Sex and the Psychic Witch Read online

  With love and thanks to my three generous and delightful inspirations:

  Sarah, Meghan, and Kate Malloy

  Triplets Extraordinaire

  For sharing a lifetime of triplet secrets

  and for answering my questions

  no matter where you were in the world at the time.

  It seems like yesterday that you came to my door selling cookies and I thought I was hallucinating.

  Note to my readers:

  Sarah, Meghan, and Kate are the inspiration

  for my triplet series, not the models,

  though when they raise their voices in song together, they do raise a vibration.

  And there the resemblance ends.

  Praise for the work of Annette Blair

  The Scot, the Witch and the Wardrobe

  “Sassy dialogue, rich sexual tension, and plenty of laughs make this an immensely satisfying return to Blair’s world of witchcraft. Fans will welcome back familiar characters in supporting roles, but newcomers will take to it just as well.” —Publishers Weekly My Favorite Witch

  “Sexy.”— Booklist

  “Annette Blair will make your blood sizzle with this magical tale . . . A terrific way to start the new year!”

  — Huntress Reviews

  “This warmhearted story is a delight, filled with highly appealing characters sure to touch your heart. The magic in the air spotlights the humor that’s intrinsic to the story. A definite charmer!”— Romantic Times

  “Annette Blair writes with wit and humor . . . Mixed with the fun, Ms. Blair shares the beauty of unconditional love . . . A great story.”— Romance Reviews Today

  “Light-hearted comedy, a touch of magic . . . unexpected twists . . . a romance that sizzles . . . A great story sure to be placed on the prized keeper shelf!”

  — The Romance Readers Connection

  “Sparkles with wit, romance, and a love so grand, no magic could ever hope to create it. It’s from the heart, the truest magic of all.”— Fallen Angel Reviews

  “A fabulous read! Kira and Jason are made for one another and their witty, teasing, sexy banter is

  laugh-out-loud fun. Ms. Blair has a gift for layering her characters and revealing them gently, cleverly, allowing readers to get to know them on a deeper level.”— Fresh Fiction

  “Annette Blair charms her readers with the amusing My Favorite Witch . . . An enchanting pairing . . .

  Bewitching.”

  — The Best Reviews

  “My Favorite Witch is magically delicious! The chemistry between Annette’s characters is incredible. A terrific contemporary romance, told with passion and verve, this book proves magic makes sex even sexier!”— Romance Junkies

  The Kitchen Witch

  “Blair has crafted a fun and sexy romp.”— Booklist

  “Magic. The Kitchen Witch sizzles. Ms. Blair’s writing is smooth as a fine Kentucky bourbon. Sexy, fun, top-notch entertainment.”— Romance Reader

  “Bewitching! Full of charm, humor, sensuality . . . An easy-reading, reader-pleasing story that makes you feel good all over.”— Reader to Reader

  An Unmistakable Rogue

  “An Unmistakable Rogue brings to mind the best of Teresa Medeiros or Loretta Chase: funny, passionate, exquisitely lyrical.”—Eloisa James

  “An innovative mix of family frolic and period gothic . . . fast-paced romance . . . plenty of sexual tension.

  Wonderful.” — Romantic Times

  “Humorous . . . emotional . . . delectable.”

  — Reader to Reader

  “What this story is filled with is love.”

  — Romance and Friends

  An Unforgettable Rogue

  “Never has a hero submitted to such sweet seduction while making it clear that he is still very much a man in charge . . . Spicy sensuality is the hallmark of this unforgettable story.”— The Romance Readers Connection

  “ ‘Knight In Shining Silver’ Award for KISSable heroes. Bryceson ‘Hawk’ Wakefield is most definitely An Unforgettable Rogue .”— Romantic Times

  “I recommend An Unforgettable Rogue as an entertaining book in its own right, even more as part of the must-read Rogues Club series.”— Romance Reviews Today An Undeniable Rogue

  “A love story that is pure joy, enchanting characters who steal your heart, a fast pace, and great storytelling.”

