Page 37 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

WITCH, INTERRUPTED

Maggie

Katie scrambled into her clothes and flipped the switch, flooding the attic with the harsh yellow glow of a single bare bulb swaying overhead.

“What the hell happened? I was almost there!”

“Really, Katie?” My voice came out low and sharp. “I was trying to question Silas about the body in my backyard—not watch you get off.”

“I thought?—”

“No, that’s the problem. You didn’t.” My pulse thundered in my ears. “Graham’s unconscious. What are we supposed to do now?”

Katie looked down, guilt creeping across her face.

Derek knelt beside us. “Maybe he just needs a minute. Could be like what happened to Katie last time—overloaded from the spirit realm.”

“Yeah? And what if it’s not?” My voice cracked as I crouched beside Graham, staring hard at his chest, willing it to rise. “What if this is different? What if I—” I swallowed the words before they could spill. This is my fault.

“ I’m sorry, Maggie…” Katie whispered.

“Not now.”

“Can I try it next time?” Laila chirped beside her, eyes sparkling like she’d just seen a magic trick.

“Not now, Laila.” Katie snapped without looking up.

“Hey—the only fingering you’re getting’s from me!” Chad swooped in and tickled her side.

I stood shaking with frustration. “Out. Both of you.”

They giggled and bolted down the stairs like they were leaving a slumber party, not witnessing a collapsed man and a shattered séance.

As soon as they were gone, I dropped to my knees next to Graham again. His face looked too pale, too still. I watched the rise and fall of his chest like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I should’ve let it go. I should’ve just let him think I was crazy.

But I had to prove it. I had to drag him into my world—and now here he was. Broken open.

Because of me.

“Hey.” Katie placed a hand on my shoulder, voice gentler now. “Don’t beat yourself up. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Like you?” The words came out before I could stop them—sharp and bitter.

“Yes.” Her voice didn’t waver. “It should have been me .” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as they searched the air in front of her for answers. “He was already inside me —I don’t know why he didn’t stay.”

I sighed, guilt churning in my stomach. We hadn’t been friends long, but after everything we’d been through… she didn’t deserve that.

“Katie… I’m sorry. I’m just—” I shook my head. “I’m so twisted up inside about all of this. The cops think the killer’s still out there. I thought maybe Uncle Silas could give me something— anything . A clue. And now—” I looked down at Graham again, still pale and unmoving.

Derek knelt beside him, slipping a pillow under his head. “I’ll get the bucket. Just in case.”

“But he didn’t take the potion,” I said, confused.

“No,” Derek said, his tone clipped. “But if I’m right—and I usually am—Silas is inside him.”

“What?” I stared at him. “You think Graham’s possessed? ”

“Most likely. Only time will tell.” Derek dragged the metal bucket closer to Graham’s side, then sat back on the couch, pulling a book from his bag, opening it, and scribbling something with a pencil.

Katie was already stepping into her boots when she looked over at me. “Do you have a grimoire?”

I gave her a half-shrug. “Not exactly. It’s more of a junk journal filled with birdwatching notes, weird dreams and old family recipes.”

She tightened the buckles on both belts, securing her mini skirt like armor. “Might be something useful in there. Especially if possession’s on the table.”

“I doubt it. If there’s any magic in there, it’s probably a love spell,” I muttered.

“Shit, I should’ve brought mine. Can I borrow your car? I’ll run home and grab it—there might be something about exorcisms in there.”

“Derek, come on—you know something about exorcisms, right?”

“Not really. I mostly summon or track ghosts. I’ve never actually done an exorcism—just seen a couple from the sidelines.”

“What?!” I snapped. “Are you f ucking kidding me? Thought you were supposed to be some kind of expert. What the hell are you even doing here then?”

Hurt flashed in Derek’s eyes for a moment. But I couldn’t stop myself. My heart was racing, my chest cinched tight like I’d been corseted with barbed wire. Shadows flickered too close. Graham was still out cold. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I knew was I had to fix it—I had to save him.

Katie stepped in, calm and steady, her brow pinched with concern.

“Maggie. Come with me. We’ll grab my grimoire and get some air.” Her hand landed gently on my shoulder, grounding me.

“You need a breather. My place is only five minutes away. Derek’ll stay with Graham in case he wakes up.”

Shame gnawed at me as I followed Katie down the stairs and grabbed the keys. What the hell was I even doing? I called myself a witch, but really I was just a horny, almost-forty year-old mess with a knack for seduction and a trail of regret.

