Gertie's Paranormal Plantation: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Romancing The Paranormal Authors – It has been a pleasure to work with you on such a fun project.

Tammy – Thank you for going the extra mile on this one!

Monkeys – No matter what you are there for me and I love you for it.

Alicia – You’re the bestest!

Ron – I love you more than life!

CLAuthors – Thank you always for your support and love!

Dedication

To my readers around the globe. You humble me with your kind words. You have shown not only me, but my family an astounding level of support. I can’t possibly thank you enough.

Preface

The sweet and perpetually optimistic witch, Gertie O’Leary, showed up in the second book of the Literal Leigh Romance Diaries series and has been Leigh Epstein’s best friend ever since. Although it is a spinoff of the Leigh series, Gertie’s story is written so it can be read as a standalone. If you want to know more about Gertie’s Great Chicago Fire and Titanic mishaps, then you’ll want to check out the Leigh series. Now, if you’ve read the Leigh series, you’ll find that Gertie’s inexperience and candid manner provides comedy of just a little different flavor. Like all of the characters from the Leigh series, Gertie is just another one of the girls next door finding her own way in a modern, paranormal world. Sometimes a little awkward, and more than a little naïve, Gertie is certainly smart and unabashed. We all know a Gertie or two, and bless their hearts, you just have to love them. Hopefully, we can all look in the mirror and get a glimpse of Gertie in ourselves.

Prologue

Just over two years ago, I was staying at a mansion on Esplanade Avenue in New Orleans, one of Marie Laveau’s many homes. Darcy, my black cat, and I had just been thawed out. I guess I should probably explain what happened. We had just spent a century frozen like some sort of bizarre ice sculptures. That was my punishment for a little magical mishap that will forever be known as
The Sinking of the Titanic
. But that’s another story.

“Gertie, I want to talk to you, witch to witch.” Marie’s red and gold silk robe concealed her feet as she strolled towards me, providing a perfect illusion of her floating across the floor. Her trademark turban of pleated crimson silk added to her mystique as the legendary Voodoo Queen. A magenta folder in her hand waved as she talked. “I’ve looked over your file and I believe you’ve got a good heart. You’re the kind of witch I’d like to see more of.” She tossed the folder onto a nearby coffee table and gave me a piercing look. “It was
me
who personally vouched for you and recommended that you be thawed out. Consequently, I have certain expectations of you. You can understand my interest in your future. Can’t you?”

I nodded my head in agreement, but then I shook my head in uncertainty. “Thank you, Marie. Of course, I’m indebted to you. But…what sort of expectations are we talking about exactly?”

“Let’s talk about the use of witchcraft. From now on your actions reflect on me, my reputation. You see, Gertie…once you become a witch, the Sword of Damocles hangs above you. And that sucker is just waiting for you to screw up. And when you do…” Marie made a chopping motion with her hand. “Bam!”

“Sweet Jesus! Really?” I looked up, expecting to see a great sword precariously dangling above my head. “How far up is it?”

Marie shook her head and then droned on and on. She told me some fable about a king in the days of ancient Rome and talked about responsibility and accountability. Her Creole accent was as elegant as it was mysterious—mesmerizing actually. Her voice was background music. The words floated around, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was way too distracted by the thought of yet another magical punishment waiting for an opportunity to come crashing down on me. My gaze kept darting around the ceiling. Suddenly, Marie was silent. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed she was staring at me. I think she was waiting until I became uncomfortable. And I certainly was.

“You’re still looking for the sword. Aren’t you, Gertie? And you didn’t hear a word I said. Did you?” She wasn’t so much
asking
me as she was
telling
me in a very disappointed voice.

I nodded, but I wasn’t too ashamed. “Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Is your head still frozen?” Marie’s thin eyebrows always danced up and down, like they were unsure of where they should be located.

“No. No, it thawed out just fine, thanks for asking.” I touched my head on the sides and top.

“Girl…girl.” Marie quietly rubbed her temples with her fingers. If it were anyone but Marie Laveau I’d have to say she was upset, but I figured she was using her mind reading powers. That is until she mumbled to herself in Creole, words like “
nayif” and “jèn ti fi.”

Is that Creole? Creole!
A Voodoo curse for sure.
I just pissed off the Voodoo Queen.
Then I cringed both mentally and physically as I awaited my fate. Most likely I’d be a snake, destined to slither through the swamps of Louisiana for eternity.

Marie snapped her fingers. “Gertie!”

“Get ready, Darcy. Here comes the Voodoo.” I whispered.

