Cursed at First Sight: A Witchy Cozy Mystery (Cursed Coven Cozies Book 1)

by Daphne DeWitt

  Cursed at First Sight

  Cursed Coven Cozies Book #1

  Daphne DeWitt

  Copyright © 2017 by Daphne DeWitt

  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

  Sign Up

  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  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

  Thank You for reading!

  Author’s Note

  Sign up to my newsletter here. If you don’t, there’s a really good chance you won’t know when my next book comes out!

  Visit me on Facebook or on the web at DaphneDeWitt.com for all the latest updates.

  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  Rita Reincarnated

  Twice Baked Murder

  Twice Layered Murder

  Twice Dipped Murder

  Cursed Coven Cozies

  Cursed at First Sight

  Cursed on the Second Date

  1

  “There just has to be something you can do for me,” Mrs. Abernathy said, looking at me through the thickest set of Coke bottle glasses I had ever seen. Like everyone in Cat’s Cradle, Tennessee, it had been a while since I’d seen the old lady. Her hair was a little grayer than I remembered and her wrinkled face had a couple more creases than last time we’d spoken. Still, she had the same kind smile and the same worried eyes.

  Unfortunately, though I wished I could help her, this particular problem seemed beyond my area of expertise.

  “Mrs. Abernathy,” I said, giving her my best ‘let you down easy’ tone. “I’m afraid that--”

  “But you’ve just got to!” she said, her glasses enlarged eyes growing even bigger as she stared at me and clutched her purse tightly in her lap. “Otherwise, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He just keeps staring at me! Every morning, he walks into my yard, and he just stares at me!”

  “Rex?” I asked, running a hand through my unbrushed brown hair and pretending to make notes on the clipboard in front of me. There was nothing for me to write down, of course. In truth, I was finishing a doodle I had started about five minutes after the old woman walked in, but in my experience just the act made people feel better. I looked down at the nameplate on my desk, the one assuring people that - while I was a young-looking twenty-eight - I was every bit the lawyer I needed to be.

  “Of course I’m talking about Rex!” she answered, shaking her head so hard that her Coke bottle glasses started to wobble. “Who else would I be talking about?” She leaned in closer, the wrinkles around her mouth settling into a stern line. “Now I know you’ve spent a long time up north, so maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like. But here in Cat’s Cradle, little lady, we listen to people when they talk to us.”

  I sighed and placed my pen down flatly against the clipboard. Placing one of my hands atop the other, I very slowly and very compassionately tried to explain the reasons she was finding me so useless.

  “I understand you’re upset, and I truly empathize with your plight--”

  “Then why won’t you help me?!” she asked, her hands pressing so hard against her purse that her fingers were white. “Now you listen to me, Malady Norwood. This isn’t how we do things down here. I’d hate to think of how your poor mother would have felt if she’d have lived long enough to see her eldest daughter turn away a neighbor in need.”

  I bit my lip, trying to keep myself calm. It wasn’t every day someone invoked the memory of my mother. In fact, during my tenure in New York City, no one mentioned her even once. I wasn’t Malady Norwood, daughter of one of the most tragic cautionary tales in all of Cat’s Cradle. I was just a person, just like anyone else.

  She didn't see it that way, and I couldn’t necessarily say I blamed her. Cat's Cradle was a mountain town, placed right there in the middle of the Smokies, and as pretty as a picture.

  Not that its beauty had anything to do with it. In Cat's Cradle, like all mountain towns as far as I knew, things ran differently than those in the flatlands.

  Things weren't easy to get to, things weren't easy to get away from and, more than anything, things weren't easy to find out. We were in our own little world in a mountain town. Everyone knew everyone else's business, but that was about it. The rest of the world was more myth than reality. In fact, before I left for New York, I couldn't remember a time when I'd spent more than a few days at a time outside of this place. This mountain was my home, and these people were my people.

  * * *

  That was - more or less - how everyone felt. We were here for each other, whatever we needed. You helped your neighbor in a mountain town because - in a mountain town - your neighbor was all you had.

  Of course, that didn't change anything. As much as I might have wanted to help Mrs. Abernathy, I just couldn't.

  “As I said, Mrs. Abernathy, I wish I could help you. I’m not trying to be nasty, or unneighborly, or anything else. There’s just simply nothing I can do.”

  “But he’s staring at me! Every day Rex comes in my yard - my private property and just looks at me! Isn’t that trespassing? Isn’t it stalking?”

