Good Witch Hunting

by Dakota Cassidy

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Good Witch Hunting

  Blurb

  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

  Epilogue

  Preview another book by this author

  Note from Dakota

  eBooks by Dakota Cassidy

  Excerpt

  “Before we leave, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

  “If there’s a rhinoceros here, I’m heading for the border,” Trixie teased as I handed her the coat she’d used earlier and threw one to Coop, who slipped it on and was left with her long, graceful arms only covered to the elbow.

  Laughing, I shook my head and plucked Bel from my shoulder, placing him in my palm and holding him up so they could see him clearly. “This is my familiar. I’ll explain what that word means when we get back if you don’t already know. For now, this is Belfry. Bel for short. He’s one of my best friends in the whole world, and if anyone can get in and out of your store without being seen to find Livingston, it’s him.”

  Bel curtsied. “Nice to meet you both. I’m at your service.”

  Coop’s eyes went wide, glittering like glass marbles as she bent at the waist to eyeball Bel, using a finger to scratch his round-with-more-pomegranates-than-a-familiar-knew-what-to-do-with belly. “It talks,” she mused.

  “It talks a lot,” Win joked, making Bel flap his wings.

  “Da!” Arkady agreed on a hearty laugh.

  Coop almost cracked another smile when she nodded her agreement. “Livingston talks a lot, too. Sometimes, he makes my head noisy.”

  “Pound, Coop. He makes your head pound,” Trixie corrected with a snicker. “And yes, Livingston can be quite a handful. Just a bigger one than your Bel, at almost five pounds. Is Belfry a play on ‘bats in the’?”

  “It is,” I replied, pleased she’d made the connection as I gave Whiskey a scratch on the head and blew him a kiss. “Now, let’s go get your handful so my handful can meet him and they can be handfuls together, okay? But I’m going to caution you both. You must listen to me. It’s imperative. We have to do this right. Coop, if we encounter someone, anyone, no throwing people around like tennis balls. Keep your cool and we’ll be in and out like we were never there. Promise me?”

  Trixie halted all motion when she threw up a hand and said, “Hold on! I forgot the keys to the back door inside the store. I was in such a rush to get to Coop, I must have left them on the counter. Good heavens, I’ve made such a mess of things!”

  “Don’t panic,” I instructed. “I have an idea. I’ll tell you all about it on the way. That said, Coop, I need that promise from you.”

  She held up two hands and nodded solemnly, her surreally gorgeous face somber. “I promise, Stevie Cartwright, and I never, ever break a promise.”

  “Good. And Trixie, you, too.”

  She barked a laugh at me that literally tinkled, and it was a pleasant, almost carefree sound. I suspected that was something she hadn’t felt in a long time, and I wanted to know why. But that was for later.

  “Just so you know, I’m a big chicken. You don’t have to worry I’ll throw even so much as a dirty look someone’s way. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  I winked at Trixie, courage coursing through my boozy veins. “Then let’s do this, girls!”

  As we made our way down the snow-covered stairs, Coop whispered to Trixie, “It speaks, Trixie. It sounds like that toy we saw in the pet store when you crush it in your hands.”

  “It’s right here, and it flies, too, and if you guys don’t stop talking about me like I’m not two feet from you, I’m going to swan dive right into all your luscious locks, Coop the Demon! Then we’ll see who speaks!” Bel chirped, annoyed.

  Coop gasped her outrage as she stomped across the lawn and driveway to my car, muttering, “Will not throw anyone around. Will not.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You be nice, Bel. Don’t upset the demon, buddy. You did see Starsky’s nose, didn’t you?”

  We all laughed at that as we piled into the car with snowflakes swirling around us and Trixie at the wheel.

  Good Witch Hunting

  Witchless in Seattle, Book #7

  Dakota Cassidy

  Published 2018 by Book Boutiques.

  ISBN: 978-1-946363-87-9

  Copyright © 2018, 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 the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.

  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.

  Manufactured in the USA.

  Email support@bookboutiques.com with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.

  Blurb

  After a really busy summer, things have settled down for my crew here in Ebenezer Falls. That is until my favorite Spy-Guy, Win, has a crazy recollection of the night he was murdered. His memory leads us to the new tattoo artist in town who just happens to be an ex-nun named Trixie Lavender. Sister Trixie has a gifted tattoo artist for a sidekick who just happens to be a demon straight from the bowels of Hell...

  A demon who, coincidentally, is accused of murder. You know what that means—Stevie and gang to the rescue!

  Acknowledgements

  Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design

  Author’s Note

  My darling readers,

  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.

  Especially in the case of the mystery surrounding Winterbottom (I know it drives some of you crazy. Sorrysorrysorry!). However, his story is ever-evolving and will contain some mini-cliffhangers from book to book. But I promise not to make you wait too long until I answer each set of questions I dredge up.

  And, too, I promise the central mystery featured in each addition to the series will always be wrapped up with a big bow by book’s end!

