Witchy Start (Neighborhood Witch Committee Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  “We’re thinking about starting a neighborhood watch,” I said.

  Sam snorted. “Who? You and your sisters?”

  “Oh, you think that’s funny? Wait until we solve this murder and you don’t.”

  “I wanna see you try.”

  “Well, you will. This is us trying.”

  “By watching a Johnny Depp movie?”

  “Well, first we’re going to watch the Johnny Depp movie and then we’re going to solve Mrs. Peach’s murder. Just you wait and see.”

  “I’m waiting,” he said with a low chuckle.

  “Shush!” a woman behind me hissed.

  “Shush yourself,” I hissed back. Nobody was shushing me in my own neighborhood. Well, this wasn’t exactly my neighborhood, of course. In fact we were pretty far away from Haymill. But still, we were in Brooklyn, so technically we were in the vicinity. And since we were the neighborhood watch now, I wasn’t taking any crap from any shusher.

  “I think we better shush now,” Sam said.

  “I’m not shushing for anybody,” I said. “Least of all some nosy—”

  But then he kissed me and I shushed. Crap. He’d found my weak spot.

  After the movie, Sam drove us back to the house. And while Strel and Stien went inside, I knew they were watching through the window, and so was Gran and who knew who else. It was awkward to do this with an audience.

  “So,” said Sam, leaning against one of the small columns on the portico.

  “So,” I said.

  “Did you like the movie?”

  “Yes, I sure did. Though I don’t think I would have figured it out if Strel hadn’t googled it five minutes before the movie ended and spoiled it for us.”

  “I knew who’d done it,” Sam bragged. “I knew it from the start.”

  “Well, doesn’t that make you the great detective?”

  He tapped my chin. “You still have a lot to learn, neighborhood watch girl. Good thing you’ve got such a great teacher in me.”

  “Ain’t I the lucky one?”

  “Stick with me and I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  I smiled. Good thing Sam didn’t know I was a witch. If he did, he just might run from the house screaming. Then again, since Gran had taken away our powers, I wasn’t much of a witch now was I? What do you call a witch without powers? A nitch? A bitch? What? I had no idea, but since Sam’s lips were once again hovering dangerously close to mine, I suddenly didn’t care one bit.

  Just then, there was a soft meowing sound at our feet, and when I looked down, I saw that Snoozles had returned.

  “Um, I thought you adopted him?” I asked Sam.

  “I did. He’s supposed to be at my mom’s place right now.”

  “Your mom adopted him?”

  “I’m never home, Edie. So I just figured he was better off with my mother.”

  “He doesn’t seem to agree. Here he is.”

  “He must have returned to his home. Cats do that sometimes, just like dogs. They can find their way home.”

  “How are we ever going to explain that Mrs. Peach is dead?” I asked.

  “We can’t. Unless you can talk to cats?”

  I couldn’t. But maybe Gran could. Gran could do just about anything.

  I knocked on the door. “Gran! I know you’re listening. Can you come out here and do something about Snoozles?”

  The door opened, and Gran, Ernestine, Estrella, Bancroft, Busby and Barnum walked out. Only Father Reilly was missing, but he probably had the common decency not to spy on other people.

  “Hello, Sam,” said Gran. “How was your evening?”

  “Wonderful, Cassie,” said Sam. “Until this little guy showed up.”

  Gran knelt down next to Snoozles and tickled him under his chin. He seemed to like it, for he started purring up a storm. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, kitty,” said Gran, “but your human passed away this morning. Yes, that’s right. And she didn’t even bother to tell you, huh? So either you’re on your own from now on, or this big, strapping cop is going to be taking care of you. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  “Well, actually his mother is,” I said.

  “Even better,” said Gran. She gazed into the black cat’s eyes. “Is that all right with you, honey? What do you say? Give it a shot?”

  The cat suddenly let out a plaintive meow.

  “Yes, I know. But we’re going to catch whoever did this to her.”

