by Temple Hogan
Table of Contents
Title Page
Witches of Three: Philomena Copyright © 2014 Temple Hogan
Book Description
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
Also Available from Resplendence Publishing
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Witches of Three: Philomena
A Witches of Three Story
By Temple Hogan
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Witches of Three: Philomena
Copyright © 2014 Temple Hogan
Edited by Delaney Sullivan and Liza Green
Cover Art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-745-2
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: February 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Philomena, or Phil as she’s known to most, is the oldest of three sisters who just happen to be witches. Phil is the one who always attracts the worst sort of man until the day Beck Crawford walks up on her porch. To say Phil had the hots for him was like saying Old Faithful let off steam occasionally. She was sorely tempted to use her witchy powers to get him into her bed, but that wouldn’t have been fair, would it?
At any rate, the problem is solved, much to her satisfaction, and now the only thing Phil has to worry about is proving Beck didn’t kill his wife.
As always to my wonderful husband, who is patient as a man can be with a woman who lives in another world with people he’ll never meet. To my terrific editor, Delaney, who always makes me feel like I’m a good writer, then sets about to make me one. And finally, to every last awesome writer in my writer’s group. You all inspire me.
Chapter One
Philomena Spencer hated housework. It was boring and frustrating and repetitious, but if one didn’t want to live in one’s own filth, one must do what was necessary, especially if one’s picky sisters were coming for lunch. She raised a finely arched eyebrow and regarded the beautiful old Victorian mansion she’d inherited from her Aunt Agatha. Curtains of pure sunlight poured through the wide arched windows, lighting the rooms and casting a shine on the rich mahogany furniture pieces. Dust motes danced in the warm air, reminding her she had work to do. Cleaning, such a waste of time and energy.
Sighing in resignation, she waved her hand and immediately, things began to move around the room. Remnants of breakfast disappeared from the battered table, which had stood in the kitchen for a hundred years now, its top worn smooth by countless scrubbings and by the elbows of untold numbers of brawny Spencer men who’d gathered around it. The carpet sweeper raced across the room and into the hall, dust cloths and bottles of furniture polish headed for the living room and beyond. She nodded her head and a clean cloth with matching napkins spread itself over the table. She walked from room to room humming to herself, ‘a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down’. The only saving grace in cleaning was that she felt a little bit like that English nanny from her childhood. What was her name?
When all was as she wished, she clapped her hands and brooms, sweepers and cloths disappeared back into the pantry. She dusted her hands together in satisfaction. Her sisters wouldn’t have approved of her actions; they preferred to be as normal as possible, or at least Sera did, but Phil figured if she had the power, why not use it? It wasn’t her fault she was a witch.
She glanced at the steeple clock on the mantel. She had plenty of time to change out of her shorts and into something elegant and flowing. A sound came from upstairs, and she pulled down her brows in irritation. As long as she was cleaning house, she might as well finish the job. She walked into the entrance hall.
“Oh, there you are,” a voice called from the upper landing. Her long-term houseguest and part-time lover, Killian Hampton, a made-up name if ever there was one, otherwise known as Killie, leaned over the railing in his all-together. “I wondered where you went.”
“I was cleaning,” she said with a hint of one who’s done her duty. He was such a pretty boy with his long lean body, black curly hair and eyes like black olives.
“Why?” he asked in the tone most used by men who think women are strange and beyond logical understanding.
“I’m having company,” she answered, gripping the newel post and gazing up at him. From this angle, everything about him looked slightly diminished, especially that part of his anatomy he most prized. She’d once found him mildly attractive, but that had long since changed.
“Christ,” he said with some irritation, scratching his hairy balls. “I wanted you to come back to bed for a romp.”
“Sorry, no time,” she answered. “And no interest.”
“Well, when will you be interested again?” he demanded with an air of petulance.
“I’ll let you know.” If ever, she thought silently.
“Christ, do you know how long it’s been? I feel like a damned eunuch.” He continued to complain and to scratch.
“And about as sexy,” she muttered then raised her voice so he could hear. “You must get dressed and be on your way.”
“Where am I supposed to go, and why do I have to leave my own home, just because your uptight sisters have deigned to come?” He had that stubborn look that said he was going to balk.
“You know my sisters don’t like you.”
“I don’t like them, either,” he snapped. He’d continued to scratch his balls and his ass throughout this interchange and she wondered why she’d ever thought he was sexy.
“You could go to Marlene’s,” she suggested.
“You know she has a thing for me,” he snarled.
“Yes, I know. I thought you might want to stay with her for a while.”
“What? Are you trying to boot me out of my home?” He glared down at her. “Besides, she’s not as good in bed as you are.” His glare turned into a coaxing smile, which had long since lost its effectiveness if it had ever had any. Besides, the fact that he even knew this about Marlene meant he’d been unfaithful to Phil.
