Brimstone and Broomsticks: Accidental Witches Book 1

by Dunbar, Debra

  “Sorry,” I told Alberta. I meant it.

  She smiled, and my heart ached a bit at the sadness there. “No problem. Backing off. All yours, witchy-girl.”

  My face heated with embarrassment both that she knew exactly what my emphatic “no” had meant, and that now the guys in the room did as well. Well, maybe not John or Martin who were giving the pair of us blank looks. Lucien did from the sexy grin on his face.

  “Really? I’m hoping that means I won’t be spending the night on that lumpy hotel mattress. Or maybe you’ll be joining me on the lumpy mattress?”

  Electricity arced through me at the thought. Client. Client. I needed to keep reciting that like a mantra before I ended up in bed with this guy.

  “Nope. Not gonna happen. Keep going with your story, hellboy.”

  He sighed dramatically. “I resolved to ignore the werewolf, knowing that his time would come, but his behavior was so…annoying that I finally had to take action.”

  “You hit him? Threw a drink in his face? Set his pants on fire?” Alberta had been obsessed with my pants-on-fire curse ever since the news of it had left the courthouse and spread through the town like…well, like fire.

  “No, I told him to leave. He threw a drink in my face, then threw a punch. The rest is a blur, although I do remember us somehow taking the fight outside. And I remember three of the guy’s friends joining in when it was clear he was getting his ass handed to him.” Lucien cracked his knuckles, a grim, determined glint in his eyes that seemed not quite human. Not quite human, or maybe just crazy. It was hard for me to tell the difference anymore.

  “Once control slips from your fingers, it’s often difficult to rein it back in,” Martin commented, beginning a speech that I’d heard before—one that ended with suggestions to use breathing techniques, time-outs, or even calling a sponsor to avoid becoming embroiled in a fight. Lucien nodded, but he seemed to be giving the man’s lecture the same lack of attention that the rest of us were doing.

  After that I listened to Alberta tell us all how many men, and women, she’d propositioned in the last week, and how she’d not reacted to each rejection by dragging her victim off under her bridge for non-consensual sex. Alberta needed to get laid. Her last…boyfriend, for lack of a better word, had been a minotaur. I thought they’d been well suited, but after a few months, the bull decided to leave town for a sabbatical roaming the country impregnating some hot Angus bovines. He’d never returned and Alberta had fallen into a depression that was turning into an increasingly frantic search for true love, or at least a good roll in the hay. Or moss. Or gravel. Or whatever substrate was under her bridge.

  My, that sounded naughty.

  “So, Cassie, it’s your turn.” Martin smiled at me. “Tell us what challenges you had this week?”

  “It’s six!” I announced, jumping to my feet. “Great session, Martin. Thank you. I feel much calmer already. I’ll share on Tuesday, since we’re clearly out of time.” Tuesday. After this pesky Lucien was gone. I’d probably have a lot to share since part of getting him out of town would involve dealing with my ex-fiancé. Hopefully I wouldn’t set his pants on fire this time. Or stab him. Or sleep with him.

  Sleep with him. Must not sleep with Marcus. I’ll admit, it had been difficult keeping that from happening since our break-up. He was a panther shifter and like Alberta, I was a woman with needs. And thinking about those needs had me giving Lucien a side-eye that was hopefully not full of smoldering desire.

  Client. Client. Don’t sleep with Marcus, and don’t sleep with the client.

  Everyone stood and we recited our non-religious version of the anger-management serenity prayer, then headed outside.

  “You up for happy hour, devil-spawn?” Alberta shot me a quick glance. “You too, Cassie?”

  “Lucien should go back to his hotel room and keep out of trouble,” I told her. “I need…I need to go see the prosecutor.”

  “Marcus.” Alberta drawled. “That panther you used to shag.”

  Her eyebrows wiggled, but it was the sudden heat I felt from Lucien that had me pivoting toward him in surprise. Was that a spark of crimson in his dark eyes, or a reflection from the sun?

  “You gonna burn him or screw him?” Alberta asked.

