Brimstone and Broomsticks: Accidental Witches Book 1

by Dunbar, Debra

  The thought shredded my control and I let my magic fly, feeling it surge out through my skin, giving power to Ophelia’s spell.

  My skin tingled when it was done. I felt more alive than I had in years. And I was scared. If I gave in to magic, if I allowed myself to accept my witch gifts, then I also needed to accept the destiny of my birth. No. I didn’t want responsibility for this town and its residents. No, I didn’t want to be the one everyone came to when there was a problem. I just wanted to be Cassie Perkins, that lawyer who lived up on the hill in her family’s old home. Just a normal citizen—well, as normal as any of us were in this town.

  “Werewolf,” Ophelia said as she dusted off her hands and gathered up the stones.

  “So someone slaughtered a werewolf in this hotel room,” the sheriff said from outside the doorway.

  “No, someone smeared a bunch of werewolf blood in the carpet of this hotel room.” Ophelia shot the man a wry grin. “I don’t need to be a witch to know that. Look at the edges. And there’s no spray, no other blood besides this spot. Shot, stabbed, or whatever, the victim would have decorated the bed and possibly the walls with droplets and streaks of blood. They would have clutched at the wound, leaving a hand print as they slid to the floor. And they would have left a dragged trail of blood as their body was removed.”

  The sheriff nodded then shot her an embarrassed look. “I don’t get many murder scenes here, you know. Mostly theft. Or people beating up other people, usually because someone stole something. Last time I seen this much blood was when that minotaur gored the ogre in that bar fight. Or butchering day over at Sally Chesterfield’s.”

  “So someone wanted us to think a werewolf was stabbed, or maybe even killed, here,” I mused. “Which means they probably wanted to frame Lucien for the supposed crime.”

  “Well, I have established a bit of a pattern when it comes to fighting with shifters,” Lucien chimed in. “I guess it’s not too far of a stretch to think I might have killed one.”

  “But why?” Bronwyn asked. “Lucien’s only been in town, what? Just over twenty-four hours? It’s not long enough for someone to have a feud going with him.”

  “Besides Clinton Dickskin,” I reminded her. “And maybe whatever other shifter Lucien has been fighting.” I frowned, going through our shifter population in my head. Clinton. Stanley, although he wouldn’t do anything without Clinton’s approval. Then that other guy Lucien had fought tonight… “Wait, the other guy your fought was a shifter? What kind of shifter?”

  Lucien’s expression turned wary. “I’m not sure,” he lied.

  I knew he lied. I could feel it in my very bones. “But you knew he was a shifter, so either you saw him shift, or there’s something about you that allows you to recognize them, or someone identified him for you.” I scowled. “Which was it?”

  He shrugged. “Alberta said he was a shifter. I only knew he was an asshole and deserved my fist in his face.”

  “A panther shifter, I’m guessing?”

  He grinned. “Good guess. You can take the demon out of hell, but you can’t change his nature. I punish. I seek justice. It’s what I do. Kind of hard for me to let that go.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Next time make a citizen’s arrest, or call 911. Lucien, you’ve got to stop getting in fights or you’ll never get out of this town.”

  “I’m thinking of extending my vacation anyway,” he said with a slow smile. “Things here in Accident are far more interesting than I’d ever suspected.”

  “Flirt later,” Bronwyn told him. “We’ve got a possible crime scene here, and a sheriff that could really use our help.”

  The sheriff nodded gratefully. “So as far as people who may have wanted to frame you for something, we’ve got Clinton Dickskin, and there’s only one panther shifter in town. I’ll question them both, because I know better than to send Cassie over to talk to Marcus.”

  “Hey,” I protested. “I just spoke to him this evening and managed to not incinerate anything. Think I can control myself. I can tell you right now that this isn’t Marcus’ style. He’d sue, or key your car or something, but not risk staining his nice clothes by transporting blood and smearing it around on a carpet.”

  “Well it’s not Clinton Dickskin who did this. I’m pretty sure of that,” Ophelia commented drily. “Because this divination came through clear as can be. It’s not just any old werewolf blood on the carpet, it’s Clinton Dickskin’s blood.”

