by Renee George
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Robyn Peterman. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic and Mayhem remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Robyn Peterman, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Witchin’ Impossible 2: Rogue Coven
A Magic and Mayhem World Story
Witchin’ Impossible Mystery Book 2
By Renee George
Dedication
For Love.
Because what could be more important.
Acknowledgments
A special THANK YOU to the fabulous Robyn Peterman, an awesomely funny writer and my favorite cookie, for allowing me the privilege to write in her world. I love your guts, woman!!
Also, I must thank my BFF and critique partner Michele Bardsley. You complete me!
To my Rebels, you all RAWK! You keep me going every day with your support. I love you to the moon and back.
To my fans, I would not be anything without you. Seriously. If you keep reading, I’ll keep writing! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. If I were reviewing you all, you would get five-gazillion stars and a million-gazillion smooches.
Oh! And lest I forget, thank you strong, black coffee. Without you, I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, let alone write a single word.
Rogue witches. Halloween Pranks. Dead body. A hellmouth at the four-way between Main Street and Bliss. For Police Chief Haze Kinsey, it's just another day in Paradise Falls.
In the paranormal town of Paradise Falls, witch Hazel Kinsey is settling into her new job as police chief and as the mate of hunky werebear Ford Baylor.
Unfortunately, Halloween in Paradise Falls means enduring yet another year of prank wars between the witches and the Shifters. She must tolerate the annoying shenanigans until one trick turns out to be a real killer.
Now Hazel has to solve the murder, protect her mate from rampant clown attacks, host a Halloween party for her squirrel familiar, and oh yeah, shut down the hellmouth that’s appeared in the middle of town.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
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Chapter One
“PUHLEEEEEAAASE, Hazel!” my squirrel familiar Tizzy said. Her tiny red-furred fingers were clasped together, and she was down on her little knees, blinking up at me with her large, lovely brown eyes. “It’ll be All Hallows Eve soon. You know, the Devil’s night, Hallowtide, Nos Calan Gaeaf.”
I gave her a WTF look.
She threw her paws up in the air, her voice going higher pitched. “You’re right, that Celtic reference was obscure even for me.” She jumped from the kitchen counter, did a quick bounce on a diner stool, and landed with a skid across the marble center island. She stirred my coffee with one finger and cast her determined gaze up at me. “The point I’m trying to make is that Halloween is right around the corner! It’s only a week away. I really need a decision from you.”
I flicked her paw away from my cup. “You’re not turning our home into a haunted house.”
Her chin dropped down to her chest, and her nose twitched. “You suck.”
“I know, Tizzy. And I’m a terrible witch,” I said, borrowing one of her favorite lines. Mostly because it was entirely true. I’d spent seventeen years avoiding my abilities while hiding in the human world as an FBI agent. Now that I was back in my hometown of Paradise Falls, and I could use my witchcraft freely, I found I still preferred my 9 MM pistol to magic.
“We could have smoke machines, cobwebs strung all over, bowls of eyeballs and guts, and spiders,” she chirped. “Lots of big, fat, hairy spiders!” I must have gasped because she waved her hands at me and said, “Unless that’s a deal-breaker. No spiders.”
“This is the first time since we left Paradise Falls that we’ve had a real home, Tiz. We’re not turning it into a sideshow attraction.” Besides, the yearly prank wars between the witches and the Shifters had already started, and I didn’t want to paint a big old “Toilet Paper Me” sign on my house. I pointed at my persistent familiar. “I hate Halloween—a fact you’ve known since forever. Do you remember me ever having a decent time at Halloween in this town?”
“That’s not the point,” said Tizzy.
“Ugh.”
Mostly, the pranks were harmless, like rubber snakes in public toilets, turning the high school football field’s uprights upside down, and using soap to write all over cars. But they could get more elaborate. My senior year, some Shifters entombed our crotchety school librarian’s car, a VW Beetle, inside the cafeteria’s walk-in refrigerator. Ms. Fredrickson still works at the high school. She’s a witch, so she hasn’t aged much at all, but she never had much in the way of magical power, so the Shifters didn’t get their furry asses zapped by her. But there was a lot of detention handed out.
I shook my head at the soulful expression on my familiar’s face. “No.”
Tizzy skittered up my arm and flicked my ear to get my attention. “This could be a great way for the town to get to know the new sheriff.”
“Chief of Police,” I corrected.
The squirrel ignored me, obviously encouraged by this new line of thinking. “You know, it could be a total public relations event. All the little kiddies and their parents—”
I shook my hands at her in a mock-scary wave. “Having the crap frightened out of them by a flying squirrel?” I took another sip of coffee, sweet with just the right amount of French vanilla creamer, but it had already starting to cool down. “You realize the whole town is full of real scary monsters, right? A bowl of noodles and peeled grapes isn’t likely to impress anyone.” We really had been gone from town too long if Tizzy thought anything about Halloween in Paradise Falls might resemble a human celebration.
