Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,1

plate glass window in the parlor and the bay windows on either side of the front door, reflecting the deep touch of red on each rose. The effect was nothing short of magical.

Then again, the house was named after the witch who haunted it, my grandfather, Percival Goode. It was a very magical place.

I made it to the door just as the interloper intruding into my lush dream knocked for the umpteenth time. As I turned the knob and pulled, the vines withdrew from the door. I cracked open the heavy wooden portal. Light spilled in.

A man stood on the other side of the threshold aiming a broom at me. Surprise registered on his face to a comical degree as he watched the vines retreat to the border of the doorframe. Stumbling back, he held the broom like an assault rifle.

“Mr. Shoemaker?” I remembered him, just barely, from when I’d arrived in the infamous town of Salem, Massachusetts, only a few days ago.

My fair-haired neighbor lived down the street and was part of several beautification committees with more letters in their acronyms than should be legal. Committees that wanted Percy torn down. Or, at the very least, vastly renovated.

“Ms. . . . Ms. Dayne?” Mr. Shoemaker seemed shocked that I’d answered my own door.

Had he been expecting a butler? ’Cause we didn’t have one of those. And though I hadn’t been in town long, I’d made it clear the last time he’d knocked on my door that I wasn’t going anywhere. “Call me Defiance.”

He straightened his shoulders, repositioned the broom at his side like an infantryman standing at attention with his rifle, and thrust out an envelope.

I deflated. This again? For realzies?

“Defiance.” He had to clear his throat like my name got stuck in it. “This is a petition for you to vacate the premises immediately.”

On second thought . . . “Call me Ms. Dayne.” I took the envelope but didn’t bother opening it.

I’d always had a sixth sense about people, and I didn’t feel hatred from Mr. Shoemaker. I didn’t feel dislike from him either. I felt concern? And definitely fear. The vines were a lot to take in. But at the moment, I liked them. And I finally understood the broom. He’d been using it to get past the razor-tipped foliage so he could knock on the front door. Dreams were cray-cray.

He pushed up his square-framed glasses with an index finger. “Please, Ms. Dayne, go back to Arizona.”

“How did you know I was from Arizona?” I’d only been here a few days, and it wasn’t like we’d had tea and biscuits.

“What?” he asked, stumped. “I just . . . that’s not the point.”

“It may not be the point, but it’s definitely a point.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He glanced around, his gaze landing on my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beetle.

My pride and joy. I looked at it like a loving parent.

“Your license plate.” A proud grin widened across Mr. Shoemaker’s boyish face. “Yes. That’s how. Arizona tags.”

“Ah.”

He pointed to the papers in my hands. “This is your final warning, Ms. Dayne. Leave, or else.”

“Okay then.” I saluted with the envelope. “Thanks for the heads up. No one wants else. It’s so vague and open-ended.”

He jammed his free hand on his hip. “Ms. Dayne, I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. The state of this”—he looked around as though unable to come up with an acceptable euphemism—“crumbling monstrosity was bad enough a few months ago, but now?” He gestured to Percy.

“Now?”

“Well, look at it.”

I did. I leaned out and marveled at the black vines that had covered the entire house. It looked like a Victorian lover’s paradise, which would explain my fascination. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed. Something must be done.”

“And that something is my eviction?”

“Yes.” He raised his chin a visible notch. “I’m sorry, but if you aren’t going to do anything about this . . . this eyesore, then the town of Salem will be forced to tear it down.”

“Tear down Percy?” I glared at him. “Are you even human?” Giggling like a maniacal serial killer, I slammed the door before he could answer. Then glanced around at the subject of Mr. Shoemaker’s worst nightmare. “Don’t you dare listen to him, Percy. You are stunning.”

He hummed beneath my feet again.

Smiling, I turned to see three people standing behind me, all with mouths slightly open in shock. Or awe.

I preferred awe. “Hey, guys.”

Annette, my spunky sidekick, blinked at me. Her mop of curly, chestnut hair had seen better