  “She’s actually talking to him,” said Sam, scratching his scalp. “What about that?”

  “Everybody listens when Auntie Cassie speaks,” said Busby reverently. “Even cats.”

  And he was right. For as soon as she was done, Snoozles rubbed himself against Sam’s leg, and when he picked him up, he was purring happily, and even gave him a gentle head butt.

  Gran smiled. “That settles it. Cat and human have found each other. Snoozles now belongs to you, Sam. Take good care of him, and he’ll take good care of you.”

  “Thanks… Cass,” Sam said, looking a little startled.

  “You’re welcome. Good night, Sam. Are you coming, Edie?”

  “No, first they have some more smooching to do,” said Estrella.

  She was right. The moment the door was closed, there was more smooching. A lot of it, actually. But then Snoozles got impatient and started meowing again and that was the end of it.

  At least for now.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning I was awakened by a loud scream and then a heavy pounding sound. Instantly, I was wide awake, and scrambling out of bed. When I reached the door and hurried out into the corridor, I saw the bed heads of my sisters and cousins peeking from their respective rooms, looking just as startled as me.

  “Where did it come from?” Ernestine asked.

  “Yeah, what was that sound?” Estrella added.

  “No idea where it came from but pretty sure Barnum is involved,” Bancroft grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He was dressed in heliotrope pajamas dotted with ladybugs. He looked really cute.

  “Is that the latest Hollywood fashion, Bancroft?” Estrella asked when she caught sight of him.

  “And what if it is?” he asked belligerently.

  “It’s what George Clooney wears,” I said.

  “No, it’s not,” said Busby, stretching and showing off his impressive physique. He was dressed in a Gold’s Gym tank top. “It’s Bancroft’s favorite PJ. He’s been wearing it since he was a kid.”

  “No, I have not,” Bancroft protested.

  “You’ve got like a ton of them, dude,” said Busby. “And you keep ordering new ones. It’s all you wear.”

  “Why do you always have to tell on me?” his brother whined. “I never tell on you.”

  “Oh, no? Like that time you told that fit chick I could only bench press three hundred even though I’d told her I could do four hundred?”

  “Who are you calling a fat chick?” I asked, my temper flaring up.

  He stared at me. “Fit chick, not fat chick.”

  “Oh. My bad.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should refer to women as chicks, Busby,” said Ernestine. “I think it’s derogatory. We’re not poultry.”

  “I know,” he said. “What does chick have to do with poultry?”

  “A chick is a young fowl,” I said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “When you call someone a hot chick you’re basically telling her she’s a hot chicken,” I said. “Like, literally telling her she’s a broiled chicken.”

  He twisted his face into a look of disgust. “Eww!”

  There was another loud scream, and suddenly we all remembered why we were standing out in the corridor in the first place. The source of the noise ascertained, I was pretty sure it came from upstairs, where Father Reilly had his room. We pounded up the stairs—in my case more like crawled up the stairs, as I was still half asleep—and arrived on the third-floor landing.<
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  This had been the attic before, where Fallon Safflower, our notorious foremother, had performed her witchcraft. The attic had been full of sacred artifacts from Fallon’s time. Her broom, her books on witchcraft, her potions… Gran had cleared everything out and hidden it in a secret place where we wouldn’t be able to find it. Then she’d hired a contractor who’d turned the attic into two guest rooms. One of those rooms was now occupied by Father Reilly, and we cautiously crept up to the door of his room.

  “I hope he’s not dead,” said Estrella.

  But then, as if on cue, the door swung open and a little boy came clambering out. He looked just as mischievous as ever.

  “Barnum!” Bancroft growled, grabbing his little brother by the scruff of the neck and yanking him back before he had the chance to scamper down the stairs. “What have you been up to now?”

  Father Reilly appeared in the door, looking shaken, or maybe even stirred. He had a big bruise on his forehead that he was gingerly touching and his eyes were a little confused. He was dressed in a red nightshirt.

  “He hit me!” he cried. “The nasty little brute hit me!”

