Witchy Wishes

by Nic Saint

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Those horrid snakes sent Gran to the hospital.”

  “A few measly snakes can’t put a dent in Gran,” I said. “She was faking it.”

  Strel heaved a deep sigh. “This is all very confusing, you guys.”

  I hugged her. “I know it is, Strel. But everything is fine now. Gran is fine—the house is fine—we are fine…”

  I looked up when Sam and Pierre walked into the house. Sam cut his eyes to me, and then made a beeline for us. Uh-oh.

  “And you and Sam are fine,” Strel said, then pecked a kiss on my cheek and said, “Good luck, Edie. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 47

  I gave Sam my best glare. It didn’t even slow him down. The moment he reached me, he swept me up into his arms and pressed a scorching kiss to my lips. I was going to play it cool, but it’s very hard to be cool when you’re being ravaged with so much honest fervor.

  When he finally released me, I could hear bells clinging in the distance, and an angel choir bursting into song all around me. Flowers were even sprouting from the floorboards.

  “I’m so sorry, Edie,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked, touching my lips.

  “I never should have doubted you. It’s just that—the evidence was overwhelming.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m an idiot—a fool—a moron—a jerk!” He gave me his best imitation of a sad-eyed puppy, and I could see he was genuinely remorseful. “Can you ever forgive me, Edelie?”

  I thrust out my hip, tapped my chin thoughtfully, and made a whole display of having to think things through. In my heart I’d already forgiven him, though. The thing is, when you’re going to date a cop, you have to take the good with the bad. The good: the hot kisses, the fervent passion and the hunky energy sweeping you off your feet and wrapping you in a protective blanket. The bad: dealing with that inquisitive and downright suspicious cop mind.

  “I’ll think about it,” I told him.

  He nodded ruefully. “I totally deserve that. Why don’t you let me make it up to you?” At this, he suddenly produced a small ring box from his jeans pocket and held it out to me.

  I gasped, pressing both hands to my face. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I think it’s time I got serious about this. Edelie, I’m not going to insult you by asking you to marry me—I know I don’t stand a chance after my unforgivable and inexcusable behavior—but do you want to wear my ring as a token of my love and affection?”

  He opened the ring box, and when I saw the elegant silver band with the precious sparkly diamond, my heart skipped a beat. A small sigh escaped my lips. The next moment Sam had plucked that gorgeous ring from its bed of velvet and placed it on my finger.

  My sisters came hurrying over, uttering oohs and aahs, and even Gran couldn’t resist taking a closer look at this latest acquisition of the house of Flummox.

  “Oh, Sam. It’s so beautiful,” I said, now melting completely.

  “It used to belong to my grandmother,” said Sam. “It’s actually a family heirloom.”

  “Way to go, Sam,” said Strel, patting the stalwart copper on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, nice save,” Stien commented. “For a moment I thought you were a goner.”

  Sam gave me a rueful look. “I thought so, too.”

  “You’re not in the clear yet,” I announced, but I guess my happy smile must have undermined my position, for Sam took me into his arms again, and then there was more kissing. A lot more kissing, in fact. All around us, cheers rang out, and when Sam released me I saw that Pierre, Fonzie, Jerome, Helmut, Skip, Erick and Flavio were clapping excitedly, and so were Strel and Stien and, of course, Gran, the woman who’d saved the day—as usual.

  The SWAT team, or whatever they were, had left the building, and so had the Slasher, who would spend a long stretch in prison now, wondering what the heck had gone wrong. I watched as Pierre sidled up to Strel, and placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off without a second thought, and Pierre sidled away again, hanging his head.

  He was going to have to put in a lot more effort if he was going to woo my sister.

  All around us, the living room had been restored to its former glory, and so had the house, and when I glanced up at Sam, now beaming with pride, I thought that maybe—just maybe—luck had finally found me, and was whispering a promise of a bright future.