  “Not technically, and I’ll tell you why. Because, Mrs. Abernathy,” I said, standing and trying to keep my voice on as even a keel as possible. “Rex is a dog.” Shaking my head, I rounded the cherrywood desk in my newly furnished office and settled in front of her. “And I don’t mean that in a figurative way. I’m not saying he’s a dog because he’s a bad guy or something. Rex is a German shepherd, Mrs. Abernathy. He’s a literal animal. I’m not sure stalking laws apply.”

  She stood to meet me. She seemed smaller than I remembered, frailer than before.

  “Don’t you think I know that,” she said, peering up at me from over the rims of her glasses. “I’m not here because you’re a lawyer, Malady Norwood.” A smile broke out across her weathered face. “I’m here because of your other family business.”

  Uneasiness broke out in my chest. My family didn’t have another business, but I didn’t need to guess at what Mrs. Abernathy was talking about. It was right there in her smile.

  The fact that my entire family was composed of witches was sort of an open secret in Cat’s Cradle. There had been whispers of it ever since my ancestors came sauntering into town over two hundred years ago. Most of the people around town thought of it as nothing more than ridiculous town gossip. I mean, we were weird with our gothic looking farmhouse and our strange solstice rituals, but witches? That was insane.

  Still, there were people in these parts (mostly the older generation) who knew the truth about the Norwoods of Cat’s Cradle.

  It seemed that old Mrs. Abernathy was one of them.

  “Oh
…” I said, shuffling nervously as the woman stared at me. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I’ve got money,” she answered, loosening the death grip on her purse long enough to open it. “I can pay you.”

  “That’s not the issue,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she replied, swallowing hard. “I want you to cast a spell on that thing. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care what it does. Give the stupid animal wings and a backpack if that’s what it takes to stop it from staring at me.” A new smile broke out across her face. “I know! How much would it cost for you to make Rex think I was a bear? That would keep it turned away.”

  “Look,” I said, pushing my palms outward to stop her tirade. “I’m not going to cast a spell on an animal who hasn’t done anything outside of probably taking a liking to your petunias. It’s not what my family does.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hear that,” Mrs. Abernathy scoffed. “I’m old enough to remember when the Norwoods weren’t so high and mighty, and I promise you it’s not my petunias he’s after.”

  I’m sure you’re old enough to remember a lot of things, I thought to myself. The invention of electricity. When Shakespeare was just a weird kid with a quill and a dream. The Roman Empire.

  I didn't say any of those things, of course. Even though the lady had basically insulted my entire bloodline, I still didn't have it in me to be rude to my elders. I was Southern, after all, and –witch or not - I just didn't.

  “I’m sure you do, ma’am, but times have changed. We’re not riding around on broomsticks and hexing the children. Besides, if you know that my family is full of witches, then you probably know about the other secret we’ve been keeping.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits in her wrinkled head, as if she was trying to think of what I might be talking about. “Do you mean the curses?” she asked, stomping her foot against the newly buffed hardwood in my office. “Because I don’t believe in that kind of hooey.”

  “Of course I’m talking about the curses, ma’am,” I said, looking at the mark her orthopedic had left on my floor, and ignoring the fact that she just admitted to believing in one kind of hooey but not the other. “And, I’m afraid they’re real whether you believe in them are not. That’s sort of the way magic works.”

  I tried to keep my mind clear of thoughts of the curses that afflicted my family. I never liked to think about them if I didn't have to. It was hard, though. It always had been.

  You see, my family weren’t just witches (although we were). We were cursed witches.

  No one in the family really knows where the curses came from. Some people think they date all the way back to the old country, to before we settled in Cat’s Cradle or even America for that matter. Whatever the reason, the hard and fast truth was that-in addition to their powers- every Norwood witch got a curse.

  They came to us on our sixteenth birthdays. When spoiled brats on MTV were getting Bentleys and cakes with diamond tiaras in the center, we were getting things like orange skin, breath that always smelled of burnt rubber, and (in the case of one of my great aunts) an inability to speak a complete sentence unless it rhymed.

  I bet that one got old quick.

  They were always aggravating, but most of them were nothing more than nuisances. Mine on the other hand - was the worst.

  “And another thing,” I added. “The curses often times mess with our magic. I could cast a spell, but there’s no telling what it would actually do to poor Rex.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Mrs. Abernathy said, and though it sounded very harsh coming out of her mouth, I could see the tired desperation in her eyes. She was an old woman. She had been alone since Mr. Abernathy died a few years back, and she seemed to be at the end of her rope.

  “I'm afraid it's not a chance I'm willing to take, though.” I placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her square in the face. “Look, my sister Agnes has a real soft spot for animals. She even has something of a connection to them. How about I send her over there later today to give a Rex a good talking to?”