  — Romantic Times

  “An utterly charming and heartwarming marriage of convenience story. I highly recommend it to all lovers of romance.”— Romance Reviews Today

  “Awesome! To call this story incredible would be an understatement . . . Do not miss this title.”—

  Huntress Reviews

  “Annette Blair skillfully pens an exhilarating, humorous, and easy to read historical romance. You don’t want to miss An Undeniable Rogue .”—Jan Springer Berkley Sensation titles by Annette Blair

  THE KITCHEN WITCH

  MY FAVORITE WITCH

  THE SCOT, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE

  SEX AND THE PSYCHIC WITCH

  Chapter One

  “SORRY, Dracula. That one’s mine.”

  The costumed yard sale vampire looked up, tripped, and took a header into an appliance box of Koosh balls, taking the clothes rack—and the gown calling Harmony Cartwright’s name—down with him. She thought he’d get the gown, after all, but it slipped from its hanger and floated on a phantom breeze into her hand.

  Harmony helped him up. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Triplets attracted attention, but in identical minidresses, black front-lace corsets, striped stockings, and black spikes, they tended to stop traffic, even without their pointy hats. The vamp was no exception. His face as red as his lips, he firmed his spine, eyed them like freaks under glass, and moved on.

  “This is a costume yard sale for charity,” Harmony called after him. She appealed to her sisters. “It’s not like I put a klutz spell on him.”

  “Probably thought he was hallucinating,” Storm said. “We should be used to it.”

  “Anywhere but Salem, and we’d think he was weird.” Harmony hugged her psychic prize. “But I got the gown! It wanted me. It really did.”

  Storm faltered. “I hope you mean that you wanted it .”

  “Nope. It’s meant to be mine. I don’t know why yet.”

  “Here she goes again,” Storm said turning to hug an oak in Druidic appeal and looking toward its branches. “Help!”

  Yes, Storm was making a bit of a scene, but in their musketeer youth, when feeling like curiosities under glass wore thin, they’d decided to give the curious something to talk about—Storm, as it turned out, enjoyed a talent for the outlandish.

  Destiny patted the oak, apologized, and took Storm’s arm. “You’re slipping, kid. I knew she was chasing psychic bait when she missed that rare Dior handbag. Harmony, I see stormy seas ahead for you now. Don’t drag us under with you this time, ’kay?”

  Harmony gave her clairvoyant sister a hair flip with attitude. “I can swim.”

  Storm scoffed. “Into a swamp of eternal stench, you can swim.”

  “Okay, I agree, my psychic instincts make for some rough sailing.”

  “And shipwrecks,” Storm added. “Remember when we gave that widower the ‘be good’ letter from his dead wife? Totally blew his honeymoon. And I’m pretty sure it was your idea to chase that psychic duck across Gallows Hill.”

  Destiny elbowed Storm, but Harmony huffed. “An old letter calls my name, I deliver it. Your psychic gifts get us into trouble, too, both of you.”

  “I know. I love answering unspoken questions.” Storm grinned and fluffed her blon
de wig. “I forgot how dressing alike and screwing with people’s minds jazzes me. It’s almost as much fun as being a spike-haired Goth. Not that I plan to start conforming.”

  “Don’t worry,” Destiny said. “I now see very rebellious roads ahead.”

  “More rebellious than normal?” Storm asked. “What’s with the changes in our futures?”

  “Holy hemlock!” Destiny reached for Harmony’s bag. “I’ll bet it’s the gown.”

  Harmony grasped the bag and hurried past their vintage clothing and curio shop toward the house behind it, dodging her sister’s grabby hands as she did.

  Storm followed, shaking her head. “You two are acting sixteen instead of twenty-six, and for once I’m not the attention-getter.”

  Destiny stopped and saw the tourists watching them.

  Harmony raised her chin but lowered her voice. “I’m keeping the gown. Change is good. If Dad hadn’t stopped paying our college tuition and disappeared, we wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of school or come looking for Nana. But he did, and we did, and though Nana was gone, and Vickie didn’t even know she had half sisters, she took us in.”

