Witchy Trouble (Witchy Fingers Book 1) Read online

  Witchy Trouble

  Witchy Fingers - Book 1

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  Witchy Trouble

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Witchy Trouble

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  Triplets Edelie, Estrella and Ernestine Flummox are three New York City working girls, living with their grandmother and aspiring to become, respectively, top chef, top singer and top lawyer. There’s something very peculiar about the Flummox sisters, however. They’re witches, and not just any witches but just about the worst witches in the world, their every spell an unmitigated disaster.

  Which is why Granny has forbidden them to ever use magic outside of the house.

  But then Granny suddenly disappears, and when she returns isn’t the same granny they know and love. Something very strange is going on, and it just might have something to do with the serial killer who’s terrorizing New York, or the fact that very soon now the three sisters are coming of witching age, or that on the same day they used magic at work and made a terrible mess, a sinister warlock shows up, warning them that their lives are in terrible danger.

  Witchy Trouble is the first book in the humorous Witchy Fingers series about three sisters whose heritage suddenly sends their lives spiraling out of control. If you like cozy witch mysteries, you’ll love Edelie, Estrella and Ernestine and all of their witchy shenanigans!

  Chapter 1

  Edelie Flummox was snuffling in her sleep. It was what she did. Only now the snuffling was more pronounced than usual, and when finally she heaved the loudest snuffle of all and woke herself up in the process, she found that someone had dropped a pair of panties on her face, which were impeding her normal breathing pattern. She blinked, for she’d been dreaming of Colin Firth asking for her hand in marriage, then slowly allowed her eyes to drop to the panties and finally pick them up between thumb and forefinger, regarding them rather sternly. Scant light pierced the heavy drapes, but it was enough to determine the origin of the panties, which were pink and frilly.

  “Estrella,” she grumbled in an undertone. It took her a few seconds to gather herself sufficiently to swing first one, then a second leg from beneath the covers and locate her slippers, then another few seconds to heave herself up from the warm and comfy bed and, groaning, make her way to the door.

  She loved sleeping and consequently hated being awakened while engaged in her favorite pastime. Judging by the nippiness in the air, giving her goosebumps, and the darkness suspended over the world like a pall, it was still the middle of the night. She was holding the panties out in front of her, suspended from her fingers, and proceeded across the landing, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking and groaning where she stepped, until she reached her sister’s room. The triplets occupied adjoining rooms on the second floor of Safflower House, their ancestral home, so she didn’t have far to go.

  Edelie didn’t bother knocking, but simply entered the room by pressing down the aged brass door handle. The door swung open with a creaking sound that would have scared anyone else. Edelie didn’t even notice. She’d lived here for so long she was blissfully unaware of all the peculiar and wondrous sounds the house made. She flicked on the light, located Estrella, fast asleep, her head where her feet should have been and her feet on her pillow, and lifted the sheet, then deposited the panties on her sister’s head.

  “Brought you a present,” she grumbled when Estrella tentatively opened her eyes and looked up questioningly. “Next time keep them in your drawer.”

  Estrella frowned as she surveyed the present. “Hey,” she lamented sleepily, then yawned cavernously. “Those are mine!”

  “I know they’re yours. So what were they doing on my face just now?” Edelie asked, still peeved. She loved to sleep more than her sisters did, more than any human in existence probably, and was especially crazy about those sleep cycles that gave you the nice dreams of Colin Firth proposing marriage.

  Estrella’s pixie face quirked into a grimace, and she pushed her blond hair from her brow, blue eyes flashing. “Guess they didn’t agree with my policy.”

  Edelie plunked her large frame down on the bed, her eyes hooded and her cherubic face pale as usual. Unlike her sister, her hair was a dark burgundy, now almost black in the dark. “What policy? What are you talking about?”

  Estrella leaned up on one elbow. “Well, I’ve been trying to get my clothes to adhere to a more rigid schedule, see. You know how we spend so much time every morning trying to decide what to wear?”

  “Sure,” said Edelie after a pause. She never took any time trying to decide what to wear. She simply picked the first thing from the pile, usually a baggy black T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, her usual costume. But she did know both her sisters were a lot fussier than she was, especially Estrella.

  “Well, I’ve been trying to train my clothes to present themselves according to a number of variables. Like the weather forecast, my work schedule, what Kim Kardashian was wearing the day before. The usual, you know. Like for instance if it’s going to rain I need to wear a jacket, right?”

  “Probably,” Edelie muttered, already wishing she’d never come over.

  “But if I have an audition I need my flashy stuff, right? And if Kim is into browns and ochers I need to take that into account as well, of course.”

  This time Edelie didn’t even bother responding, and was eyeing the door wistfully. She should have just dropped those panties to the floor and gone back to sleep. Who cared about panties when you could have Colin instead?

