Witchy Possessions (Witchy Fingers Book 3) Read online

  Witchy Possessions

  Witchy Fingers 3

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  Witchy Possessions

  Prologue

  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

  Excerpt from Witchy Riches (Witchy Fingers 4)

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Witchy Possessions

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  The Flummox witches have finally landed their first client, a young mother who’s possessed by a ghoul. As Edelie, Estrella and Ernestine try to free Valerie Gabby of her unwanted guest, however, they quickly discover there’s a lot more at stake here than a mere possession. Someone wants Valerie dead, and will stop at nothing to accomplish that goal. And when their second client, world-famous rock star Petunia Hudson, turns to them to organize her own death, it soon becomes clear they’ve accepted an assignment that just might be a little trickier than they first imagined.

  Gran refuses to help them, as she has vowed to let her granddaughters clean up their own mess from now on, and not to interfere in any way. Skip, ex-baker and jack-of-all-trades, can’t help them either, nor can Sam Barkley, NYPD Detective, who comes sniffing around Safflower House, wondering why suddenly so many dead bodies start showing up around the three sisters.

  Will they have what it takes to vanquish no less than two nasty ghouls and give their very first client her life back? And what is the connection between Valerie and Petunia, the enigmatic rock star? Find out in Witchy Possessions, the third book in the funny Witchy Fingers series of cozy witch mysteries.

  Prologue

  Leann Peach was an early riser. Usually the elderly widow was up at five, and often even earlier, and liked to potter about the house while the neighbors were still asleep. Her big black cat Snoozles was her constant companion, and the moment Mrs. Peach stirred Snoozles was already meowing plaintively and pawing at her to get up, eager to get out of the house.

  Usually Mrs. Peach merely liked to get an early start because life had so much more to offer to the early riser, but today she’d been awakened by strange noises outside. When she looked at her bedside clock it indicated it was only three, which was ridiculously early, even for her. So when finally she’d rolled from the bed, had stuck her feet in her slippers and tottered to the window, it was principally to see what all the fuss was about.

  Staring across the street she saw that Safflower House, once a pile of bricks and not much more, had been restored to its full splendor overnight!

  She hurried over to her nightstand to pick up her glasses and once she’d placed them firmly on her nose, hurried back to the window and stared out.

  In front of Safflower House she saw four dark figures, and she thought she recognized them as the former inhabitants of the house: Cassandra Beadsmore and her three granddaughters. They seemed to be waving their hands, and she saw that faint sparks shot from their fingers, trailing all the way to the old house. And even as she watched in fascination and not a little bit of surprise mingled with fear, she saw that the chimney rose up on the roof of the house and then, as if with a final flourish, the weathervane popped out and squeaked into place, turning into the wind.

  Mrs. Peach stared at the scene, her jaw dropping lower and lower, and her eyes goggling. Safflower House was one of the oldest houses on the block, or so her neighbors had told her when she moved in, and had been built in the nineteenth century. It had been completely destroyed only a few weeks ago in some freak accident that was never fully explained, and had been a bit of an eyesore to the neighborhood ever since.

  It was rumored that Cassandra Beadsmore and her granddaughters, who were involved in some kind of spectacular magic trick downtown, had moved to the country, and would probably never be seen in the neighborhood again.

  Well, good riddance, as far as she was concerned, for she’d never been fond of the foursome. Strange goings-on at that house had been the norm rather than the exception, and she, for one, suspected the four women of being witches, even though other neighbors had ridiculed her suspicions.

  Merely harmless eccentricity, Cassandra’s friend Mrs. Reive had once remarked. But as an early riser Mrs. Peach saw things no one else saw. Like this strange scene right now. It was witchcraft. She just knew it. How else could a house be restored overnight if not by dark forces not of this world?

  She hitched up her jaw, pressed her lips together in an expression of disapproval, and was just about to step outside and put a stop to this nonsense and demand an explanation, when suddenly the four women turned around, and stared at her! Their eyes were sparkling, their hands raised, and she was well aware of the menace emanating from the foursome.

  She gasped in shock, quickly drew the curtains, then staggered back until she reached the bed and dropped down on it, greatly upsetting Snoozles.

  Whatever was going on, she was not going to raise Cain, she decided. Better not to get on the wrong side of Cassie Beadsmore. Unless she wanted to be turned into a black cat herself, at least. She stared at Snoozles, who’d jumped into her lap and was purring happily, and pawing her anxiously.

  “Are you really a cat, Snooz?” she asked suspiciously, “or were you a person once, like me?”

  Snoozles pressed his head against her thigh and she petted him fondly.

  No, she wasn’t going to call out Cassie Beadsmore and that demon brood of hers. She didn’t want trouble. And when she approached the window again, she saw that the four women were gone, and that Safflower House was ablaze with light, all the windows lit up as if preparing for a Christmas party.

