by Nic Saint
“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 Four
“I don’t think we should do this, Stien,” Estrella whispered conspiratorially.
I looked at her. “What do you 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?”
“Right,” I said after a pause. She was right, of course. If Valerie couldn’t pay for our services, this was going to pose a problem for our accountant, who wouldn’t have any numbers to count, and to the taxman, who wouldn’t be able to tax our non-existent income, and of course a major problem for us, as we wouldn’t be making any money. Wasn’t it the business of a business to make money? Just ask Bill Gates. Would he give away Windows for free?
On the other hand, this was a woman in need, and we were morally obliged to help her. We couldn’t simply kick her out because she was poor.
I glanced at Edelie, who shrugged. It was obvious she was thinking along the same lines as I was: it’s not all about the money. So I said, “Let’s just help her anyway, shall we? Besides, it’s not as if we’re helping her. Gran is.”
“Oh,” said Estrella, clearly not happy with this.
“I can pay,” Valerie said suddenly. To my horror I realized she must have overheard our conversation.
“And for your information,” she added, with a hard look at Estrella, “I’m not a homeless person. I have an apartment and I have money to pay you.”
“Oh,” repeated Estrella, this time in a completely different tone. She looked mortified, twin dots of crimson coloring her cheeks. “I thought…”
“I know what you thought,” said Valerie, who seemed completely rid of her ghoul. I quickly checked her head but saw no sign of a knife wound there. Odd, I felt, that Gran would stab a person in the head and they would come out of the experience alive and well. But then Gran is not your regular stabber, of course. And that dagger probably wasn’t a regular dagger either.
“That smell,” she said, “is because I was nursing my daughter before I came here and she was sick all over me. I didn’t take the time to wash up as I felt an attack coming on and wanted to see you as soon as possible. I figured my safety and that of my baby was more important than looking good.” She cast an accusatory and hurt look at Strel, who was glued to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Strel managed, casting down her eyes now.
Valerie wrung her hands in her lap. “Sofia is one of the reasons why I’m so keen to get rid of this… condition. I’m afraid that next time this happens I might attack her, and then…” She swallowed. “It will be all over.”
“What about your husband? What does he think?” Edie asked.
Valerie bit her lip. “Like I said, he’s divorcing me. He wanted to have me admitted to a psychiatric hospital but I refused. He’s… he’s fighting me for custody of Sofia right now, which is why it’s so important I get rid of this.”
“How did you learn about us?” asked Estrella.
Valerie gave her a hard look. She hadn’t forgiven her for her comments. “From my friend. She used to work for your grandmother, before she sold the store. She said if there’s anyone who can help me it’s Cassie Beadsmore.”
“What’s her name?” asked Edelie.
“Beatrix Yeast. Your grandmother gave her one of your business cards.”
I shared a look of surprise with my sisters. Even though Gran didn’t like our new business, apparently that hadn’t stopped her from advertising it.
“Sorry about jumping to conclusions,” Estrella said ruefully.
“I can pay you,” Valerie repeated. “Just… perhaps in installments?”
“We won’t fleece you,” I promised. “And if you can’t pay right now that’s fine, too. The important thing is to make sure your family is safe again.”
Besides, it wasn’t exactly as if we were doing a lot of work here—Gran was doing everything, so in fact it was she who should be paid, not us.
Gran returned, still holding onto her silver dagger, as if fully expecting she would have to use it on Valerie again. The woman eyed it dubiously. It’s not much fun, I imagine, to have someone plant a dagger in your skull. I hate it when I get a splinter in my finger, so I can imagine what it must feel like to get an entire dagger stuck in your skull. Though Valerie looked fine now.
“It’s not an actual dagger,” Gran said, in answer to my unspoken question. “All it does is temporarily stun the ghoul. Unfortunately it doesn’t solve the problem. And if repeated too often might end up harming the ghoul’s host.”
“What will solve the problem permanently?” Edelie asked.
Gran ignored her, though. “You’ll stay with us,” she said decidedly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Beadsmore,” Valerie said gratefully.
“You’re welcome, dear. And when we get rid of that horrible ghoul we’ll still have to keep an eye on you. At least until I’m sure the monster doesn’t return. Ghouls are very tricky to get rid of. They tend to cling.”
“Where does it come from?” asked Valerie. “Why would it choose me?”
“It didn’t choose you,” said Gran with a worried frown. “Someone else did. Someone did this to you—is doing this to you.”
“Someone… is doing this to me?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes, dear. Someone wants you dead in the worst possible way, and not just dead, but they want you to suffer. To suffer horribly and painfully.”
Valerie’s hands were trembling now. “But… who? Who could do this?”
“That’s for us to find out,” said Gran. “And mind you, they’re not just targeting you, but your entire family, because if this ghoul is left unchecked, he will not just murder you but your loved ones as well.”
“My… my baby?” she asked, horrified.
“Everyone around you is in grave danger as long as that ghoul resides in you,” she said. “Which is why we need to figure out where it came from. Because as long as this hex is on you, this ghoul won’t be driven away.”
Gran sat down, and invited Valerie to sit down next to her on the sofa.
“Do you have any enemies, Valerie?”
Valerie shook her head slowly. “I… my ex-husband isn’t very happy with me right now. He’s trying to get custody of Sofia.”
“Could he be doing this to you?”
“I don’t think so. Having these… attacks was the reason he left me.”
“Still,” said Gran, musing.
I could see she was thinking hard, and I felt a surge of hope. If anyone could figure this out it was Gran. We just stood there like so much dead weight. One look at the others told me they were thinking the same thing.<
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We were hopeless as witches, and now we were hopeless as protectors of the innocent as well. Batman, if he were here, would have tsk-tsked freely, and so would Spiderman, Superman and all those other guys in tights.
Well, at least I was paying attention to what Gran was doing. Maybe I could learn something here. Though right now she was just sitting there and patting Valerie’s hand consolingly.
Just then, my phone beeped, and when I checked it I saw it was a message from a Sir Rupert Lohenstein, requesting an urgent meeting.
My lips curled up into a smile. Even though Gran had taken over the Valerie Gabby case, another customer was already lined up. Hopefully this time we would be of more use to them. Or else we might just as well stop now.
Start Reading Witchy Possessions Now
About Nic
Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 50+ novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoiling their big red tomcat Tommy.
@nicsaintauthor
nicsaintauthor
www.nicsaint.com
Also by Nic Saint
The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse
One Spoonful of Trouble
Two Scoops of Murder
Three Shots of Disaster
Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)
A Twist of Wraith
A Touch of Ghost
A Clash of Spooks
Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)
The Stuffing of Nightmares
A Breath of Dead Air
An Act of Hodd
Ghosts of London