  Estrella was now sitting up in bed, her face animated and her hands gesticulating enthusiastically as she was getting fired up about this latest project of hers. “Well, I’ve managed to put all of that into a formula and create a spell that organizes my wardrobe accordingly. So…” She checked the items off on her fingers. “Rainy audition day with Kim ocher? Or sunny studio day with Kim orange? Or…” She was practically jumping up and down on the bed now, the mattress squeaking plaintively. “Rainy studio Kim blue? Overcast audition Kim purple? Chilly audiobook Kim sexy…”

  As her sister droned on, Edelie wanted to point out that since Estrella was a petite blonde and Kim Kardashian voluptuous and dark-haired, it made no sense to try and copy the reality star’s style, but knew it served no purpose. “So?” she now asked, absolutely not interested in Estrella’s experiment.

  Estrella threw up her hands. “So something must have gone wrong, for my clothes are now all over the house. They seem to think I’ve instructed them to assist you and Gr
an and Ernestine as well, forcing themselves upon everybody.” She gave her a goofy grin. “I must have made a mistake in the spell somewhere. Where did you say you found my panties?”

  “On my head.”

  Estrella nodded seriously. “They seem to think they’re headwear, and that for some reason you need them to keep your head warm during the night.”

  “My head is fine without your panties, Strel, so just keep them in your closet, all right?” she muttered, walking to the door in her usual slouch.

  “Sure thing, hon!” Estrella said, chipper as ever. “Though I might need your help to reverse the spell.”

  In response, she held up a hand and left the room. And when finally she was back in bed, she was surprised to find three more pairs of panties waiting for her, as well as two cashmere sweaters and a dozen pairs of socks. She sighed, deciding not to bother to return them. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep, her head now kept warm by what must be half the contents of Estrella’s wardrobe. There was even a brassiere dangling from her ears.

  She was unaware, therefore, of the window as it was gently being pushed open from the outside, nor of the dark figure that crawled into her room.

  Clad in black from head to foot, a black stocking obscuring his features, the intruder deftly placed a sneakered foot on the floor, then a second one, and waited for a moment, listening intently to Edelie’s soft snores. Then, certain that he hadn’t disturbed her, he proceeded into the room, producing a small flashlight, and soon was traversing the floor and opening the door.

  Chapter 2

  Ronny Mullarkey cursed under his breath. Safflower House had been pointed out to him by Marty, one of his colleagues, who held a day job working for an electric company and cased out promising houses. He’d told Ronny he would at the very least come away with a flatscreen TV, Blu-ray player and a couple of tablets and smartphones, along with some nice jewelry the owners of the place kept in a small safe. Placed behind the painting of some old crone and suspended over the fireplace, he simply couldn’t miss it.

  Four women lived here, Marty had told him. Three young women and a sweet old grandmother, all sure to be sound asleep at the stroke of midnight.

  But what Marty hadn’t told him was that the front door was impenetrable, and so was the backdoor, and that to gain access to the place he had to climb a tree, shimmy along a branch and get in through a window on the second floor. And as he made his way across the landing, the floorboards creaked and groaned so much he was afraid he would wake up the entire house well before he’d reached journey’s end!

  He crept down the stairs, leaning heavily on the balustrade, trying to keep the weight off his feet. For a cat burglar, he was on the plump side, his paunch having grown quite a bit these last few years. Once upon a time he’d been so light on his feet they called him the human fly. Now he was more like the human bumblebee. Still, he was experienced, and there was no one in the business who could open a safe as deftly and gracefully as he could, his fingers merely flickering over the dial. And he’d just reached the foot of the stairs, licking his lips as he shone his flashlight on a nice antique vase when there was a gentle cough behind him. And as he spun around, his flashlight first fell on a pair of slippered feet, then on a platinum blonde of imperial aspect who stood regarding him with an icy look in her pale blue eyes.

  “Oh, Ronny, Ronny, Ronny,” were the first words out of her mouth.

  Starting violently, he demanded, “How do you know my name?!” Inadvertently, his hands reached up to his face, ascertaining he was still wearing his stocking, thereby obscuring his features and his identity. As it was, he was annoyed that a homeowner would invade his privacy like this.

  “I’m going to give you two choices,” the dame said without bothering to answer his question. “Either you walk out of here right now, and never come back, or I’m going to call the police and have you arrested. What will it be?”

  Under different circumstances, Ronny would have gone for the first option, but something about this woman irked him. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so cool and collected in the face of a home invasion, or perhaps it was that she seemed to regard him with a blend of pity and disgust. So instead of meekly walking out, he grumbled, “What about option number three: I tie you up nice and tight, and relieve you of your possessions.”

