Grimoire Omens (Witches by Fluke #1)

Prologue

Despite there being no storm or even strong winds, the lights and television suddenly went out.

“Not again,” I groaned. Losing power happened more often than not. The last time the hydro company blamed it on squirrels.

“Where’d you put those candles we used last night?” Flo asked, standing from the couch where we’d been watching television. All day I should add. Our matching hangovers wouldn’t allow for us to do much else.

“Kitchen cupboard over the fridge,” I stated as I ditched my comfy blanket and wandered to the bay window for a peek. “Whole street’s out.”

None of my neighbors’ homes appeared to have power judging by the dark windows, but more oddly, the streetlights were out as well. Weird. I thought they ran on solar. Hadn’t the city bragged about that as part of their green initiative a few years back?

“Remember, no opening the fridge just in case it’s a long one,” Flo stated as she returned carrying a candle with a flickering flame. She set it on the living room table—actually a chest I’d saved from the garbage men on the curb—and then plopped another pair of wax tapers beside it, which she lit.

“Really wishing I’d grabbed the chip dip before it happened,” I groaned.

Regular chips really needed something to sauce them with.

“Let me see if Hydro Ottawa has an estimate on repair.” I pulled out my phone and would have loaded their app, which had an outage section giving estimates on restoration time, only…

“This is odd. I’m not getting any signal. ”

“Me either,” Flo stated with a frown. “Must be a big outage if the cell towers aren’t working.”

No shit. Only happened once that I recalled when a derecho ripped through the west end of Ottawa.

However, “It didn’t storm today.” While overcast and slightly cool for late summer, the cloudy skies hadn’t dumped any precipitation, and the wind lacked enough force to make the windchimes by my front door rattle.

“Probably some meathead drove his car or truck into a transformer.”

“Could be. Or maybe it’s the wildlife finally coming after humanity,” I half joked.

No way of knowing, though, because the Facebook group I followed for local news couldn’t be loaded without data.

The lack of contact with the online world had me jittery.

Did I rely on my phone too much? Yup. I don’t know how the previous generations managed to survive without instant access to information.

“Wanna drink?” Flo asked. “No ice, obviously, but I could whip us up something with an unopened bottle of juice in the pantry, and I’m pretty sure we have a half-bottle of tequila in the liquor cabinet.”

According to my still pounding head? “I will never drink again,” I groaned.

Flo snickered. “You’re such a hangover princess. Hair of the dog would fix you right up.”

“Pretty sure hair of the cat in my wine last night is what has me feeling like reheated shit on a stick.” Speaking of cat… “Have you seen Cedric?”

“Not since before dinner last night. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Maybe that mangy cur had finally decided he’d rather live elsewhere.

A girl could hope. On social media, cats were cute and cuddly and snuggly little fur balls of love.

Cedric, whom I’d inherited, along with Grams’ house, was a black, sly, mean feline who did his claws on the brand-new leather couch I’d bought.

In the silence of no television, no humming fridge, no whirring anything, a strange ululation from outside raised the hairs on my body but not my head. My tight curls had been sprayed with enough product so as to not move even in a monsoon.

“What the fuck was that?” Flo exclaimed.

“Probably teenagers thinking they’re funny.

” Once upon a time, I’d have been that annoying kid trying to spook the neighbors.

Now, at the ripe age of thirty-six, I was the woman on her front porch at Halloween screaming, “Egg my house and I will make you regret your mother didn’t swallow.

” In my defense, dried yolk stuck like glue to painted wooden siding.

Also, it should be noted, I’d handed out a shit-ton of candy.

The teens should have come by earlier if they wanted any because, at nine, I turned off my porch light and ate what remained.

With nothing else to do, me and Flo pressed our faces to the window as if we could see in the dark. We couldn’t, which made the blood-curdling scream in the distance all the freakier.

“Did you hear that?” Flo whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Is the door locked?” she then asked, her voice quavering.

“Always.” Ottawa might be safer than some cities, but women on their own always took precautions even in decent neighborhoods.

“Still no internet or even cell service,” Flo lamented as she flopped back onto the couch.

“You still offering drinks? I could use a stiff shot.” I tried to ask lightheartedly and yet couldn’t help a slight hitch as yet another scream rang out.

“Should we be getting drunk with the apocalypse upon us?”

“Is there a better time?”

“I’m just thinking we night need booze as currency you know so we don’t have to bargain with our bodies.”

“While your forethought is admirable, this is not the apocalypse,” I retorted with more conviction than I felt.

Yes, a part of me understood power failures happened, more often than I liked and usually during my favorite show, The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, but something about this particular one felt off.

