Cursed on the Second Date: A Witchy Cozy Mystery (Cursed Coven Cozies Book 2)

  Cursed on the Second Date

  Cursed Coven Cozies Book #2

  Daphne DeWitt

  Copyright © 2017 by Daphne DeWitt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Thank You for reading!

  Author’s Note

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  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  Rita Reincarnated

  Twice Baked Murder

  Twice Layered Murder

  Twice Dipped Murder

  Cursed Coven Cozies

  Cursed at First Sight

  Cursed on the Second Date

  1

  I used to think this place would be better off without me and that the mountain town of Cat’s Cradle and the Norwood family of witches who reside there would have seen better days without the bad luck that springs forth every time I’m happy.

  Luckily, my family seems to think otherwise and, most days, I’m inclined to agree with them now.

  The operative word there being ‘most’ because there were still times when I thought I would never bring anything but hardship to the people I love. During those times, all I wanted to do was turn tail and run, to leave it all behind, even though I knew I couldn’t.

  I used to call those times ‘Vintage Malady Stretches’ and, lucky for you, you’re about to enter one.

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  “I’m melting like a popsicle on the Fourth of July,” Abigail complained, waving her hands dramatically in front her sweaty face. I was shocked when she signed up to help the Social Committee set up for the annual Under the Stars Charity Ball. Abigail attended every year, but she never helped with the setup. Ever.

  It fit with her personality, actually. The most self-centered of my sisters wasn’t a bad person, per se. She was even known to say a kind word or two (during the times their shared voice wasn’t being used by my more mousy and sweet sister Agnes), but it was undeniable that Abigail wasn’t the most charitable of the Norwood witches. The only time Abigail was helpful was when she was forced to by our Grandma Misty, and even then, she grumbled the entire time. Which made her sudden interest in public service all the more strange.

  “Why are you even here?” I asked, trying to get a huge knot out of the string of lights I was supposed to have hung from the tree two hours earlier.

  “I’m here because I want to be a part of the community. You know, mix and mingle,” she replied, placing a pink and white floral centerpiece on each table.

  “You’ve never wanted to be part of anything other than the center of attention, and all you ever want to mix and mingle are drinks,” I said in reply, still pulling at the stubborn string of lights.

  “And potions,” she quipped, shrugging.

  “Don’t!” I said, my eyes widening as she said the ‘p’ word within earshot of not only Martha Jenkins, who ran the beauty shop in town and was- as such- the person to come to for juicy gossip, but also Pastor Timmons. His heart probably couldn’t take confirmation that some of his most loyal parishioners were actually witches.

  “Why not?” She blanched at me. “Everyone knows anyway. What’s the big deal?”

  “Everyone thinks they know,” I answered in a hushed yell. “There’s a big difference between assuming something and knowing it flat out. As long as we don’t flaunt what we are in their faces, the people of Cat’s Cradle can go on telling themselves it’s just a bedtime story that’s been passed down through the generations.”

  “That seems kind of sad to me,” she answered, though I could tell from the way she was eyeing the placement of her centerpiece, her attention had moved on to other, flashier, things. “Everyone should get to be who they really are.”

  She had a point there. I was a firm believer in being true to yourself, but this was a mountain town, separate from the rest of the world in a way only mountain towns ever could be. We were a tight-knit community, a larger family made up of several smaller ones. I didn’t want to take the chance that the truth might change that dynamic. Besides, it wasn’t my call. Family matters were decided by the family matriarch, and Abigail and I both knew what Aunt Misty would think of ‘outing’ ourselves.

  “Whatever,” she sighed, as though she was reading my mind. She better not have been though. I really hated it when she did that.

  Do you hear that, Abigail? I HATE it.

  “You’re just jealous because now I’m socially conscious too, and you can’t stand up on your soapbox as the only person who cares about this community.” She gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

  Okay. So she wasn’t reading my mind. She was lying through her teeth. She didn’t care about the community. All she cared about was how her hair looked, Cade Blackwater and, more often than not, making sure we knew she was-without a doubt- the most fabulous of the Norwood siblings.

  “Grandma Misty made you come out to help, didn’t she?” I asked, attempting to shake my foot free from the string of lights that was taking over my body. I looked like I was trying to win an ugly Christmas sweater party but in the spring.

  “Yes,” she admitted, almost pouting. “I was supposed to go Cold Creek today to meet up with Cade, but Grandma Misty told me that our relationship was moving at an alarming rate and I needed to focus on other things,” she said, using her best impression of Grandma Misty’s voice. “She also pointed her finger at me and told that, if I didn’t listen to her, she was going to-”

  “Turn you into a pineapple?” I asked, finishing a threat I’d heard from our grandmother more than once.

