Stone Cold Witch (Nightshade Paranormal Cozy Mystery Book 3)
Page 16
The song ends, and he escorts me back to our table. I sit down slowly across from him, somewhat breathless after the lovely dance I had just enjoyed. Who knew an uptight guy like Val had moves? Honestly, I’m pretty impressed by him right now. I can tell my cheeks are burning red; I’m sure he notices. A ghost arrives at our table carrying a tray, and two glasses of wine are placed in front of us. I pause, realizing Val is having blood, not wine. I shake it off, and we clink our glasses together, really just toasting to each other tonight.
Suddenly, the night wind starts to howl. Every candle on the balcony is blown out in a single gust of wind. “Jeez, it sure is windy tonight,” I say, but Val’s eyes are wide with nerves.
“I don’t think that’s just regular wind, Suzy,” he says.
I look up. A dark cloud has formed overhead, and it’s started to swirl. It looks like a tornado is forming right above our heads. “Everyone—get inside!” one of the ghouls shouts.
Then, just as everyone rises from their seats, there is this loud, maniacal laughter heard from above. A swirling, black cyclone dips down in the center of the enormous balcony, and it forms a shape. Suddenly, there is a man standing before us in a black cloak as the wind slowly starts to die down, the dark clouds remaining above us.
I feel Val grip my arm as he glares down tonight’s intruder. He spins around and looks dead at me. I feel as though I have felt his presence once before, but I do not recognize the face. He looks at his hands, grinning. “Ooh, it’s good to have my own flesh and blood again,” he says and then looks right at me. His gaze causes me to tense up. “Suzy.” he exclaims. “What a pleasant surprise. Long time no see!” He breathes deeply. “You and I are going to have so much fun.” A bolt of lightning strikes, and he disappears in a cloud of black smoke. The wind stops, and the dark clouds disperse. Slowly, the crowd of guests come out of their hiding places, and there is a frightening murmur throughout the crowd of people whose evening had just been ruined by the eerie appearance of some man none of us have ever seen before.
My heard is beating a million miles an hour. Val turns to me, wrapping his arms around me. “Who was that? What is going on, Suzy? Did you know him? Are you all right?”
My hands are shaking. I am far from all right. It had taken me a moment to realize what was happening, but I know exactly who that was. “It’s him,” I say, my voice shaking. “That was him. He’s back. Night Shadow is back!”
AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading Stone Cold Witch and Suzy’s adventures in Nightshade! If you have a moment, I’d really appreciate it if you would take the time to leave a review on Amazon.
Please join my newsletter to be informed of my new releases as soon as they’re out:
Lori Woods’ Newsletter
You can find me on Facebook HERE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Growing up, Lori Woods secretly hoped she’d turn into a witch when she’d become twenty one.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. So much for saving all those broomsticks! However, Lori decided that she’d pour all her wishes for paranormal mystery and adventure into her books, and live vicariously through her characters instead.
ALSO BY LORİ WOODS
Witch You Were Here
Witch Spells Trouble
CHAPTER 1: WİTCH YOU WERE HERE
“Ouch, Snowball!” I call out sleepily as I feel my black cat sink her claws into me. “Gee, why can’t you sleep on the bed or floor like a normal cat?” I ask as I lift her off my stomach. As I hold the big ball of jet-black fur, light scuffling sounds reach my ears from downstairs.
Rats! God, I hate rats.
But living way out in the country, I have come to expect the varmints to find a way inside the house with the first frost of October. Snowball was supposed to be the answer to my annual rat infestation that seemed to occur just before Halloween.
“Go downstairs and do your duty,” I say, letting go of Snowball. “If you don’t start catching rats, it’s back to the pound!” I whisper, not wanting to frighten the rats into scampering into some hiding place before Snowball can get downstairs.
However, from the faint glow of the nightlight in the hall, I see Snowball sitting just outside my bedroom door, cleaning her paws in total distain for my wishes. Even when the faint sounds come again, the big black cat just pauses a moment to listen before returning to the more important matter of gathering material for a big hairball to deposit later on my bed.
Okay, I can’t have rats nibbling on any of the expensive herbs I gathered yesterday. I throw my feet over the side of the bed, feeling for my bunny slippers with my toes, not wanting to touch the cold oak floor. My toes find the slippers. A moment later I’m standing beside the bed, cocking my head to the side to hear better.
The sound comes again. Rats or footsteps? I’m not sure. The thought of a human intruder sends a chill down my back. Suddenly I am questioning moving so far out from town.
Decisions! Should I call 911 or go down and investigate?
“No! No! I can’t dial 911!” I mumble under my breath. I mean I could. My cell phone is on the nightstand beside the bed. But if I did, Charley Morton would rush out and tell me for the thousandth time why I should move back to town instead of living out here in these spooky old woods. Which really means, come live in town so I can see you more often and ask you for a date every day instead of only when you come grocery shopping.
