Here Comes the Witch (A Paranormal Witch Cozy Mystery): (Main Street Witches #1)

by Ani Gonzalez

  Contents

  Back Cover

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Here Comes The Witch

  (A Paranormal Witch Cozy Mystery)

  (Main Street Witches #1)

  Jewelry designer Kat Ramos comes to Banshee Creek to break the infamous Hagen House curse. To do so she must marry Liam Hagen, embrace her witchy heritage, and solve a centuries-old murder. Will she be able to do it, or will the Hagen House curse lead to her death?

  CHAPTER ONE

  "WELCOME TO 666 Main Street," the dark-haired young woman intoned with a bright smile. "Satan's Own Shopping Strip."

  Katalina Ramos stared at her, confused, and the woman's smile faded. She was wearing a pink polo shirt with a cartoon ghost logo that read "Banshee Creek Bakery," and her nametag read "Patricia O'Dare - Owner - Ask Me About Our Vampire Churros." She was opening one of the tidy brick shops that lined Main street.

  Kat, in a silky white blouse and cream-colored trousers, was overdressed by comparison.

  But the bakery owner's outfit was not surprising. Kat was, after all, in The Most Haunted Town in the USA. Everything in this place had a ghost or supernatural theme. She'd spent months researching the town and had found countless ghost stories and urban legends related to it. In fact, the town had been named for the eerie screeching sound made by its barn owls, which the early Scots-Irish settlers confused for the cries of the doomed ban-síde.

  The local businesses took full advantage of their eccentric location. Driving in, she'd passed Poltergeist Pizza and a real estate agency that specialized in "slightly haunted" properties. There was also a paranormal investigations group and a Chinese restaurant named after a writer of Chinese ghost stories.

  There was nothing about Satan, though. That was a big relief.

  "I'm not sure people want to shop with the Prince of Darkness," Kat replied carefully. "Not many people would get his sense of style."

  "You're right," Patricia said with a heartfelt sigh. "We still need a new marketing strategy for the shopping strip, though."

  Kat nodded in sympathy. A small business owner herself, she knew that marketing was a rhymes-with-witch. "The vampire churros sound good. They're probably a good start."

  That made Patricia smile. "And they taste even better than they sound. They're spicy chocolate churros with a cream cheese and raspberry filling, and they're our best sellers." She fiddled with the locks and opened the front door to the bakery. "I like your necklace, by the way."

  "Thanks," Kat replied, fingering the piece. The tiger's eye quartz pendant was one of her earliest projects. She'd made it herself at the school workshop when she'd begun her jewelry design training. It was a simple piece—she'd learned a lot since that first year—but it was still her favorite.

  The stone was supposed to increase self-confidence and bring good luck. Kat needed both of those things today.

  Patricia disappeared into her store, a bright pink, brick row house with a striped awning over the door and a sign on top with the adorable cartoon ghost logo. A sign announced that "Baked Goods are half off after 5 p.m. and all day during Mercury retrograde."

  Nothing could have looked more inviting.

  Patricia had only just opened and already customers were heading for the door, jostling Kat in their haste. Wow, those vampire churros must be something else.

  Kat eyed the menu taped to the window. All the offerings had fanciful names like Unicorn Horn Cannoli with Rainbow Sprinkles and UFO Pistachio Shortbread Surprise, and they all sounded delicious. Kat was early for her meeting and had some time to kill. The bakery seemed like a perfect place for that. She looked over her shoulder and made sure that her car, a bright yellow hatchback with New York license plates and an insane amount of mileage, was safe, then she entered the bakery.

  She was nervous and could use a raspberry cream cheese vampire churro right now.

  She walked in, enjoying the blast of air conditioned air. Summer in Virginia was no joke. It wasn't as hot as her grandparents' home in the Caribbean, but it could hold its own in terms of humidity. Her white and cream outfit—an appropriate color combination given the nature of today's appointment—was fairly cool, but she could still feel herself sweating under the silky fabric. Part of it was nerves, of course. She was in town for what could be the most important meeting of her life.

  She could really use a piña colada. And a beach. A beach would be nice.

  But she'd have to console herself with an Abominable Snowman Frozen Cappuccino. She walked up to the counter and waited while Patricia bagged up some Wicked Stepmother Apple Cider Donuts for a pair of tourists. Kat had already figured out how to tell who was a tourist in Banshee Creek. The residents and shop owners all looked normal, even businesslike, but the tourists all had fangs, or capes, or in this case, t-shirts that announced "My Other Ride is a Tardis."

  She wasn't in Kansas anymore. That was for sure.

  The Tardis couple paid and left, their arms laden with warm donuts and hot coffee. Kat fought to suppress a shudder. Who would drink a hot beverage in this sweltering climate? She was as much of a sugar fiend as the next person, but today she wanted her saccharine fix several degrees below zero.

  "One Abominable Snowman, please," she told the baker. "Um, is that real whipped cream?"

  Patricia seemed slightly offended by the question. "Of course."

  Why was she so touchy? Their cream could be as phony as the town's ghost stories. "Extra whipped cream then, and a vampire churro."