  I caught my breath. That meant someone had either killed or severely wounded Clinton, and knew enough about Lucien’s two run-ins with the werewolf to attempt to frame him for the crime.

  The fight last night outside a crowded Pistol Pete’s. Everyone at the courthouse, at the anger management meeting. Everyone who was at the Red Brick Tavern and saw Lucien’s second fight with the werewolf. Pretty much everyone in town knew the demon and the werewolf had exchanged blows at least once.

  So the question wasn’t who knew enough to frame Lucien, it was who wanted Clinton Dickskin dead. And unfortunately the answer to that question was the same as the first one—pretty much everyone in town.

  Chapter 12

  Lucien

  Bronwyn dropped us off at a house that looked like it had been cobbled together over the centuries, then sped off to take care of some centaur’s lost horseshoe. Or whatever. Cassie stood in front of the door, suddenly nervous.

  “I won’t hurt you, you know,” I told her. “I can’t seem to do much in this town besides beat up werewolves.”

  “If you can beat up a werewolf, you can easily overpower me,” she countered.

  “You’re a witch,” I told her. “You can easily overpower me.”

  “I don’t know if you understand how uncomfortable I am with allowing a man I’ve known less than twelve hours, a demon no less, spend the night in my house—my family house, the one I grew up in.”

  I didn’t understand that. And I was sure she didn’t understand how much power she held in this thing between us. Even if I hadn’t been hampered by the town’s wards, a powerful witch had the ability to banish, to command, and control. Maybe it was just as well she didn’t realize that, because I was looking for a partnership, not servitude. Sometimes a demon got on the wrong side of a contract. Sometimes there was nothing he could do to prevent that from happening.

  Maybe I didn’t quite trust her either.

  “This was your grandmother’s house?”

  Cassie nodded. “Generations of Perkins witches have lived here. I grew up here with my grandmother and my mother. When Grandma died and Mom lit out…well, this is where I stayed with my sisters. It’s where I raised them.”

  That’s when it hit me—for nearly a decade, it had always been just Cassie. She’d been a teenager, and suddenly she was in charge of six younger siblings, the eldest witch in a town. No wonder she had anger issues. No wonder she didn’t want any further responsibility on her shoulders.

  She reached out for the doorknob, that little frown still creasing her brow.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “I promise you that I won’t harm you. As long as I’m in your house, I’ll abide by your rules and do whatever you say. Demons don’t break promises.”

  I shivered a bit at that, knowing that I had just put myself in her hands—at least while I was under this roof. Although if she forbade me to leave the house, I’d really be in trouble.

  Idiot. These are the sorts of fools’ bargains demons agree to when they’re thinking with their libido.

  “You don’t enter my room unless asked.” She blushed a bit at the “asked” part, as if she were thinking of doing just that. “No removing anything from the house—spell books, wands or broomsticks, the good china…”

  What in the hell would I do with good china? Or any china? “Agreed.”

  “And no trashing the place, or smearing werewolf blood on the carpet,” she added with a quick smile.

  “Agreed. You believe I’m innocent of that, right?” I asked.

&nb
sp; She opened the door. “Oh, I believe you’re anything but innocent. But I’m sure that if you’d decided to off Clinton Dickskin, you wouldn’t frame yourself by rubbing blood on the carpet of your own hotel room, then inviting me in for a make-out session.”

  “They’ll probably find him sleeping off a fifth of whisky in a ditch somewhere with an IV in his arm,” I conjectured.

  She flicked on the lights and stepped inside. “It takes more than a fifth of whisky to get a werewolf drunk, especially this close to the full moon.”

  “Nice house.” I stood in the doorway, admiring the décor. Where the outside was clearly a series of additions onto an original small home, the inside was seamlessly spacious. Open but cozy with bright splashes of color on pillowy couches and fleecy throws.

  “So are you demons like vampires or something? Do I need to invite you in?”

