Brimstone and Broomsticks: Accidental Witches Book 1

by Dunbar, Debra

  The man had somehow managed to find new clothing. It fit. It fit really well. And unlike the usual jeans-and-t-shirt that most men around town wore, he was looking like he was about to board a yacht in a pair of khakis and a crisp button-down shirt. Still hot. Still someone who needed to get out of town yesterday, and not be hanging out at a twelve-step meeting for people with anger management issues.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Now, Cassie,” Martin scolded. “Everyone is welcome. And I’m sure our newcomer will tell his story in a moment, if he’s feeling like sharing. If not, that’s okay. All in the twelve steps, you know.”

  I wanted to punch Martin in the face. Lucien grinned, his eyes dancing with laughter. “Didn’t that magistrate man agree to let me out without a bail if I wore this ankle monitor and attended anger management sessions? Well, here I am.”

  John Cotton, our resident cyclops chuckled. “Dude. You’re the guy who took on four of the Dickskin clan single-handed. Heard you gave that poodle Clinton a shiner that he’s still trying to heal from.”

  The others in the room sucked in a breath and began to clap. John stood up and shook Lucien’s hand. Great. The nutjob had become a local celebrity.

  “Did he start it?” Alberta asked, her already huge eyes even wider.

  “Don’t answer that,” I told Lucien. It was probably a good thing I was here. These meetings were supposed to be confidential, but I knew all too well how gossip spread in a small town. I was having a hard enough time getting Lucien off the hook for last night without him bragging about his pugilistic abilities and getting Clinton Dickskin even more riled up.

  “What I want to know is what landed you in these meetings,” Lucien asked. “I mean, not that I’m surprised or anything, I just want to hear the details.”

  “Well, you’re not going to hear the details,” I snapped, determined that I wouldn’t be sharing at this meeting, or any other meetings until this man was clear of town.

  “She set her ex-fiance’s pants on fire,” John told the other man.

  “He deserved it,” Alberta added. “Liar, liar, pants on fire, you know.”

  “Setting someone’s pants on fire in the middle of the courtroom was the problem,” Martin added. As if doing the same thing out on the street or in the privacy of one’s own home were perfectly okay.

  Lucien’s eyebrows shot up and he gave me an appreciative once-over. “I think I’m in love. Did you burn the offending body part off his body? Third degree burns? Oh, please tell me that he died.”

  “No, he didn’t die.” What kind of witch did he think I was? “And I didn’t burn anything off. Just a bit of blistering, and that was only because he was wearing polyester pants. Edith grabbed the fire extinguisher and put him out within seconds.”

  The expression on Lucien’s face was damn close to setting me on fire—certain parts of me at least. “That’s…that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Um, pun intended? I wasn’t sure with this guy. I wasn’t sure anything with this guy. His whole “I’m the son of Satan” thing was the sort of psychosis that would undoubtedly think that setting an ex on fire was a good thing.

  And if he really was a demon…well, that explained a lot.

  “Probably would have been worse if he hadn’t been a panther,” Alberta added. “Means he heals fast. And he thinks that sort of thing is hot too, although he wasn’t too pleased about it at the time. Actually, I think he was more upset at having fire extinguisher foam all over his crotch than having his pants burned clear off his body.”

  John chuckled. “I was there. Made it look like he stepped out of a bubble bath. Or his dick exploded. Either one.”

  “You a panther?” Alberta eyed Lucien appreciatively. “They like it rough, you know. I like it rough. Just thought I’d let you know that.”

  Alberta was a troll. Her kind of rough would kill Lucien if he were really a human. Actually, her kind of rough might kill Marcus as well. Shifters were sturdy, but not troll-sturdy.

  “Is a panther like a male cougar?” Lucien asked with a puzzled frown. “Like older humans who prefer sexual partners much younger than they are? I’m not particularly attracted to younger demons when it comes to sexual partners, but of course any humans are obviously much younger than me. So I guess I am a panther.”