  She shook her head wearily and returned to her morning chores of putting the kettle on and starting the preparations for another day. Whatever was going on, it was none of her business, she decided, and that was that.

  Chapter 1

  The last few weeks had been extremely turbulent, I thought, as I walked into the house where I was born. Gran had finally caved under the pressure of my sisters and me to restore Safflower House to its former glory. Edelie, Estrella and I had recently started our own small company, providing security solutions for anyone who was willing to pay for our services, and the house where we lived on Long Island was too remote to do a good job.

  Though we had a great summer in Happy Bays, it was clear that to be successful at our new venture we needed to have a foothold in the city as well, and what better place to run our business than from Safflower House?

  So after a lot of discussion and pussyfooting, Gran had finally agreed to come out with us and turn the pile of bricks and rubble into a house again.

  Now we had two places: one in the city and one in The Hamptons, just like the rich and famous we were eager to count amongst our customers.


  Not that we are rich, mind you. Well, of course Gran is pretty well-off. She used to own a chain of flower stores and when she sold them, cleaned up. But the three of us are poor as church mice. Estrella had a career as a voice-over artist until she got fired. Edelie, my other sister, used to work as a barista at Brigham Shatwell, until she got fired, and I worked as a legal secretary at Boodle, Jag, Lack & Noodle until… but I’m repeating myself.

  Basically the three of us are unemployed, which is why we started our business. And as we build it, I’m sure that before long we’ll be as successful as Gran. So far we haven’t had much luck, but pretty soon our name will be up there with the best security companies catering to an exclusive clientele.

  It felt so great to be home again. To be able to sleep in my own bed, in my own room, and to walk into the kitchen where we spent so many happy hours as kids. We only have our grandmother, you see, who raised us after our parents were tragically killed when we were babies. I actually don’t even remember them, and neither do my two sisters.

  I turned around when I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, a clear indication someone was watching me, and when I saw the prying eyes of our neighbor Leann Peach across the street, I frowned. The woman is such a nosy parker and hasn’t liked our family for as long as I can remember.

  But that didn’t matter. The house was finally ready, and we walked inside.

  “So what’s next, Gran?” I asked as I surveyed the hallway.

  Gran yawned. She’s a classy lady in her mid-fifties and has retained all the hallmarks of her classical beauty. “What’s next is I’m going to bed.”

  “Me too,” said Estrella, also yawning. She’s a petite blonde with the most amazing cornflower blue eyes, and very different from Edelie and I, even though we’re triplets. I’m dark-haired and tall and rather thin, while Edelie is red-haired and on the full-figured side. I yawned too, now, and so did Edie.

  “Yeah, I better hit the sack,” Edie said. “I’m bushed. This whole business of restoring houses is a lot more exhausting than I figured, Gran.”

  “Well, I told you,” Gran said. “But as usual you wouldn’t listen. It’s much harder to restore something back to the way it was than to tear it to pieces. One reason why people prefer breaking things over creating something new.”

  “Well, I’m glad we finally did it,” said Estrella, happily twirling around for a moment. “It’s good to be back, Gran.”

  “What are you telling me? That you don’t like Hartford Manor?”

  “Oh, I love Hartford Manor, but there’s simply no place like home.”

  I agreed. Though Happy Bays, where we’d relocated to, was a great small town, and we got to spend practically the whole summer on the beach, Safflower House would always be where our hearts really lay. There were so many memories here, and when the house was destroyed I felt really sad.

  “Let’s go to bed,” suggested Edelie, who looked like she was about to collapse right there on Gran’s Persian rug.

  “Good idea, Edie,” agreed Gran, and they started mounting the stairs.

  I checked around, not yet ready to go to bed. The house was exactly as I remembered it, except… “Where’s the chandelier, Gran?” I asked.

  Halfway up the stairs, Gran turned. “What chandelier?”

  “The chandelier?” I asked, pointing at the ceiling where the crystal chandelier had hung before. Now it had been replaced by a more modest specimen, and emitted a lot less sparkle than the old, more ornate, one.

  “I decided to change it,” said Gran simply.

  “Oh, but I liked it,” I said, disappointed.

  “Oh, come on, Stien,” said Edie. “It’s just a stupid chandelier. Drop it.”

  “Which is exactly what I did,” Gran intimated.

  I stared at the ceiling. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like the new one. It looked like Gran had picked it up at IKEA, whereas the old one wouldn’t have looked out of place in a royal palace or something. It had added splendor to the hallway, while this one detracted from it. But then I figured Edie was right. It was just a silly chandelier, not the end of the world. So I followed her advice and dropped it, then followed the others up the stairs.

  When my head finally hit the pillow, I was asleep in seconds.

  It was good to be home again.

  Chapter 2

  “Get up, young lady.”

  I stirred, reluctant to cast off the cloak of sleep.

  “Now, Stien!” the voice insisted.

