PRAISE FOR
HALFWAY HEXED
“Another addition to Frost’s delightfully entertaining Southern Witch series . . . One hundred percent entertaining and satisfying . . . The romance really steams up and love takes hold. Sassy, sexy, and seriously fun.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A brisk pace coupled with colorful characters and light humor makes this an enjoyable romp. Tammy’s inept use of magic, a cool ocelot familiar, and quick thinking under pressure carry her through astounding family revelations.”
—Monsters and Critics
“Plenty of action . . . Pick up this series, you won’t be disappointed . . . If you are a fan of Sookie Stackhouse, then [the] Southern Witch series will fit right in with your reading.”
—Once Upon a Twilight
“Halfway Hexed is a laugh-out-loud magical ride that I didn’t want to stop. There’s humor, romance, and action all rolled into a fun, entertaining read with great characters and an intriguing plot. I was hooked from the beginning and can’t wait for the next installment!”
—TwoLips Reviews
BARELY BEWITCHED
“Frost’s latest Southern Witch novel has all the fun, fast, entertaining action readers have come to expect from her . . . Populated with fairies, goblins, vampires, wizards, rampant plants, and a few nasty-tempered humans thrown in for good measure, there’s no end to the things that can and do go hilariously wrong.”
—Monsters and Critics
“What an amazing author! Kimberly Frost’s Southern Witch series is fated for great things. Barely Bewitched was full of romance [and] magical havoc, and goes from one wild scenario to another. I was definitely hooked all throughout the book and couldn’t put it down . . . I am definitely going to read Kimberly Frost’s next novel!”
—Romance Junkies
“The author is on a roll with Tammy Jo. Book two has as much action as the first, if not more. Ms. Frost’s sharp wit and interesting characters propel the story to a satisfying end.”
—A Romance Review
“Kimberly Frost’s Southern Witch series is destined for great things. Full of action, suspense, romance, and humor, this story had me hooked from the first page until the last.”
—Huntress’ Book Reviews
“Barely Bewitched is filled with humor, sass, and sizzle! Every page is a new adventure in a world of hilarious antics and smoking chemistry. I love this series and I am really looking forward to the next Tammy Jo fiasco . . . I mean, story!”
—TRRC Reading
“The amusing story line is fast paced . . . Fans will enjoy the escapades of Tammy Jo in this jocular urban fantasy.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Kimberly Frost can tell a tale like no other . . . A can’t-miss read.”
—Fang-tastic Books
WOULD-BE WITCH
“Delivers a delicious buffet of supernatural creatures, served up Texas-style—hot, spicy, and with a bite!”
—Kerrelyn Sparks, New York Times bestselling author of The Vampire with the Dragon Tattoo
“Would-Be Witch is an utter delight. Wickedly entertaining with a surprise on every page. Keeps you guessing until the end. Kimberly Frost is a talent to watch.”
—Annette Blair, New York Times bestselling author of Tulle Death Do Us Part
“Kimberly Frost makes a delightful debut with Would-Be Witch. It’s witty, sexy, and wildly imaginative. Great fun to read. A terrific new series from a wonderful new author.”
—Nancy Pickard, Agatha Award–winning author of The Scent of Rain and Lightning
“More magically delicious than Lucky Charms—Kimberly Frost’s Would-Be Witch is bewitchingly fantastic!”
—Dakota Cassidy, national bestselling author of the Accidental Werewolf novels
“A big, heaping helping of Southern-fried magical fun! If you like a lot of laughter with your paranormal fiction, you’ll love Frost’s series.”
—Alyssa Day, New York Times bestselling author of The Cursed
“Hilarious start to the new Southern Witch series that will keep you laughing long into the night! . . . Ms. Frost is an author to watch for in the future.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A wickedly funny romp . . . The story trips along at a perfect pace, keeping the reader guessing at the outcome, dropping clues here and there that might or might not pan out in the end. I highly recommend this debut and look forward with relish to the next installment in the Southern Witch series.”
—Romance Junkies
“What a debut! This quirky Southern Witch tale of a magically uncoordinated witch with an appreciation of chocolate is likely to win over readers by the first page. Just when I think I need a break from the fantasy genre I read an author who reminds me why I fell in love with [it] in the first place.”
—A Romance Review
“One heck of a debut from Kimberly Frost . . . This is definitely an excellent read, and for a debut, it’s nothing less than fantastic . . . I sure don’t want to miss what further misadventures Tammy Jo becomes involved in.”
