Pussy’s mouth stretched wide and pointed teeth flashed at me. “Sure you’re not, princess. You just let all that anger out.” His eyes glinted in the sunlight. “Agatha always liked to talk things out in the tub, too.”
I suppressed a scream of frustration and crossed my arms under the bubbles, turning my head away from Pussy and his infuriating grin. What the hell was I doing talking to a cat? Letting a cat get under my skin? A cat. I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply, but I had a hard time relaxing as the thoughts of the strange old woman’s words ran through my head. I had the hardest time convincing myself that she was real, but at the same time, how could she have known those things that I had no way of knowing myself? Could my brain work like that? Maybe I’d imagined her walking through the wall, and perhaps she was a real person that had simply followed me home from the park. But no, that couldn’t be right. My hand had gone right through her. I’d seen it. There was no way in hell I could be that crazy. Could I?
“She doesn’t look like she’s all that relaxed,” Muffin’s voice said from the side of the tub.
I jumped, splashing water over the side of the bathtub and onto the floor. This was simply getting out of hand. “Stop talking! You’re a cat. I know you’re not real. It is all my head.”
“Give her a break, guys.” The black cat’s slow, smooth voice slid across the room. “She didn’t know about any of this stuff—witches, spells, ghosts. She needs time to adjust.”
I raised my hands to my ears and sunk deeper into the tub. “La, la, la.”
Pussy prowled along the edge of the tub and pressed his nose closer to my face. “I don’t know, Fluffy, she mightn’t be able to handle it. She’s got a bag in the other room that says ‘Peace, Love, and Yogalates.’ What kind of crap is that?”
“She’s a hippie, that’s for sure,” Fluffy said.
My eyes flew open at his words. I turned to face the black cat and glared at him. “Who are you calling a hippie?”
“You,” the black cat replied. “Come on, I bet you have hemp smoothies for breakfast and avocado toast for brunch, am I right?”
I stared at him for a long moment, contemplating whether I was going to play into the whole crazy thing and argue with the stupid, blue-eyed cat. I finally decided I had already reached the maximum threshold of crazy; I might as well give in to my failing brain. “You don’t have breakfast and brunch on the same day, idiot.” I flashed him a smug grin, certain that would shut him up, but I swear the cat rolled his eyes at me. “Besides,” I added. “Hemp smoothies are extremely nutritious and avocados are underrated.”
The black cat feigned a cough. “Hipster.”
“Fleabag,” I retorted. The black cat chuckled in response and I felt my lips curve, despite myself. I shook my head and reached for the old lady’s diary, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I’d enjoyed the little exchange. I was not the kind of woman who exchanged banter with a cat. I began flipping through the pages of the journal, but I couldn’t understand a word of it. Magic and spells? Hardly. The book was nothing but utter jibberish. I came to page with a pretty pencil drawing of a cat and I shifted to examine it more closely, my interest peaking. Tucking my legs up toward me, I sat up straight and read it aloud to hear the strange sounds of the unfamiliar language. “Redire ad se verum est, quod magica de oppanso corporis tui concelavi.”
I felt a strange rush of energy flow through me as I spoke the words aloud, and I swear, the room shimmered around me. A bright flash of light filled the air and suddenly, in place of the cats, stood three extremely naked men.
Chapter Eight
“What the hell!” I shrieked. I threw the journal across the room and my arms and legs splashed wildly as I tried to conceal my body, sliding awkwardly under the water and gasping for breath. I threw my body halfway over the edge of the bathtub, swearing as I grabbed my robe, wrapped it around myself, and headed for the door. I’d barely taken a step when my foot slipped on the tiles and I collided with a hard, muscular body. I reached out to steady myself and my hand grabbed a piece of anatomy so impressively huge that I immediately let go in shock, catapulting myself back into the cold bathwater. “Holy sh—”
“Swearing is most unbecoming for a lady your age.” With a loud pop the old lady appeared in the bathroom, perched high on the sink with her short, skinny legs dangling below.
My voice raised an octave. “What in damnation is going on here?” It was the final straw, the one that broke the metaphorical camel’s back; I had lost it. Categorically, undeniably, call the doctors, lost it. Reality was no longer the realm I existed in. There was no way in hell that I could truly be sitting soaked in the bathtub surrounded by three naked men and a crazy old lady ghost. It simply wasn’t happening. There was no way this could be happening to me.
“Well, that was unexpected,” a soft voice said. I gaped at the man with dark auburn hair and leaf-green eyes through a haze of disbelief. He was tall and fair skinned with shoulders so broad they could fill a door. My eyes traveled down his toned body to narrowed hips and defined abdominal muscles. Instinctively my gaze flickered lower and the man attempted to cover himself with his large hands. I twisted my head, trying to focus anywhere but on what I’d just seen. He wasn’t the man I’d grabbed, but still... I chanced a peek at his face and saw his cheeks were as flushed as I was certain my own were.
A towel landed on the redhead's shoulder. “Here, man, cover it up in front of the lady.” I blinked at the sound of the low, gravelly voice coming from a dark-haired man with olive skin and tousled black hair. He didn’t meet my eye as he wrapped a towel around his waist, but from the brief glance I got before the fabric concealed his form, there was no denying he was the man I’d collided with before I fell back into the bathtub. I ran my hand over my forehead. I needed to get out of this room. It was too damn hot.
“I don’t need a towel, Fluffy. I’m perfectly comfortable in this skin.” I could barely bring myself to face the third man as he lounged against the door. His long body was slender, lean, and tanned all over as if he’d spent hours lying under the warm sun. I studiously avoided looking below his waist, aware he was scrutinizing every flick of my gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his smile widen and the dimple in his chin deepen. His white blonde hair looked like he spent every moment surfing on the West Coast, but I’d spent enough time around Gerard’s friends to know his unkempt ‘do probably cost more than my juice bar had made on its best week. Eyebrows curved above sparkling hazel eyes. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart, we’re all friends here. Although, you still haven’t made us any breakfast…”
No. No, no, no. I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be happening. Sure, the voices were the same, but there had to be an explanation. It was all a set-up. I was being filmed. I gripped my robe tighter around my chest and shouted, “Punked! You got me, people. You got me, good.”
The man with the auburn hair frowned and took a step forward. “Is she okay, guys? She doesn’t look okay.”
Agatha crossed her arms and swung her legs. “Oh, she’s all right; it just seems the snoopy little witch found my spell book.”
“Spellbook?” I mouthed slowly, staring at the leather-bound journal on the floor. We’d deal with the pot-kettle-blackness of her accusing me of being the snoop later. First, spells; later, indignant rage, I decided.
“Yes, my spell book, girlie. And now look what you’ve done.” Agatha waved a finger at the three men. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to meddle in another witch’s business?”
“I am not a witch.” My voice was a shadow of its former self.
“Definitely a witch,” the dark, brooding man with the big…blue eyes said. “You have far too many weird herbs and stuff in your bag to not be a witch.”
“They’re just herbs,” I snapped.