A Witch of a Day

by Danielle Garrett

  “We could make a mint,” I said, turning away from the TV screen to consult my orange tabby cat, Boots, who was perched on the bedside table to my right. I sighed. “It’s too bad we’re banished, huh?”

  Boots yawned.

  “Yes, I know. Witch problems, not cat problems.” I swung my legs off the bed, stood up, and stretched my arms over my head as the nightly news reporter for The Witch Wire moved on to celebrity news. She was fangirling all over Petra, the hottest new pop star, who, as it turned out, was also a witch. The entire country was captivated by her, although I suspected that had more to do with her magically enhanced … well … assets, than her singing prowess. Regardless, she was making a splash in both the human and supernatural worlds.

  I, however, was not interested.

  I waved a hand at the cabinet opposite my four poster bed and the TV silenced. The birch doors slid shut to conceal the device. According to the clock that was squished between Boots’ furry rear end and the lamp, it was nearly midnight; I had to be up for work in less than five hours. I scratched Boots’ head and he opened his shimmering amber eyes. “What do you think, Boots? Time to …” I stopped mid-sentence and cocked an ear toward a sudden sound outside my bedroom window that overlooked a carefully cultivated rose garden.

  A scratching sound, followed by two thumps. “What in the Otherworld …”

  Howling winds, scraping branches, and even occasional thunderstorms were not an uncommon occurrence at the Beechwood Manor. The 120-year-old house sat atop a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean and typically suffered damage each year from wind storms and other forces of nature. Normally, I wasn’t fazed by the weather. As an elemental witch, I was in tune with nature and found that extreme weather only enhanced my magic. In fact, some of my favorite potion recipes had been born in the middle of a nice howler. The only time I bemoaned a good storm was if the rain threatened a beloved pair of suede heels.

  It hadn’t been particularly windy earlier when I’d been out for an evening walk around town, but things changed quickly on the coast. But those thumps … those were definitely new.

  A muted thump sounded beside me as Boots jumped to the floor, tail twitching. As my familiar, he fancied himself something of a guard cat and had obviously heard the disturbance outside the window, too.

  “Boots!” I hissed, but all I saw was a tawny-colored rear end snaking through the bedroom door and out into the hallway.

  Boom! I jumped as another loud crash sounded outside my window.

  Who would be out in the flower beds at this time of night? Or, even worse … what?

  I fisted my hands together and marched out the door, following the trail Boots had just taken. The Beechwood Manor was a historic mansion turned B&B, then converted to a safe house for displaced supernaturals. Like myself. Currently, I was sharing the house with a saucy vampiress named Lacey Vaughn, a shifter named Adam St. James, and newcomer named Gary, whom I hadn’t quite puzzled out yet. Of my three housemates, I had a good idea who was most likely the culprit behind the midnight hullabaloo: Adam St. James.

  Despite his name, there was nothing saintly about the man. He was charming, clever, and absurdly good looking. The problem was that he knew it.

  Lost in thought, I didn’t see Boots in the dimly lit hallway until I nearly tripped over him. He growled at the impact but then began to weave around my ankles, rubbing his head against my legs. I conjured a small orb of light to guide us the rest of the way. “Sorry, Bootsie.” He peered up at me and blinked once, looking pointedly at my legs. I groaned as I realized I was about to go outside wearing my hot pink pajama pants with cartoon pineapples splashed across them. Oh, Adam was going to have a field day when he saw them.

  “Come on,” I muttered as the twenty-pound cat continued to circle my legs. With the tip of my slipper, I nudged him out of the way and made a beeline for the front doors of the manor. If Adam was out there causing a ruckus, I had to stop him before someone in the neighborhood got suspicious. The last thing I needed was the cops showing up, nosing around, and asking a bunch of questions.

  The crisp night air bit into the exposed skin on my arms, raising goosebumps as soon as I stepped onto the wrap-around porch. I tugged lightly on the doorknob and the front door closed behind me without a sound. With Boots still on my heels, I crept quietly around the side of the house to where my windows were located and stopped a few paces away from the source of the noise.

