Black Cat Crossing

by Fitz Molly

  “Are ya sayin’ she won’t be disruptin’ the Haunted House Tour any longer?” Aunt Matilda asked.

  My fingers tensed in my lap. “I’m afraid not. Are you disappointed?”

  “Not at all. I’m happy when a spirit is at peace.”

  “Me too.”

  She looked across the table at me and smiled. “You’re goin’ to be quite the psychic someday, Esme. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in Fiddlehead Creek and partner up with me?”

  “Oh, Aunt Matilda, your offer is very tempting, but I’m not ready for that. Not now. I need to travel a bit and try something new… Get the acting bug out of my system, but if things don’t pan out, you know I’m coming back here.”

  “I know, sugah. You need to follow your heart. I’ve told ya that many times. The tarot cards have too, and they never lie. It’s just I’m going to miss ya so much.” Her faded eyes filled with tears.

  When I went over to hug her, my eyes misted over too. “I’ll call you every night,” I said against the soft curls framing her face.

  “Every night might be too much,” she said with a wink. “How about every other?”

  “Deal. Good night, Aunt Matilda.”

  “Good night, sugah.”

  As I was about to leave, she asked, “Have ya told the chief?”

  I paused in the doorway with a heavy heart. “Not yet. I’m going to on Saturday.”

  “Break it to him gently. He’s a good man who cares deeply for ya.”

  “I know.”

  Upstairs, I flopped down on my bed, totally worn out from the day’s events. I had just closed my eyes when Ghost jumped up beside me, rubbing her sleek body against my leg. “Will you be sleeping with me tonight?” I asked, giving the cat a pet. Her response was to sprawl out in the middle of the bed. “That’s okay. Take up as much room as you’d like. It’s nice having you around and knowing there aren’t any spirits lurking.”

  I knew this would be only a short reprieve, but any break from other world activity was welcome right now. With that comforting thought, I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  I’d been nervous all day in anticipation of tonight’s Halloween party at the Johnson house. I wanted it to be a massive success for the historical society, and I did not doubt that it would be, as long as the ghosts who resided there behaved. I wasn’t worried about Gladys. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t make an appearance, but Augustus and his girlfriend were another story. They might want to antagonize the guests a bit just for fun, but I was prepared for that. Besides, Aunt Matilda would be there, and she could help keep things under control if need be.

  And if I were honest, that wasn’t the primary cause of my jitters. Guy Casanova was. This was the night I was going to tell him about my move to Hollywood, and there was no way to predict how he would take the news.

  I studied my reflection in the floor-length mirror, quite happy with my transformation, and wondered if he would be too. I was going to the party as Greta Garbo and had gone all out to achieve the look, including hiding my long, blonde locks under a sultry bob-styled wig. I had on a gorgeous Art Deco gown in a lovely blush color that looked wonderful against my skin. It had large medallions of embroidered gems, and the silk train was adorned with sequins and pearls. I felt glamorous and every bit the famous movie star I someday hoped to be.

  “Sugah, are ya ready? We don’t want to be late,” Aunt Matilda called up the stairs.

  I grabbed my car keys from the nightstand, took one last glance in the mirror, and then headed down to where my aunt was waiting in the foyer. She had on a bright flowy caftan and in her hands was a crystal ball. Not a real one, of course. She wouldn’t risk taking one of those to a party, but it looked like the real thing, nonetheless.

  “I love your outfit—Aunt Matilda, psychic goddess.”

  “I don’t know about the goddess part, that belongs to you, but I’m glad you like my costume.”

  “I do, and I especially like that your ankle is better and that you’re able to go to the party with me.” I kissed her cheek and offered her my arm as we walked out the door.

  By the time we arrived at the Johnson house, a slew of cars lined both sides of the street. I dropped Aunt Matilda off and then went to find a parking space farther down the block.

  I had to walk some but didn’t mind. It was a beautiful night, crisp and cool with a slight breeze and thousands of twinkling stars to light the way. When I approached the front door, a group of women dressed as vampires turned to me.

  One said, “Thanks for finding the urn, Esme!”

  Another added, “And for ridding the town of that awful witch and shifter.”

  “Don’t forget Rayanne!” A tall, voluptuous woman slurred through a set of large plastic fangs. “She’s the worst one of all.”

  Boy, word sure traveled fast in Fiddlehead Creek. I smiled and hurried inside, embarrassed to be the center of attention. I found Aunt Matilda in the dining room, admiring the silver collection. It was displayed on a large mahogany table and in the center, on a pedestal, was the urn.

  “It’s quite impressive, isn’t it,” I said, draping my arm across her shoulders.

  “And because of you, the collection is complete. I don’t think I told you how proud I am of you.” Her voice broke a little.

  A hot tear rolled down my cheek. “Please, stop, or I’m going to ruin my make-up.”

  Her gentle laugh rippled through the air.

  “Seriously, though, I am who I am because of you. You taught me so much over the years, and I’m so very grateful.” My voice cracked a little with emotion.

  “We’re a good team.”

  A warm glow flowed through me. “That we are.”

