The Cat in the Witch Hat: A Mystic Cove Witches Paranormal Cozy Mystery, #1

By Lilly Graves

When Chloe, a sassy magical cat, is hit by a limousine at the scene of a millionaire's murder, she knows she's in a cauldron full of hot trouble. Not only does she resurrect with one of her nine lives lost, she learns she was meant to be born a witch. What the spell? Shifting from a cat to a witch, and back, is about as easy as putting on striped stockings for the first time.

As Mystic Cove's broomsticks point at housemate and fellow witch, Nova Wildes, as suspect, urgency bubbles. To make matters worse, the heir to the dead man is now kicking every witch out of their historical shops along Mystic Cove's seaside cliffs. Will Chloe master her shifting abilities enough to prevent another life from being taken, and save a charming coastal town from its demise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilly Graves
• Release date: Oct 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393038245

Book preview

Chapter 1

Today, Sir Sebastian Meow-Meow learned to use the toilet. This is apparently big news, guys! His witch, Nova, had a party for him to celebrate. She bought a cake and noisemakers and everything. Hours later, still wearing his party hat, he continues to rub it in my face.

Only the most advanced felines can maneuver the porcelain whirlpool of doom, he says. He’s a white and gray Manx, part Siamese, so a hint of shadowing shrouds his black nose perked high in the air.

We’re in the living room, and he’s sitting on the marble coffee table. That’s bad manners, in my book, but he thinks he owns the place. Big surprise. Nova lets him sit on the dining room table and eat out of a silver bowl on a placemat. She even sets out a fork, as if he’s human or something. I can’t stand it.

Curled in a ball beside the coffee table, I turn my head away to ignore him and rest it against my soft black paws.

You wouldn’t know how it feels, he goes on. Never will know how it feels, I suppose. As a stray, who knows from what filthy street you were dragged in?

You act as if you’re a purebred Siamese. Actually, I’ve never met a Siamese with your attitude. You need to chill.

Says the one still tinkling in a box. Sebastian gives a hoity-toity giggle.

I can’t stand the dude. Raising a paw, my eyes twinkle, and Sebastian’s party hat flops over his eyes.

Who turned out the lights? He stops. Wait a minute: you did that, didn’t you? He bats it off his nose in a fury.

You’re just jealous because you can’t do magic, I think to myself.

Never would I actually utter those words. I don’t want to totally crush Sebastian’s feelings, no matter how much of a rival he is in this huge old house. Besides, in the big picture it doesn’t really matter that he can’t do magic. His presence alone as a familiar helps boost Nova’s own mystical abilities. So I’ll swallow my pride and let him gloat over the fact that he was the first to pee in litter and now the toilet. I prefer going outside anyway, in the lilac bushes.

A white rat skitters by, squeaking as he goes. Sebastian bounds from his safe spot atop the coffee table to an even safer spot on the velvety gray couch. Plastering himself against the crocheted throw, he screams.

It’s just Einstein! I say, tired of that same daily reaction to Willow’s pet rats.

I wish you would catch the filthy beasts. Sebastian lifts a paw to his face dramatically. Do whatever cats do to them to send them into the Afterlife.

Eat them? I reply. No thanks.

Or disembowel them and offer their livers as a present to Willow.

Nova is his witch, and Willow is mine. They’re sisters, neither of whom ever moved out of their childhood home to settle down, so it looks like Sebastian and I are stuck living with each other. Let me be clear: I don’t blame either sister for not moving out. It’s a tradition of Mystic Cove witches to take over the family home. The last time a witch’s home went up for sale in our neighborhood was more than a decade ago, and it was only because there wasn’t an heir in the bloodline to pass it on to. As the only other family living in this home are cats and rats, it looks like the same fate could be in store here someday.

I don’t like to think about that, though. I still have my full nine lives to live, and this is home. The foundation is more than a hundred and fifty years old. The original white colonial pillars that frame the wraparound porch are as sturdy as ever. This living room had these vaulted ceilings before they were popular. History oozes from the blue floral wallpaper, from the bookcases lining almost every foot of it, and the hauntingly beautiful paintings of past matriarchs filling the gaps.

My thoughts shift when a raspy sweet voice calls out, Einstein! Oh no, not again. I should have named him Houdini! Willow comes running by in her baggy green skirt. She’s looking around the room in a panic through her large glasses. Where did he go?

Under the couch, I respond.

She peers beneath it and ultimately catches the white rat. Lifting him nose to nose, she implores, You have a 10-foot-long ferret cage. I take you out for cuddles at least five times a day. There’s no reason to escape! If only you knew how rats lived out on the streets, you’d understand. Now, let’s go back to your friends Stink Bottom and Ham Sandwich. She shuffles off.

Yes, the rats are named Einstein, Stink Bottom and Ham Sandwich. Einstein is the lucky one of the three, and I guess I should be thankful that Willow named me something as adorable as Chloe. She was thirteen at the time. That’s when witches are gifted their familiars. And although Sir Sebastian Meow-Meow was given his lengthy name when Nova was thirteen, the entire thing stuck with him. Nova would never dare shorten it with a nickname.

The front door bursts open, sending forth a gust of sea wind at Nova’s dramatic entrance. Her blond Marilyn-style hair rustles against the too-pink blush of her cheeks, and moonlight halos a slinky figure clad in a snug white satin dress. She places the back of a hand against her forehead and declares, My, what a horrendous date!

Back so soon? What happened? Willow humors Nova. Einstein is now riding on her shoulder and twitching his nose into the mousy brown hair of her loose ponytail.

With a sparkling shot of magic out of her white-gloved pointer finger, Nova slams the door shut. Billingsworth had an emergency phone call in the middle of dinner and ended things abruptly.