—ParaNormalRomance.org
“Delightful, witty, and full of sass, this new series promises mega action, comedy, and romance. With this first Southern Witch novel, Kimberly Frost has made a fan of me. Not to be missed!”
—Huntress’ Book Reviews
Berkley titles by Kimberly Frost
Southern Witch Series
WOULD-BE WITCH
BARELY BEWITCHED
HALFWAY HEXED
SLIGHTLY SPELLBOUND
Novels of the Etherlin
ALL THAT BLEEDS
ALL THAT FALLS
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
SLIGHTLY SPELLBOUND
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Kimberly Chambers.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-0-425-26754-7
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62185-1
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / May 2014
Cover art by Tony Mauro.
Cover design by Rita Frangie.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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CONTENTS
Praise for Kimberly Frost
&n
bsp; Titles by Kimberly Frost
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
For my dad, Chris
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to David Mohan, my friend and critique partner, for reading this book and giving me feedback. Also to my editor, Leis, whose insights were incredibly valuable. Thanks to the entire team at Berkley, especially the copy editor and art department whose wonderful work I’ve seen firsthand. I owe a debt of gratitude to my terrific agent Liz and the team at McIntosh and Otis for all the things they do on behalf of the books and my career. And finally, always, thank you to the readers of this series. Your emails, reviews, and support mean the world to me.
1
NO MATTER HOW many times people try to kill me, I never seem to get used to it. That goes for spying, too. I’m always startled to find a Peeping Tom . . . or Craig . . . or fire warlock creeping around. The thing is they’d better not let me catch them at it. I’m a redhead. I’m armed. And I don’t take kindly to interruptions when I’m trying out a new cake recipe.
I didn’t always have a hair-trigger temper, or a hair-trigger weapon tucked in the top kitchen drawer behind the salad tongs, but a couple of months ago, my life changed.
My name is Tamara Josephine Trask, Tammy Jo to most of my friends. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m a witch. Or I should say I come from a long line of witches. Until recently, I thought the family magic skipped over me. It turns out that I actually got a double helping of magic and that my two types of magic, like the creatures they come from—witch and faery—don’t get along. It might have stayed that way, with the two magicks canceling each other out, if I hadn’t had a close encounter with a wizard named Bryn whose own magical heritage is also mixed. From the moment my magic met his, it was trouble for us and anyone within a twenty-mile radius.
Now it was late December, and the supernatural drama had died down. Country music Christmas carols played on the radio, and in my kitchen I was minding my own business as I sometimes do. I wore a white T-shirt, boot-cut Levi’s, and a black apron with a Julia Child quote in white letters that said, If you’re afraid of butter, just use cream.
I was in the middle of stirring cake batter that had both butter and cream in it when the trees started kicking up a fuss. I don’t speak tree, but after an unfortunate incident involving pixie dust, I’m usually able to get the gist of what they’re trying to tell me.
Woody limbs scratched the roof and scraped against the kitchen window, making me look up from the bowl. I slid open the window and said through the screen, “I’m not coming out to visit right now. I’m busy being a regular person.”
The leaves crackled, and I rolled my eyes. A chilly breeze blew in. I shivered and closed the window. When I turned up the radio, Martina McBride drowned out the trees.
My ocelot, Mercutio, who’d just woken up, strode into the kitchen. It seemed like God couldn’t make up his mind when. He painted ocelot fur. There are stripes on their faces and necks like little tigers, but spots on their bodies like leopards. One thing’s certain, they’re the cutest cats of all, big or small, foreign or domestic. A person might say I’m biased and that person would be right, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about ocelots being extremely cute. Just ask the Internet to show you some pictures.
“The racket woke you up?” I asked as I dripped a couple of drops of cream on my finger and held it down to him.
He licked and swallowed. Another scrape against the roof made us look toward the yard.
“For foliage, that’s pretty pushy,” I said. “I’m not fixin’ to go out there with bare feet. It’s full-on winter and that ground’s cold.”
Mercutio tipped his head down, touching his nose to the top of my bare foot.
“I meant I wouldn’t go outside barefoot. In the kitchen with the oven on is fine,” I said. “In here it’s seventy-five degrees. Out there, it’s forty-eight, and rumor has it it’s going down to thirty. By Texas standards, that’s blizzard cold. Now I ask you, would anyone in her right mind go out in a blizzard without socks and boots?”
Mercutio cocked his head and opened his mouth to answer.
