Diva Delaney Mysteries: Bundle 1: Books 1 - 3: Diva Delaney Mysteries

Diva Delaney Mysteries

Bundle 1

Books 1 – 3

Anni Jayde

Copyright © 2018 ANNI JAYDE

All rights reserved. Published by Seize The Night Agency.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Book One: Is Murder By Candlestick Still A Thing?

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Book Two: Voodoo Hoodoo Is Complete Doodoo

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Book Three: Upsetting A Poltergeist Never Ends Well

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Titles by Anni Jayde in chronological order:

Book One: Is Murder By Candlestick Still A Thing?

Chapter One

HIDDEN IN THE SHADOWS of a tree at the top of a small hill, I watched the tail end of the funeral of one of the most disliked men in Hollowood Grove. Morbid curiosity had drawn me here rather than a desire to say a final farewell to the recently departed. My family had thought it would be a good idea for me to stay out of sight. That was probably for the best, since I was the prime suspect in Edward Creighton’s murder.

Wearing stony expressions, the two most powerful covens in town stood on either side of the coffin. They glared at each other in hatred that had been brewing for several centuries. The Creighton versus Delaney war had been raging for as long as our town had existed. Both families were originally from England. While we Delaneys had embraced the new country immediately and considered ourselves to be American, the Creightons were English to the core. They sent their children back to the mother country to be educated and to learn their snobbish ways. They all returned with an upper-crust British accent. It was just one of the things we despised about our rivals.

Turning my attention back to the deceased, the coffin was finally being lowered into the ground. Mr. Creighton had been laid to rest among his relatives in a plot that had been set aside for him. Personally, I found it a bit creepy that people reserved their burial places in advance.

Heavy clouds that had been threatening rain finally made good on their promise. Fat raindrops splattered the branches above me and I hastily pulled the hood of my raincoat up. A sea of black umbrellas opened up, hiding the faces of the mourners and others who had just come to observe.

I wasn’t alone in my vigil. No one else could see the ghosts that had gathered to gawk at the new specter that had been added to their ranks. As a Delaney, I came from a long line of witches, but I didn’t have a lick of magic inside me. I was considered to be the black sheep of the family. While I could communicate with ghosts and had some psychic abilities, I was still the greatest shame to befall our family for decades. Not that my loved ones deliberately made me feel inferior. Much.

It was a pretty good turnout for such a cranky old so and so, Maryanne said. For reasons unknown, she’d styled herself after Marilyn Monroe. She’d been in her fifties when she’d died a few decades ago. Her tight white dress was far too young and clingy for someone of her age. It was so lowcut that top of her bra was on permanent display. Her chest was heavily lined with wrinkles and her boobs were saggy. Her makeup was too heavy and her blonde wig sat slightly askew. Her lipstick was bright red and uneven, as if she’d been drunk when she’d applied it. Her voice was husky and I was pretty sure she’d been a heavy smoker before she’d died.

Reginald, a ghost in his twenties, cut her a look. Have some respect! he said in a scandalized tone. Don’t you remember how you felt when you first died? Flamboyantly gay, he wore tight black pants and a purple satin shirt with paisley patterns. The top three buttons of his shirt were open to reveal his bony chest. A thick gold chain with a peace symbol hung from his neck. He had slicked back black hair and a narrow face that made him look a bit like a weasel. He’d died in the seventies, judging by his outfit.

Fran, reportedly the worst gossip in town when she’d been alive and even worse now that she was dead, surveyed the crowd. Her red hair was styled in plump curls like Shirley Temple used to wear. Despite being in her thirties, she sported a blue bow with white polka dots in her hair. Her dress matched the bow and did nothing to flatter her chubby figure. She pointed at an umbrella as it shifted enough to reveal the person it was shielding from the weather. Haydn Creighton has come home for the funeral!

Against my will, but completely unable to stop myself, I looked down at a face that had haunted me my entire life. Haydn was sinfully handsome, with pale skin, black hair and wicked blue eyes. He searched the crowd, then somehow zeroed in on me. Even from a distance, I could make out his cold expression. It was the same look everyone in his family wore when staring at a Delaney.

Phew, I’d watch out for that warlock if I were you, Diva, Reginald said in a teasing tone. I’m not sure if he wants to kill you, or sleep with you. Then again, after that nasty curse someone put on you eight years ago, I guess the second option is out.

