Black Cat Crossing

by Fitz Molly

  “Well, I’m glad she’s home, safe and sound.”

  “Will you be at the Halloween party tonight?” Adam asked.

  “You bet I will. See you then. You should probably try to get some sleep.” Stella walked over and placed a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you for saving me, Stella.” His voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t find any words, so she just nodded. She squeezed him mom’s hand and walked out of the room before the tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Once she reached her car, she called her fiancé. “Hey, how are the boy and the cat?”

  “They’re going to be okay,” she told him.

  “And how about you?”

  She laughed softly. “I’ll be okay, too. I’m sorry to wake you. I just needed to hear your voice. I’m leaving the hospital now and heading home.”

  “Text me when you get there, unless you need to talk. If you do, you can call me.”

  “Okay, thanks. Oh, and one more thing. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Drive safely and text me when you get home. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t. I mean, I will. Oh, you know what I mean,” she laughed. “And don’t forget, we have a Halloween party to go to tonight.” She hung up, feeling happier than she’d felt in a long time.

  Chapter Eighteen -Midnight

  I was home, at last. Adam’s mom gave me food and fresh water then left with the deputy. I’m guessing they went to the hospital to see Adam.

  Adam. My human. My boy. I was curled up on his pillow and I’d never been happier. I took a deep breath, breathing in his little boy scent, and laid my head down. I quickly fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the bed dipped and I smelled the real thing—Adam was home.

  Chapter Nineteen -Stella

  Stella pulled up next to the barn where the Spinney Hills annual All Souls Halloween Party was in full swing. She could hear music and laughter as she entered the building. It was packed. To the left was an apple bobbing station next to a caramel apple booth. To her right was a display of spooky treats and a photo booth, featuring a vampire and a witch. She chuckled to herself.

  She heard someone call her name and saw Pixie waving at her. She made her way through the crowd and joined her cousin at a large, round table. “Where is everyone?” she asked as she sat down.

  “Adam’s mom brought him in his wheelchair, but it’s awfully hard to push over straw and in a crowded room, so Chester’s carrying Adam around to see all the booths and get some food.”

  “That Chester is a good guy,” she said. She saw Pixie look at her strangely, but she decided to play it cool and pretend not to notice. “I didn’t realize there were this many people in Spinney Hills.”

  “There aren’t. But our parties are better than any of the surrounding towns’, so we have people here from all across the county.” There was pride in Pixie’s voice and Stella grinned. Her family had founded Spinney Hills, but her parents had moved to Greveswood when she was a child. Even though the town shared her name, she didn’t feel as connected to it as Pixie apparently did.

  “Hey, ladies, do you mind if we join you?” Chester’s smile was warm, and Stella was genuinely glad to see him. He set Adam down carefully and sat down next to him.

  “Where’s his mom?” Stella asked.

  “She’s talking to the deputy that picked her up last night. She wanted to thank him for bringing Midnight home and taking her to the hospital.” He gestured towards the stage and she could see the woman smiling at the young deputy, who was grinning back at her.

  “Speaking of Midnight, how’s she doing? And how’s Henry?”

  “Follow me,” Pixie said mysteriously. Stella wondered what was going on, but she followed her cousin to a door in the back of the barn that led to a cozy bunkhouse. Pixie gestured towards the fireplace and Stella gasped. Henry was asleep on a cushion in front of the fire. And curled up against his chest was Midnight.

  “Oh my. That’s something I never thought I’d see,” Stella whispered.

  “I know, right? He complained about her the whole time. But now look at them.”

  “It appears the little black cat bewitched Henry,” she grinned.

  They made their way back to the party and Stella was thrilled to see her fiancé had arrived. She walked up behind him and placed her arms around his neck. He turned his head, smiling up at her and she leaned down and kissed him.

  As she sat down next to him, he took her hand in his. “So. Is everything okay?”

  The band started to play the theme from the TV show, “Bewitched,” and Stella laughed out loud. “Yes, my love. Everything is definitely okay!”

