Witchy Possessions (Witchy Fingers Book 3) Read online

  “I’m under attack,” were the first words out of her mouth.

  “Under attack?” I asked. “Who’s attacking you?”

  “You better ask me what’s attacking me! It’s a thing, not a person!”

  “A thing?” asked Estrella. “What’s this thing? What does it look like?”

  Valerie shook her head, her blond curls dangling listlessly around her thin-boned face. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it. All I know is that it’s using me. It’s…” Her lips trembled and she bit her lower lip. “It takes possession of me, and when I come to I feel… soiled and…” She sniffed… “And I don’t remember a thing. Not a single thing. It’s as if it simply takes over.”

  I shared a quick glance with Edelie and Strel. What a weird story.

  “It knocks you out?” I asked.

  “No… it just… I don’t know what it does, exactly. All I know is that when I wake up there’s an intense pain behind my eyes, as if something is using my head like a pincushion or something, and my ex-husband says I’ve become more and more violent. I even attacked him a couple times. I jumped on top of him and tried to murder him! Which is probably why he threw me out. He’s filed for divorce now, so…” She looked desperate, and I could see why.

  She’d placed her baby on the couch next to her, and I eyed it with worry. I turned my attention back to Valerie when she suddenly closed her eyes and gripped her head and uttered such a powerful scream that we jumped up.

  “Valerie!” I cried. “What’s wrong?!”

  “It’s happening again!” she screamed, rocking back and forth.

  I searched around the room but I didn’t see a thing. No sign of a monster trying to take possession of Valerie. But she was screaming like mad now, and had dropped to the floor, flailing as if she was being hacked to pieces. All we could do was make sure she didn’t knock over Gran’s antique coffee table.

  Estrella picked up the baby, making sure it was out of Valerie’s reach.

  “What should we do?!” she cried, cradling the infant.

  “It’s a demon,” said Edelie. “It has to be. Nothing else could do this.”

  “Or she could be sick,” I said. “She could be having a seizure.”

  We stared down at the woman, tears now streaming from her eyes while she rocked back and forth, hugging her knees, her back against the sofa.

  “Stay away from me!” she whimpered. “Don’t… I can’t…”

  At that moment, Gran suddenly charged in, her face fearful. “What’s going on here?!” she cried, and when she saw Valerie sitting on the floor, she said, “Oh, dear,” and clasped a hand to her face. “Oh, my dear.”

  “Gran, what’s going on?” Estrella asked.

  “Do you think we should call a doctor?” I asked.

  “I think she’s being attacked by a demon or something,” said Edelie.

  We stared at our grandmother, hoping she knew what was going on.

  “Dear me,” she repeated, still staring at Valerie as if in shock. Then she shook her head and said, “This isn’t good,” and quickly rushed out!

  “Gran!” I cried. “Where are you going?”

  But she left the room in such a hurry she was already out of earshot. We stared at one another, at a complete loss now, then looked at Valerie, who was now pressing her fingers to her temples, as if suffering from a giant headache.

  “We have to do something,” Estrella said, quite unnecessarily.

  And that’s when I saw it. Valerie had opened her eyes, but instead of the nice white with pale blue pupils they’d been before they were blood-red, with tiny black pinpricks for pupils! And as I watched, her upper lip lifted into a snarl, and next thing I knew she was launching herself at me, screeching like a banshee!

  I went down hard, my head hitting the floor, and as I struggled to get her off of me, and Estrella and Edelie tried to pull her off, Gran came charging in again, only this time she was carrying a silver dagger I’d never seen before.

  And then, before my surprised eyes, she buried the dagger into Valerie’s skull, all the way to the heft! Valerie twitched violently, as one would when being skewered by a dagger, her eyes rolling up into her head, and then she dropped dead. As if this wasn’t enough, Gran quickly straddled her, and started muttering something unintelligible under her breath. Then, finally, she took a firm grip on the dagger, and yanked it from the poor woman’s head with a quick pull, as if she did this kind of thing all the time.

  To my surprise no blood spurted out of the wound but instead it immediately closed up, as if by magic. And Valerie, instead of being dead as I’d supposed she was, emitted a soft cry, opened her eyes and stared at Gran.

  “What the hell just happened?!” I cried, more than a little freaked out.

  But Gran simply ignored me and addressed Valerie instead. “You were under the influence,” she told the woman seriously, helping her to her feet.

  “Under the influence of what?” asked Valerie, still staring at Gran.

  “Of the ghoul who’s adamant to stake his claim,” she said.

  “A, a… ghoul?” asked Valerie incredulously.

  Gran nodded. “You’re in very grave danger, dear,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you don’t get rid of this ghoul you may not survive.”

  Valerie sniffed, then buried her face in her hands. “This is all so terrible.” Then she cast a hopeful look at Gran. “Can you help me… save my life?”

  Gran nodded seriously. “Of course, dear. But first we have to figure out who sicced this ghoul on you. Because whoever it is, they want you dead.”