Did you make the mistake of telling him you’ve been married four times? Willow asks with a smile.

Slipping off her fur shawl, and laying it across the coat rack, Nova says, Goodness no. I haven’t made that mistake with a man in ages.

Nova is forty-three and looks amazing. Not one wrinkle around her honey-brown eyes. Actually, she tells her dates she’s just thirty-five, and tries passing off Willow, thirty-six, as the older sister.

Feeling her head for her favorite feathered fascinator hat, which she usually hangs on the coat rack, her hands come up empty. Oh, drats. Nova stomps a stiletto. I must have left it in the limo.

You’re not going out again tonight, Willow reasons. Just pick it up tomorrow.

A hand to her chin, Nova looks like she has something more worrisome on her mind. I’m beginning to wonder if Billingsworth is having an affair, she says airily.

An affair? Willow’s eyes go wide. What makes you think that?

Nova shakes her head He’s always so busy, running off to emergency meetings.

Well, Mr. Billingsworth is a busy man! You picked a property mogul to date, after all!

Nova steps down from the foyer into the stylish sunken living room and sits upon the gray sofa with her cat, who immediately nuzzles her for comfort.

There, there, Sebastian says, purring against her.

The light of the crystal chandelier sparkles off Nova’s pouting expression. No, I truly do think he’s having an affair. Why else would he up and leave so soon? Plus, he’s been so secretive lately. A tear trickles down her glittering cheek. What’s a woman gotta do to keep a man’s attention?

Nova and Willow are like family to me. Two complete opposites, but family nonetheless. Akin to quirky aunts, if you will. And although Nova can be so shallow—beyond shallow—I hate seeing her hurt.

Determined, I sit up and announce, I’ll go see what he’s up to. Curiosity is one of my greatest feline traits, after all. If Billingsworth is cheating on Nova, I will find out. And then I’ll revel in whatever revenge Nova conjures up. Her usual balding spell wouldn’t work on him, however, since he already resembles Mr. Clean. No worries, though, because she’s a creative one for getting back at men. Maybe he’ll grow a mullet that can never be cut.

Dabbing her eye with a glove, Nova says, You would do that for me, Chloe?

Of course! I stand on all fours and glance back at the pet exit installed in the front door. Where did he say his meeting was at?

He didn’t say, but I would check his home. See if he’s meeting some floozy there. A finger points excitedly. Hurry, quick!

I bound for the cat door. Apparently feeling one-upped, I hear Sebastian explain, I would go too, but you know how I prefer not to tramp around the neighborhood with Chloe. It’s bad for my rep.

The next thing I know I’m leaping over the several steps of our grand wraparound porch. Night air whispers through my sleek, dark fur, and I become like a shadow in the moonlight. The soft scent of lilacs mixed with the salty sea breeze drifts after me.

Nightshade Street is a long rolling strip of historic homes along the Oregon Coast in a quaint town called Mystic Cove. These aren’t two-bedroom shacks. These are beachy estates, some with pillars or statues, even waterfalls or grand fountains. Other witches than Nova and Willow live down here, as do non-magical humans, like the mayor of Mystic Cove.

The home of Mr. Billingsworth looms near the corner of Nightshade and Wildes, Wildes being a strip of small businesses, all run by witches. I can see some old-fashioned lampposts and white lights strewn down that familiar street where Willow owns the town newspaper and Nova owns a boutique.

Anyway, a limo is parked in front of the property mogul’s grand estate, dragon statues with snarling expressions flanking the walk to the double front doors.

The luxury vehicle headlights are blindingly bright as I near. Nova needs to know what he’s up to. I won’t fail her. I jump to the sidewalk and proceed to that entrance guarded by stony dragons and I’m surprised to find the crumpled body of Mr. Billingsworth laying across the steps like a rag doll.

His bald head and blank stare reflect the moonlight. Heart thumping, I tentatively take a step closer. A familiar stick pin, one that Nova wears in her favorite hat, her missing hat, is gleaming from his neck, lodged deeply, its gold letter N shining as if proudly declaring whom it belongs to.

Not only that. Without even trying, I can smell something other than blood wafting from the needle. What is it? I open my mouth to get a better whiff. As a cat I have an organ at the roof of my mouth, just behind my sharp teeth, solely for detecting scents. I know I’ve smelled it before, but I can’t put my paw on it. The stickpin has been doused in a poison, though; I’m sure of it.

Trepidation takes over. Oh no. This isn’t good. I step back. There are so many people in Mystic Cove who would know that pin as Nova’s daily accessory, and Kent Billingsworth is dead. He’s dead.

What do I do now?

I turn back to the limo, where a back window is partially down and someone reaches up and shakes the ash off the tip of a cigarette. Then it’s replaced by a flash, like from a camera.

Tires start rolling forward. I want a better look at the smoking passenger. They’re the real culprit! Not Nova! Who did this to him? Stupidly, I dash in front of the limo just as it peels out and away from the scene of the crime. The Mercedes logo above the shiny grill is the last thing I see before getting hit.

Chapter 2

My eyes squeezed tightly shut, pain surges through my body. I’ve been hit by the limo! It can’t get much worse than this. With every inhalation, it’s like knives are cutting into my lungs. My ribs are broken, and yet, somehow, I’m still alive?

As my eyes finally flutter open, I’m instantly taken to a different setting. Pain flees and I find myself in a white room with nothing in it. Huh? I turn every which way to comprehend the situation. Where am I?

A woman in a traditional witch hat enters from a conduit in the ceiling, the tinkling of bells accompanying her appearance. She sports a purple tutu and a wand with a star at the end. In her other hand is a glass of wine. Red flowing hair frames a