Spell On Fire, page 15
“Why can’t real men be like him?” Gilly bemoaned after Darcy gave Elizabeth moon eyes.
“No, thank you,” I told her. “I like the fantasy of Darcy, but he’s judgy and bossy and arrogant. Give me a guy who is genuinely interested in my happiness, and not what he thinks will make me happy. That’s the guy I’ll spend the rest of my life with.” Not that I thought such a man existed. I wasn’t content exactly, but I was resigned to living out my life as a single woman. I glanced at Gilly. At least, I knew I’d never be alone. Not with friends like her in my life. I nudged her and smiled. “Even so, I’ll happily root for Elizabeth Bennet to get her man.”
“So, you are looking for a man,” Gilly said triumphantly.
“You’re the worst,” I said.
Gilly made a kissy face in my direction. “Best Bitches Forever.”
High-beam headlights glared through my living room window. I shielded my eyes and waited for them to go off. They didn’t.
“Who is that?” Gilly asked. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“No. Just you.” I got up and looked outside with Gilly right behind me.
“Oh. Oh, no,” she hissed. “It’s Lloyd.”
“Go lock the front door,” I said. When she didn’t move, I said with more force, “Now!”
Gilly took off toward the front door, and I moved quickly up the stairs to my bedroom, ignoring my creaky knees as I retrieved my gun case from my bedside table. My hands were trembling as I opened the case and grabbed my compact 9mm and a full clip of bullets. I loaded the gun while I returned to the front of the house.
It was dark outside. “Is he still out there?” I asked.
“Gilly!” I heard a man shout. “Gilly, come talk to me. I just want to talk. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean it. I swear. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Gilly had her body pressed against the wall and out of sight. “I think he turned off the light so he could see inside,” she said. “He won’t stop calling for me.”
“How did he know you were here?” An awful thought occurred to me. “The kids?”
“No,” she said. “They’re staying the night with friends.” She shook her head. “I told him a couple of days ago that I was coming over here to celebrate your recovery.” Her pitch went up a notch as tears flooded her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”
“He’s stupid. Not you.”
“Gilly!” he bellowed. “Come out and talk to me. Don’t make me come in there after you.”
“That is just about enough.” I loaded a round into the chamber of my pistol and stalked to the door. “Call the police,” I said.
“I already did,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get that jerk off my property.”
I unlocked and opened the front door, walking out with my weapon extended in front of me. The wind whipped my hair across my face, and I pushed it back with my free hand. I hadn’t bothered to put on shoes, and the rough concrete from my walk bit into my socked feet. I ignored the discomfort as I took aim at the drunk in my driveway.
Lloyd, a tall man, handsome, even with a receding hairline, gave me a look of sheer incredulity. He wore a dark nylon jacket with a tear in the pocket, his cheek was red and swollen, and his lip was bleeding. I guessed this wasn’t the first fight he’d started tonight.
“Get back in your car and leave, Lloyd. And stay away from Gilly,” I said. “The police are on their way, and if you’re gone before they get here, I won’t file a complaint.”
“You can’t shoot me.” He laughed. “Castle law means I have to be in the place you live. Otherwise, you’ll go to jail for assault or attempted murder.”
“The way I see it, I can shoot you, then Gilly and I can drag you into the house.”
He walked up to me and pressed his chest against the barrel of my gun. “Go ahead, tough girl. Shoot me.”
The sour scent of beer mixed with whiskey made my stomach roil.
I recognize his out-of-focus form before the reek of booze confirms it. “Bitch!” Lloyd yells. He grabs a red-haired woman, his hands encircling her throat. Like Lloyd, I can’t make out her face, and with her knees buckled, I can’t tell how tall or short she might be, but I can feel her desperation. She struggles to escape but he is too strong.
“Please,” she whispers, barely audible. “You’re…choking…me.”
He throws her to the ground and straddles her, his thick hands squeezing her throat. But who’s his victim? I’m helpless. She’s dying. He’s killing her.
I snapped out of it, full of rage. I lifted the 9mm higher and aimed at Lloyd’s head. Something in my eyes must have frightened him because he took several steps back.
Sirens sang out in the distance.
“Tick-tock,” I said to Lloyd. “A smart man would already be in his car.”
He scowled at me. “Crazy bitch.” On that note, he jumped into his vehicle, started it up, and squealed his tires as he reversed out of the driveway.
Gilly came running outside clasping a butcher knife. “Oh my gosh, Nora. You’re a freaking superhero.”
“When the police arrive, I’m filing a report,” I said, trying not to pass out.
She whipped the knife around in the air. “But you told Lloyd—”
“Gilly, stop waving that thing before you hurt yourself.”
She blushed as she dropped her arm to her side. “I forgot I was holding it. What are we going to say to the police?”
“The truth. Lloyd Briscoll is a bad guy, Gilly. Like, really bad.” I shivered as pieces of the vision played in my head. “He needs to be reported. And you need to show them your bruises. I have a feeling this man isn’t going to leave you alone without encouragement.”
Click Here to Keep Reading!
Witchin’ Impossible
Small town. Dead bodies. Horny familiar. Hot high school crush. Just another day in Paradise Falls.