Fran and Maryanne sucked in breaths that were completely unnecessary since they were dead. They cut a look at me to see how I’d reacted to the reminder that someone had put a hex on me when I’d been sixteen. Scowling, I folded my arms. It was well known by now that to court me would invite disaster. Every guy I attempted to date ended up being injured. A couple had even ended up with stitches.

Right on cue, the sheriff, who happened to be one of my victims, also found my hiding spot and glowered at me. I’d gone on three dates with Drew McTavish. He’d ended up with six stitches in his forehead and a scar as a permanent reminder of our short time together. Non-magical, he didn’t believe that the supernatural existed even though a large number of the townsfolk were witches and warlocks. He’d treated my job as a psychic medium with amusement, which had turned to mistrust after our disastrous and short-lived relationship.

We don’t talk about the curse, Maryanne said in a too loud whisper to Reginald. Not when the poor child can hear us.

I can hear you right now, I said crankily.

Anyway, Fran said brightly in an effort to dispel the awkwardness, Haydn is looking even more handsome than ever, don’t you think?

The warlock was still staring at me even though the mourners were beginning to leave. My family was the first to retreat. One of their most hated enemies was dead and they’d just come to make sure he was really gone and that no one had tried to resurrect him. My grandmother shot a final glare at her rival, Georgina Creighton, then allowed her two daughters to herd her away.

No one else knew that Edward Creighton had attended his own funeral. Staring down at his coffin, the old man had his arms crossed and his expression was forbidding. He wore the usual boring black suit he’d worn every day to work. It was the same suit that he’d died in.

Haydn tipped his head at me in silent promise that there would be a reckoning, then offered his great-grandmother his arm. Georgina Creighton had to be nearly a hundred by now. She was the matriarch of the family and she was a powerful witch. I was glad she didn’t know I was there, or I’d probably already be hexed. I’d heard she could curse her enemies from a distance and I didn’t want to test that theory for myself.

You should get back to work, chicky, Maryanne said to me. You’ll catch your death if you stay out in this horrible weather any longer.

Then you’ll be just like us, Reginald said. Dead, perpetually bored and stuck haunting this town for all eternity.

It isn’t that bad being dead, Fran said in a scolding tone. The afterlife is what you make of it, Reggie.

He gave her a cynical look. "You’ve only been dead for twenty years, Franny. He hated being called Reggie, but the girls tended to ignore his whining. Once you’ve been dead for a few more decades, you’ll learn how long eternity truly is."

Although they squabbled constantly, the trio were nearly inseparable. Heaving a sigh, I sent a final look at the ghost of Edward Creighton, then turned and walked away. I dearly wanted to question him about who had murdered him, but this wasn’t a good time. Since I’d been the last known person to see him alive, Sheriff McTavish had decided I was the main suspect. He’d been watching me like a hawk for the past week, waiting for me to slip up and give myself away somehow so he could arrest me.

Thankfully, there was no evidence to link me to Edward’s death. I was just as mystified as everyone else about who had ended his life. With the sheriff deciding I was the most likely culprit, it was going to be up to me to solve the murder. That wasn’t going to be easy in this town. If you were a normal, which was what the magical folk called the non-magical population, you had no respect in the witch community. Being a psychic medium, the rest of the normals thought I was nuts. Add how accident prone men tended to be when they got close to me and I was hazardous to be around.

Yeah, this’ll be a piece of cake, I complained to myself as I slogged through the wet grass to the side gate. I had an alibi for the time the murder had occurred, but it wouldn’t stand up in court. I couldn’t exactly get my best friend to testify that I was innocent when she’d been dead since the nineteen-eighties.

Chapter Two

SO, HOW DID THE FUNERAL go? my best friend asked when I stepped into to my office. Jessica Fowler had been twenty-three when she’d died. Like all ghosts, she was doomed to remain exactly the same as she’d appeared when she’d perished, thankfully without any signs of what had killed her. She had crimped blonde hair, wore an electric blue headband and matching eyeshadow, a bright pink t-shirt, acid wash jeans and blue legwarmers with ratty sneakers. She had a bubbly personality and had been my closest friend since I’d first learned I could see spirits twenty-one years ago.

