Witchy Trouble (Witchy Fingers Book 1) Read online

  “That wasn’t a dream,” Edelie said from the door as she came pottering into the kitchen. “That actually happened.” She fished a pair of socks from her collar and threw them at Estrella. “There’s more where that came from,” she added dryly, and plunked down at the table, looking extremely tired.

  Of the three sisters, Edelie was the least energetic one, and that was an understatement. Ernestine was the prim and proper one, and Estrella the peppy one, always ready for a laugh. The three Flummox women, in other words, were as different from each other as any human beings could be, and sometimes they themselves wondered if they were actually sisters at all.

  Even their physical appearance was quite different. Ernestine was dark-haired with a straight-laced personality that was reflected on her face, which was delicate and pale with a small nose and thin lips that habitually turned down into a frown. Edelie was red-haired, round-faced and green-eyed, with a noticeable cleft in her chin. And Estrella was blonde and petite, with cornflower blue eyes and cupid bow lips that were practically perpetually quirked up into a cheeky grin. Still, since they were sisters, they shared many traits as well: all three of them were honest and good-hearted, they hated injustice and underhandedness with a vengeance, and loved Cassandra Beadsmore almost more than life itself and would leap through fire for her.

  Not that Gran couldn’t take care of herself. She hadn’t merely raised the Flummox triplets as her own, she’d kept them out of harm’s way as well.

  In fact the only reason Edelie, Estrella and Ernestine still lived at home was that they shared a trait with their grandmother that was very rare indeed: they were, in fact, witches, and as such vulnerable to the scrutiny of the outside world. By sticking together, they kept each other safe and allowed the rare magical forces they’d inherited from a long line of witches, going all the way back to Fallon Safflower, who’d built Safflower House in 1848, to grow and nurture in the safety of their ancestral home.

  “So what are you guys up to today?” Estrella asked, dunking her bagel into her coffee and taking a big, savoring bite.

  “I’m going to interview a client today,” Ernestine announced primly.

  “That’s a first,” Gran said, wiping her hands on a towel.

  Ernestine was a legal secretary with ambitions to be a lawyer one day, and interviewing a client was indeed a first for her. Usually the law firm of Boodle, Jag, Lack & Noodle where she was employed awarded her more menial tasks, like typing up reports or doing research. “I’m going to have the preliminary talk,” she explained. “The client is going through a very painful divorce at this moment, and wants to be informed about his options.”

  “So you’re going to handle the divorce?” Estrella asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Well, not me personally, of course. My job is to find out what I can and then report back to my boss, Mr. Boodle.”

  “Right,” Estrella said, nodding intelligently. She was trying to take an interest, Ernestine knew, which was commendable. Edelie hadn’t even bothered to pretend she was listening. But then not everyone found the law as exciting as she did. She loved how it made sense of the world, and how through the justice system society was made a safer and more civilized place.

  “And you, honey? What are you up to today?” Gran had addressed Edelie, whose head had practically hit her plate. “Huh?” she asked, sitting up with a jerk. “Oh, I’m trying out something new. S’mores with vanilla ice.”

  Ernestine made a face, but Gran said, “That’s just great, honey!” and shoveled a truckload of eggs on Edelie’s plate, who eyed them sorrowfully.

  Edelie had ambitions to be a chef but unfortunately, unlike her sisters, wasn’t the scholarly type and had dropped out of school. Now she worked at the Brigham Shatwell store in Manhattan, part of a chain of coffeehouses larger than Starbucks, where she occasionally surprised her manager with her new inventions. Only last week she’d done something remarkable with chocolate mousse, gelatin, and eggnog, and the customers had loved it.

  “And what about you, Estrella?” Gran asked. “What mischief are you up to today?”

  “New radio commercial for Teppy,” Estrella said, sounding a lot more excited than the work seemed to warrant, in Ernestine’s humble opinion.

  “Sounds… challenging,” Gran said with a nod.