  Aunt Matilda’s expression stilled and grew serious. “Esme, I’m always here for you. Remember, no matter where you are, I’m just a phone call away.”

  “Excuse me, ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I wanted to thank you both,” Charles Raymond said as he came up to us. “Esme, I’ve been getting rave reviews about your Haunted House Tour the other night, and the entire historical society is in your debt for all that you did to make sure we had the urn on display tonight. We just can’t thank you enough.”

  My face grew hot at the compliment. “I’m happy I could help.”

  “You did more than that. You put your life on the line. If there’s anything, anything at all that we can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. All our resources are at your disposal.”

  I did not doubt that my cheeks were bright red. Hopefully, the dimly lit chandelier kept from spotlighting them. “I appreciate that.”

  Charles shifted his attention to my aunt. “Matilda, you’re Fiddlehead Creek’s secret treasure. I’ve lost count of all the years you’ve done the Johnson house tour, and your readings have touched the lives of all of us in one way or another.”

  Now it was her turn to blush. “I’m just doin’ my job,” she said modestly.

  “We both know it’s more than that. I’d like to buy both you ladies a drink. What’ll it be?”

  “A glass of white wine would be nice,” Aunt Matilda replied.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a rain check. I’m supposed to meet Guy here, so I should try to find him.”

  “I saw him in the parlor a few minutes ago. He seemed like he was looking for someone. Guess that must’ve been you,” Charles remarked.

  “Thanks. I’ll catch up with you later, Aunt Matilda.” I followed them out of the dining room and watched for a second as they made their way over to the bar that was set up in the entryway. They made a cute couple. Charles was a widower, and she had never married, sooo… I stopped myself, realizing I was beginning to take on Aunt Matilda’s matchmaking ways. Besides, I needed to worry about my own love life or soon-to-be lack of one.

  Guy was in the parlor, as Charles had said. I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, this is a masquerade party. Where is your costume
?”

  “I’m wearing it.” He abruptly turned around, pulled open his sports jacket, and flashed the badge pinned to his shirt. “I’m a cop, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  “You’re much more than that. You’re the chief, and an exceptional one at that.” I laughed.

  His gaze traveled from my shoes to the wig on my head. “Who are you?”

  “Greta Garbo, of course,” I said, striking a pose. “Why, don’t you like my costume?”

  “You’re stunning, but then you always are. I thought you’d come as a psychic. After all, it seemed appropriate seeing as you’re a pretty good one.”

  “Are my ears deceiving me, or did Chief Casanova just acknowledge my paranormal abilities?”

  “He did.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “Seriously, Esme, you saved me a lot of time and work. I just wish you hadn’t gone to the coven alone. Risking your life was reckless.”

  I put my hand over his mouth to stop him from talking. “I know that, and it won’t happen again because I’m taking a hiatus from the spirit world.”

  “For real? Why?”

  “Because I’m going to Hollywood to give acting a shot.”

  His face paled. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  Guy’s gaze raked over me. “So, that’s the reason for your costume.”

  “Let’s go outside, where it’s quieter.” I took hold of his hand and led him around back, where, thankfully, we were utterly alone.

  “When are you going?” he asked in a strained tone.

  I chewed my bottom lip. “Next week.”

  A look of tired sadness passed over his face. “So soon. How long have you been planning this?”

  “Not that long.” I tried to swallow the lump that lingered in my throat.

  “But long enough that you didn’t tell me right away.”

  I dropped my lashes quickly to hide my guilt. “I should have. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, so I kept putting it off.”

  His brow furrowed. “Until you couldn’t any longer.”

  “Something like that.” My voice broke miserably.

  “What does this mean for us?”

  That was the question I’d been dreading. “You know how much you mean to me, but long-distance relationships… They just don’t work.”

  “You’re right. They don’t.”

  I studied him intently. “You’re taking this better than I thought.”

  His dark eyes turned to ebony. “What did you expect me to do, beg you not to go? I wouldn’t do that, Esme. You’ve got to live your life the way you want to live it, and if that means moving across the country to pursue a dream, then that’s what you need to do. I wish you much success.”

  It wasn’t all that surprising that Guy didn’t lose his cool. He had years of training in that department. Although I had expected him to be a little more emotional. Whatever, at least it was done. With an odd twinge of disappointment, I said, “We should probably go back inside. Aunt Matilda might be looking for me.”

  Before I took a step, he swung me into the circle of his arms. “Did you think I would let you leave without one last kiss?”

  I opened my mouth, but his lips were on mine, silencing any retort.

  His calm was shattered by the hunger of his kisses, and when our lips finally parted, he said with his voice full of emotion, “I’m a patient man, Esme. I’ll be here if and when you come back.”

  I hadn’t expected him to say that, but it meant a lot to me. I didn’t know what life had in store. However, I did know that I hadn’t seen the last of Fiddlehead Creek. I would be back…someday. Whether it be sooner or later, I couldn’t say, but the strange little town with its quirky inhabitants had a hold on my heart, and for a twenty-four-year-old psychic in-training to admit that was quite an accomplishment.

  Want More?

  Want more from Esme Hightower and the rest of the Channeling Ghosts for Beginners gang?