  Alberta sent him what was probably supposed to be a smoldering glance. I fought the urge to grab my amulet. Pissing the troll off would have consequences I didn’t want to contemplate but I didn’t want her injuring my client.

  “Wanna get it on later?” she purred. “Got a place under the bridge I like to do my business at.”

  I kicked Lucien’s ankle and shot him my best horrified look, shaking my head. His look in return was definitely smoldering.

  “Going to have to pass, ma’am. There’s someone else whose bridge I’d like to be crawling under tonight.”

  I choked back a retort, and tried to resist setting the man’s pants on fire. It wouldn’t be a good move in the middle of my anger management meeting. And if he were a human, I’d end up breaking my own rule and killing him.

  Alberta pursed her lips. “Shame. Good looking man like you could do a lot better than a witch like Cassie. She might like the rough stuff, but witches still break easy, ya’know? I’m more sturdy. And better looking.”

  Lucien’s gaze hadn’t left my face. “Like it rough, do you Cassie?”

  “Ms. Perkins,” I corrected, my face on fire.

  “Obviously,” Alberta replied, “or she wouldn’t have been thinking about getting married to a panther. Or thinking that setting his pants on fire at work would set his heart on fire as well.”

  I hadn’t been trying to get Marcus back. What kind of freak gets turned on by that sort of thing?

  The freak next to me, obviously.

  “Can we get started?” I asked irritably.

  “Yes, let’s get started,” Lucien drawled. “I’ve got a bridge to breach. Let’s get this meeting underway.”

  Martin gave us all a benevolent smile. “Who would like to start?”

  John raised his hand, then adjusted the patch he used to cover his not-eye. It helped that his actual eye wasn’t exactly dead center. The patch just made it look like he had incredibly close-set eyes and wasn’t a cyclops. John hated that thing, but it gave his face a symmetry that he lacked without it and kept any newbies from staring. And as much as John hated the patch, he hated people staring at him even more.

  “Went to the grocery store on Tuesday,” he announced to our little group.

  Alberta, Martin, and I clapped, while Lucien seemed perplexed that a trip to the grocery store would warrant such enthusiasm.

  “Excellent!” Martin told the cyclops. “How did it go? Did you achieve your goal?”

  We left each weekly meeting with self-assigned goals. John’s was to make polite conversation with strangers and have an outing in public without getting into an argument with any of those strangers.

  “I said ‘thank you’ to the cashier.”

  We clapped.

  “I didn’t yell at the man in the produce section for tasting the strawberries.”

  We clapped.

  “But I did get into a fight with a man who didn’t return his shopping cart to the corral.”

  We collectively held our breaths.

  “You scolded him?” Martin asked hopefully.

  John shook his head, fingering the patch once more. “I was polite, but he gave me the finger and told me to fuck off, so I grabbed the cart and started smashing it into his car. I didn’t hit him though. And I didn’t eat him, although he looked tasty. Better than that rump roast I had in my shopping bag.”

  “You should have crammed him into the shopping cart, set it on fire, and rolled it down a hill,” Lucien commented.

  “Not helping,” I muttered.

  “Or eaten only his toes, to teach him a lesson. Proper punishment is key to behavior modification,” he con
tinued.

  “Do you want to go back to jail?” I snapped at him.

  “Now, Cassie,” Martin scolded. “Let’s communicate the rules to our newcomer in a calm, peaceful manner.” He turned to Lucien. “We’re here to help each other control our anger and more violent impulses, not encourage them. What do you think John should have done instead of damaging this man’s car?”

  “A non-violent punishment?” Lucien tilted his head in wonder.

  “A non-violent solution?” Martin corrected.

  Lucien shifted his feet, the anklet coming into view just below his pants hem. “Lock him in the car with the windows up and not allow him to leave for a week?”

  “That’s illegal,” I told him. “How about John returns the cart to the corral himself, uses his breathing techniques to calm his emotions, then eats some chocolate?”

  That wasn’t what I’d do. Or what I’d try to do. In reality I was more in line with John’s way of dealing with the situation, but I’d learned from three months of these anger management meetings to parrot the party line.