“We could do a demon theme, splashes of blood all over the wall.”
“That’s not happening,” a deep voice interrupted. “I like the color of my walls.”
“Our walls,” I reminded my grumpy, albeit sexy, mate. “Good morning, Ford.”
As I glanced at my mate, all six-foot-nine-inches of him, I stifled a girlish giggle. I found out several months earlier that we were true mates, like Shifter mates, even though I’m a witch. With Shifters, it’s a scent thing. To me, he smells like spicy deserts, and to him, I smell like vanilla and rum.
It’s a long story that involves a drunken kiss our senior year. How was I to know my alcohol of choice would imprint on him? I was seventeen, for the love of red velvet cake. And looking at him now, I regretted nothing.
Except not spending the last seventeen years in his arms.
He was broad shouldered, and his light blue eyes were bright in contrast to his chocolate-colored hair. It had grown out a couple of inches into a mop of thick curls. Just the way I liked it. There was nothing like grabbing a handful of his soft silky mane while hollering his na—Uhm, you get my point.
He had, however, shaved his short beard. Twice I’d gotten teased at the police station about the rug rash on my face, and that was enough to make me insist on him taking a razor to his scruff twice a day.
He kissed my cheek, and hot damn, the aroma of hot cinnamon rolls filled the air. I happily inhaled his scent as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down next to me at the center island. “Tizzy, we’ve been over this.”
Tiz balled her fists up and put them on her hips. She gave me a pointed look. “Why does the bear get a say in this?”
“Because it’s the bear’s house,” Ford said.
“Our house,” I corrected, not admitting that his little slips of sole possession hurt my feelings.
“Our house,” he corrected.
I took a sip of my coffee. “Damn, it’s cold already.”
“Hello,” Tizzy said. She pointed at me and wiggled her finger. “Use your magic. It’ll be good practice.”
“I can just pop my mug into the microwave. Easy peasy.”
Ford looked up from his newspaper. “Didn’t you promise the council president you’d practice?”
The council president was my father, and yes, I had promised him. Damn it! I huffed a breath. “Fine.” I stared down at the offending cup of cold coffee.
“Caffeine, caffeine, strong and bright.
You keep me going from morn ‘til night.
I like you black, I like you sweet.
You’re no good cold, so bring the heat.
Done is done, Goddess grant to me.
Steaming hot java, so mote it be.”
Tizzy, Ford, and I leaned forward as the dark liquid began to boil.
“I think it’s working, Haze,” Tiz said excitedly.
“Should it be fizzing?” Ford asked.
“That’s not good,” I stated as the cup began to hiss with steam.
“Oh, my Goddess!” Tizzy shouted. “It’s going to blow!” She jumped from the center island to the sink counter in a blazing quick leap, while Ford and I stumbled back. The stools we’d been sitting on clattered to the stone tile floor.
We shielded our eyes against the impending disaster, all of us holding our breath while we waited for shattered pieces of the mug to go flying.
Nothing happened.
After a few seconds, I got brave enough to move back in for a second look. “Uh oh.”
“What?” Ford asked. “What happened?”
I picked up the mug and tipped it sideways. The bottom was completely gone. Melted. There was a hole in the center island granite where, what I can only assume was molten lava, burned straight through. I opened the cabinet underneath. Tizzy scurried around my legs and peeked inside.
“Goddess, Haze. I hope that stuff doesn’t burn a hole to China.”
“It’ll cool down before then.” I hoped. “Or evaporate.”
“It’s magic,” Tiz said. “It might not.”
“Maybe we don’t practice magic in the house,” Ford suggested.
I wanted to remind him that he was the one who poked me to do it in the first stupid place, but I settled for sticking out my tongue at him. “Good idea.”
He strolled over to me, his hulking body dwarfing me as he gathered me in his arms. He cupped the back of my neck, stealing my breath, as he kissed me deeply and soundly.
I growled my pleasure, which earned me a decent bottom squeeze. Ford smiled at my dazed expression. “Now isn’t that a much better use of your tongue?”
“Ha ha.” I tried to keep my knees from buckling beneath me. “Keep this up, Ford Baylor, and you’re going to be late for work.”
“That’s okay. I sleep with the boss.”
Tizzy jumped up on the center island again. “Ugh. I can’t watch you two do the bear-witch boogie. It’s too early in the morning. I’m going to Lily’s.”
Lily Mason, my childhood best friend and the reason I was back in Paradise Falls, lived on the other side of town. Reluctantly, I slipped out of my mate’s arms. “I’ll drive you. I want to check in on Lily anyway.” The reason I’d returned to Paradise Falls was to help Lily solve the mystery of her brother’s death. She’d gotten the closure she deserved, but Danny had been the last of her family. I felt a keen responsibility to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone.
