A Total Witch Show, page 1
A TOTAL WITCH SHOW
DAKOTA CASSIDY
DAKOTA CASSIDY
COPYRIGHT
A Total Witch Show
Published 2022 by Dakota Cassidy
Copyright © 2022, Dakota Cassidy
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from Dakota Cassidy.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Cover artist: Renee George
Editor: Kelli Collins
AUTHOR’S NOTE
My darling, amazing, stupendous readers,
Thank you for joining me for book fourteen of the Witchless in Seattle Mysteries! Please note, the Witchless in Seattle series is truly best read in order, to understand the full backstory and history of each character as they develop with every connecting book.
Also, please note, I’m prone to taking artistic license with locations and such, and in this book, I’ve made up some names of prisons and spells and who knows what else. So forgive any places near and dear to your heart in Seattle and surrounding areas if they’re not completely accurate or don’t actually exist.
Most of all, thank you for continuing to join Stevie, Win and the gang on their adventures—it means the world to me!
Dakota XXOO
CHAPTER 1
“Stephania!” Win bellowed over the howl of the frigid wind. I heard his footsteps pound, even though the slushy ground of February was soft and muddy.
“Boss!” Belfry cried out, the flap of his tiny wings slashing against the air as he rode the wind toward me.
When Win reached me, Whiskey was with him, instantly at my side, lapping at my face and making me giggle, despite my circumstances.
Dropping to his knees, my Spy Guy scooped me up and held me close to his chest, brushing my sopping-wet hair from my forehead.
Even as rain pelted his chiseled face, even though he was soaking wet, he still looked as if he’d fallen from the pages of a magazine.
“Dove? Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right,” he demanded, running his knuckles over my cheek, making me wince a little at my injuries.
“I’m fine. Just a little banged up and wet.”
Belfry landed on Win’s shoulder, his tiny face filled with concern. “Boss, what the heck was that?”
I pushed my way to a sitting position and shivered. We’d had record cold weather here in Eb Falls for the past week, and while I love the thought of a cold winter’s night by our cozy fireplace in my fuzzy pink bear slippers and velour robe, I don’t love when I’m lying flat out on the ground in it.
“Dove, let me help you,” Win demanded, lifting me up and carrying me back toward the house where the glow of the interior made me feel safe.
As Win walked up the steps, Whiskey followed, soaked to the bone. I wasn’t so much concerned with what had just happened to me, but the mess Whiskey was going to make when he shook the rain from his fur.
I slid out of Win’s arms in the foyer and yelled, waving my finger at him with a stern warning, “He’s going to make a huge mess all over the floor and walls! We need a towel. We need a dozen towels! Don’t you move, Whiskey Cartwright-Winterbottom! Not a muscle!”
As though we were playing a game of freeze tag, Whiskey’s tail stopped wagging and he stood stock still. In fact, his tongue was still partially hanging out of his mouth, unmoving.
I gasped in pure shock.
He’d listened to me.
Whiskey hardly ever listens to me. Not in the history of listening had he ever listened to me. He only listened to Win and Belfry and sometimes Arkady.
Both Bel and Win gave each other strange looks before Win ran to the laundry room to come back with a stack of towels.
He handed me a fluffy white towel. “Come, Dove, let me dry you, you’re positively blue.”
But I shook my head and took the towel, my teeth chattering. “I can dry myself off. You get Whiskey so he doesn’t make the foyer look like Dexter Morgan has been practicing his blood spatter techniques.”
Win did as I asked, and still Whiskey didn’t move. Not a single muscle.
Belfry buzzed toward me as I dripped all over the entryway carpet, sniffing the air with his tiny snout, his wings moving furiously. “Stevie? You smell that?”
I sniffed the air, too. “You mean the scent of wet dog? I sure do,” I muttered, rubbing my arms with the towel.
“No,” Bel said, shaking his head with a frown. “That’s not it.”
As Win knelt and dried Whiskey, he remained frozen, completely immobile. “Whatever in the world is going on?”
I wrapped a towel around my head turban style. “You know, this reminds me of the time I went to my tenth-grade dance with Jake Poloski. He had hands like an octopus. I swear, he was the grabbiest guy I’d ever gone out with. So anyway, we’re slow dancing to ‘I’ll Never Break Your Heart’ and he made a grab for a place he knew better than to grab, and I said, ‘Don’t you move another muscle.’ And guess what? He froze. Right there in the middle of the gym dance floor in front of everyone. Just like… Just like Whiskey,” I whispered.
“I knew it!” Belfry shouted, circling the room with a squeak of joy. “I knew that’s what I smelled!”
Win rose and grabbed a towel for his own hair and began to scrub it dry. “I’m afraid this is a loop I’m not privy to. I don’t understand what you smell, mate, or how it relates to Jake and Whiskey. Though, I assure you, if I ever run into this bloke Jake Poloski, I shall show him what the five-fingered death punch is.”
I winced, but I was more concerned with why this was happening to Whiskey. Belfry was connecting dots I wasn’t. “So what are you smelling, Bel?”
“Magic, Boss! he chirped excitedly. “Magic. I smell bonified, real live magic!”