  The air was suddenly ten degrees hotter. I eyed Lucien suspiciously. “Neither. I need to convince the prosecutor to drop the charges against my client here. Then I’m going to call Lucien an Uber and get him out of town.”

  “My ride isn’t responding,” Lucien reminded me. “I’ve tried, remember?”

  “It might not be your usual driver, but I’m pretty sure I can get you a ride,” I told him.

  “To hell? I doubt that,” he scoffed.

  “To wherever the hell you want to go,” I informed him. “I’ll even pay. I just want you out of my town before noon tomorrow.”

  My town? It wasn’t my town. I mean, it was my town in that I lived here, but not because I was a Perkins witch, or because I was the eldest Perkins witch. Nope. Not my responsibility. Let the mayor and the sheriff take care of things. All I needed to worry about was keeping my job, and not setting my ex-fiancé on fire. Oh, and the wards. That too.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Yes, there was definitely a glint in Lucien’s eyes. What if he really was a demon? The son of Satan? I fully believed that demons existed, but not that one, especially one who was the son of the devil, waltzed into my town, got into a fight with a werewolf, and spent the night in county lockup.

  “You most definitely are not coming with me,” I told him. “Your ass is sitting on a lumpy mattress at the hotel. All night. Alone. I’ll see you at noon when I come to pick you up.”

  That slow, panty-melting grin returned. “You’ll see me before that.”

  Yeah, in my wet-dreams from the direction my thoughts were heading. “Hotel. Now. I need to see Marcus before sunset.”

  It was close enough to a full moon that the shifters in town got rowdy when the daylight faded from the sky. For some that meant they were itching for a fight. For the cat shifters, it meant sex. And damn, Marcus was hard enough to resist in the daylight when he wasn’t pouring on the hot-growling sexy-stuff. I reached up to touch my amulet, thinking once again how satisfying it had been to set that feline’s pants on fire.

  Chapter 8

  Cassandra

  I swung by the courthouse, but unsurprisingly Marcus had left for the day. That left me with several unpleasant choices. I could spend the next few hours driving around looking for him at his home and usual haunts. I could call my sister Ophelia and ask her where my ex-fiancé was. I could text him and tell him I needed to see him right now.

  Ophelia’s specialty was divination. The woman could find just about anything from the source of a ground spring to a set of missing keys. She could also find people. Sometimes. She was better with keys.

  It wasn’t her less-than-stellar track record with locating town residents that had me hesitating, though. Ophelia was a paramedic. Friday night was kind of her busy shift. By the time she found a spare hour to do the ritual, it would be well after dark. And I definitely didn’t want to meet with Marcus after dark. Which was also the reason why driving around for hours looking for the panther shifter wasn’t a good choice either.

  “Chicken,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled out my phone. Gritting my teeth, I typed the text and hit send. Then I began to count.

  Twenty seconds. That’s how long it took for Marcus to respond. My heart sank as I read the text. He was at home. I should come by right away if I wanted to see him because he had plans tonight.

  I was glad he had plans and hopeful that they were important enough that he’d not be tempted to ditch them and try to get me into bed. But his home… Ugh, I’d hoped to meet him in a public place where I’d be more likely to resist his come-on, and more likely to hold back from setting his pants on fire.

  Oh well. I knew turning Marcus into a panther-torch didn’t do anything but make
him more eager to win me back, and I knew he healed quickly from serious burns and had plenty of clothing to spare. What worried me more was my will to resist the sexy feline.

  Marcus lived in a penthouse condo. This was Accident, so penthouse here meant it was on the fifth floor with no concierge or private elevator. Still, I had to hit the buzzer to get in and type a code in the elevator to access the fifth floor. He opened the door wearing a towel, his dark skin and hair glistening with water. The guy was built, and I’ll admit my mind immediately began to replay all the hot nights we’d spent rolling around in his, or my, bed. He smirked and flexed his chest muscles as he opened the door wider for me to enter.

  “Nice timing on the shower,” I told him. “You must have hopped in right after you texted me.”

