Demons in the Bedroom (Paranormal House Flippers Book 1)

by Lidiya Foxglove

  Demons in the Bedroom

  Paranormal House Flippers Book One

  Lidiya Foxglove

  Copyright © 2020 by Lidiya Foxglove

  Cover art © 2020 by Covers by Juan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  33. The Fairer Hex-Book One of A Witch Among Warlocks Preview

  More Romantic Fantasy from Lidiya!

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Helena

  I arrived at the auction early, trying to suppress a little quiver of excitement that I’d been feeling ever since I saw the gloomy towers of Lockwood House on the real estate listing.

  Never get emotionally invested at an auction.

  Oh, but sometimes it was too hard to resist. And I knew this was going to be one of those rare finds. A wizard’s domain that was going up for sale through a regular human Realtor. All the humans would be bidding based purely on how much it would cost to update an old kitchen, but I could add in the value of the magical—

  “Curses!” I said aloud when I saw the white van with the ‘Wolves at the Door’ logo. “How did they find this place?”

  I parked my truck a few spots down, flung open the door, and hopped out, hiding my soured mood behind sunglasses, sucking down the last few sips of my chai latte.

  “Hel has arrived.” Jasper slid the van door shut and turned to look at me.

  I rolled my eyes. My name was Helena, and everyone called me Helena, except these two oafs. Jasper was six feet of muscle, scruff, and competition, and his twin brother was twice as annoying as he was.

  “Is that Hel? Hey, there’s no way you can handle this house, pipsqueak,” Jake chimed in behind him. “It’s 3500 square feet and it needs new everything. Not to be sexist, but—“

  I held up my hand. “No one has ever said anything good after that preface.”

  “It’s too much work,” he said. “Jasper and I can knock out the demo before you can say ‘Toil and trouble’.”

  “I beg to differ. I have a different clientele,” I said. “They want the homes a little more preserved. Anyway—let’s put that aside. I’m just here to bid my best and let the best woman win.”

  “I like the way you think, girl.” I heard another voice say behind me. A fake-nice female voice I knew all too well.

  I should have known. If I found this house, the werewolves found it too, and so did Kiersten, one half of a husband and wife team based outside of California. She was shivering in a puffy pink coat. “Ooh, these New England winters. I don’t know how you handle it,” she said to me.

  “This is Pennsylvania,” I said. “And it’s only September.”

  She blinked at me. She had no idea Pennsylvania wasn’t part of New England and the winters could be a lot worse. “How are you doing, Helena? I haven’t even seen you in ages.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look the same as ever,” she said, surveying me.

  That wasn’t a compliment. Kiersten’s naturally Nordic hair was styled in soft waves over her pink coat. She was wearing makeup. A peek of patterned tights rested between designer leather boots and the edge of the coat, and she was carrying a leather tote that was just as expensive.

  I was just a good old-fashioned mind-my-own-business hedge witch who happened to like houses even more than people, and if you met my family, you would understand. I had four colors in my wardrobe: black, gray, white (for collars), and the criminally underrated navy blue. (It goes great with black, when you want a pop of color.) My blonde hair was braided and looped behind my head but already sending out flyaway strands around my ears. I hadn’t changed much since I was twelve, except that now I had control of my own destiny instead of being packed off to a ladies’ magical school.

  And no one got in the way of me and my destiny.

  I brushed off the comment about my appearance. “Where’s Caleb?” I asked her.

  “Oh, Caleb is with the kids,” she said. “They love their daddy time. But I’m the one who shuttles them to school, so it’s nice to have a little ‘me’ weekend too. I just hope I pumped enough milk ahead of time. I make a wonderful mother’s milk tea brew to promote lactation but I still worry about it, you know.”

  I could have done without all that information. “You had another one?” What? When? How? Also, Kiersten had the waistline of a supermodel.

  “Yep. Number five. Another girl. I’m crazy, aren’t I? But Caleb loves having a big family.”

  “Godspeed,” I said, not bringing up that I had six siblings myself, although she probably already knew.

  She gave me a sunshine perfect grin with danger in her eyes. “Well, I’d better go check this place out before the auction starts. May the best woman win—like you said.”

  The house was locked up—no inside views before the auction, so we were living on the edge here. You had to be a little crazy to do this, but I was a lot crazy. I started walking around the side, giving myself a little shake and casting a quick spell to recenter.

  I thought I’d be the only wizard bidding on this house. I wondered who tipped them off, and why Kiersten would bother to work the east coast. But—so what if Kiersten and the Sullivan brothers were here?

