Page 5 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

SHOULD’VE brOUGHT SAGE, A PRIEST, AND MAYBE A BULLDOZER

Maggie

Oh, my god!

My neck and shoulders were a complete wreck. Stiff and sore from hours of tension.

Chester thought that yowling like a demon for the entire five hour flight to Boston was the solution to his unbearable trauma of turbulence, Fish Krunchies , and the audacity of economy seating.

His cries pierced right through my noise-canceling headphones, past the annoyed glares of every passenger within ten-rows of us and straight to my soul.

The tired and embarrassed part of me wished I would have given him a sedative and had him with the rest of the pets down below—but I couldn’t do that to him.

So I dealt with his and the other passengers’ screams.

But now that we’d parted ways—I’d stowed him in his carrier where he instantly fell asleep and the knots in my shoulders finally started to loosen.

At least until I tried to navigate the godforsaken ride-share app.

“Mother’s maiden name? Favorite pet?” I muttered, my thumbs flying across the screen. “I just want a ride.”

I plopped onto my suitcase, answering every security question the app threw at me like I was applying to work at the Pentagon instead of requesting a twenty-mile drive. Just as I was ready to hurl my phone into traffic, a ding confirmed my trip.

Finally!

A maroon sedan pulled to the curb a few moments later, its windshield plastered with decals from every taxi and ride-share service under the sun. He was definitely double-timing it.

Not my problem.

The car wasn’t exactly spotless, but I’d let a horse drag me behind it if it meant getting out of this airport.

I hoisted my luggage into the trunk and slid into the backseat, placing Chester’s carrier on my lap.

Then it hit me.

Cheap perfume. Strong, musky, and sickly floral. Something I’d assumed was meant to be seductive, but overshot the mark and went straight for “old ladies at the bakery after Bridge Club” territory.

I wrinkled my nose, trying not to breathe too deeply, and Chester let out a high-pitched sneeze from my lap. The tan interior felt damp to the touch, like the humid air had seeped into the very fibers of the car. Or maybe the driver just poured the whole damn bottle of perfume onto the seats.

God help me. It was going to be a long ride.

Chester bellowed from inside his carrier.

“Shh—baby, we’re almost there,” I said, scratching the canvas in an attempt to comfort him, before checking the time on my phone.

We’d been stuck in the back of this perfume-soaked sedan for forty-five minutes now, and my nose was starting to burn—I could only imagine what my poor cat-child was going through with his super sensitive olfactory system.

Outside, the winding coastal road took us through the chaotic city congestion and into something quieter. Rising cliffs in the distance, the mansions of the rich overlooking the waves crashing below, while colorful boats bobbed in the harbor. Port Grey, Massachusetts.

It was smaller than I’d imagined. Narrow streets lined with brick storefronts and salt-worn buildings.

It was the kind of town where the locals probably waved at each other from their porches and argued over who had the best clam chowder—yuck!

Port Grey was a far cry from the chaos of Boston Logan, which, frankly, I didn’t know if I’d recover from.

At least living here meant I’d live close to Salem. Maybe I’d finally get to visit, instead of day-dream through the street-view on Google Maps.

The car veered onto a dead-end street, where towering pine trees loomed overhead, their branches casting long shadows across the road. The air was different here—thicker, maybe heavier with the scent of earth and the distant brine of the ocean finally pushing the perfume out of my nose.

Then, at the very end of the drive, it appeared—my new home.

It was a sprawling Victorian—dark green with beautifully ornate trim—the kind with a wrap-around porch. Perfect for sipping iced tea and reading smut.

And now, it was mine.

What I was going to do with all the space was beyond me. At seventeen and a half acres, seven bedrooms and two and a half baths, I’d probably get lost just trying to find the kitchen.

The house really was beautiful, but something about it lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. It could have been the fact that it reminded me of The Addams Family house, or maybe it was that the house itself backed right up to the woods so no one could hear me scream.

Nope.

It was definitely the green light eerily glowing from the attic window.

What the hell is that?

The car rolled to a stop just shy of the garage, the engine ticking into silence.

A fence tangled in overgrown roses stood between me and the house, the blooms dark as dried blood, their thorns like tiny claws gripping the iron bars. Someone hadn’t just planted beauty here—they’d weaponized it.

On the other side of the drive, behind more roses, a wall of pines pressed in, thick and orderly. I caught a glimpse of stone and concrete behind them, half-swallowed by needles and shadow.

