Free Never Been Witched by Annette Blair

table. Two straight parlor chairs would work with it.”
    Morgan brought the chairs and set them in place. When he took a bite of her chicken cordon bleu and pan-roasted vegetables, he saw her in a new light. “This is better than restaurant food.”
    “I should hope so.”
    “But you acted like such a spoiled brat when I first met you.”
    “I did not. You disliked me on sight with no instigation from me.”
    “Maybe the snarky shirts you and your sisters wore had something to do with it. ‘I’m a Witch with PMS. Any Questions? ’ Plus, you’d just outed your triplet status and made us all feel pretty stupid for not figuring it out ourselves.”
    “King and Aiden didn’t seem angry. I’m thinking the problem was you, not me.”
    Mentally, he slapped himself upside the head. It had been the triplet connection. Jealousy, plain and simple. He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not good with women.”
    Destiny choked on her tea. “Sweet stinging nettles, what did you say?”
    “I did not say that out loud.”
    She put down her fork. “You know what, Morgan? I’m beginning to think that we don’t know each other at all. Let me introduce myself. I’m Destiny Cartwright, the middle triplet. Abandoned at birth by our mother and raised by our alcoholic father, we are so not spoiled. If not for finding our half sister Vickie after we got thrown out of college for non-payment of tuition, we’d have ended up living in our van. But Vickie gave us a home and part ownership of the Immortal Classic.”
    “I like Vickie,” Morgan said. “And now I respect her.”
    “Me, too. Anyway, I’m here to find my psychic mandate, my reason for being. My sisters have already found theirs. And frankly, I’m feeling a bit like the loser triplet, because Storm, the baby of the family, found her psychic goal before I did. Now, tell me about you.”
    “Morgan Jarvis, as you know. Your brother-in-law King’s roommate senior year of high school. I’m an architect working on the castle and the windmill, and I’m planning on buying this place.”
    “My cup runneth over with knowledge,” she said facetiously, picking up her fork. “So your life started when you became an architect?”
    Morgan considered her question and nodded truthfully. “As a matter of fact, it did. Tell me about your walk. You seemed to be having a fascinating conversation with some imaginary friends?”
    “I was walking with Horace. He told me some interesting things about the lighthouse. It’s forty-six feet tall and holds secrets and treasures that nobody else knows about.”
    “I doubt that. I’ve explored every inch of the place.”
    “Okay, tell me about the cellar.”
    “It doesn’t have a cellar.”
    “Wrong. Under the house is a maze of pilings. There’s also an old cistern under the floor in the northeast corner. The maze leads to an escape hatch beneath the tower.”
    “Your source is suspect.”
    “You’re jealous of a ghost.”
    “Ghosts don’t exist, and I have my debunking equipment with me to prove it.”
    “Never mind. I can prove it.” She got up from the table in the middle of her delicious dinner and went to the closet beneath the stairs. Morgan nearly had a heart attack.
    “Here, I found it. Come see. A captain’s chest, just like Horace said. It belonged to Nicodemus Paxton, who built Harmony and King’s castle.”
    “That doesn’t prove that your phantom lighthouse keeper exists,” Morgan answered with relief. “Come and finish this nice dinner you made.”
    “Hey, this is weird,” she said.
    Morgan stood, ready to jump from his skin if she didn’t finish her thought, but he didn’t have to wait long.
    She came into the kitchen carrying the hanger with the cassock on it, its stiff white collar stuffed into its pocket. “What do you suppose this is?” she asked. “It looks like something a priest would wear.”
    “Thanks for dinner,” Morgan said, going out the kitchen door, unable to explain to