It went okay, I replied as I took my raincoat off. Water cascaded onto the small tiled area just inside my door. I hung the raincoat on a hook on the wall next to the door, then hunted for a mop in the closet. It would be just my luck for a client to enter, slip on the wet floor and break a hip.

You have to give me more details than that, Jess complained as she drifted after me.

The Creightons and Delaneys had their usual staring match until the coffin was lowered into the ground, I said. Retrieving the mop, I headed back to the door. I hadn’t gone to the ceremony at the local church, but I was sure their animosity would have been the same while they’d been within its walls. The war between our families is going to be a lot worse now that everyone thinks I killed Edward, I added.

"How could anyone possibly think you could kill a person? the spirit asked indignantly. You can’t even kill a cockroach without fainting."

I paused for a moment to glare at her. I didn’t faint, I said in self-defense. I was just momentarily lightheaded when I squished it and I heard its guts pop.

Putting her hands on her hips, her expression was pitying. You had to lie down on the floor for ten minutes until you recovered.

Muttering to myself, I made sure the tiles were as dry as I could get them before stuffing the mop back into the closet. My office was on the small side, with a bathroom and kitchen on the right. The walls were pale yellow and the carpet was lime green, which wasn’t the most pleasant combination. I had two chairs for my clients arranged in front of my desk. They were cheap, had been upholstered in worn brown fabric and weren’t particularly comfortable. Cracks ran across the walls and ceilings in a few places, but I hadn’t gotten around to getting them repaired yet.

Despite its ugliness, this place was my safe haven from interfering family members and most of the populace. No one wanted to be caught dead speaking to me, no pun intended. Most of my business came from people in the surrounding towns. Surprisingly, I made a modest living as a psychic medium. It wasn’t unusual for me to have to travel for work. Most of the time, the clients brought an item from their deceased to my office. I could pick up a lot of useful information by touching the objects.

Jess wandered over to the door while I stepped into the kitchen to make coffee. I needed something to warm me up after standing out in the chilly fall rain. That’s weird, she called out.

What’s weird? I called back, stirring milk and sugar into the mug.

The closed sign is gone from the Creighton Bookstore, she replied. It looks like it’s open for business again.

My spoon stilled as I thought over the implications. Edward Creighton had run the bookstore for the past forty years. I wasn’t sure who was going to take over the business now. Whoever they were, they would be my new neighbor. Curious, I rinsed my spoon off and headed for the large picture window next to the door.

Standing next to my spectral bestie, I held my coffee cup and peered through the rain at the two-story bookstore. Old and grand, the façade had been painted green, white and gray. A sign in gold letters hung over the door, proclaiming the name of the bookstore. They sold more than just normal books. It was also where the magical community bought their spell books and incantations from. The magical books were sourced directly from England and the Creighton Coven did a thriving business.

Seeing a familiar wrinkled face standing in the large window next to the door, I drew back slightly. Ugh, Bartholomew is in his favorite spot as usual.

He gives me the creeps, Jess said and we shared a shiver.

Bartholomew Creighton had owned the bookstore before Edward. The Delaneys might hate the Creightons, but even we had to shop there. I’d figured out I could see ghosts the one and only time I’d visited the store with my grandmother. I’d been three years old and an ancient, short, withered man had drifted through the stacks to loom over me. He’d had white hair and wore a horrible green tartan coat and mustard yellow pants. Can you see me, little girl? he’d asked. Terrified, I’d nodded mutely in response. I see a grim future for you ahead, he’d told me gravely. You will be cursed to know nothing but misery.

I’d burst into tears and told my grandmother what the mean man had said, which had drawn a small crowd of curious normals. Edward Creighton had banned me from the store for lying and for making a fuss. Even when it had become common knowledge that I was a medium, he still hadn’t lifted the ban. Not that I’d ever wanted to return anyway. Bartholomew’s constant presence was enough to keep me away. I was just glad he was the type of phantom that haunted his place of death and didn’t wander around town. He was the last ghost I wanted to pop into my office or to visit me at home.

Another face appeared in the bookstore window and Jess let out a surprised noise. Is that Haydn Creighton? she asked incredulously. Leaning forward, she stuck her head outside for a better look. It is! she exclaimed as the warlock stared directly at me. Turning to me, she saw my complete lack of surprise. You knew he was here and you didn’t tell me?

