Love Witch

by Tess Lake

  Contents

  Tess Lake Catalog

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  More titles

  Tess Lake Catalog

  For a complete title list visit www.TessLake.com

  Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries

  Butter Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #1)

  Treasure Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #2)

  Hidden Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #3)

  Fabulous Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #4)

  Holiday Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #5)

  Shadow Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #6)

  Love Witch (Torrent Witches Cozy Mysteries #7)

  Box Sets

  Torrent Witches Box Set #1 (Butter Witch, Treasure Witch, Hidden Witch)

  Audiobooks

  Butter Witch

  Treasure Witch

  Hidden Witch

  Love Witch Copyright 2017 Tess Lake. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Tess Lake

  Tesslake.com

  Subscribe to my mailing list to be advised of new releases

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogs in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  “Repeat that line,” Hans fumed.

  Anton quailed, which, if you know Anton, is astounding. The guy was a former Marine. I have two stories about him.

  One: Anton is a hunter. Every year he goes up to Alaska and treks out into the snow with nothing more than a knife and a few supplies. He hand-makes a bow and arrow and then hunts. One year he stepped in a bear trap. It crushed his ankle and locked so he couldn’t remove it. As he was dragging himself back to the nearest town (some twelve miles away), a bear attacked him, possibly drawn by the blood trail.

  He fought off the bear. Killed it actually.

  Four days later he makes it to town, turns up at the ER and takes a seat because there is a queue of people.

  He waits, bear trap on his leg, quietly bleeding until eventually the staff notice and immediately rush him in for treatment.

  Ask him about it and he says it wasn’t a bad hunting trip. Most of it was pretty good.

  Second story: Anton is doing some work on his home when he slips off the ladder and crashes through the fence, impaling his leg. His wife comes home to find the paramedics loading him into the ambulance. There is a trail of blood leading from the fence, down to his workshop and back again. Blood all over his angle grinder. Why? Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to get in the ambulance with a whopping great metal spike through his leg, so he cut it off with his angle grinder before calling the ambulance.

  I spoke to one of the paramedics at the time, news-gathering, and she said he didn’t cry, didn’t call out in pain, didn’t make a sound, not even when the spike jarred against the ambulance when they were loading him in.

  The guy is made of stone covered by another layer of even harder stone.

  “I… I… I…” Anton stammered.

  Hans slapped him with a very well-worn copy of The Taming of the Shrew. In Anton’s role as Baptista, the father of Katherine and Bianca, he was wearing an enormous prop nose. It tore off and went flying across the room, leaving Anton with strands of spirit gum stuck to his face.

  “We open in three weeks! Everyone needs to be off book within the next two days, or I swear I’m going to kill you!” Hans roared.

  Did I hate him? Oh, yes, indeed. Once again I was doing the sums in my mind: how much abuse could I take for the money I was making? I was starting to think uncomplicated poverty was looking really attractive right now.

  I’d applied to work as a stage assistant for the Holtz Theatrical Company, not expecting I’d get it. To my surprise, I was hired. I’d met Esmeralda Huggins, the stage manager, and Hans’ second-in-charge Her last name was a clue to her nature: she was lovely and frequently handing out hugs.

  I soon found out why she was required: Hans Holtz, director and close to one of the worst, most rude people I’d ever met (and that’s saying something).

  He was a genius director, apparently, and in the last decade had pioneered a new concept. His traveling theater company would go to new towns and cities and draw from the locals to put on performances. He had a reputation as a perfectionist, a madman, and a brute.

  He’d also discovered more new talent than virtually anyone. Teenagers plucked from obscurity by him were now movie stars. Every few years he’d do a Broadway production, and movie stars would be lining up for the smallest of roles.

  Behind Hans, I saw Kira stone-faced, only the narrowing of her eyes betraying her thoughts. She was playing Katherine, the titular “shrew” and like many of the teenagers who were in the play hoped this would lead to much more.

  I’d already had to warn her off cursing him. I hadn’t enjoyed doing that because I was thinking of brewing up a curse myself. Something involving severe digestive distress, as a starter.

  Somewhere from around the back of the set came the ominous tones of a piano. Marcus Fyfe, the music director, was warming up, oblivious to the drama happening out in front.

  “I will. I am. I promise,” Anton said.

  He wiped away a tear.

  Yes, that’s right folks, a man who fought and killed a bear was crying because of the director.

  “Oh my everyone, let’s take a ten-minute break and then we’ll try again!” Esmeralda said, bustling across the room.

  “Broken legs is what they need!” Hans said and walked off. He turned in the doorway and pointed a finger at me.

  “You, coffee, black and boiling in two minutes,” he demanded.

  Oh, you stuck-up arrogant piece of s-

  “Be right there,” I chirped.