I cocked my head and sniffed the air again. Maybe it had been so long I wasn’t able to remember what it smelled like, or maybe Bel had gone quite literally bananas.
“I don’t smell it,” I said with a dull tone. No way was I going to get my hopes up again only to be crushed like a cracker at the bottom of the box.
Nope. Not this time.
“Then explain Whiskey,” he coaxed. “Whiskey and Jake Poloski. Explain them.”
I pinched my temples. My head hurt, but I’ll get to why later. For the moment, I was stumped. “I can’t explain it, Bel. I just said some words. Words I’ve said a zillion times to Whiskey, and you know how fluky my magic could be back in the early days when I was still learning. Jake was just a product of that.” I looked at my sweet dog, drier and fluffier now. “But Whiskey? I didn’t do anything special.”
Bel sighed and narrowed his tiny eyes at me. “But you did! You were worried Whiskey was going to make a mess, and when Jake got fresh with you at that dance, you were angry. Those emotions sparked your magic.”
I rolled my eyes and headed toward the laundry room off the kitchen where I had a bathrobe hanging on a hook. Closing the door, I blew out a breath of air and began pulling my clothes off. “That’s baloney and you know it, Bel. I’ve had tons of glitches before and it’s led to absolutely nothing. I make icebergs the size of the Empire State Building in the backyard and then months go by before anything else happens.”
“But that wasn’t the same, Boss. I didn’t smell the magic I’m smelling now. It’s different. It’s very different.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I quelled the butterflies of hope in my belly with a mental stomp.
I refused to get excited over something that never seemed to come to fruition. As I shrugged my arms into my bathrobe, I scoffed. “Baloney on a stick. I’m not going to buy into this nonsense again. Not this time. For now, we need to find out how to help Whiskey.”
I popped open the door and found Win and Belfry now in the middle of the kitchen, where they’d moved a still frozen-in-place Whiskey.
My heart started to thud in my chest. What if it really had been my magic that had done this? How could I fix it?
I bit the nail on my thumb. “What if…what if I can’t bring him back? What if he’s like this forever?” I asked, hysteria rising in my voice.
Win quickly busied himself making me a hot cup of coffee. “Oh, my Dove, surely you don’t think that will happen? How long did Jake the Octopus remain frozen?”
I gulped, tightening the belt of my robe around me and burrowing deep into it as I remembered Ludwig Friedhoff, a German exchange student, and Nelson Riddick carrying his stiff body home to his parents.
“I think it was a couple of days.” But I shook my head, letting the towel on my hair fall to the floor. “I can’t remember. That was forever ago. The only thing I do remember was the doctor explaining it away as some sort of temporary paralysis. A medical anomaly were his words.”
Bel flew to Whiskey’s back, landing on his spine. “Well, the scent of the magic wasn’t that strong. So you’ve got that in your favor. I bet you my favorite vacuum clogger will be back to his old self any minute now.”
I knelt in the spot where they’d placed Whiskey, wrapping my arms around his neck, tears filling my eyes. “How could this have happened? It’s crazy that now, of all times, my magic chooses t
Win latched onto my upper arm and pulled me upward. “Come now, Mini Spy. We’ll figure this out. I promise you. Until then, we have bigger fish to fry.”
“I hate fish,” I muttered.
“That’s not true. You rather enjoy a fish stick sandwich with processed yellow cheese melted on top.”
I let him lead me to the table where he set a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. “That’s different. It’s fake fish.”
Win pulled out a chair and grabbed my hand. “Stephania,” he said in his uppity British tone, “stop avoiding. Whiskey aside, what just happened out there?”
“I went to get the mail.” And that was true. I’d been waiting for two stinkin’ weeks for some pillow covers to come and decided it was worth the risk to go to the mailbox and grab them—even in the pouring rain.
“Stephania…” he warned, his handsome face flashing irritation.
“What? I really was going to get the mail. I told you about those pillow covers I ordered, right? The ones with the ruffles that look vintage and French Victorian? They have that sort of worn linen look to them. They’re perfect for my bed.”
“Did the pillow covers give you the black eye?” Win asked, eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed.
I ran my finger over my very tender right eye. “No, because they haven’t arrived yet. Stupid Pillows Direct. They promised they’d be here a week ago.”
Now he sucked in his cheeks—which meant he was super annoyed. “Stephania. Why do you have a black eye and a scraped cheek and who must I hunt down to mete out his punishment?”
If I told Win who socked me in the face and knocked me down, it was going to open a serious can of worms.
Not only that, it wasn’t going to make a dang bit of sense.
Belfry flew to the table and crawled up my arm to look me in the eye. “Answer the question, Boss. Who clocked you, at the mailbox of all places?”
I made a face at him. “Who are you? Bad cop? You’ve been watching too much On the Case with Paula Zahn. I’m going to take your Investigation ID channel privileges away.”
Now Win’s face against the backdrop of our beautiful kitchen looked worried. “Dove, I’m not enjoying this game of cat and mouse. Was it an old lover you’re embarrassed over? Someone you didn’t tell me about?”
