Whacked by Witches Read online

  Whacked

  by

  Witches

  Witch Itch Cozy Mystery – Book 3

  CeCe Osgood

  Copyright© 2019 CeCe Osgood.

  All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  Hello from CeCe

  Chapter One

  Abby Little sprinkled the shredded bugleweed into the iron skillet and let it sizzle before adding an ounce of shavings from a rhodiola bloom. Brushing back her unruly red hair, she added two tablespoons of powdered zedoary then turned down the burner.

  "What's next?" she asked the velvety black cat with golden eyes.

  "Higglewort root. One-eighth of an inch exactly," replied the enchanted being who had reluctantly agreed to answer to Bubsy, a moniker given to him by Abby's fourteen-year-old daughter, Jill.

  The cat would have preferred something more dignified, like Simon or Maurice, but he couldn't argue with the teen.

  Literally.

  He couldn't argue with her because Jill didn't know he was an enchanted being or that he could talk. In fact, he could converse in just about any language except for sign, the four-digit paw making that impossible.

  So, no. There was no way he could risk exposing his enchanted nature to her at this time. Someday maybe, when Jill's witchy potential—if she had any—started to emerge, he would talk to her and perhaps discuss his name, but so far, the only skill she had exhibited was a teensy bit of mind-reading which didn't count since even some humans could do that.

  Still, there was plenty of time. It had taken Abby, due to an unfortunate math error by her mother, over thirty years to awaken to her enchanted nature.

  "Yuck, look at this." Abby held up the mottled brown root, covered with a gel-like fungus. "It's gross."

  The cat responded, "Gross or not, be sure you measure it correctly."

  Abby did as instructed then sliced off an eighth of an inch. Picking it up with two fingers, she dropped it into the skillet.

  Bubsy issued another directive. "Wait until it turns a gummy green, then pour in four ounces of the salted boiling water."

  Twenty-two seconds later, Abby carefully poured the measured water over the higglewort root. Suddenly the root let out a hiss and erupted, shooting steam up into her face.

  "Don't breathe it in," snapped the black cat.

  Abby wrenched backwards. "You should have told me that before ... ow, ow." A sharp needle-like sensation pricked the tip of her nose.

  She touched it, stifled a shriek to keep Jill from hearing her, and then darted out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. The mirror revealed a crusty, yellowish wart on the tip of her nose.

  Cursing under her breath, she glared at the cat sauntering into the bathroom. "This is horrible. Why didn't you warn me it—"

  He cut her off. "Don't blame me. You used too much higglewort. I told you to measure it."

  "I did measure it. Exactly an eighth of an inch. This is your fault, Bubsy. You need to make this thing go away."

  "It'll vanish on its own."

  "When?"

  "Soon." He paused, shrugged. "Possibly."

  Abby made a face. "Possibly?"

  The cat cocked his head. "More than likely."

  She turned back and stared at her reflection. All she had wanted was a simple potion to straighten her curly mane and tamp down the vivid paprika color. "I should have gone the human route and invested in a flat iron and henna."

  Ever since moving to Moon Water, the tiny mountain town halfway up Oregon's Mount Dapple, her hair had become redder and curlier—a result of her finally accepting her long-hidden heritage as an enchanter, or what humans would call a witch.

  "You said it would be good for my hair. You said it would straighten it. You said it would make it a tame subtle auburn."

  "Had you measured it correctly, those things would have happened," Bubsy sniffed. "Stop grousing and wash your face with cold water. That should help it recede. That, and a good night's sleep."

  After splashing her face, she checked her reflection. The crusty, bulbous wart had not diminished. "It's horrible," she whimpered.

  "Pull yourself together. Maybe if you keep a cold wet towel on it, it'll go away faster."

  Afraid Jill would wake up and come into the bathroom—since the cottage had only one—Abby tiptoed down the hall with the wet towel covering her nose and slipped into her bedroom, with the cat two steps behind her.

  Locating a hand mirror, she checked the wart again. Not one iota of difference. It was still huge, crusty and ugly.

  Crawling into bed, she listened to the wind rattling the windows of the century-old cottage. The weather forecast had promised a sunny but cold day tomorrow. She wished it would rain.

  If it did, she could get out of her promise to go bird-watching with Lulu, the septuagenarian neighbor who lived across the street. "If I were an elemental witch, I could make it rain," she murmured.

  "No, you couldn't." Bubsy leaped up onto the bed. "You would have to be at least a Level Two Enchanter to work up more than a slight drizzle, and you're not even licensed yet."

  "Oh, go away," she said, miffed enough to sling a finger at the door. Sometimes the know-it-all cat frustrated her so much, she wished she had a different familiar, a warm affectionate sweet cat or whatever else shape they came in.

  With a mocking "meow," Bubsy jumped off the bed and trotted out of her room.

  After setting the alarm on her phone for seven a.m., she snuggled under the covers and let her thoughts drift to last Thursday, her first Thanksgiving in Moon Water.

  She'd had a wonderful time. Harriet, the owner of Dill's Diner, had closed down for regular business so she could give a free holiday dinner to anyone who dropped by. It was her way of giving back to the human community of Moon Water.