  She tsk-tsked lightly. “Wrong answer, Ronny.” Suddenly she raised a hand and waved it in a meaningful manner. “You should know that boys who don’t behave get punished in this house,” she added, then muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch. The next moment he felt a stretching sensation on the top of his head, and when he touched his scalp, he discovered to his extreme dismay that two protuberances had appeared there, stretching the black stocking. They felt like… big, floppy ears!

  “Aargh!” he cried, then repeated, “Aaaargh!” and finally “Aaaaaaargh!” just to drive his point home.

  “Those will remain there until you apologize,” the woman announced sternly. She was clad in a long housecoat, black with tiny silver stars, and her eyes were now shining as brightly as those stars. She was a classically handsome woman in her fifties and didn’t look like a grandmother to him.

  “I’m not apologizing!” he protested. “What are you, nuts?!”

  She tsk-tsked again, shaking her head. Then she was waving that hand again, and suddenly he experienced the same stretching sensation, but this time near his bottom, and when his hand stole over, he discovered he’d sprouted a tail where no tail had ever been!

  “Hey! What’s going on?!”

  “That one will disappear when you apologize not only to me but to the victims of the last five houses you burgled,” she said. “And that,” she added, pointing to his nose, “will go away once you’ve returned all the stolen goods you purloined from those five houses and compensate the victims in full.”

  He touched his nose in despair. It was growing and growing and now felt more like a pig’s nose than his own more moderate copy!

  “You crazy woman!” he began to screech, but found that something was wrong with his vocal cords, for all that came out was “Oink! Oink! Oink!”

  “Look, we can do this all night,” said the woman, “but I rather think you must be getting the point round about now. So apologize already, will you?”

  She was right. He was ready to apologize. But all he managed was more of the same. “Oink! Oink! Oink! Oink! Oink!”

  She smiled. “Very well. Apologies accepted, Ronny.” And when he abruptly raced to the door, yanked it open and stormed out, she yelled after him, “And don’t forget to reimburse your last five victims. And apologize!”

  And as he hurried along the street, his tail between his legs, he vowed to give Marty a piece of his mind for sending him into that place unprepared. “Sweet old grandmother, my ass!” he lamented. “That woman is a witch!”

  Chapter 3

  Breakfast was already sizzling on the stove when Ernestine descended the stairs and strode into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose in disdain when she caught a glimpse of the frying pan. Eggs and bacon and a lot of fat, no doubt.

  “You do realize you’re setting yourself up for heart failure,” she told her grandmother, who was jauntily sprinkling some frittered onions into the pan.

  “Just cooking up a hearty breakfast for my three girls,” she replied.

  Ernestine held up a hand. “Ugh. Not for me. I would like to keep the walls of my arteries unclogged for another few years, thank you very much.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Gran, unperturbed.

  Cassandra Beadsmore was a sturdily built woman, who’d become a mother at eighteen, a grandmother at thirty-six, and now was young enough to pass for the triplets’ mother instead of their grandmother. Which was just as well, since she’d singlehandedly raised them after their parents had mysteriously expired when the girls were barely out of their diapers. And even though the three sisters were twenty and gainfully employed, Cassandra still mothered over the
m and looked out for them like she’d always done. To them, she was their mother, for they hardly remembered their own.

  Ernestine took a seat, unfolding the New York Times and pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Mh,” she remarked with a glance at a small news item, “apparently a man was caught running around Brooklyn last night, ringing doorbells and returning stolen goods and apologizing. The police were called in, and when they questioned this Santa Claus, they found he was the one who stole the items in the first place, burgling houses all over Brooklyn, and promptly placed him under arrest.” She looked up at Gran. “Weird. Why would a burglar have a sudden change of heart like that?” she asked, puzzled. “It makes no sense at all.” She was a keen study of human behavior and had at one time even contemplated becoming a psychologist.

  Gran shrugged. “Must be a loopy person,” she opined primly. “Now what are you going to eat, young lady? You must eat something, you know.”

  Ernestine raised her chin, and took out a box of muesli, then dumped some in a bowl and added milk. “Something that won’t destroy my body.”

  Gran eyed the bowl critically. “That’s chicken feed, honey. Are you a chicken or a human?”

  Just then, Estrella came gamboling into the kitchen. “Who’s a chicken?” she asked as she took a good, long whiff of the eggs and bacon. “That smells yummy, Gran!” she caroled happily, and plunked down at the table, ready to devour the treat. Unlike her sister, she didn’t seem to share the same concern for her arteries. Instead, she poured herself a cup of steaming black coffee and fished a bagel from the basket, Ernestine looking on in extreme distaste.

  “How you can eat that…” she said with a shake of the head.

  Ignoring her, Estrella announced, “I had the weirdest dream last night. My wardrobe had suddenly gone crazy on me and was stalking the house.”