  “I didn’t hit you!” Barnum challenged. “The bottle slipped!”

  “What bottle?” asked Bancroft, shaking the little tyke. “What bottle?!”

  “The bottle of holy water!” said Barnum as if it was obvious.

  “Holy water? Why would you drop a bottle of holy water on my head?” asked Father Reilly, still rubbing the sore spot. I now noticed he had another spot, this one on his chin that looked like he’d suffered a burn.

  “You have another spot on your chin, Father,” I said.

  “That’s where I tried to burn him,” said Barnum. “But it took too long.”

  “Burn me?!” Father Reilly cried. “But why?”

  “Because you’re a vampire, that’s why!” Barnum yelled.

  We all stared at one another. Now this was news. “Explain yourself, you miserable little—” Bancroft began.

  “What’s going on here?” Gran asked, mounting the stairs.

  She’d wrapped her black housecoat around her, the one with the silver stars, and her platinum hair was loose and dangling around her shoulders. She looked très witchy.

  “Barnum dropped a bottle of holy water on Father Reilly’s head,” Busby said, flexing his chest muscles, bouncing first one pec, then the other one, for no good reason at all. “And then he tried to burn his face off.”

  “But why?” asked Gran, unknowingly copying Father Reilly’s words.

  “He thinks I’m a vampire,” said Father Reilly.

  “Well, you are,” Barnum said. “I watched you all night and you never went out.”

  “Why would I want to go out?”

  “Because that’s what vampire hunters do. They go out and hunt vampires. You just lie there in your bed, pretending to sleep. Which means you’re not a vampire hunter but a vampire!”

  I had to suppress a laugh. My cousin certainly had a lot of imagination. Father Reilly didn’t seem to think it was funny, though, but then he was the one who’d suffered a burn and a bruise. “So you dropped a bottle of holy water on my head?”

  “Well, first I tried to burn you by using sunlight, but that didn’t seem to work, so then I tried using a magnifying glass on your face, but that didn’t seem to work either, or at least not fast enough. So then I got your bottle of holy water out to sprinkle some on your face. Only I slipped and dropped the bottle, darn it.”

  “Good thing he didn’t take out the stake,” said Busby with a grin. “He’s a lot stronger than he looks. He might have done some serious damage.”

  “He did do some serious damage!” Father Reilly cried. “Look at my face!”

  We were all looking at his face, but apart from the small scorch mark on his chin and a red welt on his forehead he looked just fine. And it wasn’t as if the welt would look awfully out of place amongst the other blemishes on his face. The man had obviously been a little too fond of the altar wine, for there were a number of red spots visible, and he had one of those veiny noses as well.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Father,” said Gran. “I can assure you it will never happen again. Will it, Barnum?”

  Barnum looked disappointed. He hadn’t been able to vanquish the vampire and it was more than likely that he would love to try again. The stake idea his brother had brought up might seem like something he could try next.

  “Father Reilly is no vampire, Barnum,” I said. “If he were, he would sleep during the day and fly around like a bat at night, wouldn’t he?”

  Barnum seemed dubious. “I guess,” he finally admitted.

  “Did you see Father Reilly fly around like a bat last night?”

  “No.”

  “And if he really were a vampire, do you think he’d be able to survive standing in full sunlight, like he is now?”

  Barnum looked up at the priest, who was backlit by the light streaming into his room. He looked like he had an aureole around his head. This seemed to clinch it. “But if you’re not a vampire hunter, and you’re not a vampire, what are you?” he asked in all his youthful innocence.

  The priest crouched down next to the boy. “I’m a man of God, that’s what I am.”

  Barnum’s jaw dropped. “You’re a holy man?”

  “Something like that,” the priest admitted.

  “He’s like Father Merrin in The Exorcist,” Busby said. “Remember we saw that movie?”

  Now Barnum’s eyes went wide with recognition. “You’re an exorcist?”

  The priest smiled. “I’ve been known to perform an exorcism or two in my day, yes.”