It isn’t that Charley is ugly or anything like that; it’s just that I don’t like people in general. To me it’s as though I am a cat and other people are dogs; friendly dogs, but still not the same species as I am. Okay, I’ll admit I’m a tiny bit weird.
The sound again! I glance over at Snowball. She seems to know I’m looking at her because she pauses and glances up at me with a sorry I can’t be bothered look. Rat or intruder, I’m getting mad. I walk over to the clothes closet to grab a broom—the best weapon for a nasty rat.
I turn the handle on the closet door, knowing how loudly it squeaks, and finally get it open without it sounding like I’m opening a rusty gate. What greets me is my collection of unused brooms. The reason they are unused is that I can never choose one. It’s as though each time I open the closet to get a broom to sweep up some mess I’ve made, I can never pick one of the two dozen that are stored there.
Okay, it’s something I’m working on, this fetish with brooms! I got a stack of books on psychology from the library to prove it. I haven’t ever told anyone about the broom fetish. People in Potamca think I’m strange enough as it is, and I’m not going to add wood to that fire.
I hear the sound again.
Just reach in and grab one! That way you don’t have to make a choice! Only my eagerness to confront the rat/intruder gives me the determination I need to close my eyes and reach into the closet. My fingers touch the smooth handle of a broom. No, not that one! I move my hand, my fingers brushing lightly against the handle of another broom. “Just grab one!” I mumble.
I reach out blindly and close my hand around a rough, unpainted handle. It’s my favorite, I think as I open my eyes and see the homemade broomstick I bought at the flea market. It’s the one I put on the porch along with the jack-o-lantern at Halloween.
The sound from downstairs, louder this time, causes me to grab the antique broom with both hands and creep toward the door. Snowball glances up but refuses to move so I have to step over her.
Armed with the broomstick, I slowly make my way to the stairs, listening intently as I walk. I place my foot on the first step. The squeak sounds like a gunshot to my ears. Good! Whatever it is will be long gone before I get downstairs, I think as I descend, taking exaggerated steps like a cartoon character in a creepy cartoon. I feel silly walking this way, but it does keep the stairs from creaking so much.
Where is the sound coming from? I ask myself once I have both bunny slippers on the solid oak floor at the bottom of the stairs. Library! Good! At least the rat isn’t after my expensive herbs. I don’t c
are if he munches on my stack of Regency romances. I buy them by the box at the flea market.
I pull the broomstick back, ready to strike as I approach the library. The door is wide open. I’m sure I closed it, I think. I keep it closed all the time because once Snowball peed on the overstuffed Queen Anne Chair beside the lamp, where I usually sit to read, and I have tried everything known to humankind and still can’t get the scent of cat pee out of the chair.
Knowing that a rat couldn’t have opened the door to the library, I pause at the threshold. To do or not to do?
I decide I’ll reach in with my free hand and flick on the light, which I hope will startle whoever it is. This will give me a chance to bang them with the broom.
From thought to action! I move forward, reaching inside with my left hand, searching for the light switch. My fingers locate the switch. I take a deep breath and turn on the light.
The shadow of a man is holding my grandmother’s tin drinking cup in his black hand as he examines it.
I scream!
The shadow turns his head toward me. Red glowing eyes stare at me. Goosebumps race down my spine as I feel an evil presence more powerful than any I’ve ever encountered. But suddenly I’m filled with anger. A part of me is horrified as I run toward the shadow man with my broomstick raised like a baseball bat.
The figure seems shocked that I would dare confront him. He takes a step in my direction and then suddenly seems to notice my weapon raised to strike. As I swing the broomstick like I was taking batting practice, the shadow shrieks in terror and runs toward the far wall. I expect to hear a thud. Instead, I am shocked to see him pass right though the wall and disappear!
Suddenly my anger is replaced by fear. I try to wrap my mind around what just happened as I slump down in the Queen Anne Chair. I reach down and pinch the hand holding the broomstick hoping I will suddenly wake up.
“Ouch!” I cry out.
Oh God! It’s not a dream! It really happened.
“Help me! Help me!” a tiny voice calls out.
I spring out of my chair with my broomstick raised, ready to strike.
“Who said that? I know someone is there. I don’t like people playing jokes on me! Who’s there?”
Still holding the antique broomstick, I run around the house, flicking switches until every light in the house is burning. I look in every room but don’t see the shadow man. I examine the wall that he vanished into but see no signs that something passed through it.
I see Snowball leisurely walking into the library as though to check out what’s causing all the fuss. Suddenly, her back arches and she screeches pitifully before she races out of the room. Her cowardice is infectious. My knees are shaking so much I have to sit back down. I find myself hugging the broomstick and am astounded that I suddenly feel protected.
“This is too much,” I say aloud and try to lean the broomstick against the lamp table, but can’t make myself let go of it. “Wow, I’m going to have to buy more psychology books next time I go to town. I’m losing my mind.”
To Be Continued…
Witch You Were Here
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Description
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
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Lori Woods
Chapter 1: Witch You Were Here