Better Haunts and Graveyards
Haunted Properties Book Two
Magic and Mayhem Universe
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Angela Roquet
BETTER HAUNTS AND GRAVEYARDS
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copyright © 2019 Angela Roquet
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
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This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.
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The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
FOREWORD
Better Haunts and Graveyards
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Also by Angela Roquet
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOREWORD
BLAST OFF WITH US INTO the Magic and Mayhem Universe!
I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series, and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.
What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?
Well, let me explain...
It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you...the results are hilarious!
So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side-splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!
For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com Grab your copy today!
Better Haunts and Graveyards
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Chapter 1
BRIGHT MORNING SUNSHINE filled the kitchen of the Hernández house. It glared through the bay window and reflected off the breakfast nook table where Zelda and I sat. Annoyance creased her brow as she squinted at me, but I could only deceive myself into blaming the sun for so long.
“You’re absolutely positive it was a ghost?” she asked—again—and then snagged the last cookie from the plate between us. There were at least three currently in my mouth. But it was either keep shoving in baked goods or gnaw my nails to the quick.
“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled adamantly and fingered an inky curl behind my ear.
“And you’re not just stalling Dylan’s return because you’re afraid of ruining your perfect memory of him?” Zelda waved her cookie in the air. “I mean, who could blame you, Margo? How are you supposed to top ritual sex and breaking a hundred-year-old curse? How do you go from that to finding him dropping a deuce in the front yard in critter form? Or worse, in his human skin?”
I involuntarily pictured Dylan in his fruit bat Shifter state, dripping guano all over the gutters and front porch like the colony of microbats in the belfry often did. Only Dylan was quite a bit larger...and likely had a proportionate amount of guano to show for it.
I swallowed hard, forcing the mouthful of mashed cookie down before my gag reflex could kick in. “You sound like Roger now, trying to dig around in my head and find issues that aren’t there.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if anything is in there.” Zelda drummed her nails on the table and gave me another skeptical frown. “I’ve been here every morning for the past two weeks, and the only thing I have to show for it is an extra pants size—which, let me just say, I am not thrilled about. What the hell are you putting in these things anyway? Crack?” She took an angry bite of her cookie and glared at me as she chewed.
“They’re pawpaw-doodles.” I cocked my head at the bay window that overlooked the backyard and a small orchard of fruit-bearing trees. “Mama Ellie worked her magic on the garden, too. The pawpaws produce all damn year. I can hardly keep up. My freezer is crammed full of cookies. Help yourself to a bag or three if you want.”
“Really?” Zelda’s eyes widened with glee, but then her scowl returned. “You wicked witch. You’re after my designer duds, aren’t you? Fabio told me you had good taste.”
“I am not fattening you up to steal your wardrobe,” I said, hoping to stave off a glitter-infused hex over the imagined slight. “I am telling you, I saw a ghost. Right out there.” I hooked a thumb at the window, pointing toward the dilapidated gazebo beside the orchard.
“But it wasn’t Papa Diego?” Zelda asked. “No more streaking through the living room, right?”
“Right, but—”
“And Papa Mateo no longer takes his morning constitutional in the upstairs loo?”
“Or maybe he’s gotten lazy and has stopped flushing his ghostly turds?” I shrugged. “How can we know for certain?”
Zelda rolled her eyes. “You’re just being ridiculous now. If it’s not a Hernández ghost, then you have no proof that the ritual nookie didn’t take. Unless you faked an orgasm?” She raised an accusing eyebrow.
“Nope,” I answered, then shivered as I recalled all the wonderful things Dylan had done to my body in the backyard under the stars. If the spell had failed, it was due to my lack of magic—not a lack of chemistry.
“Look,” Zelda said, then paused to lick the sugar from her fingers. “Either you broke the curse or you didn’t. His birthday is in a month. If he only has that long left to live, shouldn’t you be making the most of it?”
A lump nagged its way up to the back of my throat, and my stomach grumbled in protest as I considered eating my feelings with another round of cookies. If Dylan only had a month to live, how was I supposed to ask him to spend it with me? A magical runt who had most likely botched the spell meant to save his life.
No. I couldn’t ask him to do that. He should be living it up in the Bahamas. Eating and drinking and dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Because pretty soon, there might not be.
The thought of telling Dylan to his face that there was a chance the ritual hadn’t worked, that maybe I was as worthless a witch as my family thought, was just too much to bear. That was why I’d asked Zelda to call his and tell him to wait a bit longer. Make that four months longer and counting. The spell had only demanded no contact for a hundred days, but with a half-assed witch in the mix, perhaps the time needed to be doubled...or tripled?