  I want this house.

  She was really a beauty, this house. We were out in the middle of nowhere, rural Pennsylvania, always a hot spot for magical activity. The house stood on forty acres, mostly forest. It was all wood with three brick chimneys. The way the rooflines were pitched steep as a church with spires on top and simple gingerbread trim like lace dripping down suggested Carpenter Gothic style, maybe 1870s. But I could hear some human buyers murmuring with confusion, trying to place the style, because the architecture was quirky, with random diamond and octagon shaped windows. I knew at a glance that they were placed to catch certain placements of the moon on sacred days. A sure sign that this house was originally built by a wizard.

  I could feel it. The energy of the spells cast here. The loving care of its original builders. They would have been warlocks too. I loved to imagine when houses were new and you could still smell the fresh paint. Wizards lived a long time, so I guessed this house had probably only had two or three owners across its lifetime.

  Kiersten wasn’t going to think of stuff like that. She’ll just start tearing the old girl to shreds.

  There was a lot I could tell from the outside with a few quick spells and simple observation. My familiar was a bat, and he knew what to do. I summoned him wordlessly and he
swept up toward the attic to get a closer look. Bevan was a creature of few words.

  Another quick spell told me the ground under the house was solid. That was borne out by the lack of serious foundation cracks in the stone the house was built upon.

  No electricity, except for a very basic off-grid solar system to power a few lights and a fridge. Water from a cistern and a passive solar water heater on the roof. The place was owned by an old-school wizard who wanted to stay entirely off the grid and away from the toxic effects of electricity on magic. The human buyers were muttering. And Kiersten wasn’t going to like it either. She was what I thought of as ‘nouveau witche’. She would give up some of her magic for the comforts of the modern world. And she would make this place look picture perfect. Granite countertops, shiplap, barn doors. She would probably make a lot more money than I would.

  Well, it wasn’t about money for me. It was about the integrity of the old house and the residual magic of the wizard who lived there.

  Really gives her a damn advantage in an auction, though, I thought bitterly.

  But maybe this location would be too remote for her taste. And with the power I felt emanating from the walls of this place, there could be a treasure. I made money from the first house I ever flipped, not off the house, but because I sensed something inside. It turned out to be a collection of antique wands forgotten inside some junky boxes in the attic. The antique dealer found me a buyer easily.

  I hated to lose this house. It spoke to me. But I had to be careful and make some actual money. I was living out my truck.

  I opened the doors to the garden to get a look. The garden was surrounded by a high wooden fence, and it was large. A real secret garden. Complete with the crazy overgrowth. It needed help. Lots of sweaty days with trimmers and pulling out weeds. Still, all the magical plants and healing herbs my buyers would want were already in place, some of them twining around statuary. I lifted aside some grape vines to reveal a little shrine for the spirits tucked away with offerings of shells and stones and a tiny liquor flask.

  “That’s so sweet,” I whispered. I didn’t see offerings for spirits much. The wizard who owned the place must have been very old. I could feel the energy of this place, and that he must have loved his home. He was isolated out here—no magical community within ten miles, which was a long way when there was no evidence he drove.

  A kindred spirit, I thought. Someone who liked being alone, with nothing but plants, creaking stairs, books and their familiar for company.

  The garden doors creaked behind me. I stood up straight as a mundane human in a casual business suit walked into the garden. He looked surprised to see me. And I was equally surprised to see him, because he was easily six and half feet tall, with a naturally broad build and presence that commanded attention.

  “Are you here for the auction?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I think you’re wasting your time here. I expect you’ll just tear all this down. The living room is 1970s in the worst way. Lead paint, I expect. Junk. Failing plaster. And there’s only one bathroom in the entire place.”

  “What are you doing here, then?” I didn’t like humans rooting around houses like this at all, and I definitely didn’t want them asking me about my own business.

  Honestly, I probably would have been more of a jerk except that he was quite handsome, and I wasn’t blind. Sure, he was way too polished and professional for my taste. From the gold watch to the tailored suit and worst of all, short hair slicked back—he practically had the same hairstyle as my dad. I didn’t care for the warlock elite, but throw the human trappings of an iPhone and a diversified investment portfolio and all in all, rich humans were just as jerky and much more boring. Even if he did have amazing golden-brown eyes. Even if he had very masculine hands. And I definitely didn’t care how chiseled his jaw was.

  “I’m the seller,” he said, and I must also note that his voice was deep yet silken enough to melt butter. Did that metaphor make any sense? No, Helena, I’m afraid it’s your brain that has melted instead. “This was my grandfather’s house.”

