Witchy Trouble (Witchy Fingers Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  But she simply couldn’t help it. The man had charm and class and wit and was, above all, a world-class actor. When House M.D. had ended, she’d wept bitter tears, and had briefly contemplated casting a spell to force the network to keep the show on the air for perpetuity, or at least for as long as she lived. That Mr. Laurie would have reached a respectable age by then didn’t bother her. He was, after all, a character actor, and didn’t rely on good looks alone.

  Though in her own humble opinion he was the most handsome man alive.

  And now here he sat, this Hugh Laurie lookalike. For a moment she’d thought he was the man himself, but he’d given her a different name. Lyndon Bloom. But he talked with the same irresistible British accent, and had the same funny face, and when he smiled he dipped his head the same way, his lips quirking up. For all intents and purposes this was Hugh’s identical twin.

  So she’d quickly cast a spell to appear as irresistible to him as he was to her. Not merely because she suspected here sat her favorite actor of all time, but because he was a client. Her first client, in fact. And she wanted to make an impression he would never forget. Or neglect to mention to her boss.

  So she’d been grinning at him and simply couldn’t stop, even though he seemed to consider her attitude highly inappropriate in one who was supposed to represent his interests.

  “So then she cheated on me with her first lover,” he was saying, “and I didn’t really think very much of it. These things happen, I mean to say.”

  “Very noble of you,” she said, displaying her toothy grin.

  “Yes, well, we’d only been married for a few short weeks at that time, and I figured she hadn’t gotten the hang of the thing yet. Didn’t fully grasp the rules of the old marriage game, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course,” she said awkwardly. Grinning, she found, made talking very difficult indeed. “Especially the rule that you shouldn’t cheat on your spouse.”

  “Exactly! So when it happened again I was understandably upset.”

  “Understandably.”

  “And then when it happened a third time and a fourth…” He coughed, visibly embarrassed to spill these intimate details to a perfect stranger, especially one who couldn’t stop grinning at him like a complete idiot.

  “How many times would you say she cheated on you?” she asked, pen poised over her yellow legal pad. She’d been scribbling away incessantly, though mostly doodles featuring Hugh Laurie surrounded by hearts.

  “Twenty-four times,” he said, carefully patting his hair. “Over the course of a five-year marriage that makes for an average of, oh, about five lovers a year? Quite a record, I would imagine. Though of course I’m not an expert.”

  “And how did you find out about these… lovers?” she asked, cursing Mrs. Lyndon Bloom. Who would go and cheat on Dr. Gregory House!

  “Well, actually she was the one who told me. Seemed quite proud of the fact. Made it a point that I met every lover in person. Of course she didn’t introduce them to me as her lovers, but she would point out some random bloke at a reception or gallery opening, and then later would confide in me that she’d slept with the chappie. For some reason it seemed to excite her.”

  “So what induced you to remain married to this woman?”

  “Well, I loved her, of course,” he said. But then his composure faltered and he rubbed his face. “And then there’s the fact that I’m a complete and utter ass! I probably should have divorced her from the first instance.”

  “Especially since she kept doing it over and over again,” she pointed out.

  “Well, there is that, of course.” He shrugged. “Why did I stick around? Laziness? Cowardice? Fear of being alone? I should probably talk to a shrink about this, for there must be something seriously wrong with me.”

  “Oh, no!” she assured him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Mr. Bloom. Quite the contrary. You’re absolutely perfect.” When he frowned at this, she was quick to point out, “I mean, perfect for her. You tolerated her behavior.”

  “Well, I didn’t tolerate it so much as tried to ignore it,” he said, then leaned forward. “Look, um, Miss Flummox, I’ve been meaning to ask… Is there something wrong with your face? It seems to be stuck in the same mode, as it were.”

  “Oh, you mean this?” She pointed at her ridiculous smile. She couldn’t tell him she’d cast a spell to appear attractive and it had gone horribly wrong. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “There is something wrong with my face.”

  “You should really have that looked after,” he said with a frown. “It’s… I don’t mean to be rude here, but it gives a fellow the wrong impression if you know what I mean. A lack of consideration for my, well, rather sensitive issues. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were simply laughing at me.”

  “Oh, no! I can assure you I’m not!”

  He gestured at her. “See? You’re doing it again. You’re telling me one thing while your face is telling me the opposite. So please… stop doing that.”

  “I—I’ll try,” she said, and desperately cast about for a counter spell to render the effect of the first one null and void. She quickly whispered, “Karismatractivus,” which she hoped would solve the issue, but instead of having the desired effect, it appeared to make things worse, for Bloom uttered a startled cry and jumped up from his chair. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven!”

  “What is it?” she asked, perturbed.

  He was holding up his hands in feeble defense. “Just… Don’t look at me like that, please!” he cried.

  She quickly glanced at the window and caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her face was contorted into such a malevolent grimace that it wouldn’t have looked out of place on Hannibal Lecter’s visage, ready to savor Mr. Bloom’s liver with a side dish of fava beans and a glass of Chianti.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she muttered, trying to fold her features into a less homicidal expression and failing miserably.

