As the Grimoire Pages Turn (Murder, She Witches Mystery, Book 1)(Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction)

As the Grimoire Pages Turn A Murder, She Witches Mystery by Kat McGee Get the first three books of the Murder, She Witches series, As the Grimoire Pages Turn, In the Potion Perilous Deep, and Whom the Crystal Ball Chooses: Copyright Info © Kat McGee 2023, Towering Pines Publishing Cover design by Melody Simmons (bookcoversbymelody.com) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Witches of Willow Hollow Mysteries Midnight Calls Ghost Hunter Mysteries Midlife Matchmaker Mysteries Midlife Grimoire and Ghost Mysteries Books by Kat McGee About the Author Chapter 1 “That witch is a drive-by serial memoirist.” The cantankerous, centuries-old feline lowered her brow and wiggled her whiskers from the basket, empty of bookmarks scattered on the counter edge and the floor. “Don’t you mean fly-by?” I retrieved a few bookmarks and stacked them on the sales counter while eyeing the miniature version of the author printed on the thin slice of cardboard. “And I have to agree, Druchelle Worth is certainly a broom-riding, serial memoir-writing witch.” “To think she thought she could buy the bookstore.” Elzadora, the store familiar, spoke in a slight British accent, sniffed, and swatted yet another bookmark from the counter edge to watch it flutter to the pitted hardwood floor. “Ack, having her as the owner would have been far worse than having three witchy store owners at once.” She narrowed her glittering feline gaze. “Perhaps.” With dozens of potential customers here for our special event, the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting a warm glow through the display windows of the Three Witches Bookstore. Our grand opening celebration was well underway, and the barnlike, three-story structure we had upgraded into a more modern, quaint bookish haven buzzed with excitement. The exposed overhead wooden beams beneath the high copper-plated ceiling adorned with twinkling fairy lights cast a soft, magical ambiance throughout the room. Rich mahogany bookshelves reached for the high ceiling along the walls, with half-shelves in the sales area, each lovingly filled with an eclectic mix of novels, spell books, and reference texts that would delight any bibliophile, human or supernatural. “It seems the bookstore chose otherwise. For which I’m grateful.” I proudly stroked the counter, the smooth, varnished hand-carved mahogany vibrating from over two centuries of absorbed magic and warming under my touch. The scent of fresh ink mingled with the enticing aromas of cinnamon-spiced cider, freshly brewed coffee, and hot cocoa. Chatter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional peel of laughter or the rustle of pages turning. It was a celebration of all things magical and literary, and I couldn’t have been happier. Once I stroked Elzadora behind the ear to receive an emerald-green glare, I wandered through our magical bookstore, my senses coming alive with the energy that permeated every nook and cranny. The first floor, where our beloved store resided, was a massive haven for booklovers. The second floor harbored more rare, magical editions within the shelves, and above, our apartment suites spanned the entire third floor. Coffee and Characters Café served snacks and drinks in one corner of the sales area. Everywhere, the golden hues of wood created a peaceful hominess, and book covers bursting with color promised to take readers away from reality for a while. I stroked the back of a chair with a footrest, at the end of an aisle, its upholstery matching the newly furnished reading nook in a secluded area at the back of the store. In the middle of the store, a massive oak tree remained as it had through the centuries, with its trunk melding with the stairway and its branches becoming part of the bookshelves on the second floor. At present, people—humans and supernaturals alike—bought Druchelle’s memoir, keeping our recently hired assistant staffers quite busy as they refilled shelves and rang up sales. Near the display rack, featuring Druchelle’s three different memoirs, I closed my eyes and deeply inhaled, feeling as if I’d just taken my first full breath in weeks. Being part of something much bigger than myself filled me with indescribable joy. Having our own place and owning the store was like a dream come true. Violet, Blanche, and I had worked hard to revive the business, and now that the reopening was finally here, there was no better feeling than having the Three Witches Bookstore become a reality. Noting the floating trays boasting fluted glasses filled with apple cider moving through the milling customers, I edged close. With a delicate stroke, I touched the edge of the nearest tray, reinforcing the spell I’d cast to ensure the levitation magic remained active throughout our entire event. As I looked around at all the cheerful faces lit up when the customers purchased copies of The Secrets of the Not-So-Secret Witch memoir and other books, I grinned and lifted the glass of cider from the nearest tray. As of today, the Three Witches Bookstore was making its mark on the magical world! “Octavia, darling, isn’t this just divine?” Blanche Blythe cooed, her Southern drawl as rich and silky as her deep-purple gown. Her hair, an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors, thanks