  Epilogue

  We were all seated outside on the deck, basking in a jolly summer sun. For once, we’d had to haul out the large umbrella to provide us with some much-needed shade. The remnants of a great meal sat on the table—dishwashing duties had momentarily been suspended since no one was feeling willing or able to get up and clear the plates.

  The meal had consisted of a nice roast chicken with spring potatoes, and lots of fresh veggies prepared as bright-colored salads. Side dishes had come courtesy of Renée, Erick and Flavio, and even Lucy Peanut had dropped by and treated us to some of the tofu salads she favored. Jerome, Helmut and Fonzie were there, of course, and so were Sam, Skip and Pierre. In fact we’d had to bring out an extra table from the garden shed to provide seating.

  Somehow, though, we’d managed, and the pleasant murmur of conversation flowing back and forth combined with the sumptuous meal now gave me a nice buzz. Nearby, a butterfly fluttered its velvet many-colored wings, a second butterfly emerging from the greenhouse, which had been restored to its former glory, courtesy of Gran’s fully recovered witchy powers—if they’d ever been gone, which was open to debate.

  “So what’s going on with the watch?” asked Renée.

  “The watch is fine,” I said lazily. “And we’ve got a new member.”

  Skip thumped his bony chest. “Me! I’m the new member!”

  “Way to go, Skip,” said Stien. “And we love that you come bearing bakery gifts.”

  “Our figures love it a little less,” Strel commented, patting her distended stomach.

  “I love it,” said Fonzie.

  “What do you love?” asked Gran, genuinely interested.

  He spread his arms. “Everything! The food, the company, the house. I love America!”

  Flavio leaned in. “Erick and I would like to visit you in Khameit, Fonzie. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, I would love to visit,” said Erick. “Like Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City 2.”

  “Please tell us it’s fine,” Flavio said. “Please, please, please, Fonzie.”

  “As long as you behave,” said Fonzie sternly, then laughed. “Just kidding! I would love to have you guys pop over for a visit. You can stay at one of my palaces.”

  Flavio and Erick high-fived and then took another swig from their red vinos.

  “And you can come and visit me,” said Helmut. “I can’t offer you a palace but I have a spacious loft with a great view. I live in Belgium,” he added when they gave him a blank look.

  Flavio raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Belgium? What’s a Belgium?”

  “I think it’s a type of artist loft,” said Erick. “Like in Greenwich Village?”

  “I don’t think so, darling,” said Flavio. “I think it’s a city in Germany.”

  “No, it’s a country,” said Helmut. “The seat of the European Union, actually.”

  Flavio yawned. Politics was not his forte, and nor was geography.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” said Erick. “I don’t think Carrie Bradshaw would want us to go.”

  “I would like to propose a toast,” Sam now said, getting up and raising his glass.

  There were approving murmurs around the table.

  Sam turned to me. “To Edie—and her new job at Brown’s. I’m sure she’ll do great.”

  I held up my glass, and gave Skip a grateful grin. He’d offered me the job, where I could learn the trade. A nice stepping stone to perhaps one day owning my own pastry shop.

  “And to Strel—for launching herself as America’s next great sin
ging talent.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Helmut, when Strel got up and took a quirky curtsy.

  “And last but not least to Stien. For becoming this city’s newest legal eagle.”

  “Not yet, Sam,” said Stien with customary modesty. “First I have to pass my exams.”

  “You’ll ace them,” he said. “I have no doubt about that.”

  Gran was beaming, and I wondered if she didn’t mind that we’d decided to close down Floret & Bloom. Gran had actually sold the store to Tisha, whose enmity towards Gran had made her the perfect victim for Tabitha’s manipulations. Her mind now wiped, just like everyone else involved, she was more than grateful for this opportunity to expand her store with a second one across the street, and was already making plans to turn Pretty Petals into a nationwide chain. We’d wished her all the best, and were glad that our rivalry had ended.

