by Rose Pressey
He stared for a moment and then said, “It’s a dangerous talent. I’m glad that it’s over now and that you weren’t hurt though.”
***
The next morning Kent had stopped by to check on me. We stood on the sidewalk beside his car.
“I can’t believe she killed them just because of selling her house,” I said.
Kent leaned against his car. “Apparently she threatened to turn Luke in to the board of realtors. He got angry and confronted her. When he asked her to leave and walked away that was when she rushed up behind him and hit him over the head with the award. She did the same thing with Darcy.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest. “Yeah, the award she hid in my front yard so that it would look like I had the murder weapon.”
“By the way, that card had Luke’s blood on it. Connie said she threw it at Luke and said that realtors were all alike. After she killed him, she took the card and threw it into the trash to try to clean up the scene.”
I shivered. “If I’d been there a little sooner I might have been her next victim.”
After a couple seconds reflection, Kent said, “I ran into Ross and Charity yesterday.”
I studied his face. “Really? What did you say to him?”
“Not much actually. What’s there to say? He’ll never change his behavior.”
“Where were they?” I asked.
“Sitting outside Darcy’s office, which I found odd.”
I nodded. “That is odd. Did you find out why?”
“Something about Charity wanting to return the award she had taken from Darcy’s office.”
“I wondered why Charity had Darcy’s real estate award in her car. Did she tell you why?” I asked.
“I guess Darcy bragged about it a lot and that made Charity mad so she took it.”
“That is weird.”
“Why don’t you hop in the car? I want to show you something.” He motioned over his shoulder.
I watched him suspiciously. He smiled back.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
“Get in and you’ll see.”
I climbed into the passenger side of the car. Kent drove through town and stopped when we reached the old buildings that he’d bought. I knew he wanted my advice on what to do with them, and I figured that was what this was all about. He acted as if this was an urgent matter though and I couldn’t imagine what would be so important.
He shifted the car into park. “Imagine a sign in front of the space on the right at the end of the building.”
“Okay. I’m imagining. What does the sign say?”
“How about Raelynn’s Treasures? Or Raelynn’s Rescues and Repurposed? Okay, so I’m not creative with names.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“A place to sell all the treasures you repurpose.”
I stared at him. “I don’t have the money for that.”
“Well, I do. The loan for rehabbing the building came through. I figured maybe you’d want to partner with me for the business. I think you’re really great at what you do, so why not sell so that others can enjoy your work too?”
My mouth probably dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. So what do you say?”
It would be hard to say no to that offer. Turning trash to treasure was what I loved to do. Why not make it a career? But working with Kent? I wasn’t sure how that would work out. It would be hard to say no to his smiling face though. Now I would run an inn and a shop?
I released a deep breath and then said, “All right. Let’s do it.”
DIY Trash-to-Treasure Projects:
Wooden serving tray makeover:
Items needed:
Wooden tray
Paint
Scrapbook paper or wrapping paper
Mod Podge (an all-in-one glue, sealer, and finish, can be purchased at any craft store)
Clean the tray and allow to dry.
Coat the tray with a primer.
Apply two coats of paint
Cut scrapbook or wrapping paper the size of the bottom of tray.
Apply Mod Podge to the bottom of tray.
Press wrapping paper to bottom of tray. Press so that the paper is smooth against the wood and remove any creases or bubbles.
Brush Mod Podge on top of paper. Allow time to dry before use of tray.
Easy Burlap Wreath
Items needed:
Wreath form
Burlap (6 inch wide burlap ribbon allows for less cutting.)
Floral pins
Scissors
Cut burlap into six inch strips.
Fold in half to make a triangle.
Fold in corners
Put floral pin through bottom to hold corners.
5. Fluff burlap
Place strips with floral pins around wreath in an alternating pattern
Add any extra embellishments like you’d like.
Distressing furniture:
Items needed:
Furniture you want to distress
Paint
Brush
Sand paper
Stain
Paint over piece with brush. Skip the creases and crevices on the furniture.
Once dry sand edges to the desired amount of distress
Apply stain, then wipe off.
Allow to dry. Seal if desired.
About the Author
Rose Pressey is a USA Today bestselling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained fascinates her.
When she’s not writing about werewolves, vampires and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties.
Rose suffers from Psoriatic Arthritis and has knee replacements. She might just set the world record for joint replacements. She’s soon having her hips replaced, elbows, and at least one shoulder.
Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky with her husband, son, and two sassy Chihuahuas.
Visit her online at:
http://www.rosepressey.com
http://www.facebook.com/rosepressey
http://www.twitter.com/rosepressey
Rose loves to hear from readers. You can email her at: [email protected]
If you’re interested in receiving information when a new Rose Pressey book is released, you can sign up for her newsletter here. Join her on Facebook for lots of fun and prizes.
Read the first chapter from Bestselling Forever Charmed
Chapter One
My mother had been downright giddy when I was born on Halloween night. It was honestly like she’d won the supernatural lottery. She’d even named me Halloween, as if Halloween LaVeau was an easy name to walk around with. I guess she figured having that auspicious birth date meant my witchcraft talents would be extra special. That I would boost her social status by out-magicking all of the other witches in Enchantment Pointe. Unfortunately for her—not to mention for me—my skills were nothing to get excited over. In fact they were far from spectacular.
Whatever. I’d always been fine with my so-so magic. Never mind that the local coven had published a pamphlet based on my life entitled “How to Screw Up Witchcraft in Ten Days or Less.” Even my mother had done her best to hide her disappointment. She ignored my botched potions and substandard spell casting until, at the age of fourteen, my painful lack of talent could no longer be brushed under the magical rug.
That was around the time I’d got mixed up in a minor cupcake related incident involving a partially destroyed kitchen and a couple singed eyebrows. My mother’s eyebrows, to be specific. She has to pencil them in to this day, bless her heart. I tried to remind her of the bright side of being eyebrow-free—she never had to use tweezers again—but apparently this wasn’t much consolation.
Despite my witchy failings, my lif
e had been kind of normal, some might even say out-and-out boring. I attended school with the nonmagical townsfolk, and went to my high school prom with a date conjured up by my mother who turned back into a garden gnome the minute my curfew was up. All things considered, I had a fairly typical upbringing.
But my boring days were over when I inherited LaVeau Manor.
Several months ago, at the young age of one hundred and twenty, my great aunt Maddy LaVeau had left this world. She had no children, other than the cat that now owned me, and she’d left a mysterious message in her will about me “taking my place in the world.” Apparently, that “place” required owning her creepy old manor.
It was my mother’s idea to turn the place into a Bed and Breakfast. “Who knows, maybe you’ll snag yourself a husband,” she’d said. She was always trying to snag me a husband, with little success (her prospects were generally warlocky and covered in warts). I’d assisted in her Bewitching Bath and Potions Shop for many years and she returned the favor by helping me establish my little venture, getting both the licenses from the state and approval from the Coven board who were always sticking their nosy wands into everything.
No matter how imposing and eerie the mansion was, I was thrilled to finally have a place of my own. I’d spent days exploring the various rooms, studying the intricate details, the tall ceilings, and stunning hardwood floors. The Manor had been built by my great, great, great grandfather, a famed alchemist within the witchcraft world. Stories about him had been passed down through the generations, how he just disappeared one day, never to be heard from again. Rumors still floated around town that he was buried in the basement, or his old bones stashed away in a trunk in the attic.
By my third week as mistress of my new home, I’d already cleared out most of Aunt Maddy’s things, saving that spooky attic for last. But with my bed and breakfast about to officially open for business, I could put it off no longer.
That afternoon, I began my ascent up the staircase which led to the upper floor of the manor. Each step was steep and narrow, and creaked auspiciously under my feet. I turned the antique knob and the door creaked open. After taking a deep breath, and blowing it out, I stepped inside the space. The attic was surprisingly empty. It was dim, illuminated only by the small window on the wall across from me. A stream of sunlight shone through, highlighting the old, scratched floor. Shadows lingered in the corners, waiting to jump out. I looked around for a light switch, but that was an upgrade Aunt Maddy had neglected to add. As I knocked a cobweb out of my way and moved further into the room, dust motes floated through the sunbeam. I gave the window a good heave to air out the musty smell.
It was early autumn, the days warm in the middle, but crisp around the edges. A breeze wafted into the room, carrying the scent of damp soil and burnt leaves. Drooping branches from the tall oak trees shaded the back lawn, and beyond that, the river lay a few hundred feet away. A raven took flight from the treetop, drifting across the sky in rhythm with the water below. The flap of its wings and caws floated across the air. I looked down, watching the river run steadily past. Beneath one of the oak trees, sat a small family cemetery enclosed by a black wrought-iron fence.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, the last faint color of the day lingering in the sky. It would be dark soon, and I needed to sort through the old boxes and get back downstairs before my imagination about discovering my great, great, great grandfather’s bones got the better of me. Instinctively, I looked around for the old trunk.
