Authors: Rose Pressey
Praise for Me and My
Ghoulfriends by Rose Pressey
“Rose Pressey spins a delightful tale with misfits and romance that makes me cheer loudly.”
Coffee Time Romance
“Her characters are alive and full of quick witted charm and will make you laugh. The plot twists keep you turning the pages non-stop.”
“I absolutely loved this book! It had me chuckling from the beginning.”
Fallen Angel Reviews
Book 1 – Forever Charmed
Book 2 – Charmed Again (coming May 27, 2013)
The Veronica Mason Series:
Book 1 –
Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead
A Trash to Treasure Crafting Mystery:
Book 1 –
Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This is to you and you know who you are.
To my son, who brings me joy every single
day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who encourages me and always has faith in me. A huge thank you to my editor, Eleanor Boyd. And to the readers who make writing fun.
Table of Contents
My mother had been downright giddy when I was born on Halloween night. It was honestly like she’d won the supernatural lottery. She’d even
me Halloween, as if Halloween LaVeau was an easy name to walk around with. I guess she figured having that auspicious birth date meant my witchcraft talents would be extra special. That I would boost her social status by out-magicking all of the other witches in Enchantment Pointe. Unfortunately for her—not to mention for me—my skills were nothing to get excited over. In fact they were far from spectacular.
I’d always been fine with my so-so magic. Never mind that the local coven had published a pamphlet based on my life entitled
How to Screw Up Witchcraft in Ten Days or Less
. Even my mother had done her best to hide her disappointment. She ignored my botched potions and substandard spell-casting until, at the age of fourteen, my painful lack of talent could no longer be brushed under the magical rug.
That was around the time I’d got mixed up in a minor cupcake-related incident involving a partially destroyed kitchen and a couple singed eyebrows.
My mother’s eyebrows, to be specific. She has to pencil them in to this day, bless her heart. I tried to remind her of the bright side of being eyebrow-free—she never had to use tweezers again—but apparently this wasn’t much consolation.
Despite my witchy failings, my life had been kind of
normal, some might even say out-and-out boring. I attended school with the non-magical townsfolk, and went to my high-school prom with a date conjured up by my mother who turned back into a garden gnome the minute my curfew was up. All things considered, I had a fairly typical upbringing.
But my boring days were over when I inherited
Several months ago, at the young age of one hundred and twenty, my great-aunt
Maddy LaVeau had left this world. She had no children, other than the cat that now owned me, and she’d left a mysterious message in her will about me “taking my place in the world.” Apparently, that “place” required owning her creepy old manor.
It was my mother’s idea to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast. “Who knows, maybe you’ll snag yourself a husband,” she’d said. She was always trying to snag me a husband, with little success—her prospects were generally
warlocky and covered in warts. I’d assisted in her Bewitching Bath and Potions Shop for many years and she returned the favor by helping me establish my little venture, getting both the licenses from the state and approval from the Coven board who were always sticking their nosy wands into everything.
No matter how imposing and eerie the mansion was, I was thrilled to finally have a place of my own. I’d spent days exploring the various rooms, studying the intricate details, the tall ceilings, and
stunning hardwood floors. The manor had been built by my great-great-great-grandfather, a famed alchemist within the witchcraft world. Stories about him had been passed down through the generations, how he just disappeared one day, never to be heard from again. Rumors still floated around town that he was buried in the basement, or his old bones stashed away in a trunk in the attic.
By my third week as mistress of my new home, I’d already cleared out most of Aunt
Maddy’s things, saving that spooky attic for last. But with my bed-and-breakfast about to officially open for business, I could put it off no longer.
That afternoon, I began my ascent up the staircase which led to the upper floor of the manor. Each step was steep and narrow, and creaked ominously under my feet. I turned the antique knob and the door creaked open. After taking a deep breath and blowing it out, I
stepped inside the space. The attic was surprisingly empty. It was dim, illuminated only by the small window on the wall across from me. A stream of sunlight shone through, highlighting the old, scratched floor. Shadows lingered in the corners, waiting to jump out. I looked around for a light switch, but that was an upgrade Aunt Maddy had neglected to add. As I knocked a cobweb out of my way and moved further into the room, dust motes floated through the sunbeam. I gave the window a good heave to air out the musty smell.