  Harriet was a witch too, although the overwhelming majority of the town's residents were humans, humans who were completely unaware of the existence of witches and the tiny coven that called Moon Water its home.

  Prior to Abby's arrival, the coven only had three members: Harriet, Mr. Steed of Steed's Bookstore and Abby's cousin, Selene Adamas, who had been absent at the Thanksgiving dinner due to having been summoned out of town by the Enchanters League.

  After canceling a holiday trip to Florida because her father and his new wife had the flu, Jill had agreed to help her mother make cakes and pies for the holiday dinner.

  The first person they'd encountered at the diner was Ethan Moser, the county sheriff with broad shoulders and watchful brown eyes. Abby figured he was in his mid-forties because his dark hair was silvering at the temples and deep lines marking his forehead.

  "Evening," he'd said, holding the door open.

  "Didn't know you would be here, Sheriff." But I'm awfully happy you are.

  Hoping she hadn't said that out loud, Abby hefted the cardboard box she w
as carrying. "I brought dessert. Can't have Thanksgiving without some scrumptious goodies, now can we?" she babbled. She always chattered too much when she was nervous, and his gold-flecked brown eyes did certainly make her nervous.

  They'd had prior interactions, and there was a definite attraction, although she was fighting it, sort of. From what she could tell, he was a by-the-book lawman. Not a great choice for a witch.

  Sure, she could pretend to be a normal human being and flirt with him, but her cautious side told her it would be foolish, perhaps even a little dangerous if he discovered her secret.

  Jill poked her mother's arm from behind. "Go. It's chilly out here."

  Inside, Harriet beamed a greeting and pointed out a table to use for the desserts. People were already crowding around the serving tables, ready to celebrate.

  For the next half hour, Abby manned the dessert table while Harriet, Jill and the diner's assistant manager, served turkey and trimmings cafeteria-style.

  She was slicing into the one remaining cake when a man approached her. "Hello, Ms. Little."

  Abby looked up to see a round-bellied fellow in a red sweater with a large stitched pocket. Dangling from the pocket were three stuffed toy penguins with tacked on googly eyes.

  She smiled. "Hello to you, Mr. Galvan."

  She had met the assistant principal when Jill enrolled at the high school, the only one in Moon Water. He thumped his chest. "I made this and won the ugly sweater contest at last year's Winter Festival," he bragged. "You should see the one I'm working on for this year. It's even nuttier."

  She laughed and plated a wedge of carrot cake for him. "Here's wishing you good luck for this year's contest."

  After distributing the rest of the cake, Abby served herself a slice of turkey, mashed potatoes and asparagus then took a chair next to Jill and across from the sheriff and Mr. Steed, the elderly owner of Steed's Bookstore and the first—and only—male witch she'd ever encountered.

  A moment later Harriet seated herself next to the diminutive white-haired Mr. Steed. "Best Thanksgiving ever, Harriet," he said, squeezing her hand. He said it every year and meant it.

  Someone in the diner turned up a radio. As Jingle Bells permeated the air, Mr. Steed started to sing with a surprisingly strong tenor voice. The crowd joined in and the diner was filled with music and song.

  Until the front door swung open.

  At the threshold stood the imposing figure of Ravenna Ramstead, a stout woman with an imperious demeanor highlighted by the furry Cossack hat on her head and the furry black boots on her feet.

  Once the town's most powerful citizen, due to the extent of the family's land holdings, Ravenna's clout, as well as her fortune, had diminished in the last decade, although her arrogance had not. With a drunken stumble, she entered the diner, flapping the red fox lapels of her ankle-length black coat.

  "Still doing this charitable puffery are ya, Harriet? I'll bet you're getting a juicy tax write-off for it, aren't ya?" She scowled at the crowd. "I can't see why you bother with this bunch of ingrates."

  Harriet glared. "Oh, my stars, Ravenna. What are you doing here?"

  "They're driving me home after a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner." She jerked a thumb backward at the "they" she'd just referred to. Strolling inside was the town's mayor and his wife. "Happy Thanksgiving," Hank Holcombe boomed as he displayed a large gift basket.

  His stern-faced wife, Edwina, cracked a smile in a failed attempt at merriment. "Candy for your late-night munchies."

  Hank raised his voice over hers. "We've stopped by to express gratitude to our good neighbor, Harriet Dill, and all of those who contributed to this year's splendid Thanksgiving dinner."

  Edwina put her gloved hands together and clapped, attempting to lead the diners in applause. Abby glanced at the sheriff, and judging by his expression, knew he felt the same way she did at the blatant PR stunt by the town's current power couple.

  Holcombe turned and beckoned to a skinny young woman standing in the doorway who quickly responded by holding up her phone and snapping off pictures of the power couple and their candy basket. Abby nudged Harriet. "Who's that?"

  "Ravenna's latest live-in caregiver. Brenda."

  Edwina pointed a gloved finger around the room, again trying to be cheery. "Remember, the Winter Festival is just around the corner. See all of you there."

  "You won't see me there," Ravenna huffed as she snapped her fingers at Brenda. The skinny girl hastily opened the door for her boss and the Holcombes.