Three boxes formed a neat stack to my left and a couple of brown vintage suitcases set to the right. An old wingback chair with a bureau pushed up next to it took up space at the back of the room. I’d have to find someone to help carry them down. After popping open the suitcases, I sifted through their contents. One contained what I assumed was my great aunt’s clothing, velvet and satin with lots of feathers. The other held hundreds of postcards from around the world, some blank and others from people I’d never heard of, addressed to her with indecipherable personal greetings. The boxes were full of old books, dishes, and stuffed animals. She was eccentric like that.
I stacked everything up ready to take it downstairs and started to move toward the door, when something stopped me. I wasn’t sure what that something was, but I felt my feet frozen to the spot. A strange force seemed to compel me to look to my left. Out of corner of my eye, I spotted it. An old book, stashed behind a beam. Without waiting for my brain to command them, my feet carried me to it, a peculiar power pulling me to the mysterious tome.
I plucked the heavy volume from its hidden location and blew the dust from the stained and weathered cover. Fear placed its icy arms around me, and cold shivered up my spine when I touched the leather binding. My heart rate increased. A panic attack, I thought. Inheriting the house was a big undertaking and the anxiety had caught up with me, that was all. Goosebumps emerged on my arms.
As I held the book, a dark sensation, evil just beyond its edge, nagged at the boundaries of my thoughts. But I couldn’t release my grip. I opened the cover and a rich scent of leather stirred in the air around me. An unrecognizable foreign language covered the thick, yellowed pages, not French, definitely not Spanish. With each flipped page, my fingers tingled. Nothing about the book’s contents offered a clue as to what it was about, no owner’s name inside or even initials, but the symbol on the front was strangely familiar: a twisted knot circled by fancy scrolling. Had I seen it before in my mother’s Book of Shadows? If this was a spell book, it was unlike any I had seen before.
“Anyone home?” a familiar singsong voice called out.
I jumped three feet in the air, almost tossing the book across the room. I slammed it shut, as if I’d been caught reading someone’s diary.
“I’m in the attic. Come on up.” My voice wavered. I’d forgotten my friend Annabelle had agreed to stop by.
“There’s no way in hell I’m coming up there! It’s creepy. You come on down here.”
I rolled my eyes. It had been all I could do to convince Annabelle to come over in the first place. She thought for sure the house was haunted. Even so, I told her, ghosts wouldn’t hurt her. But being non-magical, she got a little on edge when around the supernatural and she wasn’t buying my reassurances.
“I’ll be right down,” I called back.
I tucked the book under my arm and made my way to the door. With my hand on the knob, I paused and looked back, sure that I’d heard footfalls behind me.
Now Annabelle’s paranoia was getting the better of me.
My best friend stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering up at me with wide, mascara-rimmed blue eyes.
“I don’t know how you can live in this place all by yourself. At least get another cat or ten, for heaven’s sake.” She looked around for my black cat, Pluto. He’d been scarce since the first day at LaVeau Manor.
“Great, so then I can officially be the weird cat lady in the big old, creepy house.” I moved down the first few steps.
“Okay, how about a dog?” she asked with hope in her eyes. Annabelle was obsessed with animals. She had two dogs, three cats, a hamster, and too many fish to count. I’d had to stop her from getting a monkey. When I’d told her about the diaper changing she’d changed her mind right away.
I nodded. “Fine. Maybe a dog, but I doubt Pluto will take too kindly to a new resident.”
“What are you doing up there all by yourself, anyway?” She gestured with a tilt of her head. “I’d be afraid I’d get trapped and never get out.”
“I wanted to know what was up there,” I said.
“A trunk full of bones, that’s what’s up there.” She rubbed her arms, warding off a shiver.
I made my way to the last step of the wide, winding staircase. “Sorry to foil the urban legend, but I found no trunk, no bones. Just a bunch of old crap.”
“This place is the epitome of creepiness. I could have sworn I saw a man standing on the front porch when I pulled into the driveway.” Annabelle looke
d over her shoulder toward the front door.
A bang echoed through the foyer and Annabelle screeched, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Oh my, God, we’re going to die!”
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DIY Trash-to-Treasure Projects:
About the Author
Read the first chapter from Bestselling Forever Charmed