  And as Gran explained the finer points of ghouldom, I exchanged an exasperated look with my sisters. It was obvious that we weren’t going to be much use to the very first client of Flummox, Inc. The person who was going to save Valerie’s life was Gran, and she wasn’t even part of the company!

  Chapter 3

  “Shellfish.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Shellfish.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t like it,” Rupert said with typical aristocratic petulance.

  Sir Rupert Lohenstein was enjoying a sumptuous breakfast on the balcony of his client’s Fifth Avenue pad, idly gazing out across Central Park. The view from up here was truly spectacular. His own apartment was a few stories below, but he spent most of his time up here, as Petunia Hudson wasn’t merely his client but also one of his oldest and dearest friends.

  Petunia sighed audibly. “Okay, I’ll play along. Why don’t you like shellfish, Rupie?”

  He shrugged. “I just feel sorry for the poor animals. The notion that they have to suffer so much just so we can derive a little pleasure from devouring them seems basically unfair. I guess in that sense I’m a devout vegetarian.”

  “You’re not a devout vegetarian,” she countered. “I’ve seen you eat your hamburgers. You love the stuff! What you are is a hypocrite, Rupie.”

  Well, that was true, of course, but then as a banker hypocrisy was in his blood. A large man with voracious tastes, he picked up a piece of toast liberally smeared with caviar and tipped it into his mouth, then took a sip of tea. “You’re probably right. It’s just that I don’t like my food to suffer.”

  “The cows that went into your hamburger probably suffered a great deal,” she said with a bored expression on her face.

  Petunia might be fifty-five, but she still had the same pep and vigor she had when her career was in its heyday, back in the eighties. Her greatest hit was ‘I’m a rock star,’ in 1979, and a string of hits had followed, before she’d faded away in the nineties and more or less fizzled in the noughties. Still, she was a global star, and whenever she staged a tour with her iconic band The Blackguards, millions of fans still came out in droves and filled stadiums.

  Rupert was her financial manager, and had been from close to the start of her phenomenal career. The unlikely duo had met at a party thrown by a mutual friend, when her financial affairs had been a mess and she
was on the verge of bankruptcy. He’d saved her career, her sanity, and her bank balance.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about your food suffering too much, Rupert,” she said with that hoarse voice of hers that had made her such a household name the world over. “I’m pretty sure animals have no souls.”

  “Why would you even say that?” he protested. “Animals do have souls. Of course they have. Perhaps even more so than most humans.”

  She shrugged. “If they do, I never noticed, and I’ve eaten a lot of animals over the years. Isn’t there some Native American wisdom about devouring the flesh of your enemy and taking possession of their soul? I never noticed when I ate shellfish that I was also absorbing a teensy weensy bit of shellfish soul.”

  He gave her a frosty look. Even though he was immensely fond of Petunia and treasured their friendship greatly, she had a habit of saying things just to get his hackles up. But then of course that was how she rolled, and probably one of the reasons she was still such a megastar, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t had a hit in ages.

  “I don’t think we should discuss animal souls anymore,” he said. “I’d rather discuss the latest tax deal I got you with the Dutch tax authorities.” Better to steer the discussion away from shellfish and their potential souls.

  “Oh, God, you’re not going to talk taxes to me, are you, Rupie?”

  “Why not? I just managed to save us a cool ten million dollars on your new record deal,” he began, fully intent to get down to business now.

  Instead of answering, she shoved a handful of shrimp into her mouth and chewed them morosely.

  He winced. He could almost hear the tiny cries of those shrimp as they were mauled to bits, their little souls crying out in pain and suffering. He might be ruthless when it came to negotiating tax deals, but he had a tender heart when it came to the animal kingdom.

  “Look, I don’t want to do this now,” she said. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Well, you better get in the mood, because this is important,” he said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. This deal will make you the richest rock star alive.”

  She paused, then eyed him coolly, with those almost black eyes of hers. “What if I don’t want to be alive anymore?”

  He eyed her uncertainly. He was never sure if what she said was meant as a joke or not. “What in the world do you mean, Petunia?” he asked.

  “Look, Rupie, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to die, and I want you to officiate my funeral, which is the reason I wanted to invite you over for breakfast.” She sat up a little straighter. “Not to talk business. Not to discuss taxes. Not to whine about shellfish and their souls. To talk about my funeral.”

  “Your funeral!” he cried, aghast.

  She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot of nice things to say about me.”

  He stared at her. “Surely you’re joking. You’re in the prime of your life!”

  She grinned. “I knew you’d be surprised. It’s not something you hear every day, huh?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you ill? Have you been hiding some dreadful disease from me?” These international rock stars could be very coy about their personal lives, he knew. She might have contracted some terrible disease and have kept it a secret from her entourage.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. “Doctor Buckalew gave me a clean bill of health just before I went on my latest tour, you know that.”

  He did know that. The insurance company required it. “So what is it?”

  She sighed deeply. “I’m done, Rupie. Bored to tears, to be honest. I’ve done it all, seen it all, smoked it all… I just want to retire, if that’s all right with you. And even if it isn’t, I’m still going to retire.”

  “Retiring is fine, but you said you wanted to die,” he pointed out.