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, and found myself gazing into the face of a blurred version of my grandmother.

  “Gran?” I asked with a frown as I groped for my glasses.

  “You overslept, honey,” she said primly as she walked around the bed and yanked open the curtains. Light flooded the room and I winced in protest. I put my glasses on my nose and blinked, Gran now outlined against the blinding light of a new day.

  “What do you mean I overslept?” I groaned. “I don’t have a job. I can’t oversleep.”

  “Your client is here,” she said curtly. “And she’s not a patient woman.”

  Sleep was instantly wiped from my eyes as I yelped, “She’s here?!”

  “Arrived just now, very eager to see you and your sisters at once.” Gran’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “I’ve never known three young women who needed so much sleep. It’s not good for you, you know?”

  I crawled out of bed and placed my feet on the familiar hardwood floor, then cast a look around my room. It was just the way it had always been, and in spite of my grandmother urging me to get a move on, I smiled at the sight.

  Tomes and tomes of legal books were still making the shelves of my bookcase groan, in spite of the fact that I’d dropped out of law school. Secretly I still hoped one day to finish my education and become a lawyer.

  “Come on, Stien,” urged Gran. “Get a move on.”

  I stumbled to the mirror and checked myself. I gasped in shock when I saw my red-rimmed eyes and pale face. “She’ll have to wait,” I muttered. “I’m not showing my face looking like this. I need a shower first.”

  “No shower,” said Gram decidedly. “I honestly don’t think she hired you for your supermodel looks, Ernestine, but for your brain. And your brain looks perfectly fine from where I’m standing.”

  “Oh, all right,” I grumbled, and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans. “What’s the rush? I thought we scheduled Valerie’s appointment for this afternoon?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not in charge of scheduling for this Flummox, Inc.”

  “We asked you to join the company, remember?” I asked, finger-combing my hair. “But you didn’t want to.”

  She waved a hand. “I’m not a bodyguard, Stien. That’s just ridiculous.”

  “Well, we’re not bodyguards either,” I said. “We offer security solutions.”

  “Whatever that is,” she grumbled darkly.

  “We keep our clients and their possessions safe. Isn’t that what being witches is all about?”

  “No, it isn’t,” she snapped. “Being a witch is all about protecting your sacred heritage, not using your powers to make money.”

  I shrugged. We’d had this discussion many times over the summer. “We’re doing all three. Protecting our heritage, helping people, and making money.”

  Gran snorted derisively. It was obvious she was still not fully on board with our new venture, even though she’d reluctantly agreed to help us after our chosen careers had all gone down the drain.

  “Let’s go,” she urged, and then we swept from the room and I was practically chased down the stairs. Stomping into the kitchen, I vowed at least to have a cup of coffee before I faced our very first client, and when I saw that my two sisters were also there, looking as bleary-eyed as me, I knew I wasn’t the only one who viewed the upcoming interview with trepidation.

  “Hey, Stien,” Estrella groaned, and she looked exactly like I was feeling. Her blond hair was a mess, and her face still
had sleep wrinkles. Edie looked even worse. Her red hair was plastered to her skull, and her face was even paler than usual. For this auspicious occasion she was wearing her usual attire: black combat boots, tattered black jeans and a black hoodie which only served to accentuate the unhealthy pallor of her already sallow skin.

  “Why does she have to be one of those people who arrive early?” Strel complained as she took a tentative sip of coffee. “Why not arrive on time?”

  “Be glad she showed up,” said Edelie. “At least we have our first client.”

  Estrella pushed herself away from the table and got up. “Let’s do this,” she said, stretching herself. She was always the more energetic one.

  “Yeah, let’s do this,” muttered Edelie, dragging herself up from the chair.

  We staggered from the kitchen like the cast from The Walking Dead, though zombies have the advantage that at least they don’t have any brains, so they don’t know how hideous they look. We did, and it didn’t add to our self-confidence, the lack of which we were now keenly feeling.

  I wondered if Steve Jobs had felt like this when he sold his first Apple computer, or Mark Zuckerberg when he got his first Facebook friend. The problem wasn’t that we weren’t ambitious, but that we had no idea what we were doing. Sam Barkley, the NYPD detective who’d promised to teach us some of the ins and outs of the private protection business, had been so busy fighting crime that we hadn’t seen him in weeks, and there’s only so much you can learn from Googling stuff.

  Valerie Gabby, Flummox, Inc’s very first client, was a fair-haired young woman, whose big eyes were now focused on us as we strode in, one after the other, like prisoners stepping in front of the firing squad. She was cradling a baby, and stroking its wispy hair absentmindedly.

  She looked even more nervous than we were feeling, so my jitters soon waned as we distributed ourselves amongst the remaining chairs in Gran’s parlor, which we’d selected as our conference room for now. And then we were listening intently as Valerie launched into her tale of woe.