He was at the funeral, I said and turned away. I felt his eyes on my back as I made my way over to my desk.

Tell me everything, Jess ordered.

There’s not much to tell, I hedged as I sank down onto my secondhand office chair. It was at least ten years old, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The turnout for the ceremony was fairly high, I added. No one was hexed or stabbed and they all left without incident.

There’s more, she said with utter certainty. Tell me about Haydn.

I shifted uncomfortably, clasping the hot mug of coffee with both hands. He stared at me. That’s all.

Did anyone else stare at you?

Drew McTavish, I admitted reluctantly. I was hiding beneath a tree on a hill, but they both managed to find me.

If you weren’t cursed, you’d be the luckiest woman in Hollowood Grove, she said enviously.

Lucky? I asked in amazement. How could you possibly think I’m lucky?

They’re the two hottest men in town and both of them want you.

I uttered a laugh that sounded almost hysterical. Neither of them want me, Jess. They’ve made that pretty obvious.

Crossing her arms, she shook her head in pity that I wasn’t as sophisticated as her and didn’t know the intricacies of men’s minds like she did. Drew only treats you horribly because he knows he’ll probably lose a body part the next time he tries to kiss you. He’s masking his deep and abiding lust for you by being a jerk.

He wants to lock me up for Edward’s murder and throw away the key, I reminded her.

She waved my words away. He’s just using that as an excuse to see you more often. He knows you didn’t kill the warlock.

Haydn sure as hell doesn’t want me, I muttered sulkily.

Yeah, he does, she replied almost grimly. And that worries me, quite frankly.

Why? I asked, unaccustomed to her seriousness.

He’s a powerful warlock and he’s used to getting what he wants. From the way he stares at you, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re one of the things he wants.

He can’t have me, I said and swung my chair around until I was staring at the wall. Like you said, I’m cursed. No man can touch me without getting hurt.

He didn’t get hurt when he kissed you that one time when you were sixteen, she said slyly.

That happened before the curse kicked in, remember? I said, then swiveled my chair back around to face my desk and tried to pretend she didn’t exist. The curse had made my life extremely difficult, but no one could break it. Only the person who had hexed me could undo it and they weren’t stepping forward to offer me their help.

Chapter Three

DUE TO THE RAIN, MY last client for the afternoon cancelled and I decided to go home early. Knowing Haydn Creighton was right across the street was enough to drive me away. Slinking over to the front door, I peeked out through the window to see a steady stream of customers going in and out of the bookstore. Most were ordinary people, but a few hailed from the magical community. They’d come to see the new store owner and I noticed a lot of them were young, attractive females.

Trying not to scowl, I flipped the sign to ‘closed’, locked the door, then headed for the back exit.

We’re leaving early? Jess asked as she drifted after me.

My raincoat was dry by now and I slung it over my arm. My car was only a few steps away from the backdoor and it wasn’t worth donning it. There’s no point staying here now that my client cancelled, I replied, then closed and locked the door. I made a dash for the car, leaping over a puddle and landing ungracefully next to the decrepit vehicle. I yanked the door open, jumped inside and slammed the door shut. Water dripped down my face and I used my hand to wipe it away.

Completely dry and without a crimped hair out of place, Jess sat in the passenger seat. You look like a drowned rat, she said solemnly, then snickered.

You look like a reject from an eighties music video, I retorted.

How would you know? she said sulkily. You’re only twenty-four. The eighties were over long before you were even born.

I saw a story about the eighties on the History Channel, I replied.

She winced at my jab and I grinned in triumph. I’m not going to lie, that hurt, she said. Now I feel ancient.

Technically, you’re a year younger than me, I reminded her. You’ve just been dead for a few decades is all.

You’re not helping. She was in a sulk now and all I could do was ride it out.

Using the back alley meant I didn’t have to drive down the main street. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t want Haydn to see I was still driving the same crappy car I’d had for the past six years.

Hollowood Grove was a small, cozy town and we all knew each other by sight if not by name. People stared at my rusty blue car as I drove past. It was so old it was hard to tell the make and model. The engine worked and it was roadworthy, which was all I cared about.