  Also, forgive me for being so late with this installment of Witchless In Seattle. I know I promised book 7 at the end of October, but alas, that didn’t happen. Yet, this is not without reason. As some of you may know, if you follow me on social media, I’ve had a pretty rough year, medically speaking, and I’m just now recuperating.

  So as not to dwell, I’ll just say I’m much better and hope to have many adventures with the Ebenezer Falls crew, while introducing you to a new gang in the Nun of Your Business Mysteries! I hope you’ll check out Stevie and Win’s new friends, ex-nun Sister Trixie Lavender (her voice is based on my amazing narrator, Hollie Jackson, who sounds like a Disney princess and Mary Poppins all rolled into one fab package!), and Coop, her demon straight from hell, as they solve mysteries from their tattoo shop in the heart of a fictional town near Portland, Oregon.

  Thank you for your emails, your prayers, your kind words while you’ve waited for this book. You’re the best readers a girl could ask for!

  Dakota XXOO

  Chapter 1

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Win?” I breathed out with a dreamy sigh,
folding my fists under my chin.

  “’Tis indeed beautiful, Dove. Like white frosting on a cake,” he whispered back in his raspy-sexy British accent. His words so close to my ear, I shivered.

  Arkady sighed with me in obvious longing. “Is like home. Sometimes, I miss home, malutka.”

  My smile was one of understanding and sympathy. I knew what it was to miss home. “I know, my Russian spy. Someday, when the time is right, we’ll pay a visit to your great country and you can show me all the greatness. Except for the cabbage soup greatness. No cabbage soup. Twinkie soup? Maybe. But no borscht for your malutka,” I teased.

  Arkady’s laughter rumbled deep and hearty. “Nyet! No soup. But I think my little artichoke dip would be pretty as picture in babushka. Don’t you agree, Zero?”

  Win barked a laugh, obviously at the image he’d called up in his mind of me in a babushka. “Without doubt, bloke.”

  Again, I smiled into the darkness of the kitchen as we sat at the table by our big bay window and watched the heavy snowfall. We didn’t get the white stuff by the tons here in Ebenezer Falls, a small suburb of Seattle. Usually it was just a dusting and then it melted away. Rain was our bread and butter, in the way of bucketsful during the winter months.

  But on this fine evening in mid-March, snow had been falling for hours; thick and crystalline, shimmering on our backyard lawn like sparkling fairy dust as it wisped over the water rolling by in choppy froths. We’d stopped everything to appreciate the beauty of the snowflakes after a long day of thorough inventory at our shop, Madam Zoltar’s.

  The winter months were slow in our tourist town, and my readings for those seeking confirmation of their loved ones from the other side were sporadic until at least May.

  Belfry hummed his approval, snuggling deeper into the thick hair on our dog Whiskey’s back. “Never thought I’d say this—I’m a southern climate boy through and through for obvious reasons—but it’s really beautiful to look at. As long as we don’t have to go out in it again. Last time my little buddy here almost suffocated me, rolling around in that stuff like our lawn was covered in steaks and sprinkled with jerky.”

  I chuckled at my tiny familiar and ran my hand over our extra-large St. Bernard’s head with affection, loving the velvety feel of his ears. “Well, he’s a cold-weather dog. They used to carry around those barrels of booze and save people in the mountains—isn’t that what you told me? His breed lives for weather like this. He also loves you. It only stands to reason he’d want to share his joy with you.”

  Whiskey harrumphed his pleasure. Almost as if he knew we were talking about him. Strike, our most exotic and unexpected pet turkey, nudged his way between my leg and Whiskey’s big body, looking for love.

  Turkeys are surprisingly sweet and gentle, and we’d found our Strike, who’d become ours quite by accident, was a hugger. He loved nothing more than to snuggle up against a warm body. In fact, he and Whiskey often slept cuddled together on the rug by our fireplace while we watched television.

  “I haven’t seen snow like this since I was in Siberia in 2012,” Win recalled.

  Belfry shivered, his tiny body shuddering in fluffy white ripples. “Was that the mission you told me about involving a beautiful princess from Uzbekistan and a vial full of anthrax?”

  “’Twas, good man,” Win confirmed.

  As the men in my life rehashed the mission Win referred to, I fought an outward cringe at the mention of a beautiful princess. Since last summer, when Win had finally told me the details of his death—and Miranda, his ex-lover’s alleged involvement—I still felt a little raw.

  Now, every time he mentioned another woman, whether he’d legitimately been intimately involved with her or not, I experienced pangs of ridiculous jealousy. These annoying pangs had increased in frequency and grown in size. In fact, maybe it was fair to say they threatened to turn into a tsunami of green-eyed monsters, raining down from the sky in a crashing swell of water, moments before metaphorically drowning me.

  Win’s love for Miranda (his spy ex-lover) has always been clear, her alleged betrayal and how deeply it hurt, clearer still. But after this past summer, when he’d revealed all, when every emotion connected to Miranda had been stripped naked, I saw how deep his feelings truly were.

  And I was jealous. And I hated it. Nowadays, all he had to do was mention any woman at all, and it was like a pile on of jealousy. Rather like when you’re irritated by someone’s mere existence, and everything they do, no matter what it is, makes you insane? That’s how I’ve been feeling.

