“Witch herbs,” the blond man added. He let out a wolf-whistle and winked at the other two men. “Can I just say, you’re looking good there, Muffin, Fluffy…”
“Shut it, Pussy,” the dark-haired man snapped. From the way he squared his ink-covered shoulders, I guessed he wasn’t the kind of guy you messed with. He picked up the last towel from the floor and flung it at the blond man. “Put it on.”
“Oh, cut it out, all three of you,” Agatha barked as the blond covered himself with a towel. The ghost jumped from her perch on the sink and sprang across the bathroom to pick up the diary from the floor. I raised a brow in surprise. I couldn’t feel her, but she could move objects. Interesting. “And you!” The ghost pointed a thin finger in my direction. “My diary is none of your business, do you hear me? A witch’s spells are private. Keep your paws to yourself before you ruin any more of my work. How the hell am I supposed to fix these three when I don’t have any access to my magic?”
“Fix these three?” I repeated. I sounded like a babbling idiot, repeating everything Agatha said.
“You okay there, Priscilla? Do you need anything? You look like you’re about to pass out or something. You’re really pale.” The auburn-haired man looked concerned as he leaned against the far wall of the bathroom.
“Price,” I corrected. I spread my fingers wide, palms upturned. “And yes, I do need something. I need there not to be half-naked men in my bathroom. Why are you all half-naked?”
The dark-haired man lifted his chin. “You expected us to have some magical cat clothes? Fur that transforms into jeans and a shirt?”
“Besides, we’re not the only ones half-naked, here,” the blond man teased, running a slow gaze over my bare legs and the soaked robe clinging to my skin.
Agatha made a heaving noise. “Oh, for goodness sake, stop prattling and flirting, all of you. It’s nauseating.” She flicked a hand toward the men. “There’s a reason I turned you into cats in the first place; pets are so much more pleasant than people.”
I stared at the ghost. “You turned—”
“Us into cats?” The dark-haired man finished. His blue eyes flashed as he turned to the other two men. “What the hell? Did you two know this?”
The auburn-haired man drew his brows together as if he was trying to catch an elusive memory. “No…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Of course, you didn’t know, that’s the nature of the curse. A familiar never remembers its former existence.” Agatha glowered at me. “Unless some other magic interferes with the spell.”
I glared at the ghost. “Oh, please, you turned these men into cats, but you want to make me out to be the bad guy? I don’t think so, ghost-witch.”
Agatha tossed her head. “Pooh, pooh. How do you know they didn’t deserve it? They could be mass murders for all you know.” At my tentative glance to my right, she added, “or rapists.”
I eyed the men as they glared at the ghost. What a shame to waste such beauty on villains. “And were they?” I asked.
The ghost shrugged. “How should I know? I’m dead.” The three men took a step closer to the witch, their stares as sharp as mine. We waited for her to elaborate. Agatha sighed as if she was exhausted by our collective ignorance. “I’m a dead witch; I’m bound by the Law of the Dead. I can’t access my powers or recall the details of my most powerful spells until I’ve resolved my unfinished business.” She wagged a finger at the men. “I have no recollection why I chose such distracting creatures to be my pets.” The ghost fixed her glare on me. “And now you’ve stuck your beak into the spell, who knows what way the magic will react.”
“How can we fix this stupid Law of the Dead business?” I asked, trying not to stare at the three men. “I mean, we need to figure out if these guys deserve to get back to their real lives or if they’re dangerous criminals that should be behind bars.” I glanced in their direction. “No offense.”
“None taken,” the dark-haired man growled.
The red-haired man raised one large hand. “I actually do take some offense at that. I’d rather if we didn’t assume I’m a rapist or murderer, if that’s cool?”
Agatha ignored both men and stepped close enough to me that I noticed the delicate blue of her eyes for the first time. Baby blue. “There’s only one way to appease the law, Priscilla.” I didn’t bother to correct her. “Resolve my unfinished business; find my murderer.”
Chapter Nine
“Agatha, you weren’t murdered.” The ghost stared down her nose at me with a disapproving frown and I held my hands up. “I’m sorry, I really am, and I’m no expert in criminal forensics, but a grape isn’t a murder weapon.” The blond man snorted and I gave him a sharp glance. “Where the hell were you guys when she died anyway? Chasing mice?”
From the look on the men’s faces, I was pretty certain I’d hit a nerve. The dark-haired man crossed his strong, tattooed arms. “We were out. By the time we got back, she was…gone.” Something about the weight in his eyes sucked the anger from my bones and I dropped his stare.
Ding-dong.
The echo of the doorbell rang through the house. Grateful for the distraction, I jumped from the tub, dripping wet, and reached for a towel to find there were none left. The blond man dropped his hand to his waist and made to loosen his towel, and I slapped my hands over my eyes. “No! No more nakedness, please.”
“I don’t know, I quite enjoyed the nakedness when you were getting changed earlier,” the blond drawled. I could practically see his grin despite my closed eyes.
The sound of a drawer opening and closing was followed by something soft being shoved against my hands. “Here.” I recognized the dark-haired man’s deep tones. “We’ll all turn around so you can put it on.”
I lowered my hands to find all three men with their backs turned to me and the blond man grumbling loudly about gender equality and roaming female eyes. I couldn’t help but smirk as I peeled off my soaking wet robe and tried to rub myself off with a hand towel. Three pairs of taut buttocks winked at me from beneath thin cotton towels.
“Ahem.” Agatha nodded pointedly toward the door as the sound of the doorbell rang out again. I pulled on the frilly pink robe and secured it as tightly as it could. On me, Agatha’s robe only reached mid-thigh and gaped at the chest in a way that would have been indecent on somebody with a more generous bust.
I bolted out of the room and down the stairs toward the front door before the three men had a chance to turn around again.
Opening the door a crack, I poked my head through to see who was there. A short, elderly man I vaguely recognized from the funeral stood on the front step, looking rather nervous. “Miss Priscilla Jones?”
I nodded, glancing back quickly into the entryway behind me. To my dismay, the three cat-men and the old crazy lady stood behind me, eagerly peering over me to see who was at the door. I glared at them and turned back to the short man. I stopped halfway through the doorway, pulling it tight behind me so the poor guy at the doorstep couldn’t see the motley crew behind me.
“Price,” I forced a smile as I replied to him. “You can call me Price. What can I do for you?”