  I grinned and stepped across the threshold. “No. Just being polite. You’ll be relieved to know that we demons can come and go pretty much anywhere we like—your houses, your places of worship.”

  “Possess our bodies?” she teased, tossing her car keys on a table.

  “There’s only one body I’m thinking of possessing right now.” I took a step toward her, hesitating when she took one back in response. “But it’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re tired. Where am I sleeping if it’s not in your room?”

  “Uh, you can sleep in Adrienne’s old room. That’s the nice thing about these old houses. They’ve got lots of bedrooms. Not many bathrooms though. I’m…well, I’ve got a bit of research to do before I hit the sack. You can sleep. Or help yourself to anything in the kitchen. There’s not much in the fridge, I’ll warn you. Or television. Or books. But not the spell books. Do demons know how to read spell books?”

  She was rambling, nervous, and I wasn’t sure what to do to get back to that friendly banter we’d had earlier.

  “We can’t cast spells, but we can lend our power to witches as they cast spells. Like what you did with your sister in the hotel room when she did her divination? It’s the same, only more. With my help, your spells will be more powerful.” I eyed the books on the shelf. Most of them were mysteries and romance novels with a few biographies. “What sort of research are you going to do? Demons are also very helpful in information gathering and research. That’s one of the main reasons witches summon us.”

  She tilted her head, relaxing noticeably. “I’ve never known witches to summon demons. How does that work, exactly? Does it piss you guys off when that happens? I’d be furious if I was in the middle of a hot shower and bam, I’m all naked and sudsy in front of twelve witches.”

  I laughed. “I’d pay good money to see that. Yes, sometimes the summoning is inconvenient, but it’s usually welcome. We make a big fuss about it all, threatening stuff and telling the coven we’re not going to help them, but in reality, partnering with a coven on a spell or sharing information with them is a rush. Partnering with a single witch long term? That’s something every demon dreams of. Especially if that partnership carries an emotional and physical bond. But the burning times came close to killing all the witches off. Few remain, and those that do don’t summon demons.”

  “I didn’t summon you.” Her voice was soft, her gaze tentative as she lifted those dark brown eyes to meet mine.

  “No, but I would welcome a partnership with you, Cassandra Nicole Perkins.” It felt like equivalent of a marriage proposal. In a way, I guess it was.

  “Because I’m a witch and there aren’t many of us left?”

  “Because you’re smart, funny, powerful, and beautiful. Because as ancient as I am, I know that the pair of us together would be an amazing thing. Because I can’t think of a better way to spend eternity than by your side.”

  She bit her lip. “I just met you.”

  I held very still, afraid that if I moved toward her, I’d ruin whatever tentative thing there was between us. “For a demon, I’m amazingly patient. Take your time, Cassie. I’ll wait for you to decide.”

  “And if I’m eighty when I finally decide?” That teasing smile curled up the corner of her lips.

  “Then I’ll be partnering with an eighty-year-old witch, and loving every minute of it.”

  She laughed, then pointed up the stairs. “I was going to do research on demons and witches, but I also wanted to find out some history on the werewolves in Accident. Bronwyn mentioned that there’s some unrest—well, more unrest than usual. If there’s going to be another alpha war, then I’d like to see how Grandma handled the last one in the sixties. From her journals.”

  “Well, I can’t help with that, but I can see what you’ve got in your kitchen and make us a late-night snack while you read.”

  Any remaining nervousness vanished at my words. “Good luck with that. I’ll be up in the attic—there’s a ladder through the back bedroom upstairs. Come on up with whatever moldy crackers and expired milk you manage to find.”

  I quickly discovered that she wasn’t kidding about the food. There was a nearly empty container of ice cream that looked as if it had thawed and been refrozen. Canned goods. Some pasta and rice in a cupboard. I wasn’t all that skilled at cooking, but I managed to whip together a decent pasta primavera with canned veggies and the last of the milk. What I did find was a wine rack filled with bottles. Grabbing a red blend and a couple of glasses, I balanced it all in my arms and headed upstairs, managing to not drop anything as I climbed the ladder to the attic.

