassured her that they’d be safe here, that it was just another change in their lives.

      Will had been true to his word in making sure the water and power were sorted, and she ran the taps to flush out anything that had collected in the pipes over the years. She pushed open the windows to let the fresh air in, and spun herself round in the bedroom. She wasn’t used to having this much space, wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long. For the past three years she’d been travelling the world, taking up residencies and staying with friends, promoting her fibre art, teaching classes, selling her book. It had been a dream come true, and she’d loved feeling she’d made it at last, that people thought of her as a serious artist, but it had taken its toll.

      Now she was back in Aotearoa it was time to regroup. Time to take some time alone, work on new projects, work out which directions she wanted to go in. And a witch’s luck had struck again, because with a bit of work she’d have the perfect place to do it from.

      She’d spent the previous two weeks in Papamoa with family – enough time to acclimatise to the new time zone and the late winter weather, buy a second-hand but serviceable car, and stock up on a few essentials. Next week she’d make the trip to unload her storage unit, but for now the contents of the car were what she had and she’d do just fine with them.

      She walked outside to the clothesline behind the cottage. The land was a bit rugged here, as if at the transition point between the gently sloping fields of Will’s farm and where the land started to fold into the hills. She could see up to Will’s house and across to buildings of the neighbouring farm; she supposed she’d meet the neighbours soon enough. This was going to be a great place for her; she could hear the creativity starting to hum already.

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      The next day, after a surprisingly comfortable sleep, and satiated with roast chicken and potatoes and weird-coloured long carrots, Mildred got to work. The rugs and soft furniture were put out to air, and the vacuum she’d borrowed took away the worst of the dust as she ran it over the furniture and surfaces. She’d mop the floors later, but right now the walls were her biggest concern. At some point she wanted to strip the wallpaper and paint them, but for now she just needed to make things liveable, and they were thick with tobacco, pink and cream shapes showing where pictures or ceremonial plates had once hung.

      Before she could do witchcraft, she needed an altar. She scrubbed down a set of drawers that had a good vibe to them, and placed a woven purple cloth on top, along with some crystals and a locket that had been her great grandmother’s. She searched the garden outside and found the overgrown remnants of a small herb garden; mint, rosemary, and flat-leaf parsley surviving despite all the odds. Not her first choices of herbs, but anything fresh would help. She took some small cuttings inside – making a note to nurture the herb garden when she got the chance – and laid them on the altar. She closed her eyes and acknowledged the land she stood on, the sky above, the sun and the stars; she thanked them and entreated that her actions would cause no harm.

      And then she began.

      She raised her hand in the air, feeling for something to tug on to with her mind. After a couple of false starts she found it and began to pull the smoke from the walls, spinning to swirl it around until it surrounded her in clouds. She picked up a simple drop spindle, the sort she’d use for spinning wool, and began to spin the smoke around it, a vague shadow becoming darker and more solid the closer it got, until she could wind it like thread on the spindle, tighter and tighter. She pulled the smoke from every room in the house, even from the furthest corners, and twisted it, solidified it like a long thread of yarn until it was a small tight ball on the spindle that almost fit within her hands. It shook and wobbled just a little, but mostly stayed together.

      She found an old jar in the cupboards and pushed it into that, fitting the lid securely. She’d need a little help to dispose of it in an environmentally sound way, but for now it was fine where it was.

      She sat on a wooden chair, exhausted. The house looked much better – the walls weren’t in great condition, the paint cracked in places and its colour a bit uneven, but the house felt much lighter. And she felt better – or would once she’d built up her energy again – to not be living in a place so heavy in toxins.

      Her electric jug was still in storage so she boiled water for tea in a pot on the stove. A scratching sound outside caused her to look up with a frown. Hopefully not rats. More likely possums, with the trees hanging over the roof. She took out a notebook

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