Page 8 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

THE WITCH AND THE KNIFE

Graham

After eight years of patrol, you learned a city’s tells. The quaint facade that the town’s postcards depicted wasn’t always peace—sometimes it was just the pause before the storm.

Port Grey wasn’t immune to this. It had its own rhythm.

It was early September, and while the trees had started to change from green to patches of gold and orange, the tourist crowds would be retreating.

Sure, we’d get a last rush of Leaf Peepers passing through for the fall display, but the shutters would go up on summer homes, and the annual pulling of the boats from the harbor was underway in preparation for the icy tide ahead.

The sun still showed up this time of year, but it was colder, meaner.

And the scent of summer giving up had taken over.

The salt in the air became the kind you tasted more in the back of your throat than on your lips.

The fresh berries used for tarts at the bakery transitioned to cinnamon, apples, and butter.

The fog was real. It rolled off the water in the mornings, sinking low and crawling across the roads, watching you. By midafternoon, the sun attempted to burn through it but failed—creating a weird backlit grayness—pulling the color from everything, making it feel off.

Nettles sat in the driver’s seat sipping his coffee, observing the world around us like he was waiting for the universe to personally disappoint him. He wouldn’t have to wait long.

These were the good hours, no bar fights, no domestic calls. Just enough of a silence to make you paranoid if you’d been doing this long enough. And I had.

“So… why’d you want me to ride with you today, Cap?”

“Sheffield found an oil leak on your Interceptor, so I had him take it in.” He took another sip.

Shifting in my seat, I let out a growl. What the fuck was Sheffield doing looking under my hood? “You know, I think it’s really stupid that I’m not allowed to work on my vehicle.”

“Not your vehicle, Locke. Belongs to the city.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Sheffield has it out for me, he’ll do anything to make me look bad.”

“Fixing an oil leak is not going to tarnish your precious image.”

“It is if Sheffield is the one doing it.”

“What do you have against him? What has he done to you?” Nettles set his coffee in the cupholder and gave me one of those I’m trying to be sincere right now, but don’t make it awkward looks.

“How about tampering with my body cam footage and submitting it out of context? Or the anonymous suggestion box notes talking about how they’re worried I’ll fly off the handle or sleep with a victim?—,”

“—that could have been anyone . You are a little loose.” Nettles interjected.

“Cap, come on.” I slouched into the seat like a pissed-off teen about to be grounded by daddy.

“I’ll look into it.”

I shifted my gaze back out the window. Of course he would, after the little prick signed me up for another “mandatory” psych-eval that only I was required to participate in.

Judy’s voice cracked over the radio. “We’ve got a 911 hang-up from Beckett Auto. Line stayed open for seventeen seconds. Sounded like shuffling—no verbal.”

It was kind of like Spidey-senses—my coply instincts. Sometimes they tingled when someone did something stupid, and it was a race against the clock to figure it out before anyone else got hurt.

“Second call came in ten minutes later.” She continued. “An employee showed up and found the place wide open. Says something’s wrong. Might be blood.”

Nettles didn’t say a word. Just flipped on the lights and grabbed the mic.

“Judy, show Unit 42 responding.”

Maggie

Port Grey had shifted into small-town charm.

Houses gave way to businesses—quaint, creaky places that definitely weren’t built this century.

Colonial homes-turned-art studios, quilt shops, natural markets, and an antique store with a headless mannequin in the window. Charming or cursed—I couldn’t decide.

The salt in the air thickened, sharp and briny. I caught a sliver of the ocean between the buildings just past the square. That view alone almost made up for Chester’s mid-flight meltdown.

Then—finally—I spotted a grocery store and pulled into its awkwardly cramped parking lot.

The second I opened the car door, a gang of seagulls dive-bombed overhead, screaming like banshees. They swirled down in hot pursuit of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich abandoned by a sticky toddler.

Welcome to Port Grey—home of salty air, suspicious antiques, and feral birds with bloodlust.

The market looked like it belonged on the set of a Hallmark movie. Wide wooden beams, baskets of apples, shelves lined with homemade jam. A chalkboard near the register read:

Today’s Specials: Apple Turnovers, Blueberry Muffins & HOT TAKE: Liam and Clarence finally tied the knot!

I snorted. At least someone was getting a happy ending.

The bell jingled as I stepped inside. Warm bread and essential oils hit me like a cozy hug. It was comforting in a way that made me miss Annie’s Bakery more than I expected.