“I meant that to be rhetorical, Merc.” I leaned over the bowl. I added finely chopped Texas pecans, a dash of chili powder, and another splash of cream to the cocoa cream cake batter. “Besides, I’m real busy.” I stirred and then dipped my finger into the bowl. As soon as the batter hit my tongue, I smiled. Now we’re talking. I added pinches of nutmeg and pepper.
Mercutio jumped onto the counter, nearly knocking the mixer off, and darted to the window that’s above the sink.
“Watch your step,” I said, moving the mixer to the middle of the counter.
Mercutio’s low growl raised the hair on the back of my neck. When it comes to announcing trouble, Mercutio’s more accurate than a police scanner. I reached into the corner and turned down the radio, then opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a flashlight. I turned it on and shined it out the window.
I jumped when I caught a glimpse of a figure in the tree. I instantly lowered the light and yanked open the top drawer. Reaching behind spatulas and tongs, I closed my fist on the handle of my gun.
I tucked it into the back of my jeans and moved away from the window. I yanked on the socks that were sitting next to my cooking clogs and slipped my feet into the shoes.
“What do you think, Merc? A neighbor boy trying to sneak a peek at me in my undies again? Or real trouble?”
Mercutio crossed the counter in two strides and pounced down to the floor. I watched him approach the back door. He kept his body low, in full-on stealth and ready-to-rumble stance.
“All right, then,” I said, and reached over to turn off the kitchen light. “Someone more sinister than a teenage boy it is.”
I crouched next to Merc. “Even with the lights off, he’ll see the door open. So we’ll have to move fast,” I said, and then rolled my eyes at myself. I didn’t need to tell Mercutio about speed. He could give lightning a run for its money.
I moved the flashlight into my left hand so it was ready to be flipped on and gripped the door handle with my right. I took a deep breath and opened it.
We burst into the yard. Claws out, Mercutio went up the trunk. I drew my gun with my right hand and shined the flashlight at the treetop.
One glimpse told me the figure was all wrong. For a split second, I froze, staring at the gaunt face. His skin was so thin I could see stark white bones beneath the surface as he gnashed his teeth at me. Was there even flesh on those bones? Or just a translucent phantom covering? Is he alive or dead? I wondered frantically.
A bright flash of light blinded me as the man—or whatever he was—jumped. I dropped to my knees and rolled for cover. He didn’t land on me—or the ground, that I heard.
Tangled among the azalea bushes, I pointed the flashlight beam at the treetop. Mercutio howled a protest at the fact that the intruder had escaped before he’d gotten to him. I moved the light all around the yard, s
canning every inch. I also checked the sky and the fence. No sign of the peeping skeleton.
Mercutio returned to the ground, strolled past, and padded into the house.
My heart thundered in my chest. “What the heck?” I muttered, rolling onto the patio. “We’re done, Merc?” I asked, following him inside. “Just like that?”
Mercutio meowed.
Apparently so. I locked the door, set my gun down, and brushed off my clothes.
“Well, what was that? I didn’t hear it hit the ground. So was it a ghost, then?” I frowned. “I haven’t seen all that many ghosts, but the ones I have seen look like people. A little more transparent than a regular person sometimes, but not like a skeleton.”
Merc sniffed.
“And maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think skeletons ought to be either covered with flesh and blood or buried in a coffin waiting to turn to dust as God intended. They don’t need to be creeping around in a person’s backyard, annoying the trees and giving me a heart attack when I’m trying out a new cream cake recipe.”
Mercutio yawned and curled up on the floor a few feet from the door.
I turned off the oven and put the batter in the fridge. “I’m going to consult some witches’ books. Not that I have many here to consult. But I’m not going to Bryn’s house. I’ve made it twelve whole days without sleeping with him, and no scary skeleton standing in a tree is going to send me to Seduction Central now that Bryn’s big case is finally over.”
Mercutio didn’t move a whisker. When it comes to fighting for my life, Mercutio’s the best friend I could have. When it comes to my messed-up love life, I’m on my own.
And actually it’s okay that Mercutio’s not into that kind of drama. That’s what the rest of the town is for.
2
THE ONLY LIVE-ACTION skeletons I found in Aunt Mel’s magical reference book were zombies. In my experience, zombies were a lot squishier than the treetop creature. Not that I had vast experience with them or anything. The only zombie I’d ever met had been the reanimated wife of our town’s retired psychiatrist, and probably Mrs. Barnaby hadn’t been dead long enough to be just bones.
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