  “You’d do that?” she asked, looking up at me with a face that looked as though the weight of the world had just been taken off it.

  “Of course I would,” I answered. “Like you said, we’re neighbors.”

  “Oh, thank you, Malady!” she exclaimed. “I always knew you were a good seed. You know, when people say those nasty things about your family, I always say, ‘Well, Malady looks okay at least.'”

  “Um…thanks, I guess,” I said, shooting her a smile.

  “Here,” she answered, reaching into her purse and pulling out a plastic bag full of loose change (and lint). “This was supposed to go to my grandson for his birthday next March, but I’ve got plenty of time to put it back, and I think you’ve more than earned it.”

  “No, no,” I said. Looking at the bag, I was pretty sure I saw a couple of buttons and what looked to be a handful of old jellybeans. “I couldn't take your money.”

  “I have to pay you somehow,” she huffed. “Never let it be said that Roger Abernathy’s widow didn’t pay her debts.”

  I smiled, coming up with a solution that I was sure would make us both happy.

  “Do you still make those delicious pecan pies, like the kind you used to sell during the bake sales when I was in high school? They were so delicious, and I've always wanted to learn. I thought maybe you could teach me. As payment, I mean.”

  Something new passed through her eyes; softness and excitement.

  “Why, I think that would be fine, Malady.” She smiled. “I think that would be just fine.”

  2

  After my less than productive meeting with Mrs. Abernathy, I decided to close up shop and call it a day. It was barely 4 p.m. and Grandma Misty - the official owner of our family-run law firm - always made a point of keeping the doors open until at least six. I was tired though, and just getting back into the swing of things. I had only been back home for a few weeks after all and, though the law firm I worked for back in New York made a 6 P.M. cutoff time look like a vacation, things moved differently down here in Cat's Cradle. It was the South. It was slower, smoother, and less intense.

  Walking the three blocks from the offices of Norwood, Norwood, and Norwood to the looping driveway which led up to my family house, I took a moment to glance around at the scenery.

  Cat's Cradle was a near perfect town. I had thought as much ever since I was a kid. Picturesque with its old Southern flair and charmingly out of date plantation houses, I always knew this was the perfect place for me to call home.

  You might be asking yourself, why then would a woman so content with her surroundings find it pertinent to uproot herself and lug her entire life all the way up the east coast, right to New York City - the most un- Cat’s Cradle-like place in the world.

  Well, there are a couple of reasons for that actually. The first - the only one that mattered - was the common theme in any story worth telling: love.

  His name was Nick. He was a traveling salesman and - when he knocked on the door of my family house with a vacuum brochure in one hand and a smile on his face that would make flowers bloom if he was to aim it just right, I knew I had met the one.

  The only thing was, I didn’t get to have the one.

  Like I said before, Norwood witches are cursed, always have been. My curse was the absolute worst in the history of the Norwood family line, worse even than my great grandmother Rochelle, whose feet would grow too large for any shoe, regardless of size.

  My curse, like my name, was indicative of disaster.

  I couldn't be in love, not even a little, not if I wanted any of the people I loved to be happy anyway. I was a black cat, a walking, talking law degree having, omen of hardship.

  And anytime I made googly eyes at someone, it just got worse.

  When my first ever crush in second grade passed me a note telling me he liked me "more
than hot dogs and cheeseburgers combined," my sister Abigail broke a tooth eating ice cream. Yes, on ice cream. When Mason Blanchard asked me to prom, a circuit had blown in the backroom of my family home and burned down the billiard room. And when I accepted his invitation after a few days of convincing myself nothing bad would happen, a meteor literally hit at the edge of Grandma Misty’s prized petunia garden. We call the crater it left behind Malady's Hard Luck Hole.

  So, when I saw Nick standing there, sending sparks through my body like the firecrackers they light over Lake Happenstance every Fourth of July, I knew my family and friends had seen their better days pass them by.

  Three months of dating was enough for me to know that - when he was transferred to the Big Apple for business - I wanted to follow along. Of course, my sister’s ear infection, my brother Christopher’s broken nose, and the fact that the bridge leading into town unexpectedly collapsed one night (thankfully it was late enough to be empty) certainly helped me make my decision.

  I figured if I got away, if I took a job in New York, then I could continue my relationship with Nate and be far enough away to stop hurting my family and town with my blatant glee.

  It was a great plan…until it all went down in flames.

  At the end of my little experiment, I had ruined things with Nate, my Grandma Misty was laid up with a broken leg, and an unseen (and unexplainable) economic downturn, left our family law firm on the verge of shutting down.