Excerpt

The cat and I regarded each other with matching green gazes until I pointed at it and said, "Mama Donahue's not going to like seeing a cat outside her house."

"Meeoorrww?"

"I have no idea what that means." I put my hands on my hips. "But she's threatened to turn cats into mice."

"Meeowr!"

"Yeah, I know. It's shocking, isn't it?" I nodded, resembling a bobble-head doll. Then I looked at the back door of granny's house and acknowledged my reflection in the glass of the door's window. I'm talking to a cat.

But I was being honest with the cat. My granny was a rare bird. A witch who disliked cats. Delilah Donahue, affectionately known as Mama D in the small town of Castle Falls, South Carolina, was the owner of the town's only flower and herbal shop, Lavender, Rosemary, and Rhine.

Everyone in my family owned cats. Cats made the perfect familiars. Other animals could be claimed for service on special occasions—like Mama D's familiar, Burt. He's a bat. A cute little fruit bat. But, a bat. Most witches around the world used cats.

Except me. I don't have a familiar.

My name is Ginger Blackstone. My mother married a promising architect named Clyde Cornelius Blackstone. He wasn't a witch. Not a magical bone in his body. But he loved my mother, and he loved cats. And he was a master at building houses. In fact, he built Mama D's flower shop into the ground floor of the three-story house he created for her in town. The Victorian replica rested on the settlement site of the Donahue Clan. Parts of the house were original, which meant that sometimes visitors saw some of our ancestors floating about.

No cause for alarm. It happened mostly on Halloween.

I have two older siblings, my brother Kevin who is not a witch, and my sister Melody who is. Then there is Daphne, the sister after me, also a witch.

I left Castle Falls and the proud state of South Carolina after graduation. I became a Certified Public Accountant, made some money in California, married and quickly divorced when I realized not all non-magical men appreciated the blessing of marrying a witch.

The divorce was a year ago. In the five years after leaving home at eighteen, I'd never found a familiar. None had ever presented themselves to me. It was just like that old saying, that when the student is ready, the teacher will come—only for us it's when the witch is ready, the familiar will appear. I'd hoped my familiar would appear after the divorce. But…no.

I practiced magic regularly. I knew all of my mother's old spells—they came naturally to me. I could do basic stuff, like light a candle, or a fire, freeze water. But my passion was plants. I loved them. They took over my tiny apartment. Potted trees, bushes, flowers, hanging vines—they were everywhere.

Come to think of it, maybe it was a good idea I didn't have a familiar. The neighbors already thought I was strange. A red-headed accountant with no husband and a place full of plants. Add a cat to that and…

No thanks.

So as a divorced—professional—I was home in my tiny plant-filled apartment when the Sheriff of Castle Falls called and gave me some troublesome news.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Ginger, but your grandmother's been arrested."

At first, I thought it was a joke. Sheriff William Danvers had gone to school with my mother and had a crush on her throughout the eleventh and twelve grades. She liked him because he made her laugh, but not for anything else. He knew about magic—most everyone in Castle Falls knew about magic—but he had none. He respected my family, which is more I than I could say about some people in that small town.

"Ginger, you there?"

"I'm waiting for the punchline."

"This is no joke," Sheriff Danvers said. "She and some stranger got into it outside her shop. A few folks saw her chase him out of her place with a broom."

"Will, I'm still waiting on why you arrested my grandmother."

"She threatened to kill him if he ever came back. He turned up dead inside her shop the next morning."

Wow. That was one hell of a punchline. I looked at my small apartment and winced at the sound of honking horns outside. It was five 'o'clock traffic on this side of the world and eight in Castle Falls. "Did you call Melody? Can't she bail Mama D out?"

"Melody's not picking up her phone and the store's closed. Deputy Perrin said there's a note on the door that says she's on a retreat for spiritual cleansing."

That sounded like my sister. And she did hate phones.

"Mama D said not to bother Kevin or Daphne so I called you."

"Fine. I'll be there tomorrow. Don't you do anything bad to my granny."

"Ginger, I wouldn't harm a hair on her head," he said, but I still caught the, "I don't wanna turn into a frog," under his breath.

I had just arrived in Castle Falls, having taken a taxi from the bus stop. I had my bags in hand at my grandmother's home. The house had held up over the years. It could use a fresh coat of paint and the yard needed a nice manicure. And what was up with the herb garden? That garden had been an eighth wonder of the world when I was young. But now it looked sad and neglected. Was Mama D letting it all go?

That's when I saw the cat. He was big, and black, and watching me from the backdoor stoop.

And here we were.

I leaned over and held out my hand. He lifted up on his back feet and head-bumped my palm. I gave him lots of scritches (that's a technical term most cat owners used for affectionate scratches) on the back of his neck and top of his head. I was pretty sure the neighbors could hear his purr. Motorboat.

"Well, I won't let her turn you into anything, okay?"

"Meerooow."

That sounded like an OK. "And since she's in the pokey, let's look inside and see if there's something I can feed you."

He followed me in—zooming between my ankles as I opened the door. Eh, I'd grab him later. If granny didn't want a cat in here, then she shouldn't get herself arrested. I took my suitcases inside and locked the door behind me. The back door opened into a cozy living area that moved right into the best kitchen ever. My dad had always said the kitchen was the focal point of every family, and any gathering of friends. Kitchens should be homey, comfortable, and well equipped to handle anything. Mama D's kitchen was the greatest example of that theory.