Privacy or paranoia? Hard to say.

I unbuckled and peeked inside Chester’s carrier expecting more of his antics, but I was met with the cutest sight. He was all curled up, holding his tail between his front paws. After all the shrieking like he was being murdered, he’d suddenly become the definition of calm. Go figure.

“We’re here, sweet potato. 121 Primrose.”

He didn’t even twitch a whisker. Just opened one eye slowly, then snapped it shut.

I stepped out and stretched my stiff limbs.

The air, damp with the scent of rain-soaked wood and something older—moss, stone, that faint mustiness of a house that’d been closed up too long.

The clock on my phone read 4:32, but under the dense canopy of trees and dreary overcast skies, it felt like maybe seven or eight.

The pines pressed in from all sides, cutting me off from the outside world. If I were to squint down the lane, I might’ve spotted someone walking their dog, but otherwise? Nothing. Just me, Chester, and whatever ghosts the house had.

A prickle formed on my skin as the wind carried a chill down my spine. I pulled my sweater closed. Apparently, September in Port Grey wasn’t as warm as it was back home, and I might have to retire my sundresses earlier here.

The driver shifted in his seat. I’m pretty sure he expected the movement to catch my eye, so I’d take note, grab my things, and get out.

I leaned into his open passenger window. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s all in the app, sweetheart.” He said just as my phone chirped, letting me know the transaction was complete.

“Oh,” I looked at my phone. “I’ve never used a ride-share before.”

“You visiting family?” He asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Old Man Silas sure kept this place up nice.” He swung an arm over the back of the passenger seat.

“If you like creepy old houses.” I said, adjusting the strap of Chester’s carrier on my shoulder eyeing that freaky window. “Did you know him?”

He ran a thick hand through his slicked hair, then let out a deep, belly-jiggling laugh. “The old guy was a real character.” He said, shaking his head with a smile. “Picky as hell. Wanted everything just so.”

I frowned. If he was anything like Mom, that tracked.

He leaned on the wheel, squinting up at the house. “I remember one time I showed up two minutes late—just two. You know what he did?”

I shook my head.

“Canceled the whole damn ride. He said, if we weren’t leaving promptly at seven o’clock, he wasn’t leaving at all.”

Mom did say Uncle Silas was a little odd.

The driver shrugged. “Only drove him a handful of times, and I got the feeling he liked his privacy. The rumors, though?” He let out a low whistle. “They say something different.”

I gripped the handle of the carrier tighter. Great. Just what I need. Landing in the middle of the small town gossip.

“Rumors?”

“He was quite the ladies’ man, until the day he died, he always had a woman at his side, sometimes two.”

My lips pressed together. Ew.

“Maybe he was lonely. You know, seeking companionship.” He mused, pausing to pop a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth, a few strays fell to the floor. “Who knows,” he continued, “maybe they were…accountants. You know, helping with his taxes .”

I didn’t know if I liked the fact that this man was openly discussing his passengers’ assumed sex-life with strangers.

Note to self: Keep quiet about love-life. Rumors are wildfire in this town.

“Well thank you, I’d best be getting in. Just let me grab my bags and you can be on your way.”

“Miss?” His arm reached out the window, a crumpled business card resting between his two fingers. “Name’s Burt. Should you need my services outside of the app, just give a jingle and I can get you or your things where you need to be.”

I took the card, it read: Burt’s Haulin’ All Taxi & Delivery Service. He saluted and backed down the driveway after I grabbed my luggage from the trunk.

My eyes remained locked on that attic window while the hairs on my neck stood stiff, alerting me to the fact that something wasn’t right. The vibes I got from the house told me I wasn’t wanted here.

I took a deep breath and gave the rusty metal handle of the gate a firm tug—nothing.

I jiggled it.

Shook it.

Yanked it harder.

The fucking thing refused to budge.

Then—snap.

It ripped right off in my hand, a brittle crunch echoing in the distance. I stood there dumbfounded, staring at the broken metal.

Chester let out an unimpressed mew from his carrier under my arm.

“It’s not very nice to laugh at your mama, you know.” I huffed, then promptly brushed off the mild humiliation, and carefully pushed aside the vines strangling the gate. The thorns still managed to get me, grazing the back of my hand, thin red scratches bloomed against my skin.

“Ouch!”