Granny had no words to be able to adequately thank Lenny, every time she tried she sobbed like a baby. Instead of using words, Granny decided that actions would speak louder. From what I’d heard Lenny had been receiving daily gifts of moonshine, fried chicken and apple pie. Essie just hugged Lenny until he couldn’t breathe whenever she saw him. It was a win-win-win-win.
“How’s it going with Sandy?” I asked Junior as I pulled him to the kitchen to help me bring out the food.
“I reckon I’m about two and three-fourths dates away from gettin’ in her pants,” he informed me cockily.
“Really?” I asked with a laugh.
“Yep,” he said. “That chick digs me.”
“Actually,” Sandy said as she popped her head into the kitchen as Junior flattened himself against the refrigerator and screamed like a little girl. “You just added twenty-two and a half more dates onto your docket before you get anywhere near my pants, Little Mister.”
She narrowed her eyes at Junior who dropped his head into his hands and moaned and then she winked at me, grinned and left.
Junior was going to win. It was just going to take a little while…
“Sheee-ot,” Junior whispered. “That’s the fifth time this week she’s busted me talkin’ about gettin’ into her pants.”
“And what have you learned from this episode?” I asked him with raised brows and my stern mom look.
“I’ve learned I have to check the area next time I’m gonna talk about gettin’ lucky with my girl,” he said with a grin. “I ain’t no idiot.”
“Debatable,” I muttered and I loaded him down with a huge platter. “Take this out to the table and don’t get in any trouble.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said as he walked out of the kitchen whistling. “Get your little Dragon ass out here. There’s a party goin’ on and it’s not in the kitchen.”
“I’m coming,” I promised as I gathered up the remaining food and made my way back outside.
I swung the porch door open and stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes filled with tears and I almost dropped the enormous tray of food I was carrying. Thankfully Essie was there to save the day—or dinner, as it were.
In my front yard all of my friends and family were huddled in a large group. In the front was Nicolai—grinning like a little kid and holding a birthday cake with more candles on it than I’d ever seen in my life. It defied logic and I was sure he was going to set his hair on fire.
“I love you, baby,” Nicolai shouted as Daniel jumped around like a little monkey at his feet. “Happy Birthday. I couldn’t fit five hundred candles on the damn cake so Daniel and I just shoved in as many as we could would fit.”
The cheers were loud and my tears ran like a faucet from my eyes. I didn’t have the heart to tell him my birthday was actually next week, so I kept it to myself and decided from here on out that today’s date was my new birthday. Forever.
Through my tears I gazed at the crazy bunch as they sang Happy Birthday and I carefully approached the blazing birthday cake. I needed about ten people to help me blow out the absurd amount of candles—but in the end we succeeded.
“Did you make a wish?” Nicolai asked as his handed off the cake to his mother and took me in his arms.
“I did.”
“You going to tell me what it is?” he asked with a sexy lopsided grin. “Maybe I could make it come true.
“You already have,” I whispered as I kissed my man. “You already have.”
It was the best birthday party I’d ever had…actually it was the first birthday party I’d ever had and it was perfect.
Happy Birthday to me.
Five hundred was going to be a very good year. I blew out the candles, but as I’d told Nicolai, I’d already gotten my wish. I had the family, the man, the child, the friends and the house in Hung, Georgia, but most of all I had love—real love.
Life was pretty damned perfect.
# # The End… for now # #
Note From the Author
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~ Robyn Peterman
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Book Lists (in correct reading order)
HOT DAMNED SERIES
Fashionably Dead
Fashionably Dead Down Under
Hell on Heels
Fashionably Dead in Diapers
A Fashionably Dead Christmas
Fashionably Hotter Than Hell
SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES
Ready to Were
Some Were in Time
No Were To Run
MAGIC AND MAYHEM SERIES
Switching Hour
Witch Glitch
A Witch In Time
HANDCUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS SERIES
How Hard Can it Be?
Size Matters
Cop a Feel
If after reading all the above you are still wanting more adventure and zany fun, read Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures, the romance novel budding novelist Rena was helping wicked Evangeline write in How Hard Can It Be?
Warning: Pirate Dave Contains Romance Satire, Spoofing, and Pirates with Two Pork Swords.
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I created a MAGIC & MAYHEM Kindle World. I’m so excited I could squeeeeeeeeee!
What is a Kindle World, you may ask? Well, let me explain…
It’s basically fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters.
And let me tell you…the results are hilarious!
