Witches of Three_Philomena

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Electronic Release: February 2014

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Philomena, or Phil as she’s known to most, is the oldest of three sisters who just happen to be witches. Phil is the one who always attracts the worst sort of man until the day Beck Crawford walks up on her porch. To say Phil had the hots for him was like saying Old Faithful let off steam occasionally. She was sorely tempted to use her witchy powers to get him into her bed, but that wouldn’t have been fair, would it?

At any rate, the problem is solved, much to her satisfaction, and now the only thing Phil has to worry about is proving Beck didn’t kill his wife.

As always to my wonderful husband, who is patient as a man can be with a woman who lives in another world with people he’ll never meet. To my terrific editor, Delaney, who always makes me feel like I’m a good writer, then sets about to make me one. And finally, to every last awesome writer in my writer’s group. You all inspire me.

Chapter One

Philomena Spencer hated housework. It was boring and frustrating and repetitious, but if one didn’t want to live in one’s own filth, one must do what was necessary, especially if one’s picky sisters were coming for lunch. She raised a finely arched eyebrow and regarded the beautiful old Victorian mansion she’d inherited from her Aunt Agatha. Curtains of pure sunlight poured through the wide arched windows, lighting the rooms and casting a shine on the rich mahogany furniture pieces. Dust motes danced in the warm air, reminding her she had work to do. Cleaning, such a waste of time and energy.

Sighing in resignation, she waved her hand and immediately, things began to move around the room. Remnants of breakfast disappeared from the battered table, which had stood in the kitchen for a hundred years now, its top worn smooth by countless scrubbings and by the elbows of untold numbers of brawny Spencer men who’d gathered around it. The carpet sweeper raced across the room and into the hall, dust cloths and bottles of furniture polish headed for the living room and beyond. She nodded her head and a clean cloth with matching napkins spread itself over the table. She walked from room to room humming to herself, ‘a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down’. The only saving grace in cleaning was that she felt a little bit like that English nanny from her childhood. What was her name?

When all was as she wished, she clapped her hands and brooms, sweepers and cloths disappeared back into the pantry. She dusted her hands together in satisfaction. Her sisters wouldn’t have approved of her actions; they preferred to be as normal as possible, or at least Sera did, but Phil figured if she had the power, why not use it? It wasn’t her fault she was a witch.

She glanced at the steeple clock on the mantel. She had plenty of time to change out of her shorts and into something elegant and flowing. A sound came from upstairs, and she pulled down her brows in irritation. As long as she was cleaning house, she might as well finish the job. She walked into the entrance hall.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice called from the upper landing. Her long-term houseguest and part-time lover, Killian Hampton, a made-up name if ever there was one, otherwise known as Killie, leaned over the railing in his all-together. “I wondered where you went.”

“I was cleaning,” she said with a hint of one who’s done her duty. He was such a pretty boy with his long lean body, black curly hair and eyes like black olives.

“Why?” he asked in the tone most used by men who think women are strange and beyond logical understanding.

“I’m having company,” she answered, gripping the newel post and gazing up at him. From this angle, everything about him looked slightly diminished, especially that part of his anatomy he most prized. She’d once found him mildly attractive, but that had long since changed.

“Christ,” he said with some irritation, scratching his hairy balls. “I wanted you to come back to bed for a romp.”

“Sorry, no time,” she answered. “And no interest.”

“Well, when will you be interested again?” he demanded with an air of petulance.

“I’ll let you know.”
If ever
, she thought silently.

“Christ, do you know how long it’s been? I feel like a damned eunuch.” He continued to complain and to scratch.

“And about as sexy,” she muttered then raised her voice so he could hear. “You must get dressed and be on your way.”

“Where am I supposed to go, and why do I have to leave my own home, just because your uptight sisters have deigned to come?” He had that stubborn look that said he was going to balk.

“You know my sisters don’t like you.”

“I don’t like them, either,” he snapped. He’d continued to scratch his balls and his ass throughout this interchange and she wondered why she’d ever thought he was sexy.

“You could go to Marlene’s,” she suggested.

“You know she has a thing for me,” he snarled.

“Yes, I know. I thought you might want to stay with her for a while.”

“What? Are you trying to boot me out of my home?” He glared down at her. “Besides, she’s not as good in bed as you are.” His glare turned into a coaxing smile, which had long since lost its effectiveness if it had ever had any. Besides, the fact that he even knew this about Marlene meant he’d been unfaithful to Phil.

“I think I’ll just stay in bed today,” he said, turning back toward his bedroom.

“Sorry, that won’t work,” she said firmly. She’d known getting him out would be no easy task. “You’ll have to go. You know my sisters don’t observe boundaries or locked doors.”

“When should I come back?” He was much aggrieved.

“You shouldn’t,” Phil said quickly. “Marlene said she’ll put you up for a while. Plan to stay there.”

His fleshy mouth thinned, and his dark eyes turned hard. “So you are booting me out?”