  What? This guy was the grandson of a warlock? Impossible. Everything about him screamed ‘normal’.

  Well…okay. Not everything. Through all the polish, there was something a bit intriguing about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it charm, or was it darkness, or just a streak of mischief? When I couldn’t put my finger on something, I’ll admit, it made me want to keep trying until I pinned it down.

  “But he died and left me this house, so…I just need to get rid of it. I’ll give you a tip, if you didn’t hear me the first time. It’s a disaster.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be giving tips to the bidders,” I said. “Or do you say that to all the girls?”

  He was checking me out from the crown of braids on my head to my well-worn hiking boots, and the long-sleeved black dress in between, the same way I checked him out. I think he shared the same opinion. He noted that I might be an attractive woman if I was cleaned up a bit. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I didn’t care if I looked old-fashioned and dowdy and was occasionally mistaken for a ghost when I was looking at these houses.

  He was dressed to impress, on the other hand. I tried not to look too impressed, although his shoulders were very broad, and he had a good foot of height on me. I bet it felt nice to rest your head against his chest. I quickly jerked my eyes off him. What was I thinking here?

  “I have some good memories of this garden,” he said. “My grandfather loved this spot. So I saw you checking it out, and—damn. You’re right. I told myself I wouldn’t get sentimental.” Now he waved a hand. “I don’t really want anything to do with this dump, but I wanted one more look at the garden.”

  “Losing a grandparent has a way of doing that,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “Do you make much money doing this? Buying houses at auction? Surely it costs more to fix than the land is even worth. Who the hell would want to live out here?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “It has termites.”

  “No.” I frowned. “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s got—squishy floorboards.” He pulled some shades out of a pocket to look up at the grand facade of the house, as the morning sun was getting brighter.

  “It could be carpenter ants,” I said. “They eat wood that is already rotting. Actually, they don’t eat wood at all. They just nest in it. It can be a big problem, but not on the same level as termites. Believe it or not, some people really like living in these old homes off the grid, away from civilization.” They’re called ‘wizards’. You don’t know your grandfather was one?

  “You sound like you know your stuff.” The look on his face was obvious. I encountered it all the time. He had never met a woman who knew anything about home improvement in his life. And he was more intrigued by me now. In fact, he looked like he wanted to tame me. Show me who wielded the power tools in this world.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Of course not. Women really do it all these days.”

  “Yeah. We do. Thanks for noticing.”

  “Maybe I deserved that one. You just don’t look like the people on TV.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad can’t believe I’m doing this either,” I muttered. “And I don’t have hair and makeup people following me around. But I’m good at it. Damn good.”

  “That’s great,” he said, but I swear he was still being condescending.

  Or maybe I was just defensive. I didn’t make much money on this. At all.

  In fact, so far I’d been lucky that I was often able to turn some magical artifacts left behind in the houses for side profit. I was just one woman, and I couldn’t do as much on my own as Kiersten and Caleb or Jake and Jasper. But the one advantage I had? I was the best witch. I could tell when a house had something special.

  I looked at the house again and barely suppressed a sigh. I kept getting too attached. I vowed right th
en and there not to get emotional about this auction. This overly polished gentleman was right. This house wasn’t worth more than twenty thousand dollars. It would easily cost a hundred grand just to get this place up to a very basic standard for an adventurous wizarding couple.

  “Thanks for the inside dirt,” I said. “Maybe you’ll save me from making a mistake.”

  “Sure.” He gave me a brief smile, his eyes lingering a little longer like he was still checking me out. Giving me not just a once over, but a twice over. “Do you want to go grab coffee after this?” he asked. “I feel bad that you drove all the way out to this no-man’s-land just to find out the place isn’t worth anything. I could tell you a few ghost stories.”

  Oh. That escalated. I didn’t expect it at all. Someone was…hitting on me?

  A human?

  Ever since my family disowned me because I wouldn’t agree to marry some pampered warlock ass, no one had asked me on a single date. I had actually been enjoying the anonymity. Avoiding men and all the trouble they brought with them.

  Still, once in a while I looked in the mirror and wondered if I was unworthy of notice these days. I used to have a closet of gowns for balls and parties. I even owned a damn tiara like I was going to meet the Queen of England. My mom shoved all of me and my sisters into that role. Now I had run away in the completely opposite direction, spending half my time covered in century-old plaster dust and old house grime, living in a beat up truck when I didn’t have some house to sleep in.

  He was giving my ego a little boost that had nothing to do with the glitz and false politeness of the elite wizarding world.