  He walked out, and I again imagined the satisfaction of throwing something at him.

  How would I get his coffee to boiling point? Right now I could use a little of the fury bubbling away inside me.

  Once again I considered that maybe Jack was right: no amount of money was worth this.

  Although the money was good, it wasn’t the only reason I was staying. Apart from not having anything else to do (having cut myself free from being a small-town journalist), I felt increasingly protective over the teenagers who were in the play. One teenager in particular - Kira.

  She was strong and could be spiky, but she was also gentle and young. She definitely did not need some horrible man treating her badly just because no one had ever punched him in the face and told him to stop it.

  (That wasn’t entirely accurate. Hans had been stabbed once by an actor during an argument that broke out while rehearsing A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But my point still stands: Hans hadn’t learned anything from this.)

  There was another reason: Jack and
I had saved her from the Shadow Witch, and both of us felt an obligation to continue protecting her.

  Kira had been distraught and angry (as you would be if an evil witch had tried to steal your body and kill you) and although she seemed to have bounced back, there were still times I saw a wariness in her, a sign that she wasn’t okay.

  The Shadow Witch had used Jack’s body to grab Kira off the street. She’d then drugged me before taking us both to an underground room where she was going to perform the body-stealing ritual. She would have drained my life, almost to the point of death and then shoved Kira out of her body, to take it for her own.

  We’d stopped her but it was a horrific thing, and I was sure Kira was still dealing with it.

  I turned around, heading for the kitchen and Kira caught my eye. She pulled a face, sticking out her tongue and I couldn’t help but smile.

  Maybe things would be okay. It was only three more weeks. Others had survived Hans Holtz.

  I went to the kitchen, passing by Anton who was surrounded by people telling him he was doing great, it’s okay, he’s just harsh because he’s a perfectionist and so on. Anton was nodding and wiping away tears, his detached prop nose in his hand.

  I made Hans coffee, considered what would happen if I put laxatives in it, enjoyed that thought for a good ten seconds and then headed back out through the theater, cup of boiling coffee in hand.

  Soon I was behind the stage, passing by Marcus who was still warming up. He’d moved on from ominous tones to something more light-hearted. As I walked by, he switched over to Flight of the Bumblebees.

  “Go quickly little bee before the ‘genius’ gets upset!” Marcus said in a low tone that had a smile in it.

  There were a lot of people who worked with Hans and, apart from Esmeralda, who was lovely to everyone and never had a bad word to say, I was yet to meet a single one who didn’t dislike Hans (or outright hate him). The lighting director, Julian, was strictly professional but whenever Hans wasn’t looking, he was glaring at him. He was filling in for his brother, Andreas, who had left the production two days after they arrived in Harlot Bay. It was “stress leave” but the rumors were probably closer to the truth: Hans had abused him, and Andreas had quit because of it.

  I grinned back at Marcus and then put that smile away as I approached Hans’ room. If I were lucky, he’d ignore me. He never said thanks for any of the coffees I’d delivered.

  I knocked and waited.

  He’d always say “Enter” in that tone that made people upset just hearing it.

  When there was no answer, I knocked again. Should I just go in?

  I heard a slight thump, like someone bumping against a desk.

  Maybe he was getting changed.

  I had his coffee on a small plate, and the cup rattled when my hands suddenly shook. That prickly feeling of something is wrong goosebumped over me.

  “Mr. Holtz? I have your coffee,” I called out.

  Another bump from the other side of the door.

  The sensation of wrongness grew stronger. That was it; I was going in.

  I opened the door.

  Hans had taken the largest dressing room. It had been formerly decorated with photos and posters of past productions at the Harlot Bay Playhouse. On his first day, he’d instructed me to strip them down and “take them away to be burned.”

  I took them away but didn’t burn them. He’d then moved in an enormous desk and his furniture.

  At first, I thought the room was empty, but then I saw the feet down by the side of the desk.

  They were shaking.

  The coffee hit the floor, and I barely felt the hot droplets that splashed back on me. I rushed across the room and found Hans flat on his back, clawing at his throat with one hand, his other flailing at the desk, hitting it.

  He was foaming at the mouth, white froth with streaks of green.

  He coughed and stopped breathing.

  “I need help,” I screamed out, hoping someone down the corridor would hear me.

  I turned back to him, grabbing his feet and hauling him away from the desk to make room. I started CPR, pressing my hands over his heart.

  Hans moved, hitting me with his hand. He opened it, and a piece of paper spiraled down to land on his chest. It was a note, written in scrawled letters.

  The show must go on.

  I kept up the CPR even as people arrived. I kept my focus on Hans until a paramedic gently pulled me aside and took over.