  “And ended up with the man of her dreams,” Storm added. “I’d like to think we helped.”

  Harmony did a double take. “That’s debatable, but eight months ago, Vickie owned the Immortal Classic, and we were homeless. Now we have a home, not to mention co-ownership of the shop. I repeat: Change is good.”

  “Sometimes,” Destiny said, giving up. “I do like running the Classic.”

  “You mean you like bossing us around,” Storm said, “but that’s okay. I find it amusing to ignore you.”

  Harmony climbed the steps to the kitchen door. She didn’t work in the shop. Her psychic gift—reading old objects and their dead owners through proximity and touch—made that impossible. Warring vibes from so many objects in one place made her head spin and stomach churn. Being psychometric often felt like a curse, but sensing objects with negative vibes made her a great buyer. Customers appreciated positive-energy vintage, whether they realized it or not. “Hurry,” she said. “I wanna try on the gown before you open the shop.”

  In her room, Harmony held the gown in the mirror before her.

  Storm scoffed. “Nobody’s gonna buy that ugly thing.”

  “I’m not selling it. I told you, it wants me . . . and it energizes me.”

  “I feel the energy force,” Storm admitted. “I’m pooped just sharing it.” She flopped back on the bed. “

  Things are always calling you, but you do a lot of running in the opposite direction. What’s up with the gown?”

  “It needed my help?” Harmony pulled the gown over her head, freed her hair from its neck, and the aged gold linen fell over her hips as if making love to her figure. But when she looked in the mirror, she saw her path disappear behind her. Oh. No way back . . . yet expectation rode the prickles attacking her limbs.

  Smoothing the wrinkled fabric morphed anxiety to anticipation, a good sign, since touch sharpened her psychic awareness.

  “Pay attention to the signs,” her sisters said, employing their personal communication device, a fine-tuned triplet telepathy.

  “The owner’s name was Lisette,” Harmony said. “She sewed every stitch.” From a lace scallop beneath her breasts, the waist slimmed then widened slightly. At knee level, vertical pleats fell from a repeat of the scallop. She smoothed a sleeve point and turned to her collection of wall mirrors. Ancient mirrors sometimes reflected images from objects with a strong sense of their owner.

  Four walls of antique mirrors, and nothing. Nada. But looking back in the full-length mirror, Harmony saw, reflected from an oxidized octagon mirror, a pair of frantic hands undoing the gown’s hem. She lifted the hem with an empathetic panic.

  “I saw that,” Storm said, and Destiny nodded.

  Harmony plucked at the brittle threads. “No! Don’t help. Thanks, but I’m supposed to do it myself.”

  Harmony’s lungs tightened as if the sea were trying to swallow her whole. She coughed, cleared her throat, and a gold ring fell into her hand.

  She straightened, breathing easier, and held the ring palm up.

  “A naked guy in a come-and-get-it pose,” Storm said, describing the piece. “My kind of jewelry.”

  “A nude male in a full-bodied but empty embrace,” Destiny murmured, taking the ring to the window.

  “You know . . . I think this is part of a Celtic puzzle ring. If the other half were here, the two halves, one with a man, and one with a woman, both embracing air, would have snapped together to form a ring with

  an embracing couple. This is a pricey find. Look at the craftsmanship.”

  “It’s engraved,” Harmony said, “with the words Love Eternal.” She grasped the ring, sat on the bed, closed her eyes, and touched her fist to her brow. “Lisette was afraid,” she said as the mattress gave on either side—her sisters lending their physical and extrasensory support.

  As Harmony slipped the Celtic band on her wedding ring finger, a green paisley haze formed behind her eyelids, the haze writhing and hissing, racing her heart, hurting her head, until it took the form of a woman trapped in a sphere of dark discord. A flash of lightning revealed a castle behind her, then a black pit into which Harmony fell.

