A Witch Called Wanda (iWitch Mystery Book 1)

by Diana Orgain

  It was Chuck Lowry, the actor who played Charlie.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Gracie whispered to Maeve as Maeve made her way around to the back of the counter.

  “What is Chuck Lowry doing in Wisteria Pines?” Maeve whispered back. “And why does he have Penny’s cat? That is Tonya, isn’t it?”

  “Tonya!” Penny jumped up from where she had been sitting in the window and ran up to Chuck Lowry, movie star.

  Chuck made his way toward the barista station, and smiled down at Penny. “Is this your cat, sweetheart? I saw her roaming around that dirt road up the way.”

  Yup, that’s Tonya, Maeve thought when she saw the cat’s pink, personalized collar that Penny’s mother had bought her.

  “Yeah, that’s hers,” Gracie said, as Chuck bent down to give the cat to Penny.

  “How did that cat get out of my house?” Maeve whispered to Gracie. “I hope Wanda isn’t wandering around outside somewhere too.”

  “You know Wanda,” Gracie whispered back. “If she is out of your house, she’ll be here soon enough. It’s like that dog actually listens to you when you tell her where you’re going.”

  Maeve giggled as she glanced back at Chuck. He gave Penny the cat and then rose.

  He caught Maeve watching him and smiled. “I tried looking for the cat’s owner, but it looked like everyone in town was gathered here.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you Chuck Lowry?” Maeve asked.

  “That’s me,” he said, with a stunning Hollywood smile.

  Maeve blushed and even though she was accustomed to dealing with Hollywood flirts, she couldn’t help but feel shy.

  Joseph strode up to her like a rooster defending his hen house. “Hey, Maeve, we still on for that duet?”

  “Whoa, man,” Chuck said, casually slipping Joseph a stick of gum.

  Joseph reddened and snatched the gum. “Jerk,” he grumbled as he headed back to the stage and discreetly popped the piece of gum in his mouth.

  Maeve bit her tongue to suppress the giggle ready to erupt. “That was so rude,” she said to Chuck. Then she glanced at Gracie and couldn’t help but laugh when she saw Gracie covering her own laughter with her hand.

  “Sorry, did you want some?” Chuck asked innocently, offering her a stick of gum with his smile.

  Maeve accepted the gum. “That’s my favorite kind. I buy it by the case.”

  Gracie was staring googly-eyed at Chuck, but sprang to attention when Maeve asked, “What can I get you, Mr. Lowry?”

  “Please, call me Chuck,” he said. He looked around the café. “You serve Irish Coffee? I think I’d need a drink. It has been quite a ... day.”

  Gracie groped behind the bar. “I only have Scotch up here, no whiskey.”

  “Don’t worry,” Maeve said. “There’s some in the back.” She hurried to the storage room.

  This visit from Chuck Lowry was strange indeed, but Maeve couldn’t help feeling energized by it. Why was he here?

  Something told her he’d come just for her, but why?

  Inside the storage room, she spotted the whiskey on the top shelf. She grabbed the step ladder and climbed up, cursing herself.

  Why would I put whiskey way up there?

  She reached, barely able to reach it. Her clumsy fingers sent the glass bottle falling down toward the cement floor.

  “Stop,” she commanded, sending a bolt of purple magic from the tips of her fingers, stopping it from falling and causing a reverse effect as though the incident was being rewound on a VCR.

  The bottle flew back up and landed promptly on the shelf.

  She grabbed it and climbed down the step ladder.

  Her eyes still glistened light purple, and she tapped her fingers against the glass as the purple magic slowly faded from her fingertips.

  She grinned.

  Oh, I’m really starting to get used to this!

  She hurried back to the front of the café to greet her celebrity guest with the new bottle, content with keeping her newfound magic a secret from her friends and neighbors—well, for now, at least.

  The End!

  Bonus – Spells

  For your enjoyment:

  A few Spells! (For Fun) Please note the author does not guarantee results, the magick you apply is all your own.

  Remember Witchcraft begins with intention. Your intention will provide the focusing power that can produce results. A few safeguards to abide by:

  Don’t cast a spell that could harm another.

  Don’t cast a spell that goes against your own personal ethics and morals.

  Don’t cast a spell with elements or symbols you don’t fully understand.

  Don’t cast a spell if you are upset or ill, or otherwise off-kilter.

  Easy Steps. These are merely guides/suggestions. Feel free to make the spells your own.

  Clear your body and mind! Get into the right frame of mind. Meditate, breathe, relax! Anoint yourself with your favorite essential oils.

  Clean your space. Burn some incense, candles or herbs like sage and sweetgrass.

  Set up a circle. You can draw the circle to sit in using chalk or sea salt or trace one in the air with your finger.

  Create a symbol of your desire. This can be as simple as a drawing it on a piece of paper or stone.

  Invoke a higher power. You can call on the divine or any deity or force you believe in.

  Focus your energy on your desired outcome. Visualize light flowing from you to your desire and pulling or magnetizing it toward you. Broadcast your light and energy into the universe.

  Recite your spell. Chant or sing. Speak clearly and with confidence.