  Peering into the night, I realized that I was wrong. It wasn’t Adam poking around the flower beds.

  I froze and quickly extinguished the magic orb of light in my hand.

  The moon was nearly full and provided enough light for me to see that a man dressed from head to toe in black was creeping away from my windows and heading around to the back of the house. He had a flashlight in one hand and was shining it at the foundation of the house.

  My fingers itched and a warm pulse of magic flowed into the palm of my hand, ready to fire off a stunning spell.

  “Stop!” I called out into the night between us. “I have a weapon!”

  Boots meowed loudly to emphasize my threat.

  I rolled my eyes. Perfect. Very threatening. An overweight house cat for backup.

  The man turned around and raised his hands, the beam of his flashlight shooting up into the sky. He sounded slightly panicked as he responded, “Hey, hey, look! I’m unarmed!”

  “Who are you?” I demanded as I folded my arms, magic still at the ready should I need it.

  His gaze darted up and down me and then a sour frown appeared on his lips. “I thought you said you were armed …”

  I shrugged. “Does it matter? Who are you and why are you sneaking around my house?”

  The man eyed me and Boots with a smirk. “I just think one should always be honest.”

  I snorted. Was this guy for real? I cocked my hip and glared at him. “Says the creep sneaking around my backyard at midnight …”

  The man surprised me by chuckling softly. With his hands still in the air, he replied, “All right. Fair point. I’m gonna drop my hands now. Promise you won’t sic your tabby on me?”

  I glanced down at Boots. “What do you think?”

  He mewed and rolled over in the soft dirt.

  “Happy?” I asked, cutting my glance back to the intruder. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to attack.”

  He must have been appeased, because he pocketed his hands and took a few steps closer to us. The pulse of magic in my hand warmed; with a single flick of my fingers, I could stop him in his tracks.

  Not yet, Holly.

  When he was within a few feet of me, I held out my other hand. “That’s close enough,” I warned him. “Now, tell me who you are or I’m going to go call the police and tell them there’s some kind of peeping Tom in the neighborhood.”

  He scratched his chin and a glint of amusement lit his eyes. “That expression always makes me feel bad for guys named Tom …”

  I wasn’t amused. “Who. Are. You?” I spat between gritted teeth. The fatigue from my long day was kicking in. I wanted to get back inside to my warm bed and the sweet comfort of sleep.

  “Easy there, peaches. My name is Nick Rivers. Here.” He reached carefully into his pocket to pull out a card and handed it to me.

  Nicholas G. Rivers

  Private Investigator

  “You’re a PI?” I flipped the card over and ran my finger over the embossed graphic of his initials inside a geometric prism. My heart slammed into my chest but I did my best to suppress the bubbling panic. “Who are you investigating?”

  Certainly the agency hadn’t sent someone to check up on me. Had they? Was Nick a supernatural? He definitely didn’t look like one; he looked more like an accountant. Although to be fair, I have heard that some accountants basically have magical powers … .

  Nick clucked his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn to ask a question. What’s your name?”

  I raised an eyebrow. Was it a trick question? Why wa
s he prowling outside my window in the middle of the night if he wasn’t investigating me? Was he looking into someone else at the manor? It did host a smorgasbord of interesting characters.

  To say the least.

  “I’m Holly Boldt,” I said, not willing to give up any further information until I knew his agenda.

  “Nice to meet you, Holly.” Nick stepped closer, ignoring my previous warning, and reached out a hand for a friendly introduction.

  I ignored him, leaving his hand hanging between us. “What are you doing here, Mr. Rivers?”

  Stubbornly refusing to retract his hand, he gave me another once over. “Come on, Holly. We can be civilized here. Can’t we?”

  “Once you tell me what you’re doing, sure. We’ll be great pals. I always like to affiliate myself with backyard snoops.”

  He chuckled and pocketed his hand. “You’re a tough cookie, Holly. I’m not investigating anyone in particular. On the weekends, I like to take tour groups out to do paranormal hunts.”