  Lyndon Bloom was now backing away slowly, still holding up his hands as if to ward off evil. “I’m—I’m afraid I can’t continue this interview,” he stammered. “I’ll, um, I’ll get in touch with Mr. Boodle, shall I? Reschedule!”

  And with a final horrified wail, he streaked from the conference room.

  The moment he’d left, she buried her face in her hands. Oh, God. That had backfired to such a horrible extent! Then a soft cough sounded and she looked up, horrified to find that Spear Boodle was standing there, eyeing her a little uncertainly.

  “Are you… feeling quite well, Ernestine? You look a little… weird.”

  “I’m… I just need a moment, sir,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  “Yes, well, take all the time you need… to compose yourself,” he said, and after another long moment, finally and mercifully left the room.

  She sank into her chair. This was probably the end, she thought. Her big break and she’d blown it, just because she wanted to make a lasting impression. Well, she sure had impressed him. He’d probably never forget.

  And she was trying to come up with another spell to break the effect of the first two when a fruit fly started buzzing around her head. Annoyed, she waved it away, but it insisted on landing deftly on the tip of her nose.

  For a moment, she peered at it, and was surprised to find it had a face!

  She shrieked out her surprise and uttered a spell in the process. Instead of either returning her own face to its customary expression or removing the fly from her nose, she suddenly felt herself shrinking and turning about the size of the fly. Oh, God! What had she done now!

  And it was then that she discovered it wasn’t a fly at all, but a small human being, dressed in black from head to foot, and regarding her with an amused expression.

  They were both perched on the table now, she sitting on her tush on her yellow legal pad, and he standing on the mahogany table, looking dapper.

  “What in the hell did you do to your face?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “And what di
d you do to me?!” she shot back, annoyed.

  On top of everything else that had happened, she so didn’t need this!

  “I didn’t do a thing. You did this,” he pointed out. “I merely anticipated your capacity for casting terrible spells and acted accordingly.” He wagged a reproachful finger. “Your grandmother won’t be too happy about this, Ernestine Flummox. In fact it isn’t too much to say she’ll be furious.”

  “Who are you? And how do you know so much about me?” she demanded.

  “Who I am doesn’t really matter, Ernestine, but my message for you does. So listen to me very carefully. There’s a man out there who’s going to try and steal your powers—what little powers you possess—and you need to find him and stop him before he has a chance to do so. You and you sisters have to find this man and take his powers before he can do the same to you.”

  “What the heck are you talking about?”

  “Just ask your sisters. They’ll know,” he said curtly.

  Then, with another shake of the head and a chuckle, he simply vanished!

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” she yelled. “Don’t leave me like this!”

  “Don’t worry, Ernestine,” the man’s voice suddenly boomed around her. “Fortunately for you your spells lack staying power! Soon you’ll be fine!”

  And sure enough he was right. After another minute or so, Ernestine found herself growing back to her usual size, and when she glanced into the window, she saw that her expression was back to normal as well. Phew!

  And then suddenly her phone started ringing off the hook, as both Estrella and Edelie apparently needed to have a word with her. Urgently!

  Chapter 9

  Cassandra frowned when the doorbell rang. She had a keen sense of foresight, and this visit wasn’t something she’d foreseen. But then, of course, there were always things that slipped past her vigilance. Like the fact that all three of her girls were out doing magic today, even though they knew very well they shouldn’t. She hadn’t seen that coming. Or the fact that Estrella would lose her job. She wasn’t too worried about that, however, for she knew Estrella was clever and resourceful enough to land another. And what she also hadn’t foreseen was that there were certain aspects of the triplets’ day that seemed… blurred. Obstructed. As if they weren’t letting her get the full picture of what was going on with them. But, as with Estrella, she didn’t worry about that either, as the girls had a right to their privacy.

  She’d been taking care of them for so long that sometimes she forgot they weren’t children anymore but adults. Young women perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, even if they didn’t always know it themselves.

  She put down her garden shears and wiped her hands on her gardening apron, then set foot for the house. Her garden was her whole life, and whenever the weather permitted she was outside, pruning her gardenias or carefully submitting new and exciting species to the earth. Species she concocted in her own greenhouse, far away from the world’s prying eyes.

  She hung her apron on the hook behind the kitchen door, smoothed her clothes, patted her hair, and strode through the house and into the hallway. Through the rippled glass of the door she could see a person patiently awaiting her, and even before she opened the door, she knew who it was. She was pleased, actually, that he’d returned, his intentions obvious.

  “Ronny,” she said therefore the moment she opened the door. “It’s so nice to see you again. And this time without the tools of your trade, no less.”

  The thief seemed surprised at this warm welcome. Whatever he’d been expecting, it most certainly wasn’t this. But he quickly recovered, and gave her a lopsided grin. “I, um, I wanted to apologize about last night, Mrs…”

  “Beadsmore,” she said pleasantly, pressing his proffered hand. “Cassandra Beadsmore. Why don’t you come in, Ronny?” she added as she stepped aside.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, still looking slightly ill at ease.

  He wasn’t all bad, she knew. Like many people he’d made a lot of bad choices, but with a little nudge he could be put on the right path. And she liked to think that perhaps last night had been exactly the nudge he needed.