When FBI agent and witch Hazel Kinsey and her familiar Tizzy the Squirrel left the paranormal town of Paradise Falls, she swore she’d never return. She didn’t want witch and Shifter politics to be a part of her adult life. Worse, she didn’t want to stick around and watch her high school crush, Bear Shifter Ford Baylor, carry out the white-picket-fence dream of marriage and family with somebody else.
Nope.
She was never, ever stepping foot in Paradise Falls again... Until her best friend from high school calls and begs for help in solving a murder case getting colder by the minute.
Hazel reluctantly returns to her own personal hell only to deal with more murders, rusty witch powers, a familiar hell-bent on hooking up, and uncooperative citizens. Throw in werebear Ford, who’s surprisingly single and hunkilicious, and Hazel has her hands full.
Yeah. All she has to do is conquer her lust, corral her squirrel, save her best friend, and find a killer.
Chapter One
“TIZZY!” I SHOUTED.
A large red squirrel leap-frogged the couch, the loveseat, slid across the dining room table, grabbed a nut from a bowl in the center as she passed, and flew off the edge and through the air the last couple of feet before coming to an abrupt halt in front of my coffee cup.
“You called?” Her voice and cadence was like the old movie star Mae West’s, only on helium. She cracked the walnut on the counter and picked away at the shell with a pretty pink painted nail. Through all this, she barely glanced at me.
“Where did you put my Glock?” I tapped my own pretty pink painted nail on the hard counter. “And quit using all my polish.”
She held out her tiny paw and examined her manicure. “I can’t help it if I make this shade look good.” Finally, she cast her large, dark brown eyes on me and batted her unnaturally thick lashes. “You’re a witch, Hazel. You don’t need a gun.”
“I’m an FBI agent, Tizzy. It’s expected.”
The squirrel turned around and swished her tail at me. “I worry about you is all.” When she turned back around, the nut she’d held was gone, and my pistol was magically on the counter in front of her. “Ta-dah!” She stretched out her arms, palms up, and wiggled her fingers.
I tried to keep my gaze disappointed, but when your flying squirrel familiar strikes a pose and gives you jazz hands, it’s hard not to freaking smile. I grabbed the gun and holstered it on my belt. “Just leave the standard issue FBI weapon alone. I’d hate to have to throw you in jail.”
Tizzy clasped her hands together and held them over her heart. “Oh, Hazel,” she said with great tragedy. “I am not made for a cage!”
“Calm down.” My phone rang as I contemplated putting my familiar on a mood stabilizer. I pressed the phone to my ear. “Special Agent Kinsey.”
“Haze?”
The quiet feminine voice startled me. “Lily?”
“It’s me,” she said.
Lily Mason had been my best friend all through elementary and high school. We hadn’t kept in touch. It had less to do with a falling out, and more to do with the fact that when I left Paradise Falls (more like Paradise Fails), Iowa, I never looked back. The memories were too painful. Even now, I felt trepidation like a cold trickle of sweat down my back.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
I heard a choke of grief on her end. “Danny’s dead.”
“What?” Danny was Lily’s younger brother. He had to be in his early twenties now. She and Danny had been on their own six months before our senior year ended. Guilt tugged at me when I thought about what it must have been like to have no options. Danny had only been seven years old at the time. I’d already received my acceptance to Iowa University, so the minute I had my diploma in hand, I hightailed it out of town. I didn’t even participate in the graduation ceremony. Lily, who had planned to go to the university with me, stayed behind to raise the kid.
“How did he die?”
Lily and her brother were werecougars. Shifters. Their kind is immune to regular disease, so I braced myself for an unpleasant answer. When she said, “Murdered. Someone or something killed him,” I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“You’re joking.” Her silence was enough to make me feel like a total ass. “What do you need me to do?”
“The witches don’t believe magic is involved, so they won’t investigate.”
“What about the Shifters?”
“Danny has been in and out of trouble the last couple of years. Drugs. Fights. They think he’s responsible for his own death. They won’t act.”
“Harvest in a hailstorm,” I swore. “How long ago did it happen?”
“It’s been four months now.”
“Oh, honey. You should have called me.”
“I’m calling now.”
But not in time for me to go home for a funeral. For Goddess’ sake. I really had been a rotten friend. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“I’ve checked with all his so called friends and acquaintances. According to them, Danny hadn’t pissed anyone off enough to take his life.”
“How did he die?”
“According to the medical examiner, every bone in his body was broken.”
“That wouldn’t kill a Shifter.”
“No,” she agreed. “But when his killer broke his ribs, one of the left-side ribs stabbed into his heart. In the end, that’s why he died. Haze?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“It was the very last bone. The examiner suspects it was meant to be a killing blow.”
“I’m so sorry, Lily.” I blew out a breath. No way would I let Lily down again. “I’ll check into Danny’s death. The witches might not talk to you, but they’ll talk to me.”
“Haze?”
“Yeah?” I was already looking up my boss’s phone number.
Lily was silent for a couple of seconds.
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Not about Danny,” she said quietly. “I’m…I’m glad you’re coming. Anything you can do would be great.”