Ivory tiled floor, marbled countertops, stainless steel sinks, gas appliances, all state-of-the art. Lots of windows with planters to bring the outside garden in—but the only things in the planters were brown dried leaves. I put my hands on my hips as I looked around. The place was a mess. Pots and pans filled the sink and the counter. Empty cabinets and a sparse pantry alarmed me.

I marched from the kitchen back into the living room, noting the magazines and Styrofoam containers littering the couch, chairs, and a coffee table made of a section of an Oak tree. I walked back through the kitchen to the shop and opened the door—

And stopped before I stepped on the chalk outline of where the dead body had lain.

Gross.

My dad made sure the dark green tiled floor was easy to sweep and hose down if needed. Fountains sat in the two corners of the front window. They were shut off. I wrinkled my nose at the slight icky smell of the stagnant green water. The place looked like it'd been raided. But I didn't know if it was before the stranger died or after Mama D was carted off to jail.

The cat hopped up on the counter and meowed at me. I turned, sidestepped the outline, and looked at the register by the counter. I hit the proper key combination—unless Mama D changed it—and the bottom drawer popped out. "Well, little fellow, they didn't steal money."

"Meerowwwrrww."

"Yes," I agreed, though I had no idea what the kitty said. It was time I asked someone who might. "Burt? You in here?"

I listened. Nothing. Burt was always with granny, but I doubt he went with her to jail. "Burt?"

A rustling sound caused me and the cat to turn as something medium, black, and roundish came hurdling at us. I smirked and held up my hand, catching it like a baseball in a glove.

The ball unfolded itself and looked up at me as its wings draped over my fingers.

Burt the bat.

"Whatever you're thinking," the bat said in a tiny, nasal voice as it twitched its large ears. "It wasn't me. It was that guy."

"What guy?"

"The Hunter Guy."

"Witch Hunter?"

"No, Familiar Hunter."

I made a face at Burt. "You're a claimed Familiar. There's no need for a Familiar Hunter to come here."

"Not after me," Burt rolled and sort of half turned on his side in my palm. He somewhat resembled a pill bug sometimes. He pointed a wing at the cat on the counter. "Him."

I turned to look at the cat sitting on the counter, watching us with bright green eyes. "He's a familiar?"

"Yep."

I looked at the chalk mark. "Is the dead guy the Familiar Hunter?"

"No. He was Max's Witch. Max is the cat."

"The guy Mama D's in jail for killing is…was…a Witch?"

Burt arched a non-existent brow at me. "You're catching on, fire-head."

I tossed the bat into the air. Burt spread his wings and coasted to his perch. Mama D kept one of those parrot stands by the register for Burt to hang on. He remained upright for a few seconds, his back to me, then he rolled forward, like a gymnast on the horizontal bar until he hung upside down, now facing me. I liked Burt, but he was an odd duck.

"Can you help me catch on more, Burt?" I put a hand on the register near—Max. The cat looked at my hand and then put his paw on it and kept it there as he stared at me. There was something in that touch that made my arm tingle so I pulled it back. "Mama D threatened this guy?"

"No…" he sighed. "She threatened the Familiar Hunter. He came in a few days ago and got all up in Mama D's face. He accused her of protecting a wanted Familiar….or something like that."

"What?"

"No idea. I was taking a nap. Until Mama D cracked some thunder on this guy's butt and he left, threatening she would regret that."

"She actually used lightning?" I lowered my chin to my chest. "She only uses that when she's angry."

"That's why I remember it." Burt sighed as he leaned his head to his right, cracking his neck. Then he leaned to his left and it cracked again. "Oh, that's better."

"So," I looked at Max. He was staring at me. "Mama D didn't threaten the dead guy. Why was a Familiar Hunter after this cat if he belonged to the Witch?"

"You'll have to ask Max. And he's not talking."

Literally. I ran my fingers through my hair and it felt sticky. I wanted a shower after seven hours in coach and hours on a bus. Picking through the debris on the floor so I wouldn't stumble, I found the phone near the register and called the Sheriff.

"You here, Ginger?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Is the house still a crime scene?"

"No. I released it yesterday."

I smiled. "Then I'm at the house. And Burt says the dead guy wasn't the one who got into the argument with Mama D."

I listened to Sheriff Danvers clear his throat. "Burt? Oh Ginger, not you too." Danvers couldn't hear Burt because Burt didn't want him to hear. The old bat thought it was funny. And it made Mama D look crazy since she insisted Burt could speak. "But, you're right. We found witnesses who identified the body was not the man who argued with Mama D."

"Oh." I frowned. "Then why is my grandmother still in jail?"

There was a pause and then Danvers' voice dropped to a whisper. "She won't leave. Says she's too scared to go back home and keeps insisting on cleaning. She's used so much sage it's giving everyone a headache."

"She's using sage?" I pursed my lips. Sage was an herb used in cleansing negativity, the smoke imparting wisdom and mental acuity. Mama D must really be upset if she's using that in a police station. "Okay well, let me get a shower and clean up the chalk marks."

"Hurry." Danvers hung up.

I pursed my lips and looked around, then settled my gaze on the cat. "Max."

His ears perked up.

"I'll find you food before I clean up a bit."

"Meerow…ewwrrrwww."

#