  Patricia nodded, then paused and examined Kat's face. "Would you like a cinnamon serum shot? It gives you an energy boost."

  Crap, did she look that bad? The past couple of weeks had not been easy, and she was nervous about her meeting. What the heck? She might as well give it a try. At least the cinnamon part sounded tasty.

  "Sure."

  Patricia added a thick brown liquid to the coffee and put it in the blender. After a couple of pulses, she poured the coffee into a tall cardboard cup and handed it over. Kat grabbed the ice-cold beverage eagerly.

  The baker smiled. "That should get you through the day."

  Kat took a greedy sip. She could taste coffee and chocolate and cinnamon...and something else.

  "What's in it?" she asked, peering at the creamy foam. She didn't distrust the town baker, but who knew what they put into their coffee here. She'd already seen a Candy Corn Latte and that thing had colors in it that were not found in nature.

  Patricia laughed. "Just cinnamon, sugar..."

  Kat took another sip. It was sweet but with a spicy kick. Weirdly enough, it really did seem to give her more energy.

  "Lots of extra caffeine," the baker went on. "And the spell, of course."

  Kat almost sp
it the drink out. The what?

  "Yolanda from the botánica does it especially for us," Patricia explained, handing her a pink striped bag with her churro. "The syrup is made with ingredients that are sacred to the Orisha Changó and to Brigid, both patrons of fire and inspiration. That's why it gives you so much energy."

  "Sounds intriguing." That's right, there was a botánica in town, which was surprising. She'd seen botánicas in the Bronx and Miami, but in PodunkTown, Virginia? That seemed strange.

  Then again, this town specialized in strange.

  "Where's the store?" she asked, swiping her credit card to pay for her purchase. She had at least half an hour before her meeting. She could check out the mysterious Banshee Creek Botánica. It would help calm her nerves.

  "Oh, two stores down." Patricia tore out the receipt and handed it over. "Yolanda's part of our Main Street rebranding. She owns the hair salon as well as the botánica. She didn't like the Prince of Darkness part either."

  "I bet," Kat replied, curious about this botánica. She had fond memories of visiting similar stores with her grandmother when she was growing up.

  "We'll probably go for 'A Charmed Shopping Experience' then." The baker sighed. "It sounds kind of lame, but at least it's not associated with eternal damnation." She smiled cheerily. "Have a nice day."

  A blast of heat hit Kat as she exited the bakery. She took a long sip of frozen coffee and turned right. According to Ms. Ghostly Cupcakes, the botánica should be right around...

  It was right next to Yolanda's Hair Salon. A small building with a bright yellow awning and an all-seeing eye painted on the window next to a list of services provided: We do readings, cleansings and purifications. Hauntings are our specialty. Exorcisms are extra. Inquire inside.

  Kat examined the white storefront carefully, then stepped into the store. The seashell wind chime next to the door tinkled as she stepped in, and her grandmother's old prayer popped into her head. Protect us Yemaya, Lady of the Salt Waters. Bless us, sweet and fearsome mother.

  She paused, surprised. The sign over the door identified the store as the Banshee Creek Botánica, but it didn't look like any spiritual goods store she'd ever visited before. Sure, there were the requisite velones, the colorful candles used for rituals, and herbs stored in cheap plastic bags with homemade labels bearing Spanish names. The shelves were full of the shiny porcelain statues that represented the African Orishas — St. Michael Archangel fighting a dragon, St. Barbara with her sword, and others. Woven baskets held the various collares sacred to the Yoruba deities—blue and white for Yemanya, the Great Mother; red and black for Chango, Lord of Fire; and yellow and white for Oshun, the Goddess of Beauty. The pieces were simple—mere plastic beads strung with fishing wire—but attractive.

  There were other things too, but she didn't recognize them since her knowledge of Santeria was limited. Her grandmother was a devout Catholic who seldom visited the local diviners. There was the time Kat's uncle fell for the next door floozy, and then the time their landlord left a bloody bundle in front of their door to try to kick them out of their rent-controlled apartment, but that was it. As a result, Kat knew the basics, but little more.

  But most of the articles in the store were not related to the Caribbean religion. There was a Greek Aphrodite, a Celtic Bridgit, and other items she didn't recognize. She walked down the aisles, taking it all in. A wall showed off a selection of faery pictures. The shelves held esoteric books, including paranormal investigation guides, Western mysticism manuals, spiritualism history books, and a whole section devoted to Linda Goodman's Star Signs series. A poster announced Yoga for Yetis classes at the Banshee Creek Community Center, and she was almost certain that the scary thing behind the counter was a life-sized statue of Fenris the Wolf.

  It was very eclectic. Which, she supposed, was to be expected. This wasn't a neighborhood store serving local customers. It was a tourist store catering to supernatural aficionados. The diverse offerings should look jumbled and untidy, but they didn't. The walls were painted in a soothing green color and the polished wood floors and shelves gave the place the look of an established, if slightly eccentric, book store. The disparate items made a strange kind of sense. The poster of Guan Yin, Chinese goddess of...something or other, looked perfectly at home next to the Norse rune display.