  “I told you I’ve got plans tonight,” he purred. “Of course, I could change those plans. One word, Cassie. One word and I’m all yours for the night.”

  “Lucky me.” I turned to face him. “How about three words? Drop. The. Charges.”

  He tilted his head. “Huh?”

  “Lucien. The guy who was in a fight with Clinton Dickskin last night. I want you to decline to prosecute and have the charges dropped.” Then I remembered Martin’s statement about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. “Please?”

  “Clinton filed the charges.” He flexed again. “Ask him to drop the charges. Tomorrow. After you spend the night with me.”

  I forced my eyes to remain on his face and not his lovely, sculpted body. “Clinton won’t drop the charges. Come on, Marcus. You and I both know Clinton started that fight. There were four werewolves against one newb who is off his meds and thinks he’s the son of the devil. It’s a bad case.”

  “Maybe for you. A newb holds his own against four werewolves, sending one to the hospital? Beating Clinton Dickskin hard enough that he still has cuts and bruises the next day? Maybe the guy is a demon.”

  “I don’t care if he’s a rainbow-farting unicorn, it was four against one, and you’re picking on the newb. No one in this town feels one bit of sympathy toward Clinton. I’m going to have your ass if this ends up in front of a jury.”

  “Promises promises.” He stepped closer. “You can have my ass right now. You can have any of me right now.”

  I suddenly realized that Marcus’ determination to prosecute had less to do with the merits of the case and more to do with getting me in his bed. Son of Satan? He had to have known they’d send me to defend the guy. And he had to have known given what an ass Clinton was, I’d need to track him down for a face-to-face. I hadn’t seen Marcus in two months, even though he’d declined to file a restraining order after the pants incident. This was his way of attempting to win me back.

  And it wasn’t working. I’ll admit, the guy was hot and we had participated in some pretty steamy sex in our rocky relationship. Standing before the mostly naked panther shifter, I was all in admiration of his physique but that was it. Here I’d been worried that one sexy look from him and I’d be naked in his bed, when the only feelings I was experiencing right now was aesthetic appreciation.

  No, when I thought of sex right now, a certain client of mine came to mind, with a crooked smile and a wicked glint in his eyes, and the soft ease of a real predator. Not this arrogant panther before me.

  “I don’t want your ass or any of you,” I told Marcus. “I want the charges dropped and the anklet off Lucien so I can get him out of town before Clinton Dickskin decides to take the law into his own hands and get revenge for the ass-whooping he got.” I suddenly had a brilliant idea. “And if I don’t get him out of town by noon tomorrow, the hotel will be full and I’ll need to put Lucien up in my own house until his hearing.”

  Marcus sucked in a breath that told me he’d met Lucien in person and knew a rival when he saw one. “Sleep with me tonight and I’ll withdraw the case.”

  My license is on the line because I set an ex’s pants on fire in the courtroom, but Marcus gets away with this shit. The world was so damned unfair sometimes.

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” I crossed my arms, pushing my breasts up and forward. Two could play at the pectoral muscle game. “But Lucien…I must admit that I’m tempted to take him to bed.”

  Yes, it would be a huge ethics violation, but so would Marcus dropping charges if I slept with him, so we were even as far as I could see.

  He muttered a curse between clenched teeth. “Cassie, I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I want you back, and I’ll do anything to make that happen.”

  “You were never faithful to me, Marcus. Never. And every time you’d apologize and swear to not do it again. It’s over. You’ve slept with every woman in town, and it’s clear to me that you’ll continue to do it again and again. We’re over. Permanently. Forever.”

  It had been so humiliating, the side-eye, the whispers. Marcus hadn’t been discreet and I’d gotten tired of looking the fool. And now that I looked back, as fun as the sex had been, it had been totally lacking in any kind of emotional component. I had nothing in common with this shifter beyond our law degrees. I didn’t like him. And all those words he’d spoken of love and devotion, the ones that seemed to fill the empty spot that a neglectful father and mother had left, now seemed hollow. Marcus hadn’t lied. He really did feel those things for me. And the moment he wasn’t around me, he was feeling those things for someone else.