  Want More?

  Want more from Stella, Pixie and the rest of the Bewitching the Rich Guy and Pixie’s Magical Mishaps gangs?

  Get started with BOOK 1 A GET WITCH QUICK SCHEME or catch up with the full series HERE!

  Learn more about the author and see her other awesome books HERE.

  Poison Apple Potion

  Nyx Halliwell

  About This Single

  A bad apple is about to ruin Halloween, and my fairytale ending depends on the luck of a homeless black kitten. A fairytale retelling of Snow White!

  Where It Fits

  POISON APPLE POTION can be read as a stand-alone, but chronologically it fits after BEASTLY BOOK OF SPELLS… Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  Runa alerts three seconds before the stranger knocks, coming to her feet, her white ruff snapping to attention and her lip curling in a low growl. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck mimic hers, rising as though electricity is charging them.

  "Down, girl," I tell the wolf-hybrid.

  I suspect it’s Esmerelda from the reaction, but Korbin perched in my open window this morning and let loose a hair raising “caw" before lifting into the lavender shade of dawn.

  The raven is an omen-hunter, a messenger. Since that rude awakening, I've been waiting for the sign his appearance denotes. Upon opening the door, my morning tea still in hand, I understand his warning. Thankfully, it’s not Esmerelda.

  Relief wars with curiosity as I regard the dark-haired stranger on my front stoop. With eyes the color of oak moss, he nods and offers a slightly stunned—if not awed—look. "Er…morning.”

  I get that a lot, thanks to my thick, black hair, violet eyes, and pale complexion. Esme used to enroll me in local beauty pageants when I was a girl, and I hated every moment of them. The ribbons I won went up in flames the day my father died and my stepmother became my enemy in more ways than one.

  My cousin, Belle, has been working her magick to set me up with men on Fairytale Love, a dating site she claims has made over a million successful matches. I assume this is one of the latest to see my profile. Bold of him to show up in person. “Sorry, not interested.”

  “Apologies, then.” His voice is laced with a brogue. Scottish? "Heard you might be in need of an ornamaner. Handyman. Must’ve heard wrong, eh?"

  Yep, a Scot, and a handsome one at that. “Wait,” I say as he turns. “Are you applying for the farmhand position?"

  The Story Cove Pumpkin Festival is this weekend—hayrack rides, corn mazes, a rubber ducky derby, face painting, pony rides, all kinds of handmade crafts, and, of course, food. The festival is known far and wide for the all-town event, and a big draw is my orchard, A Bushel and a Peck. My regular farmhand and jack-of-all-trades, George, is out with a bad back and I’m up to my ears in jobs that need doing.

  The Scot gives a curt nod. "Been on the road a while, but was passin’ through and stopped at the diner. Saw your flyer, asked around. Folks said you’re good people.”

  “Did they now? This time of year, I’m quite popular. Other times, some believe I’m working spells and holding rituals. They’re correct, but I don’t tell them that.”

  Could be he thinks I jest, but his intelligent eyes tell me otherwise. “Could use a place to stay and I'm good with animals.” His gaze goes to Runa.

  The dog wags
her tail. She, too, is taken in by an attractive face.

  Her partner—Ferrin, the wolf who haunts my woods—wouldn't care for it, I bet.

  “The Pumpkin Festival is in two days, and plenty of tourists are already here. The event keeps the farm in the black for the next year, so it’s all-hands on deck. The work is hard, days long.”

  “Name’s Broden. Clan Campbell.” He offers a hand. “I’m no stranger to hard work.”

  His tanned skin and callused hands speak to that. A black kitten peeks around his booted ankle.

  Motioning for him to come closer, I lean down as if to whisper in his ear. His breath catches and my nose captures the scent of forest pine and soap. I pause for half a second, meeting his eyes, dissolving in them. He holds my gaze, doesn’t glance at the slender scar under my left eye that mars my acclaimed beauty. I smile, and as he returns it, I yank out a few strands of his hair.

  He yelps, jerks back. "What’s that about, now?"