  “Or eat the rump roast raw,” Alberta suggested. “He could imagine he’s eating the rude man and cool his temper that way. That’s what I’d do.”

  Martin pursed his lips. “It’s a good coping technique, Alberta. As long as you’re confident that you won’t cross the line into actual cannibalism.”

  She sniffed. “It’s not cannibalism if they’re human. Not like I’m eating other trolls or something. Yuck.”

  “No eating the humans,” I reminded her. “Or the elves or the mermaids. Packaged grocery-store meat only.”

  “The Dickskins hunt deer,” she complained.

  “They have a permit,” I reminded her. In all fairness, Alberta had never eaten any humans or other town residents. Her biggest problem was that she was horny and not a lot of men seemed willing to have sex under a bridge with a troll, no matter how drunk. Well, maybe if they were really drunk, but that sort of thing usually didn’t result in a repeat occurrence or even a text the next day. Hence Alberta’s anger management issues. None of us liked rejection, but Alberta really didn’t like rejection.

  “I’ve got it,” Lucien announced. “Follow the man around all day, singing a jingle on repeat. Something really annoying like that Meow Mix one.”

  “Or the Hefty, Hefty, Hefty chant?” Alberta asked.

  “The Oscar Meyer song?” I suggested. I’ll admit, the idea had merit.

  “Folgers?”

  “That Empire Carpet one?”

  “Chili’s baby-back ribs?”

  “Ooo, ooo,” I bounced in my seat. “The Kit-Kat jingle. He’ll never get that out of his head.” I hummed the tune. Anger management meetings had never been so much fun.

  Martin frowned. “Maybe during the actual confrontation, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to follow someone around singing a jingle at them all day. Such an act might end up in a violent altercation.”

  “But we wouldn’t have started it,” John protested. “Finishin’ is okay. Starting is not.”

  “Finishing is not okay,” Martin told him. “Nonviolence, John. Step away from any attack. Don’t meet violence with violence. That’s what we’re working on here.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and nodded, trying to be a good attendee. Two more months of this and I’d be done. Well, done attending meetings, that is. I’m not sure my setting my ex-fiancé on fire days were over for good.

  “Let’s give our newcomer a chance to share.” Martin turned to Lucien. “If he wants to, that is.”

  Lucien sprawled back in his chair, a lazy grin creasing his cheeks. “I’m Lucien, son of Lucifer, and I’m here because the bald man told me that I needed to come as part of his conditions for letting me out of jail.”

  “Your dad’s name is Lucifer?” John shook his head. “Man, that sucks. Who the hell would do that to a child?”

  “My grandfather,” Lucien told him. “Because my father was the light of his life until he got opinions of his own on how to run the family business. There was an epic fight. Tore the whole family apart. They’re still not speaking with each other.”

  Alberta made a sympathetic cluck noise. “Have you ever met your grandfather? Sometimes it takes the next generation to bring a family feud to an end.”

  Lucien shook his head. “I’ve been kind of busy running our end of the family business. When dad split, or was thrown out depending on whose story you believe, he took his side of the business with him. Used to be the whole thing ran as a single enterprise, heaven on one side, hell on the other. Now they’re completely split apart. No communication whatsoever. It’s a problem, in my opinion, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. Until the two old men decide to make peace, it’s one side or the other.”

  I’d been totally intrigued, envisioning a big family business like a cannery, or excavating, or fishing, until Lucien had mentioned heaven and hell. The other three were nodding, as if Lucien had used the terms as a metaphor, but I knew better. The nut job really did think he was Satan’s spawn, and I guess grandpa was God or something.

  Unless…

  Such a shame, because either one was a deal breaker. Maybe. I could change my mind about that because the man was damned hot. I’d totally do him. And I wouldn’t set his pants on fire afterward either. Well, maybe not.

  “So you work for your father in his end of the family business?” Martin asked, tapping his pencil against his chin. “I’m assuming based on what you’ve said about your relatives, that anger management issues run in your family? Your father has a hot temper?