  That wasn’t what I wanted. It made those empty spots seem deeper and more painful. And it made me crazy—crazy enough to set his pants on fire in the middle of the courtroom.

  “I love you, Cassie,” he told me.

  “You love every woman you bed, Marcus.” I’ll admit there was a bit of sorrow and self-pity in my tone. “I’m not sleeping with you. I’m here to ask you to drop the charges against Lucien.”

  “Or you’ll sleep with him?” The panther sneered.

  “No threats. Look at this as a prosecutor, Marcus. It’s a bad case. It wastes time and money, and it’s going to make you look like a chump in front of the whole town.”

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The towel shifted, showing his hipbones and that happy trail I knew so well. “Fine. But I can’t do anything until I talk to Clinton.”

  “Tonight?” I asked hopefully.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he told me. “It’s almost full moon, and you know very well what I’m going to be looking for tonight. Since you’re so unwilling to oblige, I’ll go elsewhere. And in the morning, after breakfast, I’ll go track down Clinton.”

  I felt the tension fall from my shoulders. He’d still need to run by the courthouse and do the paperwork, and things wouldn’t be official until Monday, but it should be enough to get the anklet off Lucien and get him out of town by tomorrow nightfall.

  He’d leave. He’d immediately forget about everything except vague memories of a drunken bar fight and narrowly escaping prosecution for assault. He’d forget about trolls and cyclops and werewolves and witches. He’d forget about me.

  I’ll admit I really didn’t like that one bit.

  Chapter 9

  Cassandra

  I went straight home from Marcus’, feeling that sense of belonging the moment I pulled into the driveway. I’d grown up here, in this big old house that was a mishmash of a two hundred and fifty year old log cabin, two almost-as-old clapboard add-ons, and an extension out the back that housed the kitchen and provided the much-needed plumbing for both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms. Three bedrooms and a loft meant we seven sisters never had our own space as kids, but we were close and liked sharing bedrooms. Dad had left before Babylon was even born. I was nine. Bronwyn and I remember him. Ophelia and Sylvie were five when he left and have vague memories of pancakes and pipe tobacco. For the others, it was always Mom sleeping alone in that big bedroom on the first floor.

  And then the big bedroom was empty, because after Mom took off, I refused to sleep in there. I still refused to sleep in there, preferring the loft I’d o
nce shared with Bronwyn. The eldest daughter inherited the house, and although I was pretty sure Mom and Dad weren’t dead, we girls acted as though they were. So the house was mine, with its creaky floors, four layers of wallpaper, exposed electrical wires, and insane heating bill each winter.

  I’d never hated this house, never blamed it for the actions of our shitty parents. It had been in my family since some ancestor had laid the first log. It had sheltered us and kept us from harm. It had its quirks, but the old place was the one thing from my childhood that I truly loved.

  Well, the house and my sisters.

  I shut the heavy oak door behind me and tossed my purse and briefcase onto the couch, not bothering to lock anything up. Accident was a small enough town that burglaries were rare. Besides, no one would be foolish enough to steal from a witch, even one who was reluctant to practice her arts—especially one who was famous for setting a certain panther shifter’s pants on fire.

  The fridge hadn’t miraculously stocked itself when I’d been at work, so I found myself facing the choice of a wilted salad from two days ago, a block of cheddar, or pretending that protein smoothie was an actual meal.

  “Screw it,” I muttered, opening the freezer and taking out a pint of brownie chocolate ice cream. Dinner of champions.

  I was halfway through the pint, my shoes off and my feet on the coffee table, when Bronwyn walked through the door. I had six sisters, but outside of Sunday family dinner, we each lived our own lives, crossing paths occasionally in the grocery store or while getting gas. Bronwyn was the second eldest, and the second quirkiest of the seven of us in my opinion—which is saying a lot coming from the witch who set her ex-boyfriend’s pants on fire.