  Cassie was cross-legged on the floor of the attic, her auburn hair twisted up into a messy bun on top of her head. There was a journal open on her lap, full of cursive writing.

  She glanced up at me with a smile. “Smells good, whatever it is.”

  “Pasta.” I sat the bowl down and handed her a fork before dropping to sit next to her. “Hope you drink your coffee black because I used the last of the milk.”

  “There’s some non-dairy stuff somewhere.” She dug into the pasta while I opened the wine. “Yum. This is pretty good for cobbled-together late-night dinner. These canned peas?”

  “No, I quickly grew some in a garden out back,” I teased. “Of course they’re canned. Don’t you have any fresh fruit or vegetables in this house at all?”

  “I buy them, and by the time I go to eat them they’re rotted. So why bother?” She took the glass of wine I handed her and sipped it. Looking back down at the journal. “This is…well, kind of hard to read. You get a certain idea in your head about your parents and grandparents, then find out they weren’t quite who you thought they were. It’s strange.”

  “So Grandma was a swinger? Snorted coke and had orgies with vampires in the back bedroom while you all were asleep? That sort of thing?”

  She shot me an odd look. “Uh, no. I always thought she was this powerful witch, and here she’s worrying about the werewolves and the violence up on the mountain, worried that she can’t control them or contain it if they start bringing that violence into the town itself. She was struggling just to hold everything together. All by herself. Mom wasn’t at all a powerful witch. I’d always thought she was just a loser who bailed on us when Grandma died because she didn’t want the responsibility, but reading this…I think she was afraid. I think without Grandma here, she was worried she couldn’t manage things on her own.”

  “That’s a lousy excuse for abandoning seven kids,” I told her.

  Cassie shrugged. “You’re right. But it’s still a side of her I never considered.”

  “You’ve got power.” I tapped her wine glass with mine. “I can see it, feel it. You’ve got the strength to safeguard the town, to keep the werewolves in line. Especially with me by your side.”

  She snorted. “And if you decide not to stick around?”

  “First, I’ve already made the offer and I’m not backing out on that. You say the word, and I’m here, with you, for as long as you want. Second, you can absolutely hold your own against those werewolves without my help. It won’t be easy or painless, but you can
do it. Don’t doubt yourself. I didn’t know your grandmother, but if she had anywhere near your power, she wouldn’t have been having issues with the wolves on the mountain.”

  “Not sure I believe you on that one, but we’ll have to agree to disagree.” She flipped a page and pointed down at the swirled writing. “This is what really bothers me. Grandma didn’t like that the werewolves were able to live under pack law and not the laws of our town, but she didn’t feel strong enough to push the issue. The alpha battles…she said in here that some of them weren’t legitimate.”

  “That they were using the excuse of alpha challenges to cover up illegal murders?”

  Cassie nodded. “That what should have just been a fight to first blood was taken too far and a wolf killed more for political reasons than because they wouldn’t yield. That there might have been cases where a death was covered up as you said. This one…the challenger was a twelve-year-old boy. Who the hell accepts a challenge from a twelve-year-old boy? Then excuses his death as justifiable under pack law?”

  I leaned over her shoulder. “Did your grandmother investigate the death?”

  She shook her head, her hair brushing against my cheek. “She tried, but the wolves would only give her the basic information. They claimed pack law. Jurisdiction. It’s bullshit, Lucien. Twelve years old.”

  “And you’re worried that might happen again?”

  She closed the journal and set it aside. “Yeah. Bronwyn’s worried too. I think…I think if I want to keep the peace for the residents here in Accident, that I’m going to have to intervene. Sherriff Oakes is a skilled, dedicated man…or dryad, but there’s only so much he can do. The town needs a witch. And out of all my sisters, I’m the one best suited to do this.”

  There was a note of frustration in her voice. I smoothed a stray lock of her hair to the side, my fingers brushing against her neck. “You’re not alone, you know. This isn’t like when your mother left and you had to raise six of your sisters. You’re not alone.”