  “Cast off” your spell by tearing or burning the paper with the symbol of your wish/desire, or throw away the stone.

  Give Thanks.

  A spell for Love:

  Spirits of the East

  Spirits of the West

  Spirits of the Center

  Spirits of the Rest

  Bring me the love that’s been there from the start

  Bring me the one who will fill up my heart.

  Give me a chance ...

  At Romance.

  And so it is. And I am grateful.

  A spell for Luck:

  Today I’m feeling a little stuck

  I sure would like a little luck

  Not asking for enough to fill a truck

  But a little sprinkle ...

  A little twinkle ...

  A little wrinkle ...

  Into the fates, I cast a spell

  For my good fortune

  For my good chance

  For my lucky dance.

  And so it is. And I am grateful.

  A Spell for Money:

  Oh goddess of luck and love,

  It’s a little funny, but today I’m asking for some money.

  I need some coin to pay the bills.

  So I don’t have to run for the hills.

  If you will,

  Please bring me wealth

  So I can enjoy financial health.

  And so it is. And I am grateful.

  I hope you enjoyed A Witch Called Wanda for more of Maeve’s adventures, pre-order book two in the iWitch Serves: I Wanda put a Spell on you

  Bonus – Preview - I WANDA put a Spell on you!

  Maeve O’Dare’s fresh start in Wisteria Pines has gone to the dogs—one dog in particular that is. Wanda, the stray who adopted Maeve the first day she hit town, acts more human than canine and keeps distracting the former songwriter from her newly opened cafe, Listen: It’s Old Fashioned. After the mayor drops dead while eating at the cafe, and scandalous Hollywood tabloids suggest Maeve had something to do with her ex-boyfriend’s mysterious disappearance, Maeve finds herself at the top of the town’s suspect list.

  Wanda, aka famous actor Chuck Lowry, needs Maeve to break the curse that changed him from sexy leading man to scruffy, female dog. But the novice witch needs Magick for Dummies to help her navigate her fledgli
ng powers and Chuck fears for his alpha-dog status. Especially when Maeve’s nose for trouble leads her into some hocus pocus that threatens them both.

  Determined to find out who’s behind all the trouble in the dog-eat-dog world of her not-so-perfect little town, Maeve ends up chasing her tail when Wanda is kidnapped. She’s lost her best friend, her business is threatened, and her reputation has gone up in smoke. Can a little magic save Wanda and keep Maeve out of jail? Or will she end up singing the small-town witchy blues?

  Pre Order I Wanda put a spell on you Now.

  Bonus – Bundle of Trouble

  Please enjoy this bonus copy of Bundle of Trouble: Book One in the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series.

  BUNDLE OF TROUBLE

  A MATERNAL INSTINCT MYSTERY

  by

  Diana Orgain

  Copyright © 2015 by Diana Orgain

  •CHAPTER ONE•

  Labor

  The phone rang, interrupting the last seconds of the 49ers game.

  “Damn,” Jim said. “Final play. Who’d be calling now?”

  “Don’t know,” I said from my propped position on the couch.

  I was on doctor’s orders for bed rest. My pregnancy had progressed with practically no hang-ups, except for the carpal tunnel and swollen feet, until one week before my due date when my blood pressure skyrocketed. Now, I was only allowed to be upright for a few minutes every couple of hours to accommodate the unavoidable mad dash to the bathroom.

  “Everyone I know is watching the game. It’s gotta be for you,” Jim said, stretching his long legs onto the ottoman.

  I struggled to lean forward and grab the cordless phone.

  “Probably your mom,” he continued.

  I nodded. Mom was checking in quite often now that the baby was two days overdue. An entire five minutes had passed since our last conversation.

  “Hello?”

  A husky male voice said, “This is Nick Dowling . . .”

  Ugh, a telemarketer.

  “. . . from the San Francisco medical examiner’s office.”

  I sat to attention. Jim glanced at me, frowning. He mouthed, “Who is it?” from across the room.

  “Is this the Connolly residence?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Are you a relative of George Connolly?”

  “He’s my brother-in-law.”

  “Can you tell me the last time you saw him?”

  My breath caught. “The last time we saw George?”

  Jim stood at the mention of his brother’s name.

  “Is he a transient, ma’am?” Dowling asked.

  I felt the baby kick.

  “Hold on a sec.” I held out the phone to Jim. “It’s the San Francisco medical examiner. He’s asking about George.”

  Jim froze, let out a slight groan, then crossed to me and took the phone. “This is Jim Connolly.”

  The baby kicked again. I switched positions. Standing at this point in the pregnancy was uncomfortable, but so was sitting or lying down for that matter. I got up and hobbled over to Jim, put my hands on his back and leaned in as close as my belly would allow, trying to overhear.

  Why was the medical examiner calling about George?

  “I don’t know where George is. I haven’t seen him for a few months.” Jim listened in silence. After a moment he said, “What was your name again? Uh-huh . . . What number are you at?” He scratched something on a scrap of paper then said, “I’ll have to get back to you.” He hung up and shoved the paper into his pocket.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  Jim hugged me, his six-foot-two frame making me feel momentarily safe. “Nothing, honey.”

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered into my hair.