  “Hunts?”

  Oh, this was so not good.

  He smiled. “Yeah, you know, go out to supposedly haunted places, tell ghost stories, give people a good scare; that kind of thing.”

  I forced a laugh. “And you think the Beechwood Manor is haunted?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “Obviously not,” I fired back, shaking my head in disbelief and hoping my act wasn’t as transparent as it felt.

  “Hmm. Well, I think it fits the bill,” he grinned.

  “I don’t follow …”

  “I saw this place posted on a directory of suspected haunts and decided I wanted to see it in person.”

  “There’s a directory of haunted houses?”

  Nick grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Huh. Learn something new every day.

  “Anyway, I’m new to the area, working a case, and decided to check out the house for myself first-hand. Turns out, it’s even better than I imagined. It checks all the boxes.” He held up his fingers and ran through the selling points. “It’s old, it has a lot of history, and the biggest thing is that people have died here. Which means there are guaranteed to be some creepy stories to tell. Did you know that?”

  I nodded, setting my mouth in a thin line. “I’ve heard the stories. But, you’re forgetting one thing, Mr. Rivers.”

  “Nick,” he corrected. “And what am I missing?”

  “There are people living here. The Beechwood Manor isn’t some abandoned house for you and whomever you can dupe into taking your tour to go trampling around in.”

  “Right. I get that. Obviously, I was planning to come back during the day to introduce myself and give a formal pitch. You just beat me to the punch.”

  I arched a brow. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”

  Nick chuckled. “Apologies. So tell me, Holly, do you own the home?”

  “It’s a rental,” I said, my words clipped. My patience was tissue paper-thin. One more snarky smile from Nick and he was going to get blasted halfway to the Canadian border.

  “I see. And how long have you been living here? If I may.”

  “You may not.” I felt Boots bump against my legs. He could sense my rising energy levels. “In any case, no one that lives here will allow you and your tour to parade through, so I suggest you run along to the next stop on your hunt. None of us here appreciate strange salesman showing up with something to pitch. Especially not nosy ones who trespass in the middle of the night looking like a stunt man from a spy movie.” I jerked my chin at his all-black attire, which included a thick beanie. Unruly dark hair poked splayed across his forehead under the hem of the hat. Although, considering my neon pajama ensemble, I wasn’t in much of a position to play Fashion Police.

  Before Nick could argue his case further, I turned away, releasing the magic as my hand brushed against the soft cotton of my pajama bottoms.

  “If you change your mind, give me a call. My number’s on my card. I’d cut you in on the admission sales.”

  I sighed impatiently. “Goodbye, Mr. Rivers.”

  Moments later, a pair of boots crunched down the gravel walk and when I stopped to look back, he was stalking down the short driveway that led away from the old servants’ entrance on the side of the house.

  Good riddance. I wasn’t sure which part of the encounter was more insulting; that he had the nerve to skulk around in someone else’s bushes in the middle of the night, or that he made a profit off of spreading what were no doubt lies and embellished tales about supernaturals.

  I waited until I saw a pair of headlights illuminate the elegant circular drive leading to the manor before I relaxed marginally. There were three other houses across the street, all built within the last twenty years, but they were far enough away that the manor still had a private feel, despite being less than a block away from a cul-de-sac off-shoot of the largest subdivision in Beechwood Harbor.

  I watched from the shadows of the flower beds as his sleek car turned around and sped off into the night. With a shake of my shoulders, I released the pent-up anxiety that had bunched in between my muscles. He might be gone for now, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut that told me that Nick Rivers wasn’t the type to give up that easily.

  With a heavy sigh that was a mixture of exhaustion and relief, I went back inside the manor, shut and bolted the door behind me, and then stooped over to pick up Boots. I groaned at the effort of sweeping the twenty-pound beast off the floor and tucked him under my arm.

  “Okay, Bootsie, now we’re officially going to bed.”

  He purred his agreement.

  “A little late for you, isn’t it?”