  A cheer arose in the diner when they left and the previous jovial ambiance returned. Mr. Steed stood up, a quivering right hand holding onto the back of his chair for support as he led them in a sing-along.

  Only the sheriff remained silent, and when Abby gave him a look that said, "C'mon, try it," he shook his head but his smile lingered. A little while later, she blinked in surprise when he leaned across the table to start a conversation with her.

  Now, lying in her bed, she clasped her hands behind her neck and remembered the warmth between them.

  You can't go further than friendship, warned her cautious side. He's a lawman and you're a witch.

  Her wilder, more impetuous side wanted to argue but Abby knew it was true. Besides, her life was full. She had Jill, Bubsy, her new coven pals ... and she was thrilled to be discovering her new skills. There were potions to learn, spells to cast and, the best so far, practice sessions with her broomstick. Despite her previous fear of flying, she was growing fond of gliding up into the night sky and darting here and there under the moon and the stars. Being a witch was fun.

  She drifted off to sleep, not quite hearing the warning whispering inside of her. The wise always pay attention for the wicked never rest.

  Chapter Two

  Abby woke to the sounds of her alarm clock warbling, "You snooze, you lose" and Lulu banging on the front door, pretty much saying the same thing.

  Jill, her silky chestnut hair mussed and tangled, stumbled into the bedroom. "Make her stop, Momma." The child really was not a morning person.

  "Go back to sleep. We'll have brunch when I get back." While Lulu waited in the living room, she slipped into a sweat suit and two pairs of socks.

  Upon returning last night from Chicago, Lulu had phoned to remind Abby to dress warmly and bring her parka in case the weather turned "goopy" overnight. That was Lulu's term for icy slush. Abby hoped it would get so goopy, since it might then put a halt to their bird-watching outing, but no such luck.

  The weather was actually pleasant. The trip up Mount Dapple Road started with mugs of coffee and Lulu chattering about her Thanksgiving holiday with her son and his family. Abby sipped coffee and let her talk, and talk, and talk.

  Soon she glimpsed the spires of the red brick and stone mansion, known as Ramstead Manor, peeking out from the vast evergreen forest.

  Lulu waved a finger. "See the turnoff sign?"

  It was hard to miss. Four feet high and made out of railroad ties nailed together to form the letter "R"—plus it had been painted a bright orange. Abby had expected something more genteel after hearing Lulu's description of the turn-of-the-century mansion.

  "Ravenna took down the tasteful historic marker," explained Lulu. "She hired a guy to put up that travesty. I personally think her ego and her drinking have sucked out every last remaining brain cell."

  The Volvo slowed, took a left and bounced over the torn-up asphalt road which soon came to a fork. "Take another left. We're going up that hillock and then down near the creek to the juniper grove. Bohems love juniper berries."

  After parking the car so that it was obscured by a thicket of brambles, they set off toward the grove.

  Lulu stuffed her pixie-cut white hair into a knit cap while advising Abby to do the same. "Protects you from the wind and any possible greeting from our bird buddies," she snorted then rubbed her eyes. "I've got to get an eye exam. Things are looking way too fuzzy these days."

  After tromping through a thick copse of firs, pine
s and spruce, they approached their destination. At the edge of the woods, the three-story red sandstone and brick manor loomed before them, with the juniper grove a mere twenty yards to the east. A low water stream as narrow as a sidewalk snaked between the manor and the grove.

  "That stone is gorgeous," whispered Abby, staring at the manor.

  Lulu sniffed. "Looks fine on the outside, but the inside needs plenty of work. Be sure to stay on this side of the creek. Ravenna's a snooty old cuckoo; she might try to shoot us for trespassing."

  Abby flinched. "Is that true?"

  "Might be." Lulu pulled a pair of binoculars from the pocket of her tufted wool coat and crept closer to the junipers.

  Last year, a birder had reported seeing a flock of Bohemian Waxwings near the manor. Lulu hoped the birds had returned this year, although it was iffy since Bohems rarely conformed to a pattern like other birds. She lifted her binos. "There they are!"

  Abby's binos swung in the same direction and brought into focus the flock of Bohems. Some were hovering, others had perched in the tree limbs.

  There was something odd in the background. A black blob that snared her attention; she adjusted the binos for a closer look. Startled, Abby surged forward and splashed her way through the creek, heading to Ramstead Manor.

  "What are you doing?" Lulu yelled. "Come back here. You're trespassing!"

  With her heart thundering out of her chest, Abby raced up the slight rise toward the black blob she'd glimpsed through the binoculars.

  Panting, her legs wobbling and her mind in shock, she drew near the pair of furry black boots sticking out from underneath a dark green evening gown.

  "Oh, no!" she gasped when her gaze landed on the smashed-up birdhouse embedded in the bloody skull of Ravenna Ramstead.

  Lulu splashed through the dribbling stream and came up behind Abby. "Holy crickets. Is that who I think it is?"

  Just then, the manor's massive oak door creaked open and a female voice hollered, "Ravenna? Are you out there?"

  Abby and Lulu glanced up to see a woman in a yellow-and-green-striped robe poking her head out the door.