Hah! Because I’d had so many of those. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve told you about every date I’ve ever been on and my broken engagement. Of course it wasn’t an old lover.”
“You’re stalling,” he accused, rubbing his thumb over the inside of my wrist.
I looked away from him and out the kitchen bay window into the dark night, dread flooding my stomach. “I am.”
The lines on Win’s forehead deepened. “Why, my love?”
“Because it’s going to sound crazy,” I said, tracing the pattern of the wood on our table.
Win cleared his throat. “Crazier than me reincarnating in my brother’s body?”
“Okay, maybe not that crazy.” Or maybe it was. I had no clear definition for crazy anymore.
“Please tell me what just happened out there, Stevie.”
Blowing out a breath, I gave in. “Okay, so like I said, I was going to check the mail for my pillow covers. It was pouring and a little dark, and I was too stupid to put on a raincoat. The ground was kinda mushy and my feet were getting wet.”
My International Man of Mystery clucked his tongue. “I don’t need the weather report, Al Roker. I know what it was like outside.”
Our mailbox is at the very end of the drive, near the steep road leading to the cliff we live atop, overlooking the water.
“Anyway, just as I was opening the mailbox, someone came up behind me and called my name. I turned around, surprised someone had braved all the rain and wind, and when I said ‘that’s me,’ he said, ‘I have a message for you from Sal Finch. He told me to tell you he owes you one and he’s coming for you’—and then he popped me in the face and I fell down…and that’s what happened.”
Everyone sat silent for a moment.
Especially my Whiskey, who still hadn’t moved an inch. He almost looked like a stuffed toy.
“Did he mean…Sal Finch, as in my dead cousin Sal Finch?”
“Do you know any other Sal who owes me one? I mean, he was kind of my first…kill…I guess you could call it.”
I’d come to accept that I’d been a part of someone’s death due to the kill-or-be-killed situation, but it didn’t make it feel any better. I’d just managed to keep it at bay.
“But Sal is dead,” Win refuted.
I wagged a finger at him, my stomach in turmoil. “And if you’ll recall, so were you.”
CHAPTER 2
You might remember Salvatore Finch, Win’s cousin, was the original beneficiary on his will, and what started this whole journey.
Win, regretful he’d bequeathed Sal his car and stocks and all the money he’d accumulated, had communicated with Madame Zoltar, asking her to sneak into his lawyer’s office and change his will, and that’s what had gotten her killed—by Sal.
Who, of course, was infuriated about losing hundreds of millions of dollars to me, a total stranger. It’s what had begun my relationship with Win five years ago. I said I’d help him find Madam Z’s killer.
But you might also remember, Sal died after trying to kill me, as well. So for someone to show up and threaten me with words purportedly from him?
I have to admit, I was a little freaked out.
Win instantly went into spy mode. Sitting up straight, he called on Arkady. “My friend? Might I speak with you?”
“Dah, Zero. I am always available to you.”
I waved up at the ceiling. “How’s it going, my sweet blini?”
Arkady sighed with longing. “Arkady miss his country’s food, tater tot. Especially blinis. Aside from that, I am well this good night. You? You are not so well. Who give you shiner? I will put hex on them!”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t know how to do that and you know it. As for my eyeball, it was someone with a message from Sal.”
“Have you heard any rumblings from the afterlife, Arkady? Anything about Stephania or my cousin Sal Finch?” Win asked, his jaw tight, meaning, he was forcing himself to hold it together.
“Nyet, Zero. I hear nothing. Was Sal not my sweet magnolia’s first kill?”
“Argh!” I groaned, letting my head fall to my hands. “Don’t say it like that. I didn’t mean to kill him. He fell. It was an accident. You make me sound like a serial killer.”
“Ah, yes, sweet dumpling. I forget civilians don’t make notches on their bedposts for the pile of bodies they accumulate like we spies do…er, did.”
Shivering, I sipped my coffee. “We definitely don’t. Well, not normal people, anyway. Serial killers, definitely. But not people who kill out of self-defense. And why are we talking about this? Shouldn’t we be worried about someone sending me a message from Sal? Like, dead Sal?”
Win rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Yes. Of course we should, Dove. We should also be icing your eye.” He rose to get a bag of peas from the freezer and handed them to me. “Did you get a look at who did this?”
Shaking my head, I wrapped my fingers of my free hand around my mug of coffee, my fingers like ice. “No. He had on a ski mask, but he was about five-ten, and his voice sounded young. Maybe in his early thirties? He had on dark clothes and he wore that awful spray the kids like so much these days. Um…I think it’s called Ferocious or something like that. Maybe that’s what Belfry smelled,” I said on a chuckle.
“Nutter Butters. It was not what I smelled,” he said petulantly. “It was magic. So suck it. I know magic when I smell it. I’m a familiar, for cripes’ sake. I’ve been smelling it for a trillion years.”
“You use magic, chocolate cupcake?” Arkady asked, his voice laced with excitement. “How wonderful for you! It has been many months, no?”
Which was why I wasn’t going to get my panties wadded. “No. I mean, yes. It’s been months. But I don’t know if it was magic…”