“Calm down. Just listen carefully. I’m just going to say this once. You are a sweet young woman and very intelligent, but you are also very naïve, unbelievably naïve. When you walk out of here, you are on your own. I cannot tell you what sort of witch you should choose to be, all I can do is advise you.” Marie leaned toward me to impress the importance of her lecture. “Our powers are great, but they come with responsibility. This is what I want you to do. Find your mission in life, your passion. Then devote your talent and time to whatever that thing is. It will keep you focused and you will be a witch that can make a difference.” Marie lifted a small gold pocket watch from the folds of her robe and looked at the time. “I have to leave now, but you
do
understand. Don’t you?”

“Sure! Of course, Marie.” I fought to keep my eyes from looking for that damned levitating sword of Damocles.

“One more thing. You must think things through carefully before you act.”

So here I am, two years after that meeting with Marie and I have taken her advice. My passion is my love for animals, and my magical talent is the ability to
change
animals. I’ll try to explain. I own and operate a pet shop, paranormal pets for paranormal people. But it’s much more than that, it’s a shelter for all creatures, paranormal or not.

Immediately after my meeting with Marie, I bought an old abandoned plantation. With a little work, forty-two different paint colors and some spell-casting, it has become a sanctuary. By the way, that colorful paint job does more than brighten my day. It really cheers up the locals. Whenever I hear people talk about it, they are laughing and smiling. And that’s really my personal philosophy, to be happy and spread that happiness in any way I can.

The old place is more than my home. I started out by creating The Pussy Plantation, A Loving Home for Stray Cats. But as I soon learned, neglected pussies aren’t the only ones needing some love. I will take in any animal, but I’ve concentrated on searching for the homeless paranormal creatures. They have nowhere else to go.

This year started with a challenge that for the first time didn’t involve my animals. It involved my boyfriend, Brad. My goal was to end a long distance relationship. End it and make him move in with me. Some very strange things happened along the way, and they created quite a mystery to sort out.

It all began with an evening walk behind my plantation on the banks of Bayou Lafourche and an unexpected meeting with a peculiar stranger.

Chapter One

A New Guest

The old weathered dock on the shore of Bayou Lafourche was a feature I loved most when I bought the plantation. Some people say they like to be “one with nature”, but I doubt many people get the opportunity to truly feel that way. Being alone on the bayou gave me that feeling. On that particular afternoon, I hoped I was alone because that little stretch of the bayou holds a secret and her name is Rebecca. “Becky! Come here, Becky.” I swatted the dark, flat water with a branch. “Come on, girl.” Soon I saw the telltale sign I looked for. Her long tapered tail made a serpentine motion just under the water. The ridge along her back rippled through the surface and her long neck arched up like a great shepherd’s crook. Becky’s oblong head swayed side to side like a pendulum as she swam, well, more or less swam. You could say she dog paddled toward me with her four long flippers.

“My, you have been growing. You’re nearly as big as a hippo!” We were face to face when she reached the dock. Her dark, eel-like skin glimmered in the sun. I rubbed my hand between her eyes and under her neck. “Hungry?” Her tail slapped the water and she made a weird purring sound. The only way I can describe it is if you can imagine a cat trying to imitate a dolphin. She gulped down half of the basket of greens and carrots I had brought along. “I hope you don’t get much bigger. Because this bayou isn’t going to get any bigger for you.”

“Purr, cluck, purr.”

“Oh, I know you’re a Nessie. But you’re the Louisiana version. That Scottish witch will never be able to keep you in that icy loch. You’ll just have to make do here.” I remembered the day I found an alligator that had escaped a trapper’s snare. Badly wounded and missing her forearms, she never would have made it. It didn’t take me long before I worked up a spell to create my own version of the legendary and not so mythical Nessie. A witch in Scotland had expressed some interest in her, but as I pointed out to Rebecca, she’s a warm weather girl and with only flippers, she would have to stay in the water, always.

“How would you like to listen to a poem I’m working on?” I cleared my throat and took out a folded sheet of orange stationary from my pocket. “It’s called Chicken Dream.

Trying to discover some long lost magic

You work your spells to find the ancient way

I see you, built for flight

And I witness your terrible plight

You flap those things

They are barely wings

A spell you cast

Enchantment recalls a soaring past

And so comes the mysterious stranger that whispers sweet lies in the night…”

SPLASH, SMACK, Rebecca lunged forward and with a violent snap of her mouth, my poem was transformed into nothing more than a quick Nessie snack. “Okay, okay, I can see how you can relate to the chicken’s plight.” The struggle of a flightless bird must have struck a nerve. “But if you would’ve waited for me to finish reading it, you would know it had a happy ending.”

It was getting late. As soon as Rebecca washed down the poem with the remaining greens, I headed back to my plantation house.