I kissed Ford’s cheek. “See you at the station.”
“Don’t you think you should do something about the acid bath of coffee burrowing its way through the earth’s core?”
I looked at Tiz. She shrugged.
“It should be…okay. I’ll ask my dad about it. Until then, maybe we could use some of that super foam to plug the hole in the floor.”
The lights in the kitchen flickered then went out. “I think it just took out the electrical wiring, Haze,” Ford said.
“Fine!” I threw up my hands. “I’ll call Dad.”
Ford grabbed his truck keys. “And I’ll take Tizzy to Lily’s.”
“Only if I get to pick the music,” Tizzy said.
“Nope.”
“I will jump out the window if I have to listen to country or western,” she whined.
Ford shook his head and grabbed his keys. “It was nice knowing you.”
Tizzy followed him down the hallway, and I could still hear her dissertation on country music and the downfall of society. Goddess, I loved that squirrel.
****
DAYLIGHT STREAMED in through the windows, and it wasn’t that dark, but I had a freezer and a refrigerator that didn’t run on solar power. My phone was on the counter. I stared at it, debating on whether to call my father or not. I mean, did I really need him? How long could the coffee stay that hot, for Goddess sake? What I really needed was an electrician.
A long, gurgling sound followed by a clank, clank, clank had me snatching up the phone and dialing.
“Hazel?” My father said when he answered. “Is something wrong?”
“Why would anything be wrong?”
“You only call me when something is wrong.”
“That’s so not fair.”
“So nothing’s wrong?”
I paused and weighed the merits of telling Dad about my sloppy witchery versus letting the coffee burn the toes of Chinese citizens on the opposite side of the world. I decided it was better to swallow my pride. “I think I turned my coffee into Chernobyl incident.”
“Huh?”
“We are having a serious meltdown here, and I need your help.”
“Hah! I knew it.”
“….”
“Hazel?”
“….”
“I’m on my way.”
Since I was alone, I allowed myself a smug smile. “Thank you, Dad.” I hung up.
Dang it. My dad was an ace warlock. My mother had been a really powerful, albeit evil, witch, so why the heck couldn’t I do something as simple as boil water? It shouldn’t be this hard.
And yet, it always was.
I was nearly startled out of my standard issue, non-slip police loafers when my dad popped next to me in the kitchen.
“Okay, what happened?”
“Sweet baby Goddess! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“The fastest way here is a translocation spell.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Next time translocate outside the front door and knock.”
Dad shrugged off my suggestion as he looked around. “Why are all the lights off?”
“We forgot to pay the bill.”
My father’s exasperated sigh was followed by the incantation, “Light, light, make it bright.”
Instantly, the room was bathed in warm sunshine.
I pursed my lips, trying to hide how impressed I was by my dad’s spell. If I had tried the same magic, I probably would have blinded the entire town. Or it wouldn’t have worked at all.
“Why is there a hole in your center island?”
“My coffee is eating its way to the earth’s core right now.” I held up the cup with the melted out bottom. “Apparently.”
<
br /> My dad’s eyes widened.
My lower lip extended out. “All I wanted was a hot cup of coffee. Is that too much to ask?”
“Don’t pout.” He tapped my bottom lip, and I reeled it in. “Break it down for me.”
“I cast a spell to heat my coffee. It went nuclear and burned a hole straight down through the cup, the center island, and the floor. Then the lights went out.”
“Did you specify the level of heat?”
“You’re supposed to do that?” My cell phone rang. The screen showed the police station number. I grabbed it up and waved at the hole. “Just fix it, Dad.” I answered the call. “Hello. Chief Kinsey here.”
Officer Tamara Givens, typically a calm woman, sounded breathy and frantic. “Chief, you need to get to Main and Bliss Street right away.”
“What’s happened?”
Chapter Two
THE INTERSECTION of Main and Bliss bubbled as steam rippled off the oily black surface of a giant hissing puddle. The boiling yuck took up the entire center. The strong aroma of overdone hardboiled eggs and burnt petroleum turned my stomach.
As I passed the crowd, I overheard angry Shifters damning the stinky abomination as a witch prank gone bad. Things like, “Damn witches.” “Cheating.” “No magic. No points.” “Sore losers.”
I put my hands in my jacket pockets when I reached Ford. “I have no words.”
A red pickup truck with rusted out back wheel wells had driven into the spontaneously formed tar pit, and the ass end was three feet off the ground as the front sank slowly into the boiling pitch. Matty Deerfield, a stocky man who was my height, about five-eight with short reddish-brown hair, stood off to the side of the road, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest and his face red with blustery anger. The truck had been his work vehicle.
“That’s one pissed off weremole,” I said to Ford.
“It took three of us to pull him out of the truck and away from,” he waved his hands at the black pool in front of us, “whatever the hell that is. I had to threaten to arrest him if he didn’t stay back from the scene.”