  Estrella grinned. “You mean boring, right? But I love it, you guys! Teppy—whiter than white,” she added in a singsongy voice.

  Estrella had dreams of becoming a pop star and had entered more talent shows than anyone Ernestine knew. Unfortunately, she wasn’t much of a singer and hadn’t fooled the Simon Cowells of this world. She was perky and oozed zest and zeal but no talent to speak of. So now she worked as a voice-over artist. It wasn’t her dream job, per se, but she seemed to like what she did and was getting quite good at it, too. She was now gunning for her own radio show, more specifically one of those ‘Advice to the Lovelorn’ ones.

  When finally all three women had eaten their fill, Gran announced, “Just remember, you guys. No magic outside the house today, all right?”

  “We know, Gran,” the three sisters said with an eye roll.

  “I’ll keep repeating as long as you keep forgetting,” Gran said pleasantly, but with a hint of steel. It was Gran’s golden rule. Even though the girls were witches in their own right, that didn’t mean they were competent witches. In fact, they were just about the worst witches in the history of the world, and when they were younger Gran often had to jump through hoops to undo the damage they’d done to their school friends or unsuspecting visitors.

  So a new rule had been established, one that Gran insisted on to this day: they weren’t allowed to practice magic outside of the house. The only person allowed to use magic was Gran herself, because at least when she cast a spell, no disaster ensued.

  Ernestine caught sight of the kitchen clock and rose from the table so quickly she almost upset her empty bowl. “Gotta go!” she announced and quickly pressed a kiss to Gran’s cheek. Today was a big day, and she couldn’t be late!

  Chapter 4

  Ronny checked his watch over and over again, intermittently drumming his fingers on the glass table. He adjusted his shirt—the only one he owned— then finger-combed his spiky hair and finally checked his watch again. He’d stolen it from an elderly couple on the Upper East Side last summer. According to the inscription, it was a retirement present for thirty years of faithful service as a fireman. He liked it. It had heft, something modern watches didn’t have, made out of plastic as they invariably were.

  He liked quality, and he appreciated real workmanship. He considered himself an artisan of the trade, a real craftsman, and was proud of the skill set he’d acquired. He had large, gray eyes and a broad face and a fleshy nose which gave him a rather squished aspect, perhaps because for the better part of his adult life Ronny had been wearing a black stocking over his head.

  He’d stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, and found himself studying the ceiling. It was off-white, like the rest of the place. He hated offices and he hated waiting so he was doubly annoyed for being here. But the guy had called him the minute he left the police station and told him he had a great job lined up. And since he was feeling testy after last night’s fiasco, he’d decided a great job was what he needed to get out of his funk.

  Not only had he been forced to return all of the stolen goods he’d purloined or make some other form of restitution—for he’d already fenced most of them—it hadn’t taken those stunned homeowners long to call the cops on him, and now he was facing a nice long stretch in jail if the judge found him guilty of breaking his parole. The only reason he wasn’t in jail right now was that they were full up with real criminals: the rapists and murderers and other bad apples. A petty criminal like him apparently could await sentencing from the luxury of his own home. Not that he minded. He didn’t like to go to jail. If possible, he tried to avoid the place like the plague, and usually did a pretty good job at it, too. He hadn’
t seen the inside of a prison cell in months. Until that witch had turned him into a pig last night.

  He still didn’t understand what had happened, nor could he tell any of his friends. Who would believe him?! Heck, he didn’t even believe it himself!

  He looked up when a sonorous voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Mr. Mullarkey, I presume?”

  He found himself gazing into the face of a very large, very formidable man. Not only was he built like a basketball player, but he had one of those elongated powerful faces that stood out. And then there were his eyes. Dark as obsidian and fixed on him with an intent stare that gave him the willies.

  Instantly he sat up. “Yeah, that’s right. You said you had a job for me?”

  The man chuckled, a sound of metal grinding on metal. “I might indeed have a job for you, Mr. Mullarkey. If you’re up for it, that is.”