The slow, steady rhythm of crackling twigs and crunching leaves disturbed the quiet evening air. Noises like those meant only one thing. Someone was following me. I judged the distance ahead to my house. I was still a few hundred long yards from safety. The bright splashes of color on the mansion had already yielded to cheerless greys in the waning light. It would be only minutes until my path was lost in the dark.

“Who’s that moving about in the grass there?” I called out. Nearly to the point of panic, I reverted to the age-old trick of childhood. I’d pretend I wasn’t alone by creating a conversation in another voice. “Hello? Who’s there? You better tell us!” My voice had just squeaked out an unbelievable attempt at a man’s baritone voice. “Sweet mother, that won’t fool anyone. I sound like an old man that’s been punched in the clackers.” I mumbled aloud. Larger branches cracked and my pursuer’s noisy footsteps were more frantic. It was getting closer. “I’m not going to run. Not going to run.” The last thing I wanted to do was trip and fall in my dark overgrown yard. I’d be laid out like a side of beef waiting on the butcher. If only I had my broom, I could have instantly removed myself from the predicament. “Some witch I am.” I lamented.

My imagination took control. As my friends sometimes say about me, I
spaced out
. Now I could practically see the silvery knife blade of a faceless slasher. Perhaps he’d be swinging one of those giant meat cleavers like you see in the movies. That’s another thing. Hollywood seems to think every family keeps their kitchen equipped with enough cutlery to operate a gruesome slaughterhouse. I started thinking about a ridiculously unbelievable cleaver wielding scene I saw in some scary movie. The woman would dart from room to room, falling over every piece of furniture she owned. Not once did she just run out the door for help. Absurd.

It suddenly dawned on me what was going on, and I snapped out of my contemplative state. “Surely I’m being pranked. People don’t just go around stabbing and chopping each other. That only happens on television.” I steeled my nerves and turned around to confront my stalker. I shouted into the shadowy brush behind me, “This isn’t funny! I know you’re back there! Show yourself, ya gobshite!” I listened for a response. “Unless you’re some sort of giant spider. In that case, kindly go back to where you came from.” Everything was quiet. I was hopeful that I had frightened the stranger away.

I pictured a giant spider, comically stumbling off in the other direction, confused by my polite rejection. With my mind a little more at ease, I continued my walk home. It was finally dark and I had reached the back porch without a problem. Far away back on the bayou, Becky’s peculiar yet lonely song floated through the moss laden trees. “I know how you feel, girl. I miss my guy, too.” The full moon had started the long nighttime journey, and I marveled at the way it illuminated a ragged horizon. A bright point of light seemed to trail the moon. “Look, Darcy. A star. Starlight, starbright, how I wish I could share this night…”

“Meow. Meow.”

“Well, it goes something like that.”

“Meow, meeeoow.”

“You’re absolutely right. That’s not a star. It’s Jupiter. You can’t wish upon a planet.”

I never expected anything like what happened next. A furious commotion of footsteps rushed at me from behind and I was knocked to the ground, quite violently. Something hard and pointed was pressing against my thigh. I may have been as terrified as that actress in the slasher movie, but there was no way in hell I was going to lay there and scream like a helpless fool. I shoved the thing off of me and just like one of those guys in the kung-fu movies, another entertainment Randy coerces me into, I sprang up and practically took my head off as my entire body hit the light switch by the back door. I spun around, karate hands at the ready. “Hah!” I yelled. I can barely spell karate, much less use it to defend myself. My attacker didn’t need to know that.

In the fluorescent glow, I saw my assailant. It was a small grey and black speckled goat. “Huh?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if it was a little green alien wearing a tuxedo. “A flippin’ goat? I don’t have any goats here.” I knelt down and petted his neck. “How did you get out here? Listen, you shouldn’t roam around back there by the bayou. I’ll tell you the same thing I was told. Those gators would’ve gobbled you up like you were a Twinkie tossed into a weightwatchers meeting.”

“Baaa, baaa.”

A worn leather collar hung around the goat’s neck. I swung it around until I found a small brass tag suspended from a ring. The badly scratched surface had some lettering stamped into it. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, smart little goat. I wonder…did you know that I run an animal shelter here on my plantation? What should I call you?” I looked over the name tag one more time. I made out a few of the letters and did my best to make sense of them.

GEIS SPOTH

I assumed this had to be the goat’s name. I clumsily sounded out the letters in a few ways and settled on a version that didn’t make me sound like a goat with a lisp. “Jay Spot.” The name rolled off my Irish tongue easily enough. “Come along, Jay Spot. You can stay out in the cow shed. You’ll be comfortable in there for the night.” I led him out to the shed where I kept a pair of cows that I rescued, more or less, from their fate as ground beef.

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