“I think I’ll just stay in bed today,” he said, turning back toward his bedroom.
“Sorry, that won’t work,” she said firmly. She’d known getting him out would be no easy task. “You’ll have to go. You know my sisters don’t observe boundaries or locked doors.”
“When should I come back?” He was much aggrieved.
“You shouldn’t,” Phil said quickly. “Marlene said she’ll put you up for a while. Plan to stay there.”
His fleshy mouth thinned, and his dark eyes turned hard. “So you are booting me out?”
“You could say that.”
“After all I’ve done for you?” he whined. “You owe me.”
“After viewing my credit card and bank balances, I think you’ve been well paid.”
“Hello, Philomena?” a voice called from the front porch
.
Phil jerked around in time to see her siblings, Charlene, who only answered to Charlie, and her younger sister, Seraphena. Now, Charlie and Sera breezed in the front door with the air of frequent visitors who knew they were welcomed even if not always wanted.
“We’re here right on time. I hope you’re ready for having company,” Charlie said then stopped and stared.
Phil knew what she was gawking at and closed her own eyes, shaking her head slightly.
“Good morning, ladies,” Killie said coming down the stairs with all the aplomb of the best-dressed male model of the year, although he hadn’t a stitch on. He paused beside Phil and draped an arm around her shoulders. He made no effort to hide his nakedness.
“You remember my friend, Killie,” Phil said faintly.
“I certainly do,” said Sera, blushing fifty shades of red.
“Killie was just leaving,” Phil said, glaring at him pointedly.
“Like this?” he asked, feigning surprise.
Phil had a wonderful urge to send him to the far reaches of the universe, but she practiced monumental restraint and smiled sweetly.
“You’ve made your point and shocked my guests,” she said with exaggerated patience, “please get dressed and go. Marlene is waiting for you.”
“As you wish, madam,” he said in his best imitation British accent.
Charlie and Sera stood at the bottom of the stairs, still gawking as Killie turned and slowly made his way upstairs, the muscles in his buttocks flexing becomingly. How did he do that, Phil wondered, and focused on the memory of his farting in their bed and scratching various nether regions without hesitation when the mood struck him.
“Let’s go into the drawing room,” she said and led the way. She hoped her sisters followed. Surely, Killie had reached the top of the stairs by now.
“I see you’ve done some cleaning,” Charlie commented, looking around the room.
“I have my standards,” Phil said needled by the comment, but she was determined not to be pulled into a pissing match with Charlie.
“I was merely saying how good the place looked,” Charlie said with a glint in her eye. She’d drawn first blood.
“Would you like some sun tea?” Phil forced her voice to remain light and friendly. They were, after all, her sisters not her adversaries, although sometimes she wasn’t sure there was a difference.
“I’d love some,” Sera said quickly.
She always tried to act as an intermediary between Phil and Charlie. Phil was glad she hadn’t risen to Charlie’s bait. Displaying an air of serenity she’d long since affected after a lifetime with Charlie, Phil poured out glasses of iced tea and handed them around.
“Ugh, it’s sweetened,” Charlie said, sipping and making a face.
“I thought you could use a little sweetening today,” Phil snapped, forgetting her resolve not to let Charlie needle her. Then catching a glimpse of Sera’s crest-fallen expression, she forced a smile. “I can make you some plain with tea bags.”
“Never mind,” Charlie said grudgingly and gulped down some more of the cold beverage. “The place looks good,” she said looking around. “Do you have a cleaning woman come in or do you do it yourself?”
“Myself, of course,” Phil answered. She was aware of bumps and knocks coming from the upstairs bedroom. The doorbell sounded. Phil ignored it as Charlie delivered another one of her barbs.
“Don’t look so innocent,” she said with a grin. “I know you used your powers to clean. You did that when you were a girl at home even when Mums told us not to.”
“You needn’t be so sanctimonious, yourself,” Phil said tartly. “You did it, too, but you were sneakier about it than I was.”
“I was not sneaky!”
“Always,” Phil said serenely. She knew her calmness would enflame Charlie even more.
“Isn’t someone going to answer the doorbell?” Sera asked in a mild tone.
Phil set down her glass and stalked to the hall. Her sisters followed as she’d known they would. Just plain nosey! Especially Charlie. In a fresh spate of irritation, she threw open the door to a tall, strange man standing on her porch.
“What do you want?” she demanded with all the irritation she felt toward her sister.
At that moment, there was a sound on the stairs behind her and she turned to see Killie descending, carrying two suitcases, which was two more than he’d had when he’d arrived. Thankfully, he was fully dressed in a tailored silk suit that screamed money—Phil’s money—an embroidered French cuff shirt with gold links and what looked like a Hermes tie. His luggage was new and looked to be Louis Vuitton.