My mood went from tolerable to bad by the time I reached home. The Delaney mansion loomed at the top of a hill, peering loftily down at the other houses below. Eclectic in design, it had been added to over the years and was a blend of several different styles. It was three stories high and white with blue trim and shutters. Immaculately kept, it was large enough to house my grandmother, two aunts and two cousins with a couple of bedrooms to spare. My parents had been killed in a car accident when I’d been two. I’d been the only survivor. There were no men residing in the mansion. None that were alive anyway.

Thankfully, I had my own space and I didn’t actually live in the main house anymore. Three years ago, I’d taken over the tiny cottage that had been meant for a groundskeeper back in the day. Painted the same colors as the main house, it had one bedroom, one bathroom, a small living area that doubled as a dining room and a miniscule kitchen. It might be small, but at least it wasn’t plagued with interfering relatives who tried to run my life for me.

Pulling up in the ramshackle carport next to the cottage. I climbed out and headed inside. For the next couple of hours, I could read and relax, or so I thought. That idea went down the drain when I entered the cottage and saw that I had visitors.

We have news, Fran said excitedly. Her two constant companions were with her, of course. All three of them were squeezed into the living room.

What news? Jess asked, surging through me on her way to join them. I let out a shiver at the cold sensation of her passing through me, then closed the door. I didn’t bother to lock it. That wouldn’t keep anyone in my family out if they wanted in. They could easily use magic to open it.

The front door opened directly into my tiny kitchen. A long butcher block counter ran along the left wall and held a few cabinets and the sink. I had a view of the backyard of the mansion through the small window. Although old, the appliances worked well enough. Worn white linoleum covered the floors in all rooms, except my bedroom, which had brown carpet. Pink wallpaper with patterns of flowers adorned the walls. It was ugly, but at least I didn’t have to pay rent.

I made coffee while the phantoms did what they did best and gossiped about the living. They were clustered next to my two worn armchairs and my battered coffee table that was covered in junk. Covered in dark blue velvet, the chairs had once belonged in the mansion, but had been retired to the cottage years ago.

We heard that Haydn Creighton is back for good and that he’s the new owner of the bookstore! Fran exclaimed, chins quivering in excitement.

Finally, we have some man candy to drool over, Maryanne added with a leer.

Ghosts don’t drool, sweetie, Reginald said in exaggerated patience, hand on his hip and expression condescending. We don’t have any saliva.

It’s a figure of speech, Reggie, Maryanne said tightly. I didn’t mean it literally.

Humans can drool, though, Fran said in a coy tone and with a sly look at me. I’m pretty sure Angelica Mayhew was watering at the mouth when she went to the bookstore to welcome Haydn back to town.

All eyes swung to me as my back stiffened. Angelica was my archnemesis and everyone in town knew it. We’d been friends in middle school, but had become enemies in high school. That was a couple of years before my curse had kicked in and we’d both liked the same boy. It was frowned on for witches and warlocks to date normals, but that hadn’t stopped Angelica from having a crush on Zeke. I’d won him, not that it was much of an achievement looking back now.

Angelica had never forgiven me for stealing Zeke, even after he’d moved out of town a few weeks later when his parents decided they’d had enough of our weird town. She made it her mission to make my life miserable. Since she was a witch with average power, she was fond of playing magical pranks on me.

How did Haydn react to Angelica? Jess asked, trying hard to tone down her eagerness and failing miserably.

We had to watch through the window, so we couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was as charming as always, Fran replied. Bartholomew didn’t like other ghosts in his store and he always chased them away. It’s clear Haydn is quite the ladies’ man, she went on. I’m sure he won’t remain single for long.

She slid another sly look at me, but I gave her no reaction. Spirits were like sharks, always circling and looking for any signs of blood. At any hint of weakness, she’d tear my carcass to pieces, in a manner of speaking. I would then become fodder for the ghostly gossip mill, but that was nothing new. No one except Jess knew about the kiss I’d shared with my enemy, but they suspected something had happened in our past.

Did he ask her out on a date? Jess asked.

Fran shook her head. It didn’t look like it, but it’s only a matter of time. Angelica is the prettiest girl in town.

No, she isn’t! Jess denied. Diva is way prettier than that short, blonde, blue-eyed, overly buxom witch. She was always coming to my defense.