  Yet something about the store unsettled her. In spite of its tourist trap appearance, it was clearly a serious magical establishment. She'd thought the town's reputation was just a marketing gimmick. She hadn't expected a full-blown Santería operation complete with military-style atheme knives "For the Warrior Wiccan in You."

  "You are here for the ad, yes?" a cheerful voice asked. "I've been waiting for you."

  Kat turned and came face-to-face with a tiny old lady with brown skin and curly gray hair. Her eyes were sharp and bright behind neon pink glasses. She was wearing a multi-colored housedress and a plastic apron that read "Yolanda's Hair Salon." The apron, like the glasses, was pink.

  The beaded necklaces around her neck were pink and maroon with plastic skull pendants.

  Oyá, warlike Mistress of the Dead, give us peace.

  The words popped into Kat's head, unbidden, and she tensed. Despite the old lady's unassuming appearance, Kat new she was standing before a powerful santera. Anyone who'd grown up in the Bronx would know that. Even if you didn't practice the religion, you knew what the collares signified, and that each color combination belonged to a particular deity.

  The colors in Yolanda's necklace indicated that Yolanda's patron was the death goddess Oyá, who was no one to trifle with. Oyá ruled the cemeteries and had a particular fondness for dead warriors. The best you could say about Oyá was that she didn't like zombies. Unlike its rivals, Voodoo and Palo, Santeria did not approve of the undead. It was, in many ways, a very bourgeois religion concerned mainly with love spells, debt collection, and employment prospects.

  And speaking of prospects. "I beg your pardon? I didn't see any ad."

  The Santera pointed to a bright yellow piece of paper next to the Yoga class announcement. It read: "Store clerk wanted. Good Benefits. Free manicures. Call Yolanda."

  Yellow for Oshún, Kat thought. The color, if she remembered her grandmother's words correctly, would act as an attractant. Although who needed magic when they had complimentary nail art?

  "I'm not here for that," Kat corrected with a smile. She wasn't in Banshee Creek for a job. Well, at least not a conventional kind of job. And her new assignment didn't include free manicures.

  Unfortunately.

  "Ah," the old lady replied, pushing her pink glasses up her nose. The dark eyes assessed Kat intently, as if reading her soul. Kat felt rather like a bug under a microscope.

  "Well, you should find what you came here for, then." Yolanda glanced up, pausing as if waiting for something.

  The seashell wind chime tinkled as the store's front door opened.

  Bless us, Yemanya, bring us joy.

  Yolanda's eyes twinkled. "... right about now."

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE STUPID wind chime jangled as Liam Hagen opened the door to the botánica. He grimaced and closed the door gently behind him, avoiding Yolanda's low-tech but highly efficient alarm system.

  He wasn't in a good mood. He had an important meeting today, possibly the most important one of his life, and the last thing he wanted to do was to negotiate a ghost cleansing with the town witch.

  But that was exactly what he was here for. His remodeling project at 24 Witchduck Drive was stalled because the workers claimed that something was messing with the tools. In Banshee Creek "something" could be anything, a ghost, a faery, an owl pooping in a vent, a welder with a hangover...

  Anything at all.

  The fastest way to get the project back on track would be to get Yolanda to do a cleansing. She'd bring some colored water and beads and nag his workers into using them to clean the site. Then she'd light up candles and herb bundles and chant for a while. The whole thing would
look ridiculous.

  But it always worked.

  Well, almost always. It hadn't worked last year. He'd paid Yolanda a pile of money to clean up his most expensive property and she'd shown up with a pickup truck full of white rose petals, salt, and scented water. They'd spent the entire night washing the house. First, they'd wiped salt water around every window and doorway, a task that had seemed endless at the time because the house was huge and it had many windows. Next, they'd lit candles in every room and washed the floors with a rose water mixture. Finally, they'd left Yolanda alone with her statues and spells to do whatever it was she had to do.

  It hadn't worked. That particular property was still unsellable. Hopefully, his upcoming meeting would go a long way toward fixing that problem.

  Which was why he had to get 24 Witchduck taken care of ASAP.

  "I need a cleansing," he said. "At the old Lotham place. The guys say there is something in the house messing things up. A poltergeist or something."

  "Poltergeist?" Yolanda perked up, eyes gleaming. "That will cost you."

  Liam didn't doubt it. The santera's services were not cheap, but they were worth every penny. Keeping a work site running in Banshee Creek wasn't easy, and he had to think of this as a business expense.

  One that would be hard to explain to the IRS.

  But he had to do it. Safety was now a top priority at Banshee Creek. The town's new status as the most popular paranormal destination in the U.S. brought a lot of money and tourists, but it also brought unwelcome risks. Haunted houses were rickety and woods full of will-o'-the-wisps and foxfire were notoriously unsafe. As a result, Banshee Creek had created a new Safety and Security Committee that had increased the Fire & Rescue budget and brought in a new hot-shot sheriff with impeccable N.Y.P.D. credentials.

  Liam's properties had to pass muster. That meant ixnay on the poltergeist. It also meant he had to deal with his white elephant, unsellable property pronto.