  Her sisters called her name, but she couldn’t seem to find them.

  When Harmony opened her eyes, Destiny sat on the floor, cradling her. “You okay?”

  “What happened?” Harmony accepted a hand up and a glass of water.

  “You took a graceful slide into oblivion and scared the hell out of us,” Destiny said.

  “What? No Prince Charmy to kiss me awake? Bummer.”

  “Prince Smarmy , you mean.” Storm handed her a painting depicting the castle from her vision, sitting high on an island in the background.

  Harmony touched her sore head. “I never liked that painting.”

  “It reeks of bad vibes.” Storm sat and held it for them to see. “Not only is this the castle from your vision, but Lili, our witch ancestor, painted it.”

  “Terrific,” Harmony said, getting off the bed. “Exactly the kind of sweeping, psychic multiple directive I’ve always dreamed of getting. Not!”

  “So,” Storm said, “are you taking the witch-broom express?”

  “To the castle? Me? I’m not going there.”

  “You blacked out just envisioning it,” Des said. “You’d be nuts to go.”

  Harmony frowned. “What happened to paying attention to the signs?”

  “I’m agreeing with you,” Des explained. “No use looking for trouble.”

  “No use accepting the psychic mandate the universe just handed me?”

  “You’re the one who said no. I’m supporting your decision.”

  Harmony turned on her. “You’re thinking I should go. You think Harmony against discord makes sense. I bring peace wherever I go, you’re thinking.” Her voice rose involuntarily. “This is blooming fate, you’re thinking, damn it!”

  Destiny raised a brow. “Is that what I’m thinking?”

  “Screw the castle,” Storm said. “It’s scarier in fact than it is in the painting or in your vision. I’m the psychic who sees and hears the present, don’t forget, and I don’t like the potential for either at that place.”

  “What do you hear?” Harmony asked.

  “A wail like a death rattle.”

  Harmony stopped pacing. “I’ll bring a gun.”

  “You will not!” Destiny snapped. “You’ll bring your cell phone.”

  “I won’t need a phone. You’ll come if I need you.”

  “The police won’t.”

  “Oh.” Harmony sat beside them once more. “You think the castle’s dangerous?”

  Destiny sighed. “Lisette’s hands were trembling.”

  Harmony examined their faces. “Did either of you sense anything else?”

  “A dominant male.�
� Destiny shrugged. “Hard features and a hard bod.”

  Storm sighed. “I got an audiovisual of a baby crying in a boat.” She shrugged. “I know; I always hear babies crying. Who knew I’d be the sensitive one? Harmony, you’re gonna play it safe and stay here, right?”

  “When did I ever play it safe? And what good am I, if I don’t use my psychic gifts? Psychometry! Like that’ll help mankind. No, we agreed to do our best by our gifts a long time ago, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  “Which is?” Her sisters asked together.

  “I’m going to the castle.”

  “Bad choice,” they said.

  “Ignoring my psychic gifts is the worst bad choice I can make. Accepting a psychic mandate, no matter how ominous, is the least bad. I’m going. Destiny already predicted rough seas, so it’s fate.”

  “I’ll make you a charm bag.” Destiny rose, not the least surprised.

  Storm frowned. “You do know that Paxton Castle is haunted by a witch, right?”

  “A fateful opponent. Geez, what’d I do, win the spook stakes?”

  “Hardly,” Destiny said. “Could be, the loser gets the castle.”

  “I’ll take the charm bag and raise you Nana’s amethyst ring . . . to protect me from psychic attack and enhance my power. For you, Storm, I’ll hug every oak between here and the marina.”

  “Twice,” Storm said, “and protect yourself with a circle of white light.”

  “Make that a sphere,” Destiny said, “and take your wand.”

  Chapter Two

  KING Paxton looked up from his computer screen, jarred by a sudden crisp and eerie silence, the first of his experience in this godforsaken hellhole. No construction sounds. No wailing wind. No bickering workers.

  Just a goddess in the great hall.