“He cleans up pretty,” Charlie said, glancing at Phil. “You do right by your men.”
“What I need is a man to do right by me,” Phil said from between her teeth.
Suddenly, one of the cases Killie was carrying slid from his hand, bounced down the stairs and landed on the tiled floor. The lid flew open and a number of silver and gold items spilled across the floor. Everyone stared at the pile of loot and contemplated what it meant.
“That’s Aunt Hattie’s ring,” Sera cried going to retrieve that bauble from beneath the hall table where it had landed. Picking it up, she turned to face the man on the stairs, her face filled with dismay. Killie hadn’t even the grace to look guilty.
“You can’t have this. It doesn’t belong to you,” Sera said gently.
“I’m taking it to pay for my services,” Killie said, tossing his head like some proud matador. The movement was meant to appear regal, but came off looking cheap and melodramatic.
Phil glanced back at the man in the doorway. He was tall and well built, good-looking in an everyman kind of way, with broad shoulders, blond hair and gold fuzz over the lower half of his face. His feature were strong, his eyes were blue and hooded at the moment, his expression closed and noncommittal. Obviously, he had no wish to witness a domestic problem. To make matters worse, a cab pulled into the circular drive and began blowing its horn loudly and continuously.
Behind her, Charlie and Killie had engaged in a shouting match, while the horn kept tooting.
“Maybe I should come back,” the man on the porch said.
Phil didn’t answer, twisting her head one way to observe the altercation in the hall and the other way to take in the obnoxious cab with its blaring horn, which seemed to be stuck.
The other case Killie had been carrying bounced down the stairs and flew open. Charlie screamed with laughter. Killie cursed and ran after the case, tripping and sprawling among his loot.
“Stop it,” Phil cried, putting her hands over her ears, looking around and not knowing what to do first to end the noise. The cab, of course, with it’s obnoxious noise. She bobbed her head and the horn fell silent then she turned back to the melee in the hall.
Killie struggled to his feet.
“Ill-gotten gain,” Charlie admonished him, shaking her finger before his nose.
“My God, Phil,” Charlie remarked. “He’s taken all your silverware. You would have had nothing to serve us lunch with.”
“You bitch,” Killie shouted, his voice going thin and high.
“Don’t call me names,” Charlie ordered.
“You don’t want to take these things,” Sera said in a gentle, perfectly logical voice. “You’re a better man than this.”
“He’s a thief, is what he is,” Charlie said.
“Get away from me,” Killie growled and bent to repack the cases with the silver and gold items.
“Don’t bother doing that,” Charlie said. “I’m a policewoman and you’re under arrest.”
“You can’t arrest me, you crazy bitch,” Killie said. “You’re not a policeman yet.”
“Sorry, pal, you haven’t been paying attention,” Charlie said, taking out a pair of handcuffs from the straw carryall over her shoulder. “I’ve graduated at the top of my class and am now a full-fledged policewoman. And it’ll give me great pleasure to make you my first collar
.”
“You can’t. You’re off duty,” he sneered.
“I’m always on duty. I can make an arrest any time. Right here, right now.” She advanced toward him.
“You come near me with those and I’ll clock you one.” To demonstrate his intentions, Killie doubled up his fist and shook it at her.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Charlie said just before Killie socked her in the eye.
Phil felt something brush past her and suddenly the man who’d rung the doorbell was there, grabbing Killie by the lapels of his expensive suit. A large fist flashed and Killie was on the floor, while a silver teapot and a soup tureen rattled out of his way.
“Hit him again,” Charlie cried, swinging her fist.
Phil laced her fingers through her hair and began to pull as she stared, open-mouthed at the scene before her. Why did these things always seem to happen to her? What had made her think today was a good day to oust Killie? Anger swirled through her and she threw all caution to the wind. With a single flicker of her eyelashes, she gathered up Killie and scooted him out of the house, across the porch and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground by the taxi. The driver got out of the front and walked around the car.
“You want I should get his luggage?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at them.
“The gentleman has no luggage,” a strong masculine voice said behind Phil. The strange man walked down the steps. “I’ll help you get your fare into the cab.”
Killie saw him coming and scrambled to his feet, lunged into the backseat and locked the door behind him. The driver shrugged and got back into the cab. With a screech of tires, he drove out onto the road. The last sight Phil had of Killie was his face as he scowled at them through the rear window, shaking his fist and mouthing curses. The cab disappeared down the street.
The house seemed uncommonly quiet. Charlie and Sera walked out onto the porch and the stranger climbed the steps. No one said a word. Phil drew a deep breath.