“Says you. I’m thinking I might feel better with a weapon.”

“Take your pick. Baseball bat by the bed or kitchen knife?”

“A bat has more reach,” she mused just as we heard a noise from the kitchen. Flo’s wide eyes almost fell out of her head. “What was that?”

“Cat door.” Guess Cedric, the roaming tom cat, had returned.

“Kitty!” Flo exclaimed, her expression brightening. Despite his less-than-cuddly nature, she’d not given up on getting Cedric to like her. Me, I couldn’t care less. I’d always been more of a dog lover.

Flo grabbed a lit candle and headed for the kitchen, determined to pet the borderline rabid cat. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she crooned while I rolled my eyes.

“What are you doing hiding up—Eek!” The strident scream sent me bolting for the kitchen to see Flo standing frozen, candle held aloft, staring at something overhead.

My gaze tracked upward, and my jaw dropped at the sight of the scaly winged creature clinging to the hanging pot rack. The moment it noticed me, it uttered a hiss and launched itself.

I don’t know where my sudden Matrix abilities came from, maybe those years I spent in gymnastics, but I twisted to the side, and it flew past me, smacking into the wall.

“Oh, my gawd, there’s a bat in the house!” Flo screeched, which totally helped my own panic.

I grabbed a stool and held it in front of me as the thing—which definitely resembled a bat if it had been dropped in a mutant vat of radioactive waste—got to its feet and bared its teeth in my direction.

It appeared to have a hate on for me. Guess it sensed I wasn’t an animal person, as once more, ignoring Flo, it lunged for me.

I swung the stool. Thwap. I connected and sent the critter flying and hitting the side of the kitchen island.

It didn’t seem to care I’d now batted it aside twice because it stood up on scratchy clawed toes and came for me again.

Only this time, Flo, who’d recovered her wits, smashed it in the head with a frying pan.

Not one. Not twice. She kept smacking the mutant bat until it stopped moving.

“I think it’s dead,” I muttered, seeing as how Flo stood poised to hit it again.

“Every time they say that in the movies, it always comes back to life,” her logical reply.

We both stared at it, waiting for it to twitch, but instead of recovering, its body caved in—literally. It lost all shape, like a balloon deflating, and turned into a smoking pile of goo.

Unexpected and freaky and Flo understandably screeched, “What the fuck was that?”

“A demon, you moron,” stated a dry, very masculine voice.

I should mention there were no men in the house, hence why I screeched, “Who said that?” as I whirled with my stool, seeking the source of the snarky speaker.

“Me, and now I guess I should prepare for more screaming,” riposted the same male voice.

“What the fuck?” I still saw no one.

“Uh, Charlie. I think it was kitty.” Flo pointed, and my gaze tracked downwards and settled on Cedric sitting in front of the pet door.

“Fuck off, Flo. Not funny. There’s someone in the house.”

“Every day I understand more and more why your grandmother thought you weren’t worthy to teach.” I heard the words, saw the cat’s mouth open and shutting, but reconciling the two…

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Like hell. Must be a gas leak or something making us high and hallucinating.”

“Wish I was high right now instead of dealing with you two. Alas, we are all annoyingly sober.”

My eyes shot open. “Cats don’t talk.”

“Regular felines don’t, but I’m special and not in the hockey-helmet, window-licking type of way like you.”

I blinked as I absorbed his comment. “Did you just call me stupid?”

“Look at you with a grasp of the English language.” Cedric’s mouth kept moving, and it hit me like a serious ton of bricks.

“Holy fuck. You really can talk!”

“No shit. Now if you’re done stating the obvious, I do believe there are more demons coming.”

“Demons? Demons aren’t real,” I squeaked.

“Tell that to the one you killed.”

I glanced at the goo, which had mostly evaporated, leaving a scorched mark on the floor. “That wasn’t a mutant bat?”

“Nope. That was a demon. A minor imp if we’re being technical.”

“What’s it doing in my house?”

“Likely coming after the person who summoned it. Duh. You see, demons are usually contained to the Infernal dimension, but someone”—Cedric fixed me with a baleful yellow glare—“decided to cast a spell she didn’t understand and opened a portal, allowing them to enter our world.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Only, I suddenly recalled—a bit fuzzily—the night before pulling out Grams’ Grimoire and flipping through it while smashing two bottles of wine with Flo.

Pretty sure there were a few joints involved too.

We’d giggled at the names and descriptions of some of the spells, and I had a vague recollection of Flo saying, “Do it! I triple dog dare you.”

Dare me to do what, you might wonder. Apparently summon demons.

And to think it all began with a phone call telling me Grams, a horrid woman I’d avoided like the plague, had died.