  Get started with BOOK 1 HAVOC AND HAUNTINGS or catch up with the full series HERE!

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

  The Witch Wears Prada

  Lisa Siefert

  About This Single

  Waking up with to a massive walk-in closet full of Prada isn't so bad, except that it comes with a bossy black cat that thinks he's in charge. And the talking cat isn't the real problem, it's what he's saying: That she's a witch with amnesia and has inside intel on a murder about to take place today, on Halloween. Can Sakara figure out how to use her witchy powers to stop a murder from happening before midnight?

  Where It Fits

  THE WITCH WEARS PRADA can be read as a stand-alone, but chronologically it fits between VANILLA & VENDETTAS, Book 3 in the FROSTED MISFORTUNES series and BUTTERCREAM & BULLETS, Book 4… Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  “Wake up, Sakara, or I swear to God, I will claw out your beady, little, blue eyes and leave behind big, black, empty craters where they used to be,” said a very angry male voice. Considering I was sleeping, I wondered what I could have possibly done to inspire such violence. I also felt a little afraid.

  Blinking my eyes open, I lifted my hand to shield them from the bright overhead lights that were flooding the room. I felt a small paw with sharp claws batting my hand. Was that a black cat sitting on my chest?

  “Let the light in, you idiot,” said the voice again. “You’ve been conked out for hours now. I’m hungry and you promised to take me to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch.”

  Where was I? Whose house was this? I looked around at a huge bedroom with garish, bright red accessories and tacky, black satin sheets. This couldn’t possibly be my place! I was instantly repulsed by everything I saw. From the glittery, gold tile to the crushed red velvet curtains. I was sitting on a brashly over-decorated, king-sized, four-poster bed covered by tons of silk pillows. A tufted, red patent leather headboard supported my back while a gossamer, sheer, red canopy loomed above me.

  Wait. Who was I? I wracked my brain in an effort to recall anything about me or how I’d gotten here but my mind remained a complete blank.

  It looked like I had been drinking a root beer float before I passed out as evidenced by the remnants on the silver tray on the nightstand next to the bed. I twisted my head over on the pillow for a closer look at the now melted carton of vanilla ice cream, the empty bottle of IBC root beer and the two remaining maraschino cherries sitting at the bottom of a now empty mug.

  A feathery whip whacked me in the head and I sat up immediately. The same black cat that suppressed my breathing earlier by lying on top of my chest was now bouncing up and down on my head; his tail kept swooshing back and forth across my face.

  “I want cheesecake! I want cheesecake!” demanded the voice again. “Preferably that new Carmelicious Snickers flavor they just came out with. For you, that is, so I can sample it. I am obviously getting my own slice of Cinnabon cheesecake. Come to think of it, maybe we should get some actual cinnamon rolls from Cinnabon, too. I mean, it is my birthday, after all.”

  “Whoa, little kitty,” I said, gently grabbing the big ball of fluffy fur and setting him down gently on the pillow next to me. “I’m already hearing this weird voice in my head talking about sugary desserts, let’s not make it any worse.”

  “Is that what I am to you now? No more than a weird voice in your head?” he asked, kicking me with his kitty hind legs.

  Ouch. What was that cat’s problem? How did he get in here? Did he live here? Was this his home? Who owned this furry little monster? Oh, no! He couldn’t possibly belong to me? Was this my home? Why couldn't I remember anything? Ohmigosh, was I a robot that just got turned on?

  Wait.

  Was the cat talking to me? I looked around and didn’t see anyone else. There was also no television or laptop in the room where the sound could’ve been coming from. And I still didn’t recognize the room I was in. Was I dreaming? On drugs? Was I dead?

&nb
sp; The cat was methodically sharpening his nails on the wooden bedpost next to me, the only improvement in this gaudy eyesore excuse for a bedroom. Why would someone go to such extreme lengths to create a fire engine red-themed bedroom dungeon with flamboyant, glitzy decorations unless this was some sort of reality TV show for tackiest bedroom decor ever?

  “Cats can’t talk,” I said more to myself than the cat. I backed away from the feline, suddenly unsure what else to do.

  “Oh, very funny, Sakara. Cut it out. Get your little witch-mobile keys and let’s go to the Cheesecake Factory. I want to make sure we get a booth and we’ll have to wait for one if we arrive too late,” he retorted.

  I jumped out of the bed, which I still failed to recognize, and walked backwards towards the door at the far corner. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the cat, in case he attacked me again. He didn’t look particularly aggressive so much as annoyed. Once I felt the handle, I pushed it down to open it, jumped behind it and closed the door shut. He could talk but could he open doors, too?

  The room was dark. I patted the wall for the light switch and flicked it on. I was inside a huge walk-in closet and not the hallway for the exit like I assumed. Ugh! I couldn’t stay hidden in here forever. Or could I?

  “Cheesecake Factory! Cheesecake Factory!” yelled the cat from the other side of the door, scratching at the entrance. This was like a horror movie. I screamed. Maybe someone would hear me and come to my rescue.

  The door opened and the cat jumped up on me, knocking me forcibly to the ground. He was pretty strong for such a little guy. I guessed that answered my question as to whether or not he could open doors.