Leave it to me to treat a magical incantation like a baking recipe.
As far as I could tell, the Hernández ghosts were gone, but the property was still very much haunted. I’d spotted not one but three ghosts in the past week alone. They mostly accosted me in the garden, though I wasn’t entirely sure where they were coming from. And they all seemed rather confused about their missing friends.
Who knew ghosts were such social creatures?
Zelda stood and grasped her hip
s. “You have two choices. You can call Dylan and tell him it’s safe to return, or I can call and tell him you’re boning that dog of a developer, Randal Thorpe.”
“What! Why?” I balked.
“Because it’s not fair to leave him hanging like this, Margo.” Zelda gave me an apologetic frown. “You have until noon to decide.”
“But...but that’s only three hours!”
“Then I guess you should stop being an asswaffle and make up your mind. As fun as this is, I can’t keep binge-eating cookies with you every morning and getting stood up by these alleged ghosts.”
“Fine.” I propped my elbows on the table and pouted. “I’ll call Dylan before lunch.”
“Good girl.” Zelda nodded farewell and retraced her steps through the kitchen, pausing at the freezer. She cracked the door open and snatched a bag of the pawpaw-doodles. “For the twins,” she explained, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder and down at her ass in a super snug pair of Max Midnight jeans. She caught me staring, and her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t look at me,” I said, twisting sideways to give her a view of my own ass clad in tight, black yoga pants. “I’ve put down at least three times as many cookies as you have. There’s no way I’m fitting in your britches.”
She sniffed smugly, satisfied by the admission, and then pointed a finger at me. “Noon. Not a second later.”
Her red hair swished behind her as she turned and exited the kitchen. Her heels clicked across the hardwood, and then I heard the front door open and close. Of course, that’s when a knock on the bay window sent me squealing like a banshee from my seat.
I WAITED FOR MY HEART to settle in my chest before squinting at the little old lady on the other side of the glass. She was pale and transparent, wearing what might have passed for Sunday best a hundred years ago. I was sure I’d seen her pacing the lawn out front just yesterday.
“Is Father Pepper in, dear?” she asked in a creaky voice, clutching a vintage Prada handbag to her chest. If Zelda had stuck around, I was sure she would have agreed to zap the ghost off to wherever in exchange for the designer relic.
“Uhhh... Let me go check!” I said, holding up both index fingers.
I dashed out of the kitchen and across the living room, hoping Zelda hadn’t strayed too far. She’d only been gone a second. How far could she really make it in six-inch pumps? I threw open my front door, zipped across the porch, and scrambled down the front steps in my fuzzy bunny slippers, desperately scanning the sidewalk. Nothing.
Damn it!
People came and went so quickly in Assjacket.
This was just my luck. I sighed and blew a rogue curl out of my face. Then I checked the mailbox since it was right there. Besides, it would buy me a few extra minutes before returning to the kitchen. The ghosts never seemed to stick around for very long. It made it difficult to prove my dilemma to Zelda, and the muddled conversations I had with the bygone spirits never hung around long enough to yield useful information anyway.
Sadly, the stack of bills and marketing fliers did zilch for my mood. I tucked the mail under one arm and turned back toward the porch where Broomzilla was still hard at it, sweeping up pollen and dried guano. Her bristles hissed anxiously as she worked.
Being around Zelda made her a nervous wreck, as if she had something extra to prove, belonging to such a defunct witch like me. A few dry shafts of straw littered the boards behind her. When she noticed, she frantically swept them into the bushes, her handle darkening with shame.
The sound of approaching steps drew my attention away from my enchanted assistant and back to the sidewalk. Roger the rabbit Shifter and therapist of Assjacket paused a few feet away and straightened his tie.
“Good morning, Ms. West,” he said in a pleasant singsong. My cheeks burned as he gave my tank top and yoga pants a once-over. I tolerated the perv’s psychobabble at Zelda’s barbeques, but I hadn’t forgotten that he’d been spying over the fence during the sex ritual.
“How can I help you, Roger?” I snapped.
“I heard you have a tough decision to make, and I thought I might offer my services.”
I grimaced. “You heard that, huh?”
Zelda told her whack-a-doodle therapist everything. He’d probably helped her dream up the solution that I was none too happy about.
Roger’s nose twitched as he ogled me again, but this time he did a doubletake at my slippers, and his mouth stretched into a smirking grin.
“I knew you had a rabbit fetish!” He hopped closer, and I reached for the porch railing.
“These are house slippers, not sex toys,” I said, climbing the steps backwards.
“You smell delicious. Like fruit cocktail.” Roger took another hop toward me, his little nose twitching in the air. “If only we’d met sooner—like back when I had five John Holmes. What a ritual you could have had then!”