  Chapter 2

  After the ambulance had taken Hans (still breathing according to the paramedics) Esmeralda dismissed us and called an end to rehearsals for the day. The teenagers immediately scattered to the four winds in an instant and then all the adults slowly followed. I walked back to my car and sat there for a moment before I decided to do what I usually do when confronted with possible murder, madness and other supernatural things: I would go to Traveler to see my cousins.

  Molly and Luce had told me that business had been down in the last two weeks for some unknown reason. When I arrived at Traveler, I was expecting it to at least have a few customers, but it was empty!

  Long gone were the days of double-decker tourist buses parked in the street and a line of tourists stretching out the door to get the fantastic coffee that their coffee machine, Stefano, made. Since the Magic Bean had opened and Tess and John Donaldson, the owners, had obtained an identical coffee machine, they had split the Harlot Bay coffee business in half. My cousins weren’t exactly going to become super rich on the back of a coffee business, but they’d been doing okay, up until now.

  I walked in the door, the bell above me jingling, and found my cousins conspiring. Conspiring was exactly the right word for it. They had a map out on the table, were circling things, had a variety of notes around them, and were hunched over like crazy, wicked witches, which I guess at the moment they pretty much were. Molly jumped at the sound of me entering and then quickly stuffed a piece of incriminating paper behind her back.

  “What’s up, family?” I said.

  “You want to know what’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. This sandwich,” Luce said. She picked up half a sandwich from a plate on the table.

  “Come over here and try this,” she said.

  You’d think seeing a guy get poisoned, which is I guess what happened to him, and almost die, would dampen down an appetite but it was close to lunch, and my stomach growled.

  So I walked over, took the sandwich from her and had a bite. It was chicken and avocado and something else delicious, some kind of sauce.

  “Oh my goddess this is spectacular,” I said through my mouthful of food.

  “Yeah, that’s a big problem for us,” Molly said.

  I took another bite, virtually inhaling half the sandwich before Luce snatched it out of my hands.

  “Stop it. We need it for forensic analysis,” Luce said.

  “I want to marry that sandwich and have its children,” I said, closing my eyes as I chewed.

  “Oh goddess, don’t say that or we’re ruined,” Luce moaned.

  I swallowed the sandwich and opened my eyes to find that Luce had carefully moved the rest of it out of my reach. My stomach grumbled again at being deprived of such deliciousness.

  “Did you guys make that? Where did it come from?” I said.

  “That sandwich came from Magic Bean who, by the way, surprise, are making sandwiches now and other delicious food,” Luce said.

  “That’s not all. They also have a guitarist sitting in the coffee shop playing music, and he has blue eyes,” Molly added in a serious tone.

  “Don’t forget the scruffiness. He has just the right amount of scruffiness,” Luce said.

  “Blue eyes and scruffiness - a deadly combination if I say so myself,” I said.

  “Check this out too,” Luce said.

  She picked up a paper bag from the table and gave it to me. On it was a logo for the Magic Bean that must have been new. It was beautiful and ornate, yet crisp and clear. The p
aper of the bag felt good as I held it in my hands.

  “Can you feel the texture of that bag? These guys have stepped it up a notch,” Luce said.

  “Several notches. I don’t think there are any more notches left. They’ve gotten themselves a whole new belt,” Molly said. Just then Luce looked over my shoulder at someone walking by and then shouted out “Hey Kira get in here!”

  I turned around to see Kira come into Traveler with what I think for a moment was a guilty look on her face.

  “And where exactly are you going, young lady?” Luce asked, crossing her arms.

  “You know where I’m going. Don’t make me say it.”

  “But we have coffee here!”

  “Do you have a scruffy blue-eyed guitarist? No.”

  “We could!”

  “Well, when you guys get someone scruffy and handsome, let me know, and I’ll bring the kids with me. Until then, adios amigos,” Kira said, turning about-face.

  “Wait, aren’t you two meant to be at rehearsal? What are you doing here?” Molly asked.

  Kira spun around and pointed at me.

  “I’m gonna let H-bomb field that one because I’ve got a date with a sandwich, coffee, and some dreamy blue eyes,” Kira said.

  “Oh twist the knife why don’t you,” Luce moaned again.

  A moment later Kira was gone, and my cousins turned to me.

  “So what happened? Someone attempt to murder Hans and rehearsal got shut down for the day?” Luce asked.

  I gave a double blink.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it I think. I went to bring in his coffee, and he was foaming at the mouth and having a seizure. I think it was poison.” I quickly talked them through the morning, Hans shouting and being his usual terrible self and then me discovering him in his dressing room foaming at the mouth and kicking his legs.

  “Wow, that is both crazy, and I guess not unexpected,” Molly said. I’d kept my cousins well informed of what it was like working for Hans over the last few weeks. They had sided with Jack in saying that no amount of money was worth the abuse that I had been experiencing. But they did sometimes see my side of things, though.