Rounding on each other, the pair were about to descend into an argument when someone coughed politely from behind me. My shoulders hunched up around my ears even before I turned around. Grandma’s butler had snuck in to spy on us. In his seventies, Bryce wore a black suit, a starched white shirt, white gloves and shiny black shoes. Completely devoid of hair, his face was strangely unlined for someone his age. His expression hadn’t changed once in my entire twenty-four years of life. I hadn’t even known he was a ghost until I was five. I’d just thought he was a weird old guy who hadn’t liked me much. He’d been serving the Delaneys for the past hundred years, fifty of which had been from beyond the grave. Yes? I asked, knowing what he was going to say even before he said it, yet dreading it anyway.

You have been summoned by your grandmother, miss, he intoned. You are expected in the parlor in fifteen minutes.

The ghosts waited for the butler to drift away before breaking into whispers. Jess floated over to me with a worried expression. Why are you being summoned? What’s going on?

I don’t know, I replied uneasily. Whatever it was, I had a bad feeling about it. The parlor was my grandmother’s private domain. The rest of us were only invited inside when we were in trouble. Considering I was a murder suspect, to say I was in trouble would be a vast understatement. Frankly, I was surprised it had taken them a week to get around to questioning me about Edward Creighton’s murder.

Chapter Four

INWARDLY QUAKING, I changed out of my work clothes of a blazer, stretchy shirt and fitted trousers and pulled on jeans and a sweater. The rain hadn’t eased off, so I grabbed an umbrella and headed for the door with Jess on my heels. Fran, Maryanne and Reginald went to follow us and I glared at them. This is a private meeting, I said pointedly. They couldn’t hide from me, but phantoms could be devious. They were adept at eavesdropping without being seen.

I’ll keep watch to make sure they don’t try to listen in, Jess said with a stern look at the trio.

You ruin all our fun, Fran complained, then flounced off. Reginald and Maryanne floated after her, disappearing through the wall of the cottage.

Checking my watch, I saw I only had one minute left before my expected arrival time and hurried outside. Wind and rain buffeted me and I became drenched from the shoulders down. Fighting to hold the umbrella steady against what was turning into a gale, I sprinted across the lawn to the mansion. I didn’t bother to knock and just barged inside.

Bryce was waiting for me in the foyer. He swept his hand at the umbrella stand to show me where it was, as if I hadn’t grown up in this house along with my cousins. Mrs. Delaney is waiting for you, he said dourly when I shoved the umbrella into the stand. Follow me, he intoned, then turned and floated down the hallway. Pristine white tiles covered the floor, then changed to thick dark gray carpet when we stepped into the hallway. The walls were painted off white and were adorned with old family portraits.

Despite being chilled by the rain, sweat ran down my spine. My grandmother was a formidable witch and she was the matriarch of our family. Delaneys had built this house and we were proud of our heritage. Some of it was fairly dark, but we didn’t dwell on the relatives who had practiced the black arts. It was rare for someone to cast a hex or curse that was truly harmful these days. The Council of Conjurers tended to frown on it.

Bryce stopped at the door to the parlor, but he didn’t enter. Even as a spirit, he was discreet. He merely ushered me inside, then drifted away. Jess gave me a nod of support and was at my back when I entered the room.

Delicate, antique couches and armchairs had been placed in a semi-circle around a gigantic fireplace. Logs were burning merrily, giving off an occasional bright spark. A painting of Lilla Delaney hung over the mantle. My grandmother had been in her thirties when it had been painted. Although she was a few inches shorter than my five-foot-five, she’d been slender and attractive, with long, dark brown hair and brown eyes. I bore a startling resemblance to her. She’d married a warlock from another town, but she hadn’t taken his name. None of the Delaney women did. The witches were far too proud of their heritage to change it.

Things were far worse than I’d expected. It wasn’t just my grandmother who was sitting on one of the plush floral chairs. The whole family was here.

So good of you to finally join us, Diva, Grandma said in a cutting tone, glancing at her watch. I was thirty seconds late, which was another black mark against me. Small and thin, she was in her seventies and wore her hair in a perpetual bun. She wore a black dress every day in mourning for the husband who had passed away twenty years ago. Thankfully, his ghost didn’t haunt the mansion. Bryce, Jess and Fran and her friends were the only phantoms who tended to hang out here.