  The kitten hisses.

  I make no pretense about being a witch around town, but if he’s only passing through, he may not know it. "Need to check if your intentions are true.''

  Inside, I drop the strands into my cauldron, watching the smoke as it rises. The misty vapor turns green like his eyes.

  True intentions, it appears.

  But there are three flecks of silver threaded in the green. I watch as they spin and dance, representing three secrets our handsome Scotsman is hiding.

  Everyone has skeletons in their closet, confidences and private matters that are no one’s business. I care little about those.

  Back on the porch, my “you’re hired” has to wait. I find Runa growling, both man and dog facing the drive’s wide horse gate, still closed to the public.

  Esme is there, red lips curling in a smirk. She’s dressed in a long woolen coat to fight off the late October chill. All around her, the grass is touched with hoarfrost, making her dark hair and bold makeup stand out even more. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  My rescue animals, led by Sweet Pea—an Olde English Babydoll sheep—crowd forward at the pasture fence. If loose, they’d be ready to take her on. Broden’s kitten hops through the frosty grass to join them, her black hair spiking along her spine and her tiny mouth issuing hisses.

  I like this cat.

  “Call off your beast.'' Esme's eyes are on Broden even though she’s speaking to me about Runa. Or maybe she’s aware my sheep, pygmy goat, and miniature pony are glaring at her with aggression in their eyes.

  Petty of me, but I enjoy the fact the farm’s animals despise her as much as I do. I don’t hush Runa, but scratch her behind one ear. “Good girl,” I say. To Esme, “What do you want?”

  “Besides everything you stole from me?” Her smirk turns full-blown, red lips against startling white teeth.

  “Get off my property.”

  She rolls her large, dark eyes. “Kidding. I came to offer my help during your busiest season of the year. I heard about George.''

  I laugh out loud. “You’re the last person I’d accept help from.'' How Dad could have ever loved her is beyond me.

  Her face turns serious. "Isn't it time to bury the hatchet, Snow?''

  “You mean the one you sank in my back?" I move to stand next to the Scot. ”I have all the help I need, thanks.''

  He doesn't so much as blink; he and Runa flank me and the other animals move closer as well, the wire fence barely restraining them. The kitten returns to perch next to Broden’s foot.

  "I see." She looks him over and attempts a flirty smile, but it’s still a smirk under the apple-red lipstick.

  I feel him tense slightly and Sweet Pea baas. A soft scoff at our dwarf protectors echoes in the air between us, but my stepmother knows as well as I do she wouldn't stand a chance against even the tiniest—Frost, my silver pygmy hedgehog, riding on the back of Percival, the goat.

  "Well, if you change your mind, silly girl...''

  Waving, she whirls, her black boots clacking on the stones my father laid as a path from the tree-studded drive to the old porch.

  "Over my dead body," I grumble.

  Customers are already pulling into the parking lot, eager to load up on bushels of apples, gallons of cider, and fresh turnovers. I pet Runa's head, nod at Sweet Pea, and face my new farmhand. “Stow your stuff in the barn for now. We'll figure out sleeping arrangements and pay later."

  "Yes, ma' am.” He shifts his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I'm grateful to ye.''

  I tilt my chin at the approaching customers. A mother has brought her two kids, both begging to go to Fairytale Land before they pick out pumpkins for jack-o’-lanterns. An elderly couple has their own totes to fill. "Open the gates, keep everyone off Magick Mama, pick up all her apples from the ground and bring them to the press. Your first lesson starts in ten minutes.”

  "Magick Mama?"

  “The enchanted tree.'' I point west to the hill where my oldest dwarf apple resides, her branches in their zenith overlooking the farm. The sun lights up her beautiful leaves and reflects off the fruit hanging from her. “She's the secret to our success.''

  Curiosity enters his eyes. "Enchanted, huh?''

  “Eek!” A cry and a crash ripple across the place. “Heavens, what is that doing here?"