  “A bushel of strawberries,” she corrected.

  “Oh,” I shrugged. “Well, it is spring.”

  “I’m sick and tired of her ‘rules and regulations,’” Abigail muttered, once again dipping into an accent that sounded more Scottish than like Grandma Misty.

  “She’s just looking out for you,” I explained. “You did get over Bobby extremely fast. You have to admit that it did all happen a little too quickly,” I said, finally freeing myself from the lights and doing a little victory fist pump. I almost yelled ‘I’m free at last,’ but I decided against that because everyone in town already thought my family was the weirdest. There was no need to add fuel to that particular fire.

  “I k
now, but when you know you just know, ya know?” she asked, with a dreamy expression on her face that made me think she was probably planning out her wedding to Cade in her head and naming their children.

  It would have taken a normal person about thirty minutes to make sense of that question, but luckily for Abigail, I wasn’t normal. No Norwood in the history of Norwood’s had ever shown even a hint of normalcy. It was sort of like a gift.

  “No, I don’t, and you said the same thing about Bobby, remember?” I asked her, shaking my head.

  Abigail fell in and out of love quicker than the contestants on a dating centered reality show. Her entire life was like some weird Halloween themed season of The Bachelorette.

  “It’s different this time,” she assured me, which wasn’t even close to the first time I’d heard that. For Abigail, it was always different until it ended, then she’d cry on one of our shoulders and tell us how all men were the same.

  I might have reminded her of that if she hadn’t turned the conversation in a slightly less welcome direction for me.

  “What’s going on with your love triangle?” she inquired, placing the last centerpiece in its place on the table.

  Glaring at her, I picked up the string of lights and climbed up the ladder to hang them in the trees. “I wasn’t aware I was in a love triangle,” I said, taking a page from Abigail’s book and playing dumb. She was better at it than me.

  I grimaced, because I was lying and it wasn’t my strong suit. I knew exactly who she was talking about. My entire family thought there were sparks between Daniel Price, the new attorney and part owner of my family’s law firm. I could deny it. Though he pushed all the wrong buttons, there was definitely something about the man that led to believe that- if given the chance- he might be able to push the right ones too.

  On the other end of this metaphorical triangle was Mason, my very first boyfriend and still one of my best friends in Cat’s Cradle. I had loved Mason when I was young. There was no doubt of that, but that didn't mean I loved him now.

  Not that it mattered. I couldn’t be in love, not if I wanted to see anyone I cared about happy ever again.

  That’s curses for you.

  “Oh yes you were,” she said in an annoying sing-song voice. “Let me be a little more specific. Are you going with Mason or Daniel to the charity ball?”

  My heart fluttered, and I tried not to shake my head in response. “That’s ridiculous,” I said, swallowing hard. “Mason and I haven’t dated since high school, and Daniel is maybe the most annoying person in the entire world. I’d rather be in a love triangle with Bert and Ernie.”

  “That didn’t answer my question,” Abigail said, smirking.

  “Neither, Christopher is taking me,” I replied, climbing up the ladder, light string in hand, and trying very hard not to make eye contact with my sister.

  She wouldn’t understand. The reason I had chosen to be the loser who goes with her little brother had nothing to do with the fact that Mason nor Daniel asked me. I didn’t care at all. It wasn’t like I wanted one of them to ask me. I wanted to go with Christopher. Well, there was that and the fact that- if I got even an inkling of anything like romantic satisfaction- all the people I cared about would pay for it with mystical curse related hardships.

  So, you know, there’s that.

  “That’s such a Malady thing to do,” Abigail said, rolling her eyes.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, peering down at her accusingly.

  “Nothing too bad,” she assured me, though the irritating way her lips curled up at the ends made me think she wasn’t being completely honest about that. “You just always tend to play it safe. That’s all.”

  Frustration blossomed in my chest. “There’s a reason for that, you know,” I balked, hanging the lights and heading down the ladder.

  “I know. I know,” Abigail rolled her eyes. “Poor Malady and her curse. We’ve all got mountains to climb, you know.”

  “Your mountain wouldn’t cause a freak hail storm to come out of nowhere and ruin the gala, would it?” I asked, daring her with lifted eyebrows.

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “Though I’m not without hardship.” She looked passed me, her eyes focusing on something in the distance. “Speaking of that hardship, why is Agnes running like she’s being chased by a pack of wild rabies infested dogs?” Abigail asked, nudging her hot pink cat eye sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at her twin sister.