  “Isn’t that the best way, though? How else am I ever going to have peace? Even retired rock stars will always have groupies. I will never be able to relax with a bunch of idiots traipsing after me and demanding selfies when I’m trying to get comfortable in my hammock. And then there’s those horrible tabloids. I don’t want to see my picture above a caption of ‘Petunia Hudson looks like she gained a hundred pounds, but then of course she’s a retired old hag now and not the pretty young thing she once was.’ And to add insult to injury they’ll print some picture of doe-eyed eighteen-year-old me to compare with. It’s not fair and I can’t live like that anymore, Rupert. So I’m going to die and you’re going to organize the whole thing.”

  “Oh,” he said, taken aback. “You mean you don’t want to… die die?”

  She shot him an indignant glare. “Of course not. Are you crazy? I’m too young to die! No, I want to fake-die. Pretend to die, if you catch my drift.”

  “Oh, yes, I do catch your drift,” he assured her, greatly relieved to discover that she wasn’t as crazy as he’d momentarily assumed she was.

  “Yeah, I want a different name, different identity, different face, different hair…” She patted her raven hair. “In fact I want an entirely new me, and I want to move to someplace warm. Where they have palm trees and shit like that. And then I never want to be reminded of Petunia Hudson ever again.”

  “I think we can arrange that,” he said, though he wondered how in the hell he was going to arrange that. How do you kill off Petunia Hudson and keep her alive under a different name and with a different identity? So many people would have to be involved it was almost impossible to pull off. Unless…

  He took a business card from his vest pocket and eyed it curiously. It said ‘Flummox, Inc—for all your private security needs’ and had been handed to him by a very interesting woman he’d recently met. It was a new outfit, and promised absolute discretion.

  He considered the possibilities. He didn’t want to use the usual people; they’d just muck it up. It was imperative no one knew about this. At least no one in Petunia’s regular entourage. To them she would actually have to die…

  He tapped the card and handed it to Petunia. “I want you to meet them.”

  She stared at the card and flicked it between her glittery black fingernails. “Do I have to?” she asked plaintively. “Can’t you take care of all these tedious little details, just like you always do? It’s what I pay you for.”

  “These are not some tedious little details, Petunia,” he pointed out. “You’re going to die. This needs handling very carefully and very discreetly.”

  “And this… Flummox, Inc is the ticket?” she asked dubiously.

  He nodded slowly. He’d always trusted his gut instincts, and something told him these Flummox sisters were exactly what he’d been looking for. “I do think they’re the ticket. But just to be sure I want you to meet them.”

  “If I meet them and tell them I want to fake my own death and then they turn out to be a bunch of fakers and scammers we’re in big trouble, Rupie,” she said. “They’ll run, not walk, to the nearest tabloid and we’re screwed.”

  She was right, of course, and for a moment he pondered how to handle this. “You know what? I’ll set up the meeting and you join me—”

  “But Rupert, didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  “—in disguise. You’ll pretend to be my assistant.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.”

  He knew she would. She was crazy about dressing up.

  “All right, let’s do this,” she said, clapping her hands. “In fact let’s set this up today, because this afternoon I’m flying to Bali. I’ve arranged for some downtime and some private meditation time with the Dalai Lama.”

  “The real Dalai Lama?” he asked.

  “Is there another one?”

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s do this.” He grinned at her. “Let’s kill you.”

  Chapter 4

  “I don’t think we should do this, Stien,” Estrella whispered conspiratorially.

  I looked at her. “What do yo
u mean? Why not?”

  I was trying to convince Valerie to come and stay with us, at least until we could free her from this ghoul who’d taken such a liking to her.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “We can’t leave her alone out there,” I whispered back. “She’s a paying customer, so we have to provide her with some decent customer service!”

  “We…” She cast about for a reason. “Tell her we don’t have the room!”

  “We have plenty of room,” I hissed. “We have the whole house!”

  Estrella looked positively unhappy, and I didn’t understand why. She’s usually the most hospitable person, and loves it when people come to stay.

  “She… she smells,” Estrella finally admitted.

  “She what?”

  “She’s not a very hygienic person! In fact I’m pretty sure she’s a homeless person. Just look at her clothes. She’s a mess! Even more than you, Edie.”

  I stared at Valerie’s clothes while Edie stared daggers at Estrella. Strel was right, though: Valerie’s outfit was soiled, with spots of some yucky substance smeared all over her front. Which didn’t mean she was a homeless person, of course. She could have picked up those spots anywhere.

  I wanted to point out that if Valerie Gabby was indeed a homeless person we should definitely take her into our home. It wasn’t just our duty to her as a client, but as human beings. But before I could mention this, Strel went on.

  “And that’s not even the worst part.” She fixed Edie and me with a knowing look. “I’m pretty sure she won’t be able to pay us.”

  “So?” I asked. “Money isn’t the most important thing, Strel. Maybe we should simply help the poor woman out of the goodness of our hearts.”

  “Poor woman is right,” said Estrella. “Look, you guys, are we running a for-profit business or a charity here? I mean, if we’re going to do this we have to do it right, right?”