Free Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) by Dakota Cassidy Page B

believed he’d given me some rare gift and he didn’t think it was at all arrogant.
    And who was I to tell him otherwise? Yet, it was the way he presented this gift that intrigued me and touched my heart. Without an ounce of reservation. He was what he was, and he didn’t hide it. Egotistical or not, I had to admire that.
    So I patted him on the back and waved him to a chair. “You’re a real sport, Hugh. But do you have any idea what happened down here while you were holed up in the bathroom?”
    “A party, of course. I was so engrossed in learning my lines and correcting some monumental error on the part of the writers, who have obviously made a mistake, casting me as anything other than a strapping man of wealth and great intelligence.”
    “So you were in the bathroom for five hours? The party started at seven, came to a screeching, murderous halt at nine, and it’s almost twelve now. Didn’t you hear all the chaos?”
    He winked and puffed his chest out as he sat, pulling a pair of earbuds out of his jacket pocket. “I had these in. Music soothes me when I rehearse. Also, I’m nothing if not studious. I like to prepare all my angles and make notes for the cameramen so they feature me at my absolute best.”
    I sat down next to him. “Someone was murdered during the time you were perfecting angles, Hugh.”
    He gasped. His look of surprise, whether acted or real, was on point. “Who?”
    “Mom’s husband Bart.”
    Hugh made a sad face. “Poor Dita. No wonder she’s so out of sorts.”
    I nodded. Sure. That was definitely the reason. Obviously he, too, was blinded by my mother and her wicked charms. “So can I ask you a couple of questions?”
    “Of course, Daughter.”
    I had to wonder why he kept giving me a familial label. Maybe he was using it out loud so he could adjust to it, as much as I was using it internally in order to do the same.
    “Mom never told you about me?”
    He sighed, long and wistful. “Unfortunately, she did not. Alas, our love affair was fleeting—like sands through the hourglass, it came and went. We were never meant to be, you see. Ill-fated from the start.”
    “Star-crossed lovers,” I whispered. If I’d ever had fantasies about my parents and how they met and fell in love, this one was high on my list.
    “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “It had nothing to do with stars. We met at a rodeo convention in Galveston, Texas. She was a rodeo girl and I was traveling with a production of Oklahoma!
    “Hah!” Win barked in my ear. “Bloody fabulous!”
    Hugh cocked his slick head, frowning. “Who is that?”
    My brow furrowed. “Huh?”
    “Who’s the fellow with the British accent?”
    My eyebrows rose in surprise. “You can hear him?”
    Hugh chuckled a laugh. “You’re delightful! Of course I can, Stevie. I didn’t say so earlier because he was offering sound advice and I didn’t want to frighten you further, but I’m one of the few warlocks in the world who can communicate with the dead.”
    No. Way. I’d never met anyone else who communicated with the afterlife. I knew others existed, but we’re rare. With the exception of Baba Yaga, who could communicate with Satan himself, I suppose, this was a first for me.
    I must have inherited my powers from Hugh.
    “Me too!” I yelped in excitement, until I realized that wasn’t really the case anymore. “I mean, I used to communicate with the dead. Not so much anymore since I lost my powers, though.”
    He gasped again, the intake of breath making me jump as he gripped my hands in his larger ones. “You lost your powers?”
    “Well, I didn’t really lose them. They were slapped out of me. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday when you have extra time on your hands.”
    Now his face was grave, exaggeratedly so, but still, grave with concern. I think it was concern, anyway. “Who would do such a thing to my daughter?”
    “Again, looong story. But a good one, too. Anyway, introductions are in