  I glanced down at my ring. I hadn’t been able to stop staring at it since Sam had placed it on my finger. It represented the dawn of a new age—the beginning of a fresh and exciting adventure. And when I looked up, I caught Gran’s eye, and she gave me a wink.

  I winked back. Somehow I had the distinct feeling she’d planned all of this. Up to the very last detail. Or maybe she hadn’t, and life had a way of knocking you for a loop from time to time, only to help you up again, ready to tackle the next challenge. Everything to keep you growing and maturing into the person you were always meant to be.

  And as I looked around the table at my family and friends, I suddenly felt blessed.

  Things really didn’t get much better than this.

  But then Gran got up and disappeared into the house. When she returned, carrying two large fruit pies, and yelled, “Surprise!” it appeared that, yes, things did get even better.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Ghostlier Things (Ghosts of London 6)

  Chapter One

  “So you and a copper, eh?” asked my friend, darting a look of admiration over her cup of tea. “Scotland Yard man no less. Who would have thought?”

  “Definitely not me,” I intimated with a shrug.

  Mavis Bletchley had been my best friend in high school, and even though we hadn’t seen each other in ages, the moment we did, it was just like old times.

  She was a red-haired slightly overweight woman, large-framed glasses obscuring the better part of her face, as they had done all through high school, lively blue eyes perpetually in wonder about what was going in the world around her.

  I liked Mavis. Always had. We’d been seated next to each other all through the upper grades and had had each other’s back when the bullying was hard and relentless, as it invariably is when a bunch of girls are forced to spend every waking hour together.

  “Is he nice? Is he handsome? Is he sexy?” Her eyes widened. “Is he rich, like good old Mr. Darcy? Has he proposed yet? Given you a big rock of a ring?”

  I giggled. This was regular girl’s talk, the sort of thing I hadn’t engaged in for a long time, and the kind of stuff I now realized I’d missed.

  I sat a little straighter, and held my own cup of tea a little tighter. “He’s very nice, he’s very handsome, he’s… not really very rich but he does own an entire apartment block so he’s definitely not poor. And even though he hasn’t proposed yet I think he just might. He seems to think I’m the one.”

  “And do you think he’s the one?” Mavis asked with bated breath, then blew it out across her steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.

  “Yes, actually I do. I do think he’s the one. Oh, you should have seen him when he had to get me out of a fix the last time, Mavis. Like a real hero.”

  “A regular knight in shining armor, then, eh?”

  “Something like that. He is very chivalrous.”

  “Not like those blokes down at the Bell’s Whistle who are always trying to get into my knickers. They’re regular pests. Have to tell ‘em off every time.”

  “No, he’s not that kind of bloke,” I admitted. “Far from it, in fact.”

  Mavis and I were seated on the little balcony of the flat she rented in Catford, in South East London. It was a little ways away from my own modest flat in West London, so I’d had to take the Tube and a short walk across the London Bridge to get here. It was definitely worth it, though, to see my old high school bestie again.

  Mavis now worked as a cashier in her local Lidl, even though her dream had been to become the first female Prime Minister of Britain. I’d always told her Maggie had beaten her to the punch, but she didn’t care. Mavis was stubborn that way. How she was going to go from cashier to PM I didn’t know, and I had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t either. But that didn’t stop her from holding on to her dream.

  “Want another slice?” she asked now, gesturing at the small array of crumbs which was all that was left of my sticky toffee cake.

  “Well…” I rubbed my tummy, then relented. “Don’t mind if I do, actually.”

  “I get them with my employee discount card. Ten percent off and even twenty percent at Christmas.” She darted a slightly envious look at my flat belly. “How do you manage to stay so slim? You haven’t changed a bit since graduation. In fact you look even skinnier now than you did five years ago.”

  I shrugged. “Good genes?”

  “That must be it. My genes are simply terrible. Every pound I eat sticks to my hips and magically turns into two pounds added to the scale.” She got up and moved into the small kitchen adjacent to the balcony. “One thick slice of sticky toffee cake coming up!” she yelled. “More tea, Harry?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “It’s great tea. Big on quality, Lidl on price!” she caroled.