Sit down, honey, Aunt Isabel said with a sympathetic smile. She’d been chosen to be the good cop this time. As always, her mother was the bad cop. Short like her mother and stout, Isabel was in her late forties. Her hair had gone gray and she wore dowdy clothes. In stark contrast, Aunt Janet was a few inches taller and made an effort to stay slim. She dyed her hair black and wore trendy clothes. Her hair was cut in a fashionable style just above her shoulders. It was hard to believe they were sisters and were only a couple of years apart in age. She looked a decade younger than Isabel.

I obediently sank down onto a chair. My aunts flanked Grandma like they were her soldiers. My two cousins were staring at me with suppressed glee. Usually, one of them was getting in trouble. It was rare for me to be put in the hot seat.

Why did you do it? Eve asked. My cousin was too impatient to wait for the older generation to begin grilling me. She was three years older than me, but her sister, Courtney, was my age. Eve was still wearing her work clothes of a tailored dark gray jacket and skirt and frilly blue blouse. Her sister wore tight jeans and a lowcut top and equally lowcut sweater.

Do what? I asked blankly.

You know what, Courtney said, rolling her eyes. Both girls had inherited the same dark brown hair and brown eyes that I shared with my father, aunts and grandmother. My mother had married into the family and had stood out with her auburn hair and blue eyes. I couldn’t remember them and had to rely on photos to know what they’d looked like.

We all know you killed Edward Creighton, Eve said knowingly. We just want to know why you did it. She wore her hair in a neat bob, while Courtney’s was long and hung halfway down her back. Mine was just past my shoulders.

I didn’t kill him, I said, annoyed and hurt that my own family considered me to be guilty. Jess was with me when it happened. She can vouch for me.

Damn straight, the phantom said while keeping her eyes out for ghostly eavesdroppers.

Diva, ghosts aren’t reliable sources of information, Aunt Isabel told me, striving for patience. No one is going to take you seriously if you use that as your only defense. Just tell us why you did it. I promise we’ll try to understand.

I didn’t kill him! I almost shouted. Grandma raised a gray eyebrow and I flushed in embarrassment. Lilla Delaney didn’t take any sass from anyone, least of all from the black sheep of the family. Sorry, I muttered and her eyebrow settled down again.

If you didn’t kill him, who did? Aunt Janet asked in an exasperated tone.

How would I know? I replied.

What do the ghosts have to say? Aunt Isabel asked.

They don’t know who killed him. No one saw anything.

What about that creepy phantom that haunts the Creighton Bookstore? Eve said slyly. Have you asked him if he saw the murder take place?

I shuddered at the mere thought of entering the bookstore and my cousins chuckled. They all knew how terrified I’d been of Bartholomew when I’d been a kid. Even now, he still made my hackles rise. I’m banned from the store, I reminded them. I’m not allowed to enter to ask him any questions.

Edward Creighton is dead now, so he’s no longer here to enforce his stupid rules, Grandma said crankily. That ban could be seen as a motive, by the way.

I looked at her incredulously before speaking. Do you really think I’d kill a frail old man just because he banned me from his store?

She shrugged her bony shoulders. Stranger things have happened.

I buy eBooks, I told her tightly. I haven’t bought a paperback in years.

What the heck is an eBook, Isabel? Grandma asked, clearly mistrustful of my answer.

They’re electronic books, from what I understand, my aunt replied patiently.

Shaking her head, Grandma got back to business. You were the last person to see Edward alive. Sheriff McTavish seems to think you’re the prime suspect. What do you expect us to believe?

That I didn’t do it, I shot back. I spoke to Mr. Creighton for a couple of minutes as I was leaving work. He went back into his store and I went home. Whatever happened to him occurred after I was gone. I’d parked out the front rather than the back that day, knowing I would be staying later than usual for a client. The lighting out the front was a lot better than out the back and a girl couldn’t be too careful these days.

You were overheard arguing with him, Eve pointed out. It apparently sounded very heated.

He accused me of egging his car, I said wearily. I’d already been over this with Drew when he’d questioned me about it. I denied doing it and he didn’t believe me.

"Did you egg his car?" Courtney asked.

Of course not! I said and glared at her. I’m twenty-four, not fourteen! Why would I egg his car?

Because he banned you from his store, Aunt Isabel said as if it was obvious. Someone has been pranking that man for years. The attacks weren’t magical in nature, so it had to be a normal. They all stared at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to confess to more crimes that I hadn’t committed.