Real magic? I had no idea. All I knew were love spells and half-baked protection charms. This was bigger than me. If Katie hadn’t pulled me out, I think I would’ve shattered.

“Everything going to be fine,” Katie promised as she opened the driver’s side door of the Gremlin. “I’ve got some of my family’s books at home—stuff passed down since before the witch trials. If there’s anything about possession, it’ll be in there. We’ll get him out.”

Her calm steadiness grounded me, giving me permission to breathe.

Just as I reached for the passenger door, I heard the frantic jingle of Chester’s bell.

He scrambled across the porch like a furry missile and launched himself into the car just as I closed the door, landing in the backseat with a thud and proud little chirp.

I turned to look at him. “What? You want to join us for the shitshow?”

He blinked slowly, then sat eagerly staring ahead out the windshield like he’d claimed the whole damn mission.

We wove through Port Grey’s narrow streets, the Gremlin rattling like it might shake itself apart. For once, I didn’t care. Letting Katie drive while I observed the town was the breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.

Between the murder and whatever the hell was happening with Graham, I was hanging on by a thread, and even that felt frayed.

The Atlantic breeze drifted in, tangling in my hair and mixing with the faint perfume of blooming hydrangeas. It carried a strange calm with it—something about salt air and cobblestone roads, white fences curling with ivy like the town was trying to remind me it still had charm left in it.

Seagulls called out overhead, and my gaze followed them across the harbor. A tall lighthouse stood proud at the tip of the peninsula, its silhouette dark against the bruising sky.

“What’s that place?” I asked, nodding toward it.

“Oh—Crescent Cove,” Katie said, slowing to a stop behind a rundown laundromat.

“Still technically a part of Port Grey, but people act like it’s its own kingdom.

The richest of the rich live there—like Portia Valmont.

Her family owns a lot of it—including the lighthouse, Valmont Beach, and half the shoreline.

They throw bonfire parties and other charity bullshit all year long. ”

I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, Valmont—like the painter?”

Katie smirked. “The one and only. If your house has a history, chances are she’s probably painted someone dead inside it. My aunts really cranked the hog for a portrait of Tophie and I. I almost choked on a Twizzler , when I found out.”

I shook my head attempting to get that image out of my head. “I think you mean squeezed the pig—as in piggy bank.”

“I thought when you ‘cranked a hog’…” Katie made a motion like she was wringing out a cloth, “you were trying to squeeze as much as possible out of it.”

“Yeah, out of a dick . ‘Cranking the hog’ is masturbating.” I laughed.

“Oh God,” she chuckled.

A weird thought tugged at the back of my mind. “My mom said she did the painting of Uncle Silas.”

Katie unbuckled and dug around in her bag for her keys. “Makes sense. Valmont paints everyone who’s anyone—or thinks they are.”

I climbed out and pushed the seat forward so I could scoop up Chester. He hesitated for half a second before leaping into my arms like a determined little stowaway. I tucked him under one arm. I wasn’t about to let him go rogue in a town I still couldn’t navigate without a map.

“You think she’ll come knocking on my door next?” I asked following Katie up the white painted stairs.

“Oh, one hundred percent. She’ll want to paint your aura or some shit. You and Chester better start practicing your mysterious gazes.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I’ll just have him stare into the void. He’s good at that.”

As Katie slid her key into the lock, the door flung open with a dramatic creak.

“Kathryn Elaine Pierce—why is your spirit slapping me in the face?” A woman appeared, barefoot and glorious in flowing palazzo pants, arms draped in a velvet shawl embroidered with silver stars.

Her red curls were salon-set perfection, framing a face equal parts trouble and elegance.

“You didn’t call. You didn’t text. And we felt a disturbance in the cosmos somewhere between my tarot reading and our afternoon daiquiris. ”

She pulled Katie into a firm hug that was somehow both smothering and commanding, then looked past her shoulder and zeroed in on me.

“And you must be Maggie.” Her gaze swept me head-to-toe like she was either going to hex me or adopt me. “Hmph. You’ve got chaos all over you, sweetheart. I like that.”

Chester let out a chirp from under my arm.

The woman tilted her head and smiled. “And you brought the familiar. Well, at least someone around here is properly prepared. Come. Come in, dear girl,” she ushered me inside.

Her wrists layered in bracelets that clinked like wind chimes with every graceful movement.

“I’m Ruby Fern and this is my sister, Clover Ivy. ”