  Bramble, my manager and baker, has jumped off the path from the store to the house and dropped a half bushel of apples. They roll everywhere. She shakes a fist at an unseen culprit. “You’ve jinxed my day!”

  The black kitten hightails past, heading for the pasture where Sweet Pea and the other rescues have wandered to.

  "Snow!" Bramble cries, glancing my way.

  "Best to keep your pet away from my manager," I tell Broden. “She fears black cats."

  Confusion knits his brows. "The wee one? Not be mine, I’m afraid."

  “You sure?” We help Bramble retrieve apples. “It showed up with you.”

  Broden shakes his head. “I’ve not seen her before. Thought she was yours.”

  One by one, we place the fruit into the basket and Bramble frowns at our new employee. “Either way, she needs to go. No good can come from a black cat being on the premises.”

  As she marches away before I can properly introduce them, I shrug at Broden’s quizzical look. “We should get to work,” I say.

  Chapter Two

  People come from miles away to buy specialty pumpkins, spectacular mums, straw bales, Indian corn, gourds, and cornstalks. We sell apple cider, pumpkin and apple butter, local honey, delicious baked fruit pies, caramel apples, kettle corn, and a variety of fresh apples.

  The big draw is Fairytale Land with a giant pumpkin Cinderella carriage, a cottage with Red Riding Hood’s cape, a “poisoned” apple and elaborate mirror, a golden goose egg, a spinning wheel, and Aladdin’s lamp. There’s also a tiny brick house belonging to three imaginary pigs, and a pond with a mermaid guardian. People toss coins into her waters asking her to grant their wishes.

  It seems half the town descends on us and it continues all day. Some pick their own apples, others prefer to buy bags and cardboard boxes I’ve filled to the brim. Same with my pumpkins–those we’ve harvested and displayed all over the grounds disappear into vehicles, and plenty more customers traipse through the patch to choose their own. Korbin sits on the scarecrow, cawing at them.

  I know nearly everyone and enjoy seeing familiar faces. For many, it’s a yearly affair. Betsy Donovan brings her two boys to do the corn maze and buy caramel apples, and I remember when they were toddlers and sat on the big pumpkins at the gate for a picture. The Grovers load up multiple bushels of apples since Maudie makes her own applesauce and pies.

  Our tiny bakery sells out of cider donuts and fritters before noon. The shelves of apple butter and homemade jam are nearly empty by four. My grandmother Nonni’s cheeks, sport high color from hustling and bustling behind the counter in the store. Poppi moves a little slower, but the customers enjoy the way he takes time to talk to them and calls them by
name. He tells them stories about my dad and how he started this place with a couple of bean seeds and Magick Mama. She was a tiny sapling at the time.

  I still grow a few beanstalks in my personal garden, a tribute to my father, as well as providing food for the table, but the dwarf apple farm and pumpkin patch are the stars of the show.

  As evening advances, more families arrive with kids to run through the corn maze and visit Fairytale Land.

  Bramble is exhausted but still turning out apple bread, pumpkin muffins, and refilling the cider in the refrigerator when I check on her. I’ve got the press going full out, the barnyard animals getting their fill of apples and other veggies folks buy to feed them. Broden is keeping pace with every job I give him and asking for more.

  The late fall weather has been in the sixties all day and I’m sweating from all the physical activity. He looks the same as when he showed up this morning, and smells just as good.

  The kitten has followed him everywhere, although he barely seems to notice her.

  “Black cats are cursed,” Bramble hisses, catching me watching the two of them as Broden loads pumpkins on a cart. “No good can come of having it here.”

  “The color of an animal’s fur has no bearing on their disposition,” I counter. “Black cats don’t bring bad luck and the only curse they carry is from small-minded folks who believe in old-wives’ tales.”

  My manager huffs and goes about her business. Nonni winks at me as she hands change to a shopper and thanks them for stopping by.

  “I never understand why she works for you, Snow,” she says, once the customer leaves “Don’t get me wrong. I know you’re a wonderful employer, but she’s so superstitious and isn’t a believer.”