This is ridiculous, I said, fed-up with them all. I wasn’t the one pranking Mr. Creighton and I didn’t kill him. I’ll figure out who did and then I’ll expect an apology from you all. It was a mystery who had been plaguing him. He parked his car in a small lot at the back of his store, so I’d never seen the culprit in action.

Standing, I went to flounce out, but my grandmother spoke before I could make it to the door. We’re having roast beef for dinner.

Temptation of a homecooked meal won out over my urge to be childish. Sounds good, I said begrudgingly before leaving the room.

Bryce was waiting for me and escorted me back to the door like I was a lowly supplicant. I suppose we’ll be seeing you in an hour, miss, he said sourly as I retrieved my umbrella.

Jess had watched the whole spectacle in silence and shook her head as we headed back into the gale. Your family is whacked, she said, shouting over the wind.

You’re telling me! I shouted back, then concentrated on trying to stay on my feet as I struggled to reach the cottage.

Chapter Five

PUSHING THE DOOR OPEN, I realized a light was blazing in the living room before I saw the silhouette of a tall man. My heart thudded with fright and I prepared to flee. I flicked the light in the kitchen on, then froze when I saw who my visitor was.

Exactly what are you planning to do with that, pray tell? Haydn Creighton asked in a posh British accent, pointing at the umbrella that I was brandishing like a weapon.

Flushing in embarrassment, I shoved it into the closet next to the door. My hair was wet and bedraggled and my sweater clung to me. His wicked blue eyes dropped from my face to my feet and worked their way back up again. Heat rose in my cheeks again, but for a very different reason. What do you want, Haydn? I asked, cursing my voice for sounding so husky. He was my sworn enemy, but he could unnerve me with a single look.

He stalked closer and came to a stop only inches away. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He had no idea Jess was watching us both avidly, waiting to see the outcome of our little drama. You’re completely soaked, he said.

Thanks, Captain Obvious, I replied in a sour tone. I wouldn’t have noticed that if you hadn’t pointed it out. Thank God you’re here to fill me in.

Smirking at my crankiness, he held his hands out towards me. I felt a faint tingle on my skin as he harnessed his magic. He smoothed his hands downwards and the water was magically sucked out of my hair and clothes. There, he said in satisfaction. I’m sure you will be much more comfortable now.

Holy crap, Jess breathed. That was so freaking hot! She fluttered her hands in front of her face in a vain attempt to cool herself down.

I knew Haydn was a powerful warlock, but this was the first time I’d seen him perform magic in years. Thanks, I said awkwardly, wondering what he wanted.

Turning away, he crossed to the old-fashioned kettle on the stove that had just begun to boil. Tea? he asked politely, as if this was his kitchen and I was the one visiting him. He’d made himself at home during the short time that I’d been gone.

I prefer coffee, I replied.

He made himself a cup of tea, then poured coffee from the machine for me. I added milk and one sugar, then he gestured at the two armchairs that made up my living room furniture. Please, have a seat. His manners were impeccable for someone who had taken over my home.

Holding my cup, I sank down into my favorite chair and eyed him warily. I’m sorry for your loss, I said lamely.

Staring into the cold fireplace, Haydn seemed to be far away. My loss? he repeated. Pointing his finger at the logs, a flame burst to life, making me jump. My great-uncle always intended me to take over running the bookstore, he said without looking at me. Edward made sure I received the type of education I would require to handle his business. He was planning to retire next year and was getting ready to hand the store over to me. He turned to face me and I saw his politeness was just a façade. It hid anger that burned far hotter than the fire. Did you kill him? he asked point blank.

No, I croaked, then sagged when I saw his disbelief. But I’m going to find out who did, I added.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his cold eyes. Taking a sip of tea, his gaze never left me. While I didn’t have any magic in me, I could sense it in others. His was far stronger than most, which meant he would be a very dangerous man to cross.

This is so intense, Jess whispered, hands clasped together beneath her chin.

I cut her a look and my unwanted guest noticed. I take it we are not alone? Haydn asked in a deceptively pleasant tone.

My best friend, Jess, is here, I said.

Ah, you mean Jessica Fowler, the young woman who died in a car accident in the eighties? he queried.

Yeah. That’s her.