  “You should join the marketing department!” I yelled back.

  It was a nice day, the sun having risen high on the firmament. Beneath my feet a peaceful neighborhood stretched out, one of the last neighborhoods where property prices hadn’t soared. Mavis lived just around the corner from the giant one-story high fiberglass Catford Cat which adorned the local KFC.

  It was nice to have a day off for once. Recently the ghost hunting business I’d launched with my best friend Jarrett Zephyr-Thornton had been a roaring success. Especially since we’d helped the Piquant Pack, the most popular girl band for the last two decades, vanquish the ghost of their former manager.

  A gentle breeze ruffled my short blond tresses and I closed my eyes to enjoy the feel of the sunshine on my face, warming me up.

  “Let them eat cake!” Mavis shouted, shoving a really big chunk of the stuff onto my plate. I wasn’t going to stay slim if I kept indulging in Mavis’s cake. Then again, I deserved it. The Wraith Wranglers had solved a couple of high-profile cases lately, and I enjoyed the vacation from wrangling ghosts.

  “So wraith wrangling, huh?” asked Mavis. “Do you really believe in all of that ghost stuff or is it just for show? Please be honest with me, Harry.”

  “Of course I believe in that stuff,” I said, cutting off a piece of the creamy rich cake with my fork. “I wouldn’t be much of a ghost hunter if I didn’t.”

  “No, but I mean—ghosts don’t really exist, do they? They’re just a figment of our imagination. You can tell me, Harry. We’ve been friends for ages.” She gave me a wink while stuffing a big piece of cake into her mouth. “I won’t spill your secrets to the tabloids, I swear.”

  “Ghosts exist, Mavis. No, they really do.”

  “But what about that stuff you pulled off at the Graham Norton Show? That was just a hoax, right? When that so-called ghost dropped down those lights on the Piquant Pack and started yelling about taking revenge?”

  I smiled. It was obvious Mavis was one of those people who didn’t believe in ghosts, and that was fine with me. I hadn’t believed in ghosts before my ex-employer Geoff
rey Buckley was murdered and his ghost returned from the dead to help me solve his murder. Now? I sometimes felt London housed more ghosts than living people—and they were all clamoring for my help.

  “Ghosts exist,” I repeated. “Trust me on that.”

  She gave me a dubious and slightly hurt look—as if upset that I refused to confide in an old friend. “If you say so,” she said smartly. “You’re the expert.”

  I picked up my cup for another sip, and that’s when I felt it. A sudden weakness that seemed to start at my fingers and spread out across my chest. The cup dropped from my hand, and moments later my eyes turned up in my head and I fell, face forward, into the big chunk of cake. The last thing I remembered was the wet squishy feel of the cake on my face, and Mavis screaming, “Harry! Are you all right? Harry! Say something!”

  When I regained consciousness, it was with a pounding headache and my face smeared with cake. And when I looked around, weak and nauseous, I saw that I was no longer on the balcony but sitting on the cold kitchen floor. There was a knife in my right hand, and next to me was Mavis’s body, lying in a pool of blood, her lifeless eyes staring up at me. And then I screamed.

  Chapter Two

  “Now this is a nice thing you did to me,” a hollow voice spoke. I looked around, and saw that the ghost of Mavis was sitting on top of the kitchen counter, idly swinging her legs and giving me an openly accusatory look.

  “Wha-what happened?” I asked.

  “You tell me, Harry. One moment I was trying to help you up after you dozed off on top of your cake—a very rude thing to do, I don’t mind telling you—and the next thing I know I’m down on the floor and I’m… dead!”

  “But…” I stared down at the knife that was still in my hand. It was one of those big butcher knives, sharp as a razor and capable of slicing and dicing anything, including my best friend from high school. “I don’t understand.”