A Witch's Curse

A WITCH’S CURSE

Paul Martin

EROTIC ROMANCE

Secret Cravings Publishing

www.secretcravingspublishing.com

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:
Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device.
You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.
This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000."

If you find a Secret Cravings Publishing e-book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at
[email protected]

A Secret Cravings Publishing Book

Erotic Romance

A WITCH’S CURSE

Copyright © 2011 by Paul Martin

E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-123-9

First E-book Publication: December 2011

Cover design by
Dawné Dominique

Edited by T. Hayes

Proof read by Rene Flowers

All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Secret Cravings Publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Secret Cravings Publishing

www.secretcravingspublishing.com

DEDICATION

I want to thank all the great people at Secret Cravings for all their help in making story this possible. To Sa
ndy Sullivan for believing in me. To Trena and Ariana, my fabulous editors, and Dawne Dominique for her beautiful art work.

I also want to thank a very dear friend, Sable Hunter. Her encouragement and great advice has helped shape this story in many ways and she has also had a positive influence on my life.

TRADEMARK ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

Volkswagen Beetle

A WITCH’S CURSE

Paul Martin

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

Carolyn Waters g
uided her car between the stone gargoyles guarding the opened wrought-iron gates and continued up the gravel driveway to her new home. The windshield wipers on her old, battered Volkswagen Beetle worked overtime to keep up with the torrential downpour. A brilliant flash of lightning eerily lit the hulking, three-story mansion in the predawn night. Formally named
Wexford House
in the sixteen-nineties, the ancient manor soon earned the nickname of
Spook Central
for being the residence of the infamous Harrisonville Ghost, and it now belonged to her.

When I think of all the years Mom and I didn’t have two nickels to rub together
, and all along we were related to the richest woman in town, I could just scream. Why hadn’t mom told me about her? Even if this Ester Carter had been poor, I would’ve wanted to know her.

Shutting off the engine, Carolyn got out of the car.
As fast as she was able to in the pouring rain, Carolyn unloaded her boxes, took a deep breath, and approached the foreboding entrance. The large, iron, skeleton key rattled in the lock.
Remember to add new locks to the to-do list
.

The door swung open with a
loud creaking, reminding her of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie. Recalling the multitude of rooms in the enormous house, she made another mental note;
add an extremely large can of 3-in-1 oil to the list.

Stepping
inside the foyer, shivers ran up and down her spine at the sight of the thick clumps of cobwebs hanging from every nook and cranny in the room. “Yuk! I hate spiders.” Going back to the porch, Carolyn gathered her cleaning supplies and cat carrier.

“
Here we are, buddy, our new abode,” Carolyn said as she unlatched the gate on the portable cage to let Chester out. “What do you think? Not quite the Ritz, but I’m sure you’ll find lots of interesting places to explore.”

Chester sniffed
the air attentively before boldly stepping out and padding across the floor, his nails clicking on the hardwood surface before settling in front of the sliding, mahogany library doors. With one eye turned toward Carolyn, he let out a long meow.

“
What? You want to go in there?”

Chester
meowed
again. As soon as Carolyn slid the doors open, he ran inside and jumped on the hospital bed to settle down for a nap. “Funny you should pick this room. This is where I was told Grandmother slept when she couldn’t get around anymore. Well, I guess you’ll be okay in here.”

Carolyn started
in the kitchen, stripping the cabinets of their contents before putting in new shelf liners and moving on to scour the large, cast-iron, gas stove while the refrigerator defrosted. With those tasks finished and crossed off her list, Carolyn paused long enough to scarf down a tuna fish sandwich, after which she scoured the grimy, blue, ceramic tile flooring to a lustrous sheen. By late afternoon, she moved into the foyer, knocked down all the cobwebs, washed the walls, and scrubbed the white marble floor. Allowing the scrub brush to fall from her hand into the bucket, she stretched, easing the kinks from her stiffened back.

Satisfied she made a significant dent on the first floor
, Carolyn dragged her tired body into the living room. Old paintings and photographs of women covered the tables and walls. The style of clothing they wore ranged from present to what Carolyn thought might be as far back as the early 1700’s.

Prominently hung above the
mantel, she set eyes on a portrait that had to be one of the oldest in the room. The grimy, oversized, oil painting showed a woman in a white satin wedding dress with a man standing next to and slightly behind her, obviously a bridal portrait. Settling down onto the large sofa in front of the fireplace, Carolyn studied the painting. In an instant, Chester curled up on her stomach.

“
Well, Chester, old friend, what do you think? Yeah, I know the place is older than dirt, but that’s no way to talk about my familial home,” she said, vigorously rubbing his ears. “A couple of weeks ago there wasn’t a soul in the world I had to call family, besides you, of course, and now look. For nearly three hundred years my relatives lived right here in this very house. I wish there was a way to make these walls talk.”

An insomniac for the better part of her life, Carolyn knew she wouldn’t sleep, though she still needed to rest before taking on the next room. The soft
bonging
of the grandfather clock in the foyer announced midnight as Carolyn nestled deeper into the yielding cushions. Within a very short space of time, Carolyn’s breathing slowed and her eyes closed as sleep overtook her.

An incessant pounding on the front door jarred her awake. Massaging the kink in her neck, she opened the door to discover her partner, Maggie Wells, standing on the porch, holding a mop and broom. Together, they owned an organic food store in town,
Herbs and More.

“
About time you answered! My hand hurts from knocking and ringing that damned bell. Hey, do you always greet your guests with your boobs hanging out? Really, what if I had been the milkman?”

Carolyn gasped when she noticed her blouse flapping in the light breeze like two sails. Re-buttoning her shirt, she quipped, “He’d have left me an extra quart of cream?”

S
he stepped aside to allow Maggie to enter, “Come on in, Mags. Sorry about keeping you waiting, the doorbell doesn’t work, and I didn’t hear you knocking. I fell asleep.”

With
a puzzled expression on her face, Maggie asked, “You what? But, you don’t sleep.”

“
I know. Weird, huh? Not only did I sleep, but I had a dream. At least, I think I had a dream. Are they always so real? As if they’re really happening?”

“
Oh, this ought to be good. Spill,” Maggie urged.

“
Good doesn’t come close. Hot and indecent is closer.”

“
Fantastic! Indecent dreams are my favorite. I want every dirty detail…and don't you dare leave out a single morsel. Here, take these while I make some coffee,” Maggie said, pushing the mop and broom into Carolyn's hand on her way into the kitchen.