For those of you who prefer a more mature and succinct answer… Kindle Worlds is an Amazon exclusive program. The titles written for the world can NOT be purchased at other ebook retailers or anywhere besides the Amazon US site, but they can be read on any tablet, computer, or smartphone using the free Kindle App.
There will be three launches a year filled with smexy, witchy, shifty, magical fun!
But wait, you may ask…Can I write in the Magic and Mayhem world too? Yes, you can!!!
Here is the link to the rules for writing in a world. Read ‘em and write!
https://kindleworlds.amazon.com/how
Below is the ink to some side splitting books by fantabulous authors!
Check out each and every one.
You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!
xoxo Robyn
Click here to check out the Magic & Mayhem Series Kindle World!
Keep reading in this ebook to read a sample from HOW TO TRAIN A WITCH (BOOK 1 OF THE BABA YAGA SAGA) which is one of the novellas written for the world.
Except: How To Train A Witch
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Keep reading in this ebook to read the sample.
Chapter 1
Making a quiet, sedate entrance had never been her style, but getting struck by lightning would definitely be a mood buster. Winds of change were blowing all around.
The edges of her red dress fluttered around her legs as the seven of them materialized on the lawn of the Witchery U campus. Jezibaba looked up at the rumbling sky and read the darkening clouds before sighing at the violent storm she felt brewing. She told herself the lack of welcoming sunshine didn’t matter. It wasn’t necessarily a bad omen.
But then it wasn’t just the weather she was questioning.
Looking across the manicured campus lawn, she watched a bunch of teenagers playing some sort of game. The boys pelted
each other with balls thrown from skinny stick baskets. The girls cheered and yelled at the boys. She rolled her eyes at the nonsense of it, even though they appeared to be having a good time.
Thank the Goddess those years were several centuries behind her. She cringed just thinking about all the emotional drama the very young delighted in putting themselves through.
Yes, it was good to be older. It was even better to be an older witch whose power had yet to stop growing. Not that she wanted to keep the title of the great and powerful Jezibaba forever. Wasn’t that why she was here? She had to find a way to keep her two replacements alive long enough to secede her.
“Gentlemen, I need to find the proper motivation for this task. Tell me again why our presence here is necessary. I’m not used to jobs where I don’t have to kill someone.”
Jezibaba rolled her eyes when she heard a shuffling of seven gray robes sweeping the grass behind her as they silently communicated with each other. They were probably drawing mental straws about who would give her the bad news.
All were male witches, or warlocks as her testosterone laden posse preferred to be called. They were powerful seers, great conjurers, and fairly good at fetching coffee. Outside of that though, they were merely a bunch of devout magicals stuck in their heads. In her opinion, the whole lot was afraid to use their damn balls.
No wonder the Jezibaba was always a female witch. A female’s irrational anger fueled a what-the-hell bravery few males could ever match. Feeling it now, she pushed her long mass of curly red hair over both her shoulders as she turned to favor them with a knowing and superior smirk. Maybe glaring was a tad mean, but it felt so damn good to vent her frustration.
“Look, I’m not going to turn you guys into toads just for answering my question. I’m not in the mood to torture you today. It’s just that I’m having trouble believing we have to be directly involved with the lives of two children. For Goddess’s sake, Nathaniel—will you stop shuffling in your robe and speak to me. Why in Morgana’s name are we here? Nothing seems amiss.”
Her most trusted warlock finally cleared his throat. She had been with Nathaniel for two of her three centuries in service to the Council of Witches. The warlock looked older than dirt, but he was still her junior by nearly a hundred and fifty years. She trusted the man for many reasons, but she liked him because he was the only one of her warlocks who wasn’t scared completely shitless of her.
And okay—maybe she liked the way Nathaniel talked to her. The man spoke like they were all still living in medieval times. Goddess knew, sometimes she wished they were, except for the whole lack of plumbing thing, of course.
“M’lady, the last divination of the Council of Witches revealed that the magical world would be switching to a multiple Baba Yaga system instead of continuing the current Jezibaba system of one witch protectoress. Two candidates have been deemed worthy prospects already. We’re just here to check on them. Their identity is being kept as quiet as possible by Council order.”
Jezibaba snorted over the last comment because she knew better. Her gaze went back to the cheering, squealing, annoying teenagers again.
“If the Council of Witches could be trusted to keep their silence on the matter, none of us would be here to check on the chosen ones. Personally, I trust your instincts about them being in danger far more than I trust the meager integrity of the Council. You all know how I feel about those backstabbing, sanctimonious, magic-wielding ass monkeys.”