  “Oh, I’m up for it,” he said, and he wasn’t lying. “If you want I’ll steal The Donald’s favorite hairpiece from Trump Tower itself.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man assured him, as he took a seat across from him. The entire setting felt like he was doing a job interview of a sort. Which was weird, for he’d never worked an honest day’s work in his life.

  “It is my understanding that you came into contact with Cassandra Beadsmore last night?” the man asked, folding his hands in front of him.

  He frowned. “Cassandra who?”

  “The house you broke into belongs to Cassandra Beadsmore. She’s the woman who…” He grimaced. “… made slight alterations to your person.”

  He was staring at the man now, flabbergasted. How did he know?

  “The tail?” the man asked, quirking an eyebrow. “The ears? The nose?”

  Ronny gulped at the recollection. “How do you know?” he finally asked.

  “I have ways of finding out things,” the man simply said.

  “Yeah, well, she did that to me,” he finally said, actually happy to get that weird experience off his chest. “She gave me those ears and that tail and that nose and then told me that if I didn’t apologize and right the wrongs I’d done that she would give me a lot more too.”

  The man shook his head commiseratingly. “What a terrible ordeal you went through, Mr. Mullarkey. What a terrible, terrible ordeal.”

  “You know it,” he said, nodding vigorously. “She half scared me to death.”

  The man stared at him for a beat and seemed to measure him up. “What I’m going to propose is going to sound a little… strange to you.”

  “Nothing can be stranger than what happened last night, Mr…”

  “Just call me Joshua.”

  “Well, Joshua, believe you me, some weird shit went down last night.”

  “I do believe you, Mr. Mullarkey, which is why I want you to return to Safflower House…”

  “Huh? What?”

  “… and apologize profusely to Cassandra Beadsmore.”

  He was shaking his head even as the other man was finishing his sentence. “I’m not going back there,” he announced. “Never in my life.”

  “… and once you’re there, and she has accepted your heartfelt apology, I want you to give her a small token of your appreciation,” the man went on, taking no heed of Mullarkey’s protestations. He produced a small pouch and placed it on the glass table in front of Ronny.

  In spite of his objections, Ronny’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s that?”

  “Open it,” Joshua said, leaning back and adjusting his three-piece suit.

  Ronny loosened the string and opened the pouch. He was surprised to find three gems inside. They looked like diamonds, only they were three different colors. One was yellow, the other blue and the third one was red.

  “Are these diamonds?”

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with what they are exactly, Mr. Mullarkey,” Joshua said in his rumbling baritone. “Simply hand them to Mrs. Beadsmore and tell her that this is your way of making amends.”

  He shrugged. “Why don’t you give her these yourself?”

  “I have my reasons. In exchange for your cooperation,” he said, placing his hands together, “I’m willing to pay you one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Done!” Ronny said, jerking up from his chair and stretching out his hand. For a hundred grand, he was willing to do anything, even to return to that horrible woman and relive the horror of slowly being turned into a pig.

  Joshua smiled and shook his hand warmly. “It is certainly a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mullarkey.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a smirk. He then quickly pocketed the gemstones and eagerly searched around for a briefcase with his money.

  “You’ll get the money once you’ve delivered the stones,” Joshua said.

  He wasn’t happy about it, but the man didn’t look like the type who was ready to do some haggling, so he merely asked, “How will I get my money?”

  Joshua grinned. “Don’t worry, Ronny. I’ll know where to find you.”

  It should have been an innocuous statement, but somehow it gave him the creeps. Just like everything about the guy gave him the creeps. But then beggars aren’t choosers, so as he took his leave he thanked Joshua for this opportunity. Oddly enough, when he examined the stones later at his walk-up, he discovered they were cold to the touch. As cold as ice. Or death.