I grabbed the nearest cart, already side-eyeing the snack aisle, deciding which overpriced delectable would be my first victim. My stomach growled, I was one minor inconvenience away from going feral—and the muffin display knew it.

A quick left past a display of woven baskets and handmade toe rings, and then?—

BAM!

My cart slammed right into a woman—maybe in her mid-to-late twenties—dressed like Hot Topic and Lisa Frank had a baby.

She had half-black, half-platinum hair split right down the middle, two pig tails bobbing with the impact. Her outfit was a chaotic masterpiece: fishnets, pastel skulls, combat boots with pink laces, and a choker that said “ bite me ” in rhinestones.

She looked like she’d hex you, then offer you a cupcake.

“OH—!” We both shrieked as her basket flew into the air, the contents spilling all down the aisle.

“Oh God, I am so sorry!” I rushed to her aid, wrangling the errant oranges making a break for it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She said, collecting the bursting bags of nuts on the floor.

On my knees, I shuffled to her, scrambling to collect the rest of her things—a bag of Gummy Nerds , a brand of coffee I’d never seen before with a Jolly Roger and a treasure map for a logo, and a pack of off brand wild berry toaster pastries.

“No, honestly, it’s okay.” She said, adjusting her oversized black glasses that had slipped down her nose in the collision. She rushed to the end of the aisle to catch an apple rolling to take out a toddler.

“Nice work!” I said, reaching for the last bag to place in her basket, but it ripped open and spilled every last red lentil onto the floor. “Shit!” I muttered, and hastily scooped them into a pile.

The woman crouched down beside me.

“Let me pay for your basket. It’s the least I can do after drop-kicking your groceries.”

“Pfft! Please, if I let you pay, pretty sure I’d be selling my soul for a bag of Gummy Nerds and coffee that isn’t that great.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m saving my soul for something bigger—like a full eight hours of sleep and a painless death.”

I laughed. The kind that only slips out when you’ve been on the edge for too long.

“Fair. I’ll buy you a coffee sometime. You know, for the trauma.”

“Only if it’s strong enough to wake the dead.

My standards may be low, but my caffeine tolerance isn’t.

” She stuck out her tongue, revealing a little metal stud stabbed in the center.

“First time at Nature Grove?” She reached for the wet cat food on the shelf behind me. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

I nodded. “Just flew in today. This is the first market I saw, and my cat is dying for a meal… so here I am.”

The woman’s evergreen eyes lit up, and her black lips parted into a welcome smile before she spoke with a warm, honeyed voice. “I’m Katie Pierce.” She held out a hand for me to shake.

If I wanted to build a life in this town, I needed to make acquaintances, so I eagerly shook it and plastered on a sincere smile.

“I’m Maggie. Maggie Maxwell.” I said, grabbing a few cans of Whiskered Delight and adding them to the cart.

“What’s your hellion’s name?”

“Chester.”

“Aww. Mine’s Christopher—Tophie... really.” A small giggle escaped her. “Before you ask—I thought she was a boy for the longest time. Then, babies showed up on my bed when I just thought she was getting fat.” She shrugged.

“Oh, no! I’m sure Tophie doesn’t mind. Do you still have the kittens?”

“Yes, and no. They live at Wyldewood—the retirement community I volunteer at.” Katie selected a few more items and placed them in her basket. “The coordinator thought it would be a great idea if the residents could have their own ‘pets’ to comfort them and keep them entertained.”

“Wow. How nice of you. I’d get too attached.” I hefted a box of litter into the cart.

“Me too, but I usually stop in three times a week, and on Wednesdays, Tophie hitches a ride to visit.”

“Nice.”

“So what’s Chester like?” she asked as we made our way closer to the checkout.

“He’s just a baby, so I’m still getting to know him. I found him in the alley behind the bakery I used to work at back in Ohio.”

Katie fidgeted with her necklace—a silver pentacle dancing on her décolletage.

“That pentacle’s stunning.” I honed in on it. “Do you practice?”

Katie’s face faltered a bit. Like she’d put up her guard.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed by my forwardness. “Back home, I didn’t have many friends. Once they’d find out I was a witch, they’d call me evil and shun me from their presence.”

The guarded expression on her face softened as she placed her basket on the conveyor. “I do. If you need a label—then yes, ‘witch’ is as good as any.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” I unloaded my things behind Katie’s basket and quickly snagged a few snacks to tide me over for the evening.

“Do you have a coven?” She asked as she tapped her card to the card reader.