“You could say that.”

“After all I’ve done for you?” he whined. “You owe me.”

“After viewing my credit card and bank balances, I think you’ve been well paid.”

“Hello, Philomena?” a voice called from the front porch.

Phil jerked around in time to see her siblings, Charlene, who only answered to Charlie, and her younger sister, Seraphena. Now, Charlie and Sera breezed in the front door with the air of frequent visitors who knew they were welcomed even if not always wanted.

“We’re here right on time. I hope you’re ready for having company,” Charlie said then stopped and stared.

Phil knew what she was gawking at and closed her own eyes, shaking her head slightly.

“Good morning, ladies,” Killie said coming down the stairs with all the aplomb of the best-dressed male model of the year, although he hadn’t a stitch on. He paused beside Phil and draped an arm around her shoulders. He made no effort to hide his nakedness.

“You remember my friend, Killie,” Phil said faintly.

“I certainly do,” said Sera, blushing fifty shades of red.

“Killie was just leaving,” Phil said, glaring at him pointedly.

“Like this?” he asked, feigning surprise.

Phil had a wonderful urge to send him to the far reaches of the universe, but she practiced monumental restraint and smiled sweetly.

“You’ve made your point and shocked my guests,” she said with exaggerated patience, “please get dressed and go. Marlene is waiting for you.”

“As you wish, madam,” he said in his best imitation British accent.

Charlie and Sera stood at the bottom of the stairs, still gawking as Killie turned and slowly made his way upstairs, the muscles in his buttocks flexing becomingly. How did he do that, Phil wondered, and focused on the memory of his farting in their bed and scratching various nether regions without hesitation when the mood struck him.

“Let’s go into the drawing room,” she said and led the way. She hoped her sisters followed. Surely, Killie had reached the top of the stairs by now.

“I see you’ve done some cleaning,” Charlie commented, looking around the room.

“I have my standards,” Phil said needled by the comment, but she was determined not to be pulled into a pissing match with Charlie.

“I was merely saying how good the place looked,” Charlie said with a glint in her eye. She’d drawn first blood.

“Would you like some sun tea?” Phil forced her voice to remain light and friendly. They were, after all, her sisters not her adversaries, although sometimes she wasn’t sure there was a difference.

“I’d love some,” Sera said quickly.

She always tried to act as an intermediary between Phil and Charlie. Phil was glad she hadn’t risen to Charlie’s bait. Displaying an air of serenity she’d long since affected after a lifetime with Charlie, Phil poured out glasses of iced tea and handed them around.

“Ugh, it’s sweetened,” Charlie said, sipping and making a face.

“I thought you could use a little sweetening today,” Phil snapped, forgetting her resolve not to let Charlie needle her. Then catching a glimpse of Sera’s crest-fallen expression, she forced a smile. “I can make you some plain with tea bags.”

“Never mind,” Charlie said grudgingly and gulped down some more of the cold beverage. “The place looks good,” she said looking around. “Do you have a cleaning woman come in or do you do it yourself?”

“Myself, of course,” Phil answered. She was aware of bumps and knocks coming from the upstairs bedroom. The doorbell sounded. Phil ignored it as Charlie delivered another one of her barbs.

“Don’t look so innocent,” she said with a grin. “I know you used your powers to clean. You did that when you were a girl at home even when Mums told us not to.”

“You needn’t be so sanctimonious, yourself,” Phil said tartly. “You did it, too, but you were sneakier about it than I was.”

“I was not sneaky!”

“Always,” Phil said serenely. She knew her calmness would enflame Charlie even more.

“Isn’t someone going to answer the doorbell?” Sera asked in a mild tone.

Phil set down her glass and stalked to the hall. Her sisters followed as she’d known they would. Just plain nosey! Especially Charlie. In a fresh spate of irritation, she threw open the door to a tall, strange man standing on her porch.

“What do you want?” she demanded with all the irritation she felt toward her sister.

At that moment, there was a sound on the stairs behind her and she turned to see Killie descending, carrying two suitcases, which was two more than he’d had when he’d arrived. Thankfully, he was fully dressed in a tailored silk suit that screamed money—Phil’s money—an embroidered French cuff shirt with gold links and what looked like a Hermes tie. His luggage was new and looked to be Louis Vuitton.

“He cleans up pretty,” Charlie said, glancing at Phil. “You do right by your men.”

“What I need is a man to do right by me,” Phil said from between her teeth.

Suddenly, one of the cases Killie was carrying slid from his hand, bounced down the stairs and landed on the tiled floor. The lid flew open and a number of silver and gold items spilled across the floor. Everyone stared at the pile of loot and contemplated what it meant.

“That’s Aunt Hattie’s ring,” Sera cried going to retrieve that bauble from beneath the hall table where it had landed. Picking it up, she turned to face the man on the stairs, her face filled with dismay. Killie hadn’t even the grace to look guilty.

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