  She led the way into the parlor and bade him take a seat. He accepted hesitantly, his rather scruffy appearance quite out of sync with her own. He was wearing frayed jeans and a tattered old Giants sweatshirt. Cassandra, on the other hand, even though she’d been gardening, was looking spiffy, if she said so herself. She was dressed in her favorite pair of beige slacks today, along with a Louise Ferron blouse, accessorized with the earrings she always wore, the ones with the three hoops of platinum, representing her three girls.

  The earrings appeared to fascinate Ronny, as his shifty eyes kept returning to them, his hands worrying his ratty beard as he did so. She wasn’t surprised. To a professional thief like him the trinkets were quite enticing.

  He appeared equally impressed with the parlor, which was one of her favorite rooms in the house. She’d had some help from Estrella when furnishing it, in bright and cheerful colors and a floral motif that extended throughout the entire house. The windows were stained glass but allowed a lot of light to stream in, and in the evenings the myriad of small lamps lent the room a cozy happy atmosphere that her frequent guests had all profusely complimented her on. Ronny, too, was looking around appreciatively.

  “Nice place you got here, Mrs. Beadsmore.”

  “Thank you. Do you care for a cup of tea? Some homemade cookies?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He seemed grateful for her courteousness. It probably didn’t happen very often that a home he’d burglarized was opening its doors to him with such a display of hospitality, but then Cassandra believed in offering a person a second chance, and even a third and a fourth.

  Moments later, she returned carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, spoons and a plate of homemade chocolate chip and almond cookies.

  “So, what brings you here, apart from apologies?” she asked as she poured two cups of chamomile tea.

  “Well, I did what you told me to,” he said, devouring a cookie whole and making appreciative sounds, “and apologized to all those people. And you were right. I don’t understand how I could ever have done those horrible things. Breaking into those homes and taking what wasn’t mine…” He eyed her with sincere contriteness. “Thanks to you I see the error of my ways now, Mrs. Beadsmore, and I want to make amends somehow. Put things right.”

  “Sometimes we need but a moment of reflection to know we’re going down the wrong path,” she pointed out as she took a dainty sip from her tea.

  “Well, you were right. I traveled down the wrong path for far too long.”

  “And now you feel you’re on the right track again, is that right?”

  “Absolutely. After the lesson you taught me, Mrs. Beadsmore, there will be no more burgling houses for this guy.” He laughed. “Not after that tail and that nose…” He faltered, giving her a furtive look of genuine trepidation.

  “Don’t worry, Ronny,” she said, leaning forward and touching his knee reassuringly. “There won’t be any repetition of what happened last night.”

  He laughed a little too loudly at that. “Phew. That’s a load off my mind.”

  “Did you return the stolen items from the other homes like I told you to?”

  “I did,” he said, nodding. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly did. Even though they called the cops on me and had me arrested, I still paid them back in full.”

  “Yes, well, that was to be expected,” she said mildly. Not everyone was as forgiving as she was, she meant to say. “I’m sure that if you display the same sense of remorse before the judge, he’ll give you a second chance.”

  “Well, they didn’t keep me locked up, so that’s a good sign right there.”

  “If your case ever comes to court…” She eyed him with a twinkle in her eye. “I could be a witness in your defense, Ronny. Would you like that?”

  He looked up, greatly surprised. �
�Yeah. Oh, yeah, I would like that very much, Mrs. Beadsmore.”

  “Please, just call me Cassandra,” she said, tapping his knee smartly. “You know what, Ronny? I think you and I are going to be very good friends.”

  He gave her a big grin. “That would be so great… Cassandra.”

  He fished in the pocket of his jeans and came out with a small purple velvet pouch of some kind and laid it on the side table between them.

  She eyed it with rising curiosity. Somehow there was something off about the scene, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. “What’s that, Ronny?”

  “This,” he said softly, “is a small token of my appreciation. Just to show you how I feel about what you did to me last night. And to say sorry for trying to burgle your place.” Then, without awaiting her response, he opened the pouch. Three stones rolled onto the table, startling Cassandra. They were yellow, blue and red stones, and she knew them very well indeed.

  “What—what are you doing?” she asked, suddenly feeling faint.

  He was eyeing her intently now. “Like I said, Cassandra, these are a present to you. And my way of paying you back for turning me into a pig.”

  Her hands were trembling as they reached up to her face, which was flushed. It was hot in here. Too hot, and her heart was beating way too fast. The stones were already exerting their power over her, and her mind had turned blank, her powers fading quickly. She had to remove herself from their influence. So she jerked up from the chair and staggered to the door.

  “Oh, don’t leave now, Cassandra,” Ronny taunted. “Let’s shoot the breeze some more, shall we? Good friends like us? Let’s talk about my rehabilitation. Or, better yet, about those three girls of yours. Estrella, Ernestine, and Edelie, right?” He laughed, a nasty, mocking sound.

  Cassandra never reached the door, for even before she’d put one foot in front of the other, she fell to the floor, hitting her head against the corner of the ornate cabinet that held pictures of her three granddaughters. Three picture frames fell down as she hit her head, dropping down on top of her.