Ignoring the in-drawn breaths over her irreverent cursing, Jezibaba checked her nail polish before glancing at the teenagers again. She was not good at dealing with magical children of any age. The young tended to abuse their powers and that always made her angry. Her patience about such things was nil.
Nothing Nathaniel had said meant she had to oversee the brats personally. She would gladly find them guardians which was being far kinder than the previous Jezibaba had been to her. She’d almost been killed dozens of time before she hit her mid-twenties. In fact, she’d been a woman of twenty-six before she’d even begun her training.
“So the prophecy was correct then, I am to be the last of my kind unless I become a babysitter. Is that what you’re telling me, Nathaniel?”
Her chief warlock stiffened behind her and his instant alertness to her tone made her smile.
“I’m not telling you to do anything, Jezibaba. I would never presume to do that. I am merely informing you of the same details we discussed yesterday when we were planning this trip. You alone will have to determine if the children need additional protection.”
“I guess I’d pushed that annoying discussion from my mind.”
She wanted to laugh when Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed beneath his black hood.
“Don’t get your loin cloth in a twist over my honesty. I’m here, aren’t I?” she declared, lifting a hand to point to the teenagers.
Real intimidation was a power rush for her… and the closest thing to an orgasm she’d had in months. Men who could handle her real nature—and her power—didn’t grow on trees, not even those in the sacred grove of Morgana The Red. She knew that for a fact because over the years, she’d bedded every mythical creature the Goddess had made, but had never found one she could care about more than a few months.
In the last decade, she’d shrunk to an all time low, seeking out those like herself who at least respected her magic. Unfortunately, she’d found nothing but self-absorbed warlocks who couldn’t get a witch off properly without magical help. Her feminine ego had nearly hit rock bottom before she’d figured out that she was better off alone.
Maybe her libido was more unhappy over her abstinence than she’d realized because it suddenly conjured a man who gave her body hope. She lifted an eyebrow as she watched a professor exit one of the buildings and head towards another. Professor Hottie certainly filled out his clothes well for an intellectual type. Muscles rippled under the loose white shirt he wore beneath his forest green academic robe. His slacks molded the rest of his shape in a way that immediately jumpstarted a fantasy or two about what remained tantalizingly out of sight.
But something about him triggered a memory… or an instinct… or some sort of something. It was one of those feelings a smart witch would never ignore.
Dreading the truth but having to know, Jezibaba waved a hand over her eyes and swore at what her magical sight revealed. Knowing now what he truly was only made her appreciate her innate caution more. Professor Hottie, with all those rippling muscles, was a fire-breathing dragon, which meant he was totally off limits to her.
Sighing in resignation, Jezibaba gave up watching his sexy, masculine walk and started trudging towards the field of teens who were still screaming at each other. They had never ceased as far she could tell. Might as well get the introductions over with so she could put the frustrating day behind her as quickly as possible.
“Forgive me, m’lady… but you’re going the wrong way.”
Jezibaba swung a questioning gaze back to an equally confused Nathaniel, her eyebrows shooting up and making her whole facial expression match.
“What do you mean the wrong way?”
Nathaniel cleared his throat, adjusted his druidic style hood, and pointed a long boney finger at the building the now off-limits Professor Hottie had exited a few moments before.
Jezibaba fisted hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious, Nathaniel. That’s elementary level. Are you telling me the chosen ones are not even riding their brooms yet?”
Nathaniel nodded. “Believe me, mistress. I’m not confident in the matter either, but I consulted the Fates to check the Council’s determinations.”
“The Fates! Goddess, I hate those nosey old biddies.” Jezibaba stalked back to the front with the rest of her warlock posse.
“Yes… well, the feeling is mutual between you, m’lady… they seem to hate you as well.”
Since killing Nathaniel was out of the question, Jezibaba genuinely glared at the messenger instead. “The Fates have a burr
up their butts because I refuse to die on their command. If they don’t like me surviving their many predictions, they can take it up with Morgana. She’s the one who made me Jezibaba. I didn’t have any choice in that either. It was decided generations before I was born.”
“Regardless of your tragic history, I must unfortunately report that the two chosen ones are merely ten years old. I sought the counsel of the Fates in order to confirm their ages. The Fates laughed when I asked for more information. They said we’d have no trouble finding them if we went looking. Both descend from proper lineages. There’s no other reason to question this, unless you can think of some reason the other warlocks and I haven’t.”
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