  Lucien snorted. “Hot is the understatement of the year. Everything pisses him off. It’s always ‘my way or the highway’ with my father. My grandfather is the same way, although I hear he’s better about his temper lately. Still a controlling asshole, but less likely to smite you or set shrubberies on fire to prove a point.”

  “You can break the cycle,” Martin urged. “You don’t have to be like your father or grandfather. You can choose to walk away from the violence you were raised in.”

  Lucien looked rather stunned at that pronouncement. Then he turned to me. “What about your parents?”

  John laughed. “You kiddin? Seven daughters running around hogging up the bathrooms? You betcha there was a lot of yelling in that house.”

  “Actually, there wasn’t,” I corrected him. “Not much yelling at all.” Not much of anything at all. I glanced at my watch, willing the time to go faster because I really didn’t want to talk about my family. When Grandma had died, everything had sort of fallen apart here in Accident.

  “Her mom lit out after the elder witch bit the big one,” Alberta spoke up. “Dad wasn’t ever in the picture by the time the youngest was born.”

  “Your dad fathered seven children and left?” Lucien scowled.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Is he dead? Because I can track him down in hell and make sure he receives some extra suffering.”

  “He’s not dead and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “And when did your mom leave? Seven kids.” He shook his head. “No wonder you’ve got a short fuse.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I told him with enough firmness in my voice to get my point across without sounding so angry that Martin was forced to make a note on his paper.

  “Let’s hear more about Lucien, then. Tell us about the fight.” Alberta leaned forward eagerly. “I want to hear about you beating the shit out of Clinton Dickskin.”

  “No, we do not want to hear about that,” Martin interjected. “It doesn’t further our objectives here to dwell on the details of our loss of control. I’d rather Lucien tell us how he felt before, during, and after the incident.”

  I sat back, thankful that for once the attention wasn’t on me. I’d gone over my feelings far too many times in prior meetings. Time for someone else to take a turn under the microscope.

  Lucien blinked at Martin, then turned a
puzzled frown toward me.

  “Go on.” I was going to enjoy this. “Tell us all about your feelings.”

  “I wanted to hit that man from the moment I saw him,” Lucien began.

  “No surprise there. We all want to hit Clinton Dickskin,” John interrupted. Martin shushed him.

  “But I’m not on the clock. I mean, really I’m always on the clock, but when I pop out of hell, I try to not worry about coming up with creative punishments that are appropriate for the level of sin.”

  “You just wanna relax with a drink, and maybe find someone hot to drag home under the bridge.” Alberta sighed. “I totally get that.”

  Martin turned his shushing her way before smiling encouragingly at Lucien. “So what was it about Clinton that set off these impulses in you? Let’s start with that.”

  Again with the puzzled frown. “He’s a sinner. You’re all sinners, but he’s the kind of sinner that calls out for punishment.”

  Was it horrible that my mind had suddenly taken a hard right turn into the gutter. I was a bad, bad girl, a naughty sinner in need of punishment from a naked Lucien. I’m not the type that had ever been into getting tied up or spanking, so the punishment I was envisioning was him pounding me into the mattress. I looked over to Alberta and realized she was thinking the same.

  “No.” I said.

  The word came out with an edge of a snarl that had Martin putting his pencil to the pad. What was wrong with me? Yeah, I was a bit possessive when it came to my boyfriends, but Lucien was a client. A tourist. A newb who was going to be out of town come Monday—Tuesday at the latest. Yes, I was beginning to wonder how unethical it would really be if I banged my client, but that didn’t mean I had to get all up in Alberta’s face about it.

  I didn’t run this town. We had an elected mayor, an elected sheriff. Grandma had been the last Perkins witch to govern our fair city. When she’d died, our legacy had died with her. If Mom didn’t give enough of a shit to stick around and run things, let alone parent her daughters, then it wasn’t my responsibility either. Helping raise the seven of us was enough work. This town wasn’t my responsibility—well beyond keeping the wards functional, that is. And that was just as much for my benefit as for any supernatural creature here in Accident.