  I know why, too. There was no more mystery to Win. Not in the realm of his love life, anyway. We’d laid it bare, and I couldn’t see a way he’d ever be able to love or trust anyone in quite the way he’d done with Miranda.

  He’d never put himself out there like that again, and who could blame him? He believed she’d betrayed him. His feelings were fair even though I had my suspicions about what happened that day.

  So where did that leave me?

  Unrequited. That’s where. And it had begun to eat at my insides like a Pac-Man game. Sometimes I swear I hear the actual sound the video game used to make on my TV when it chewed up the ghosts.

  Yet, I’m not sure what difference it would make if I told Win how I felt about him anyway. We can’t ever be together. Yes, sure, he’d possessed a couple of bodies since we’d met, but he’d never lasted very long in them. That aside, I didn’t want him to possess someone else’s body.

  I liked him exactly the way I’d seen him in the picture with Miranda in Paris. It was the picture of the man I’d fallen so deeply in—

  “It is good night for snuggling on couch, yes? Warm and cozy by fire with hot toddy to keep insides warm, too? Maybe we watch marathon? I see Psych is on. You know how much I love the crazy Guster and his Blueberry.” Arkady’s deep laugh resonated in my ears.

  I winked up at the ceiling. “I’ll get the Twinkies and the Pepsi.”

  “Bah, Stephania!” Win chastised, the way he always did whenever I mentioned my beloved junk food. “Must you eat like you’re a twelve-year-old boy? Have I taught you nothing about proper snacking? Surely we have some cheese and crackers. Maybe some prosciutto?”

  I let the darkness of the kitchen hide my smile. “I have Cheez Whiz. Oooo! Now that sounds good, don’t you think, Mr. Pretentious? Cheez Whiz and some of those fancy stone wheat crackers you’re so fond of. C’mon, boys. Shall we adjourn to the living room by the fire?”

  Win scoffed in my ear as I took one last look outside at our lawn furniture, now totally covered by glistening snow. “Cheez Whiz,” he admonished with a cluck of his disapproving tongue. “If it can’t be sliced with a sharp knife, it should not be consumed. Otherwise, it’s unseemly, Stephania. What sort of monster thinks to put cheese in a spray can anyway?”

  I went to the fridge, my trail of pets and assorted ethereal beings right behind me. “The same monsters who named a sponge cake spotted dick?”

  Win’s laughter followed me as I grabbed my unseemly spray cheese and some crackers and headed toward the living room to settle in for some deep couch sitting.

  Hopefully, watching some mindless television would take my mind off my woes about Win.

  * * * *

  “Stephania!”

  I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles and fought to open them, briefly wondering what the heck was going on with Win. He never woke me up unless it was an emergency.

  That thought made me sit straight up in my bed.

  As my eyes adjusted and a glance at my bedside clock told me it was three in the morning, I frowned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong, Win?” I asked, my hand instantly reaching for the warmth of Whiskey’s fur where he was snuggled beside me.

  “Oh, Dove. My deepest apologies. Your name burst from my lips before I thought to remember it’s three a.m. Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” he soothed in gentle tones.

  I pulled my comforter tighter around my chest and cocked an ear. There was somet
hing in Win’s voice. Something distracted, something faraway, something stricken that made me pay attention. “Spill, Win. Everything you do or say has a reason. That you called out my name in the middle of the night means something urgent is going on with you. Talk to me.”

  “Not now, Dove.”

  He was brushing me off, and I didn’t like it. I’d had enough with his secrets and his flat-out avoidance of all things Win the Spy Guy.

  So I threw my legs over the side of the bed and instructed Alexa, our home device, to turn on the lights, crossing my arms over my chest with a shake of my head.

  “Nope. Don’t tell me not now. I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with your secrets—”

  “Secrets?” he gasped his outrage at my response, his voice filling my bedroom. “We have no secrets, Stephania.”

  “Oh, suuure,” I drawled with a little more sarcasm than intended. “We have none now, after a year of mostly nothing but secrecy.”

  His aggravated sigh grated a rasp of air in my ear. “I’ve explained that, Stephania.”

  I hopped off the bed and slid my feet into my fuzzy slippers, reaching for my bathrobe and slipping it on, giving a glance to Strike, who was sound asleep on his heated dog bed. Yes. Our turkey has a heated dog bed to rest his head upon, and yes, he sleeps in the house.

  Would you expect anything less from the crazy lady who talks to ghosts?

  “Yep. You’ve explained it, and that’s all well and good, but here’s the thing. You never wake me up in the middle of the night—”

  “I was simply deep in thought, Dove. Your name fell from my lips unintentionally as I pondered. You’re just the first person who comes…to my mind when…” Then he scoffed. “This is nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow morning over coffee. It’s certainly not worthy of your rapt attention at this late hour.”

  The first person who came to Win’s mind, eh? Not Arkady. Not even Belfry, whom Win had become quite close with. It was me. I was the first person who came to mind when he had something important to share.