  Chapter 5

  Edelie rode the subway morosely as it carried her and about five million other New Yorkers into Manhattan. She knew she should count herself lucky to have found a job at Brigham Shatwell, the hottest new chain of coffeehouses to hit the States, but frankly she abhorred the work. She wanted to be in her own kitchen creating recipes, like Julia Child, or be on TV like Nigella Lawson, or even running her own empire like Martha Stewart. She envisioned a future of cookbooks with her name on the cover, and cooking shows, and even her own magazine like Oprah. She could just see it now. And as she looked at her fellow commuters, she imagined people reading not the Post or the Daily News, but E, The Edelie Magazine instead.

  In reality, she was in the business of preparing coffee in all flavors and sizes for a never-ending stream of customers on a daily basis. She didn’t even particularly like coffee, and the only thing that provided a sparkle of joy was that Ginger allowed her to spend some of her time dreaming up new creations of her own. This was exceptional, for most of the stuff Brigham Shatwell carried was trucked in pre-baked and simply heated up.

  She got off at her designated stop and climbed the stairs to the surface, where she was greeted by two bums seated on either side of the subway exit.

  She dug into her pocket and came out with a dollar bill, which she promptly let flutter into the hands of the elderly African-American man who seemed to consider this subway station his home. According to the piece of cardboard he held up, his name was Julius, and he was ‘grateful for all.’

  He gave her a radiant smile, a single silver tooth glittering in the morning sun. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said courteously. “May your day be blessed and your every touch be magical!”

  She smiled back at him, his words giving her a tiny thrill of cheer.

  And as she walked on, she wondered if magic was indeed her ticket out.

  She’d tried before to use magic to further her goals, but it had always backfired on her. Like that time she’d decided to cook dinner for a dozen of Gran’s guests, one of whom was a well-known food critic. She’d had the crazy idea that if only she could impress him with her cooking, he’d offer her a career on a platter. So she decided that her usual cookery wasn’t enough, and had decided to use a little magic. There was no rule about using magic indoors, so she was well within her rights, right? She’d simply stood back and cast a few spells that had quickly turned the kitchen into a war zone.

  Apparently the ingredients didn’t respond to her spells as she hoped, and the end result was that the turkey she was supposed to baste had looked like it had gone through the Hulk tran
sformation, green tinge and all, and that the petite potatoes had turned into steel balls sprouting tiny razor blades that would have sliced the critic’s taste buds clean off instead of enticing them.

  And then there was the soup, which had turned into a boiling bog of the most hideous smell, and the veggies, which had turned animated and were now stalking the kitchen in search of havoc to wreak. Gran had to intervene, and had quickly whipped up a replacement meal to save the evening.

  The veggies had been lurking in corners for weeks, though, and so had the steel potatoes, launching themselves at guests with lethal intent.

  The disaster had induced Gran to instigate a new rule: no more subjecting unsuspecting visitors to magic in any way, shape or form.

  Even though the memory still rankled, Edelie wondered if perhaps she should give magical cooking another try. She was older and wiser, after all.

  And it was then that she caught sight of a giant eagle soaring overhead, apparently keeping in step with her. She looked around to see if anyone else was noticing, but as usual New Yorkers appeared quite oblivious of the world around them, moving in packs as they crossed the streets and hurried along, chattering into their smartphones or checking their Facebook statuses.

  She glanced up again, and frowned when she saw that the eagle had descended, now hovering only a dozen feet overhead. She could clearly see the majestic bird as it spread its mighty wings. And she was just wondering if she was seeing things, for no one else seemed to be looking up, when the bird swooped down and promptly made a dash for her backpack!

  “Hey!” she yelled when the mighty ruler of the skies snatched her backpack and quickly absconded with the treasured item, ascending with powerful upward thrusts of its wings. “Hey! Give that back!” she cried as the eagle quickly moved higher and higher even as she stood watching.

  Fuming now, she decided to throw caution to the wind and disobey Gran’s silly rule. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all, so she quickly cast about for a spell that would return a lost object. Gran had taught the spell to Ernestine when she kept misplacing her glasses, so Edelie was quite certain it would work on her backpack as well.