  I jolted at the voice and saw Posy, the fourth, and somewhat unofficial roommate at the manor. “Oh! Hello, Posy.”

  “Are you just getting in?” Her tone was casual, but her expression was stern. Deep lines furrowed her mouth and gathered between her brows. Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head, wound up just as tightly as she was. Deep down—sometimes really deep—she was a sweet lady. But she had a penchant for nosiness that made it hard not roll my eyes any time she entered a room.

  I offered a simple smile. “No. I thought I heard something outside, but it was just the bushes rustling around. Looks like we’re in for a storm.”

  The stern look disappeared as a gleeful giggle broke through her stony exterior. “Oh, goody. I do love a howler!”

  I nodded politely and hefted Boots against my hip for extra support as I carted him down the hall towards my room. “Goodnight, Posy.”

  When I stopped at my door, I glanced over just in time to watch Posy’s silvery silhouette fade through the wall. “Goodnight, Holly.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “For the last time, Gretta, this is my section of the sidewalk!”

  I suppressed a grin as I stepped around the two angry-looking women. My boss, Peg Holloway, owned Siren’s Song, the best coffee house in town. Gretta McCoy owned the gardening supply shop next door. They paused just long enough to politely nod at me as I crossed in front of them and swung into the coffee shop. Their loud bickering resumed before the door even swung shut behind me.

  “I’ll be right there!” a small voice called out to me from somewhere in the back.

  “It’s just me, Cass.”

  Cassie Frank, my co-worker and closest friend in Beechwood Harbor, popped away from whatever she’d been busy with in the back and flashed me a smile. “Oh, thank goodness.”

  I took my place behind the counter and retrieved my apron from one of the three brass hooks on the wall. “How long has that been going on?” I asked, thumbing over my shoulder to the scene on the front walk.

  Cassie sighed and leaned over the counter. Her thick, wavy brown hair was pulled back in a French braid that fell over her shoulder as she peeked around the ancient looking—excuse me, vintage—cash register and glanced out the large picture windows that graced the front of the shop. “They’re still going at it?” She huffed
and rolled her crystal-blue eyes.

  I grinned. “Pretty passionately from the clip I heard.” I pulled my own long, auburn hair back into a ponytail. “What’s the hot button issue of the day? Parking snafu? Oh, wait, no, I know—it has something to do with our playlist!”

  Cassie giggled and ducked back out of sight when Peg began flailing her arms and gesturing wildly to emphasize whatever point she was trying to make. “No, it’s much more petty than that …”

  “Is that even possible?” I secured my elastic hair band, straightened my apron, and started toward the espresso machine to make my first cup of coffee. Judging by the way the shift was starting, I decided to make it a triple shot.

  Peg and Gretta often reminded me of those rams that live up in the mountains. Every so often they bash their horns together to try to establish dominance. There was always some kind of storm brewing between the two middle-aged women. From what I’d gathered, their rivalry was rooted in their teen years. They’d been classmates in school and competed for everything. Homecoming queen, trophies on the track team, and the attention of the captain of the football team. How they’d come to own businesses right next door to one another was beyond me. I’d never asked for that particular piece of the back story. However it had happened, the close proximity was an evergreen source of trouble.

  “Apparently so,” Cassie answered, coming to stand beside me as I pulled my first two shots of espresso. “Peg is all up in arms because Gretta hung planter baskets all along the sidewalk.”

  I waited a beat for the rest of the story to unfold. “And …?”

  “That’s it,” Cassie replied. “Peg says they’re not hung at the right height and she’s convinced that someone will ‘knock their noggin’, to borrow her phrase.”

  I burst into a peel of laughter that ricocheted through the quiet shop. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. You missed the part where she busted out a measuring tape. Oh, and she called Gretta fun-sized.”

  I winced. “She didn’t!”

  Cassie propped her elbows on the counter and gave me a sidelong glance. “She sure did. So, I wouldn’t expect this battle to blow over for at least another hour. It’s a shame we don’t have popcorn.”