A wave of guilt hit me when I heard the relief in her voice. Lily had really been there for me during a rough time in my life. She’d encouraged me to get the hell out of town and get a fresh start. This phone conversation was a reminder that I hadn’t just left my problems behind, I’d also left the one person I could always count on. “I’ll call you back when I have news.”
“Thanks, Haze.”
“I can’t promise anything, Lily. Just…well, hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I’ll let you know as soon as I can get on my way there.”
She hung up, but it took me a second to put the phone down. Little Danny Mason was dead, and my best friend was alone in her pursuit of justice.
* * *
I CONTACTED MY DIRECT SUPERVISOR at the Kansas City office for the Federal Bureau of Investigation before making the call I’d dreaded the most. I punched in the number quickly as if I were ripping off a bandage.
It went straight to voicemail. “You’ve reached Grand Inquisitor Clementine Battles. Please leave your name and a number after the beep, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Belch fire and save matches,” I grumbled. I never mixed my business and witch life, but if I wanted to investigate a supernatural crime that possibly involved witches, I had to get permission first for her highest of selves, the Grand Inquistor. I’d been so out of touch with the magical part of my life that I worried she would immediately turn me down.
I cringed as the phone beeped. “Uhm, this is Hazel. You probably don’t want to hear from, but could you call me at—Ah!” I jumped back, my hand automatically going for my holstered weapon.
Right in the middle of my living room, a woman wearing a figure hugging navy blue dress suit. Her silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun as she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me sternly. “You called,” she said, reminding me of Tizzy for a moment.
“You scared the crap out me.” The last time I’d seen the Grand Inquisitor, she’d been directing a couple of her witch goons to transport my dad to prison in Salem, Massachusetts. I think she’d worn the same outfit.
“I thought I smelled something foul,” Tizzy said, waving her tiny fingers in front of her face.
“Tiz.” I shook my head. She rolled her eyes. The fact that my familiar wasn’t more scared spoke volumes as to just how out of the witch loop I’d kept her.
Clementine Battles, who, other than her silver hair, looked to be in her mid-thirties but was actually over two-hundred years old, raised an appraising brow at the squirrel. “Tell me what you want, Hazel.”
“Really. You could have just called me back. That would have been totally cool.”
“You have spent your whole adult life avoiding our world.” She pulled out a tiny spiral memo book and flipped it open like a cop at a crime scene. “Here,” she said, pointing at a tiny line of writing. “The last time you used magic for any real purpose, other than the negligible location spell every now and then, was in the spring of your eighteenth year, right before you left Paradise Falls. Do you even know how to spellcast anymore?”
“Yes,” I said unconvincingly. Cripes, she was like the freaking Goddess with the whole “all-knowing” shtick.
She smiled, and I’d never seen anything scarier in my life. “I not only know everything, Hazel, but unlike the Goddess, I pay attention to everything as well.”
Goose bumps raised on my arms as I felt the enormity of the Grand Inquistor's power. Tizzy scampered under the couch, and for a second, I wondered if there was enough room for me.
The powerful witch snapped her fingers at me. “Now, tell me, why, after nearly two decades, you are calling me for help.”
“I…” I spilled everything. “And so,” I concluded, trying to sound as procedurally official as possible. “I’d like your official permission to investigate Daniel Mason’s death so that the witches in town will cooperate, or at least, not interfere.”
She tapped her chin. “Granted.”
My inner witch squeeed, but my outer agent kept a professional expression in place.
“However…”
My heart sunk as my inner witch said, well, crap. “Let me have it.”
“I would like you to be more involved in our community. I’m not asking you to leave the FBI, but you can no longer act as if you live on Lone Witch Island. And…” She narrowed her gaze. “You will owe me a favor. A marker I can call in anytime I wish.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about Lily, how desperate and bereaved she’d sounded on the phone. I couldn’t let her down but turning myself into Clementine Battle's bitch seemed like a hefty price to pay.
“Forget it,” she said, waving me off with a quick flick of the wrist. “Permission denied.”
“Wait!” I gripped the edge of my counter. “I’ll do it.”
She raised both brows. “You’ll do what?”
“I’ll be more involved with the witch community, and I’ll owe you a favor.”
“Two favors now.”
My aggravation made my fingers spark. Channeling electricity was one of the first kinds of magic I’d mastered, and occasionally, when my frustration level rose, it manifested like static electricity. “Yes,” I finally said. “Two favors.”
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Grandma. I'll owe you two favors." Did I forget to mention that Clementine "Battleaxe" Battles" is my grandma? But when she put my father, her only son in jail, it sort of drove a wedge between us. Ugh. I hated that I needed her help.
“Correct answer, Granddaughter.” She smiled, obviously pleased with herself, and produced a card. She handed it to me. “So mote it be.”
I automatically recited back, “So mote it be,” as I took the card. The small, white rectangle had one word on it: Pass.
“What’s this?”
“It’s your Get Out Of Jail Free card. The witches of Paradise Falls will know it’s from me.”
“Thank—” Before I could finish, she poofed out. “Wow.”