  I pulled away from Jim’s embrace and looked into his face. “What’s going on with George?”

  Jim shrugged his shoulders, and then turned to stare blankly at the TV. “We lost the game.”

  “Jim, tell me what the medical examiner said.”

  He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A body was found in the bay. It’s badly decomposed and unidentifiable.”

  Panic rose in my chest. “What does that have to do with George?”

  “They found his bags on the pier near where the body was recovered. They went through his stuff and got our number off an old cell phone bill. They want to know if George has any scars or anything on his body so they can . . .” His shoulders slumped. He shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

  I waited for him to continue, the gravity of the situation sinking in. I felt a strong tightening in my abdomen. A Braxton Hicks?

  Instead of speaking, Jim stood there, staring at our blank living room wall, which I’d been meaning to decorate since we’d moved in three years ago. He clenched his left hand, an expression somewhere between anger and astonishment on his face. He turned and made his way to the kitchen.

  I followed. “Does he?”

  Jim opened the refrigerator door and fished out a can of beer from the bottom shelf. “Does he what?” He tapped the side of the can, a gesture I had come to recognize as an itch to open it.

  “Have any scars or . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A strange sensation struck me, as though the baby had flip-flopped. “Uh, Jim, I’m not sure about this, but I may have just had a contraction. A real one.”

  I cupped my hands around the bottom of my belly. We both stared at it, expecting it to tell us something. Suddenly I felt a little pop from inside. Liquid trickled down my leg.

  “I think my water just broke.”

  <><><>

  Jim expertly navigated the San Francisco streets as we made our way to California Pacific Hospital. Even as the contractions grew stronger, I couldn’t stop thinking about George.

  Jim’s parents had died when he was starting college. George, his only brother, had merely been fourteen, still in high school. Their Uncle Roger had taken George in. George had lived rent-free for many years, too many years, never caring to get a job or make a living.

  Jim and I often wondered if so much coddling had incapacitated George to the point that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand on his own two feet. He was thirty-three now and always had an excuse for not holding a job. Apparently, everyone was out to get him, take advantage of him, “screw” him somehow. At least that’s the story we’d heard countless times.

  The only thing George had going for him was his incredible charm. Although he was a total loser, you’d never know it to talk to him. He could converse with the best of them, disarming everyone with his piercing green eyes.

  Uncle Roger had finally evicted George six months ago. There had been an unpleasant incident. Roger had been vague about it, only telling us that the sheriff had to physically remove George from his house. As far as we knew, George had been staying with friends since then.

  I glanced at Jim. His face was unreadable, the excitement of the pending birth diluted by the phone call we had received.

  I touched Jim’s leg. “Just because his bags were found at the pier doesn’t mean it’s him.”

  Jim nodded.

  “I mean, what did the guy say? The body was badly decomposed, right? How long would bags sit on a pier in San Francisco? Overnight?”

  “Hard to say,” he muttered.

  I rubbed his leg trying to reassure him. “I can’t believe any bag would last more than a couple days, max, before a transient, a kid, or someone else would swipe it.”

  Jim shrugged and looked grim.

  A transient? Why had the medical examiner asked that? George had always lived on the fringe, but homeless?

  Please God, don’t let the baby be born on the same day we get bad news about George.

  Bad news—what an understatement. How could this happen? I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for George, Jim, and our baby.

  I dug my to-do list out from the bottom of the hospital bag.

  To Do (Whe
n Labor Starts):

  1. Call Mom.

  2. Remember to breathe.

  3. Practice yoga.

  4. Time contractions.

  5. Think happy thoughts.

  6. Relax.

  7. Call Mom.

  Oh, shoot! I’d forgotten to call Mom. I found my cell phone and pressed speed dial. No answer.

  Hmmm? Nine P.M., where could she be?

  I left a message on her machine and hung up.

  I looked over the rest of the list and snorted. What kind of idealist had written this? Think happy thoughts? Remember to breathe?

  I took a deep breath. My abdomen tightened, as though a vise were squeezing my belly. Was this only the beginning of labor? My jaw clenched as I doubled over. Jim glanced sideways at me.

  He reached out for my hand. “Hang in there, honey, we’re almost at the hospital.”

  The vise loosened and I felt almost normal for a moment.

  I squeezed Jim’s hand. My husband, my best friend, and my rock. I had visualized this moment in my mind over and over. No matter what variation I gave it in my head, never in a million years could I have imagined the medical examiner calling us right before my going into labor and telling us what? That George was dead?

  Before I could process the thought, another contraction overtook me, an undulating and rolling tightening, causing me to grip both my belly and Jim’s hand.

  When my best friend, Paula, had given birth, she was surrounded mostly by women. Me, her mother, her sister, and of course, her husband, David. All the women were supportive and whispered words of encouragement while David huddled in the corner of the room, watching TV. When Paula told him she needed him, he’d put the TV on mute.

  When I’d recounted the story for Jim, he’d laughed and said, “Oh, honey, David can be kind of a dunce. He doesn’t know what to do.”

  Another vise grip brought me back to the present. Could I do this without drugs? I held my breath. Urgh! Remember to breathe.