“Wh-what?” I stared at him, wondering what to make of his kinky rabbit lingo.
“There was this sensual log and a spell gone wrong—or right, depending on how you look at it.” Roger waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’m afraid we’ve missed our chance.”
I shook my head. Maybe this was what going mad felt like. “Missed our chance for what, exactly?”
“To hump like rabbits, obviously.” Roger straightened his tie again and cleared his throat. “I live by a strict code of ethics, and I would never sleep with a patient.”
“I’m not interested in being your patient,” I said before thinking better of it.
“Oh, so you do have a rabbit fetish.” He rubbed his hands together and hopped up the first porch step. By now, I’d reached the front door and had it cracked open, ready to bolt inside and slam it shut.
“Get lost, Roger,” I said through gritted teeth. “Before I put one of these slippers up your ass.”
“But you said they weren’t sex toys.”
“Ugh!” I screamed and then furiously batted my lashes, summoning a cloud of dust bunnies from the third floor into Roger’s face.
“You can’t fight it, Margo,” he said in between hacking coughs. “We’re star-crossed lovers.”
I darted inside and slammed the front door behind me, pressing my back against it. How Zelda could spill her magic beans to this creep-o was beyond me, but I’d be sticking to pawpaw therapy, thank you very much.
I dropped my mail on the desk in the parlor and was halfway back to the kitchen, ready to gorge on more cookies, when the doorbell chimed. The merry tune echoed against the vaulted ceiling, but it only served to further sour my mood. I stomped back to the front door, the ears on my bunny slippers flopping to-and-fro, somewhat ruining the effect.
“Look here, Porno Cottontail—” I began as I ripped the door open. But the rest of my words evaporated when I realized it wasn’t Roger waiting on the other side.
A witch with a black bob and a vicious, dimpled grin wiggled her fingers in greeting. Leather pants hugged her hips and slender legs, and a matching corset squeezed her cleavage into center stage. She held a broom over one shoulder, and though it looked identical to Broomzilla, it lacked my accomplice’s sparkling personality.
“Glinda,” I rasped.
“Hello, cousin.”
Chapter 2
IF I’D HAD TO CHOOSE a least horrible cousin, it would have been Glinda. Hands down. Of course, that wasn’t saying much. Her brother had tried to drown me when we were kids, and her older sister had hexed me with horrific acne in high school.
I’d chalked up Glinda’s lack of torment to the fact that she’d been dealing with enough of her own. When her vile siblings hadn’t been terrorizing me, they were practicing their wicked ways on her. That wasn’t to suggest she was ever actually kind. I was the only West witch anyone would accuse of such a weak character flaw.
“How did you find me?” I demanded.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” Glinda smirked. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, cousin?” The request was laced with a threat that se
nt up the hairs on my arms.
I gave her a pained smile and took a step back, worried what she might do if I turned her away. The West witches were notorious for flying off the handle, and once they set off on a vengeful crusade, nothing could stop them. Except for maybe a falling house.
Before Glinda reached the threshold, Broomzilla swished past, darting to my side. Her bristles rustled out a frantic warning, but I calmed her by stroking my fingers down her woodgrain.
“Awww, she’s excited to see me,” Glinda gushed. She reached for Broomzilla’s handle, but I stepped in her path.
“Gran left her to me,” I said, projecting more confidence than I felt. “What are you doing here, Glinda?”
My cousin pouted and dropped her own broom on the porch with an unceremonious clatter. Her green eyes laser-focused on my face, and I made a mental note to check for warts and pimples once she was gone.
“I heard a rumor through the WitchWire that you bought a dump in a Podunk town, but I had to see it with my own eyes,” Glinda said. Her condescending gaze stretched over my shoulder to the parlor and living room before settling on Broomzilla again. “You clearly didn’t sell Gran’s broom to afford this place, so how did you manage it?”
Toto shitting in a cyclone.
I hadn’t considered the consequences of spending so much of my trust fund at once. It was a stupid move, and I knew better. Being Granny West’s favorite had painted a target on my back for most of my life. She’d protected me the best she could when she was alive, and I was sure she’d left Broomzilla to me to do the same after she was gone.
Glinda tapped her booted toe, impatiently waiting for an answer.
“I’m a real estate agent now,” I announced with a forced smile. “I sell houses to the Shifters of Assjacket. That’s how I afforded this one.”
I really wished that was the case. The sad truth was that I hadn’t sold a single house since Dylan left seven months ago. Turns out, the residents of Assjacket weren’t fully convinced that the property was ghost-free. And now that the house doubled as my office, my clientele had dried up faster than a Kansas corn field in August.
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