  “Oh, cool!” Barnum cried. “I’m so sorry, mister, for thinking you were a vampire. But why didn’t you say you were an exorcist in the first place?”

  Father Reilly brought a finger to his lips. “Because us demon evictors can’t reveal anything about our work. What we do is strictly hush-hush, young man.”

  “I promise not to tell on you,” Barnum said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Will you teach me your tricks?”

  “Only if you promise never to drop a bottle of holy water on my head again.”

  “Sure! Whatever you say!”

  “I’m so sorry, Father Reilly,” Gran repeated. “This is not the kind of hospitality Safflower House is in the habit of providing.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the priest. “I won’t mention it in my review.”

  “Thanks,” said Gran with a smile. “You’re very kind.”

  The priest sighed. “And I’m sorry if I was too hard on the boy. It’s just that when I woke up and saw him hovering over me with that bottle, I felt a little rattled.”

  “I’ll rattle him for you,” said Bancroft, giving his little brother a vicious look.

  “You and whose army?!” Barnum yelled, and thundered down the stairs, his brother right on his heels.

  And so another day began in Safflower House. At least life was never boring with my cousin around. I’d say I’d miss him when he was gone but I’d be lying.

  Chapter 16

  I was standing in front of the flower shop, trying to figure out how to spruce up our presence in the neighborhood, when an elderly woman walked up to me. Her hair was tucked away beneath a head scarf and she was a little stooped.

  “Hi, there,” she said. “Are you Edelie Flummox?”

  “That’s me,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Paloma Peach. I’m Leann’s sister. Renée Reive told me to come and talk to you. She said you’re looking into the murder of my sister.”

  “Oh, you know Renée?”

  “Sure. I’ve known Renée forever. We used to be neighbors, but that was before I moved. We’ve kept in touch, though, and usually visit each other once or twice a year. I ran into her at the grocery store yesterday and she told me all about you and your sisters. How you’re starting a neighborhood watch and how you’re going to be protecting Haymill fr
om now on.”

  “She told you about that, huh?”

  “Yes, she did. It’s a great thing you’re doing, honey. About time someone took safety seriously around here. I mean, it’s not as if the police are doing a lot to keep us safe. Just look at my sister. Someone just went and dropped a cross on her head. How terrible is that? I talked to the detective in charge of the investigation and they’re not one inch closer to catching the killer. Isn’t that just terrible?”

  “Yes, well, it’s only been a day, and they have a lot of people to talk to.”

  “If they’d done their job like they’re supposed to, this would never have happened. Just look at China. This kind of thing never happens in China. The Chinese make sure it doesn’t. Nobody’s allowed to murder anybody over there.”

  “I’m sure they have murders in China,” I said.

  “No, they don’t. I have a friend who lives in China. She says people don’t even litter. And dogs don’t shit in the street. If they do they’re immediately killed.”

  I frowned at her. “The dogs or their owners?”

  “Both! That’s what we need here. Capital punishment for everything. Allow your dog to take a dump on the sidewalk? The death penalty. Drop a cigarette butt on the sidewalk? Death penalty. Your kids giving you any lip?”

  “Wait, let me guess. Death penalty?”

  “You got it, sweetheart. Prance around in the nude in your backyard? Death—”

  “Wait, you know about Flavio and Erick Moreskin?”

  “Leann’s neighbors? Sure I do. It was me that told her to turn the hose on those fornicators. It’s not as good as the death penalty but it sure taught them a lesson.”

  “And the blue paint?”

  She thrust out her chest. “My idea. Leann was always too soft on those candy-assed namby-pamby neighbors of hers. Like the crazy woman that only eats grass, what’s her name…”

  “Lucy Peanut?”

  “That’s the one. Went around complaining about Leann’s cat. I told her to dump a load of beetles in her yard and she did.” She laughed a hacking laugh. “That showed her.”

  “But I thought you and your sister didn’t get along? That she robbed you of your inheritance?”