  Swiftly turning around, I saw a sweaty and out of breath Agnes running our way. “Where’s the fire?” I asked, knowing she couldn’t answer with words given the fact that Abigail was using the voice.

  She narrowed her eyes at me before turning her attention to her twin. She pointed to her own throat, stomping her foot. Obviously, she wanted the voice to explain what was going on.

  “Oh no, Sister, today I get to talk. That’s what we agreed on. We pinky swore on it, and that means no take backs,” Abigail said, stomping her foot on the ground. “Besides, I have a big day planned.”

  One look at Agnes’ face and I knew whatever she had to tell us was important. My heart dropped.

  “Abigail, give her the voice,” I said, using my assertive ‘older sister’ tone.

  “No, she can use hand gestures,” she said, proving just how big of a brat she was. “It will be like we’re playing a game of charades.”

  “We suck at charades, Abby. We lose to Christopher and Grandma Misty every game on family game night, and he’s a bird half the time. Give her the voice, and you can keep it for the whole charity ball. Right, Agnes?”

  Agnes was quick to nod her head in agreement.

  “Fine, but this better be important,” Abigail muttered. She started humming, and the voice transferred. Soon, Agnes was humming, the voice having moved over to her.

  “Aunt Tilly is coming home!” Agnes shouted so loud it startled me into jumping.

  Still, a smile spread across my face as I let the information soak in. Aunt Tilly was the best, and it had been way too long since we were all in the same place together.

  “That’s great news, Agnes.” Then, reading the way her face turned down, I continued. “Wait, why do you look like that’s not great news?” I asked.

  “Because it’s not,” she answered simply.

  “Why is it not?” I asked, looking from one twin to the other. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t say,” Agnes admitted.

  Abigail would have screamed if she could have. As it was, she just crossed her arms over her chest and huffed dramatically.

  “I’ve got to agree with her, Agnes. Why would you take the voice if you couldn’t use it?”

  “Because Grandma Misty wants to tell everyone. She told me not to say anything.”

  “Oh,” I muttered. That was the end of that. Even Abigail knew better than to question Grandma Misty when her foot was down.

  “She’s called a family meeting. So let’s go,” she said, running toward the car.

  “Oh. Right now then,” I said, looking at Abigail. “I guess we’d better go.”

  Aunt Tilly coming home should have been great for the family, but if Grandma Misty was calling a family meeting, it was far from ideal. Family meetings were only held when one of had gotten ourselves into trouble or when something had gone terribly wrong. Given the nature of our lives and whatnot, we had family meetings a lot. In our house, they were sort of a nightly thing.

  My mind ran rampant with thoughts of what could have possibly happened to Aunt Tilly. She had been guilty of doing a lot of crazy stuff in her day. I only hoped she was okay. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought that my mother’s sister might be hurt or worse.

  No. This had to be something different, something she had done.

  Had she turned someone into a frog again? Oh, I hoped not. That had been hard to fix. She did it ten years ago and, even after we returned the man to his human form,the habits were hard to kick. The poor thing c
raved flies for three whole months afterward.

  As we drove up the driveway, I saw Grandma Misty hobbling around the front yard like a chicken with its head cut off. Her leg had healed up nicely, and she was so thrilled to be able to be out of her wheelchair we couldn’t get her to sit down. Still, her gait wasn’t completely healed and watching her brought up a little old guilt.

  She wanted to get rid of the wheelchair, but I told her to keep it so she could be Professor X for Halloween. She didn’t think it was funny, and it wasn’t. In truth, the reason I wanted her to keep the wheelchair was because- with me around- it was only a matter of time before she or someone else in the family would need it. That’s who I was, and it was the price they would pay for me sticking around.

  “Oh, thank goodness. It took you girls forever to get here. We have to get the house cleaned up!” Grandma Misty exclaimed.

  The house didn’t need to be cleaned up. Sadie always kept it spotless. You could literally eat off the floor. In fact, it was completely out of the ordinary for something like that to happen. From pizza boxes, of course. Not straight off the floor or anything. We were witches, not Neanderthals.

  “Not to sound too ‘Poltergeist,’ but the house is already clean, and besides we don’t have to impress Aunt Tilly. She used to live here, remember? She has seen it a lot messier than this.”

  “I know that, Smarty Pants. The day I concern myself with impressing your Aunt Tilly is the day you can finally stick me in a home because I’ve lost my mind.”