Read an Excerpt from The Witch with Nine Lives
A Dysfunctional Family of Witches
PROLOGUE
Nikki held her
dead sister in her arms, a cat named Medea. It was only because of her youngest
daughter, well now her only daughter, that their mother attended this makeshift
funeral. Dima should be working. Luke Air Force Base in Glendale was open.
There was money to be made dancing with solders. Most paid good money for Dima
to gaze into a crystal ball and tell the men their futures.
Bah, this is a
waste of my time, having a funeral for Medea. Dima frowned at the dead
Abyssinian cat. The different-colored eyes were glazed over in death and the
tongue was hanging out. Dima turned her head away. She felt guilty for having
cast a spell on her oldest daughter to begin with. It was for her own good. She
may have been just a teenager, but the mafia wanted her dead.
Almost 24 hours
passed since Nikki found Medea dead in the backyard. The girl had run into the
house screaming, carrying her dead sister in her arms, the cat’s arms dangling
and the head hanging. The eyes were open and still. Nikki had been hysterical
until Dima slapped her.
Once more, Nikki
cried over her furry sister. The girl seemed to like her sister more now that
Medea was dead.
Dima yanked a
shapeshifting stone from her pocket. She ordered the stone to shapeshift into a
shovel. She then dug a small grave.
Nikki gently
placed her sister in the small, shallow grave.
The emotional
upset of seeing her eldest daughter lying dead with a pile of dirt beside the
open grave, caused Dima to transform from a sexy, 18-year-old to her true self,
a 130-year-old hag. Quick, she grabbed the shovel which then melted into her
hands and reformed as the shapeshifting stone. She clutched the stone and spun
until she was once more an 18-year-old beauty.
It was almost
midnight at the small, private Russian Molokan Cemetery located at 75th and
Maryland Avenue in Glendale, Arizona. There was a full moon, so there was
plenty of light shining on the grave.
“Why couldn’t we
have a coffin?” Nikki again asked.
“Your sister
always liked the dirt. Remember how she would dig with her claws?” Dima said.
“Yes, but that
was so she could use the bathroom outside,” Nikki pointed out.
“Well, you
really shouldn’t cry over a sister who used her tongue as toilet paper,” Dima
said. “Medea was inferior.”
Nikki glared at
her. “Medea was a cat because of you.”
“Well, if Medea
had not been an outdoor cat, but stayed indoors, she might have lived a few
years longer, if not for you,” Dima said.
Now, it was
Nikki’s turn to look guilty.
The moon moved
directly above them, signaling that it was now midnight.
Dima screeched
and pointed at the grave. Moonlight was shining on the cat, which had
transformed from a brown Abyssinian cat into a black kitten.
“Medea’s come
back to life!” Nikki clapped her hands with joy.
Dima, on the
other hand, was so shocked that she dropped Pompeii, her shapeshifting stone.
She again transformed from a young woman to an ancient one. Her boobs were
sagging past her waist. Her hair was but a few sparse white hairs. Dima lifted
her head so that she could see because her wrinkly eyelids blurred her vision,
not to mention the cataracts; oh, the cataracts, and the arthritis in her
gnarled hands. Her back was hunched over. Dima ached with more than a century
and a quarter of living, and none of it as the granddaughter of Catherine the
Great of Russia. Dima was born with signs that she would be a witch, which
freaked out her royal family, so her bastard mother threw her away.
Well, enough of
bad memories. Medea was reborn!
The kitten sat
up and stretched, arching its back. She wasn’t exactly a newborn kitten. Medea
appeared to be the size of a four-month-old kitten.
Dima stooped to
pick up the shapeshifting stone.
The kitten was
faster and jumped on the stone, sitting on the rock.
Dima jumped out
of the way because the kitten scratched at her ankles.
Dima growled low
in her throat. “I see dying hasn’t improved your bad manners, Medea. You are
still headstrong though you must weigh all of three pounds. Move, or I’ll smack
you with a newspaper.”
Seventeen cats,
some old, some young, surrounded them, hissing at Dima. Of course, the cats
attended Medea’s funeral. She was their leader.
Traitors, Dima
thought. The older cats had once been loyal to her, but that was before she
turned her daughter into a cat.
Dima took a step
back. Medea may have been reborn as a black cat, but her eyes were still the
same, one eye being amber in color and the other eye emerald-green. The two
different colors were a sign of magic. Medea was still a witch and power still
flowed in her kitty veins.
The kitten
laughed. “Come now, mother,” Medea said in a kittenish, human voice. Medea
apparently had the memories of her past life. “It won’t hurt you to stay your
own age, for an hour or so. This is my wish for my birthday.”
“You don’t get a
second birthday,” Dima snarled.
“Yes, she does,”
Nikki protested. “Medea has now been born twice.”
