Kitchen Witch Wars and
the Chef Who Nailed It
By
Heather Pherris
Copyright © 2020 Bombshell Bliss
ALL RIGHT RESERVED, Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
This story is a work of fiction. Any names, people, places, or circumstances are merely a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Cover Design: www.stunningbookcovers.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
MESSAGE TO READERS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
THANKS FOR READING
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY BOMBSHELL BLISS
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Chapter 1
The morning Christelle Seabright found herself back in her old TV studio dressing room, she stared into the mirror with an affable daze. Just a day earlier, she had assumed she was out of a job. Of course, she had signed a contract. But even so, a contestant had been murdered on The Kitchen Witch Wars set. Despite TV Executive Daegal Barkridge’s assurances that the show would go on, Christelle had assumed show cancellation was inevitable. She quickly discovered that binding contracts in the paranormal world were magically and unbreakably bound. It was said that only through death or natural disaster could one be broken, and it seemed this was an iron-clad truth. As Christelle was very much alive, The Kitchen Witch Wars - and her position as host – remained. It was all very surreal. Daegal had already drafted a press released explaining what had happened, and why it was necessary to continue filming The Kitchen Witch Wars and crown a winner.
The press lapped it up, though the police were not impressed. They made Daegal promise to keep the set closed to visitors and hire professional bodyguards to take care of the contestants and the judges.
The public too were keenly following the story. Christelle had been launched headfirst into the limelight from a complete unknown. She still didn’t know if she liked it, but it sure seemed to beat her former life as an overworked, underappreciated caterer. The fame was fun for the most part, but Christelle learned that among her fans there were some weirdos who took things too far. Marriage proposals poured in thick and fast from people whom she had never met, and every day she was met with packages and letters. Most were normal – quite sweet, in fact – but some were distinctly odd.
Like the one she was staring at now.
Sitting at the dressing room table in front of the large, bulb-lined mirror, Christelle peered back into a box and shook her head.
“Why would someone send me that, Sol?” she asked.
The parrot on her shoulder, her witch’s familiar, also peered down into the box.
“No idea! No idea!” he chimed, before nuzzling Christelle’s ear.
Christelle had to agree with him -no idea whatsoever. She shut the box and placed it in the table drawer along with her grandmother’s recipe book (which, of course, was actually a spell book) and tried to forget about it. She had other things to think about. Filming started today for episode two of The Kitchen Witch Wars, and the contestants would be on edge. Not only had one of their lot been killed the last time they tried to film, but there was $100,000 and a trophy up at stake. Naturally, it was going to be a tense return to the set.
A knock at the door snapped Christelle back to the present. Thoughts of Isobel’s gruesome murder, which had been carried out not that long ago just down the hall, dissolved.
“Come in,” she said.
“Come in! Come in!” parroted Sol.
The door opened and a familiar face stepped inside. It was Wade, one of the studio runners. He was assigned to take care of Christelle, post-murder. He only wanted to know if she needed anything.
Wade was a young man, barely out of college, but he was sweet and polite, and eager to learn as much as he could. His long curly hair was tied back in a ponytail, making him look even younger than he was. His attempt at a beard was misguided, leaving his jawline covered in a patchy down. Christelle certainly wasn’t going to burst his boyish bubble; there was no point in cruelty. Anyway, he would be old soon enough, she supposed. Or would he? Christelle still hadn’t worked out what kind of paranormal being the young man was.
Not a ghost. Not a vampire. Not an elf or a pixie. A witch? Possibly, but he never seemed interested in any of the magic or spells that Christelle tinkered within her dressing room. In fact, if Christelle didn’t know any better, she might be tempted to say that he was just a normal human being. If that was the case though, then what was he doing here?
It was a mystery Christelle was keen to solve. But now was not the time. Wade was busy and Christelle was wrapped up in thinking about the events of the last filming. She could hardly keep her mind on anything else.
“I’m fine, thanks Wade,” said Christelle, forcing a smile across her face. “How long until filming starts?”
Wade glanced at his watch.
“About twenty minutes,” he said. “I’ll come and get you when it’s time, obviously.”
“Right, thanks.”
Wade left hastily and Christelle rose to stretch her legs. She had just enough time to whip up a little treat. Thanks to her newfound magical knowledge and her Granny Meadow’s cookbook of shadows, that meant a muffin filled with confidence and focus. Just what she needed. She had no time earlier for breakfast and she desperately needed sustenance so that she could concentrate.
Chapter 2
The commotion of the last episode had subsided enough for Christelle to speak to Daegal. She asked for a miniature kitchen to be installed in her dressing room. Since she had been the one to solve the mystery - and quickly - she knew the grateful executive couldn’t say no. As she expected, he filled her request in record time.
Christelle’s dressing room was now complete with a small oven and stovetop, bench, and hob, and plentiful cupboards filled with ingredients. She happily set about making her muffins. It wouldn’t take much; make a normal breakfast muffin and then the simple addition of a sprinkling of basil (for focus) and lemon balm (for confidence and stress relief). She knew it would taste great as the smell wafted up from inside the oven, as the flour warmed and rose.
“Ah, Meadow Seabright’s famous ‘Knuckle Down Muffins,’” Mrs. Mogridge piped in from seemingly out of nowhere. She had a habit of appearing seemingly out of thin air. She was no witch. She couldn’t teleport, but she was stealthy and wily, and Christelle had grown to love her deeply. The pair had forged a deep trust, and Christelle found that she relied greatly on the old woman who had once taken care of her own grandmother, and who was now imparting plenty of witchy wisdom to Christelle.
“Is that what they’re called?” asked Christelle. By now she was used to being surprised by Mrs. Mogridge, and barely flinched at her sudden appearance. Christelle mused that a little warning would be nice occasionally, but it was a matter of little
concern which she didn’t bother to verbalize.
“It certainly is. Check the book.”
Christelle frowned at the suggestion. She had checked the book already, of course. She had used the book to make the recipe. To humor the old woman, she opened it up once again. There, at the top of the page for the muffin recipe, she spotted the name: Knuckle Down Muffins. But Christelle was sure it hadn’t been there just moments before. It had read simply ‘muffins,’ or perhaps ‘muffin recipe.’ Nothing more than that.
Mrs. Mogridge smiled.
“That’s a book of shadows, it’s not like other books. When you were a normal human being - if you’ll excuse the expression because of course there is no such thing - then the recipes looked normal too.”
Her smile widened and took on an air of amusement, as she continued.
“Haven’t you noticed that now, when you look inside, the ingredient lists call for a lot more herbs? And maybe even some crystals to be used in the cooking, although not the eating, of course?”
Christelle had in fact thought about this. She guessed she was looking at different parts of the book now, even though she could have sworn she had read it from cover to cover.
“I suppose...”
“It’s true. The book will change to suit your needs now that you have acknowledged your magic. That’s what they do. It’s why you’re the only one who can really use it, and why you need to keep it safe.”
Christelle closed the book and hugged it to her chest.
“Keep it safe? From who?”
Mrs. Mogridge shrugged.
“From whomever might like it for themselves. For whomever has a vested interest in what’s inside. So, keep it safe.”
“It usually just sits in a drawer in this room when I’m filming,” said Christelle.
Suddenly, she was keenly aware that this might not be such a great idea. But where else could she keep it?
Holding the book out to Mrs. Mogridge, Christelle asked:
“Would you look after it for me? I don’t want to leave it in here if it’s something other people might want. I hadn’t even considered that before. But I can see why it might be of interest. So, would you? Keep it with you, I mean?”
Mrs. Mogridge shook her head.
“I can’t, my love,” she said. “You never know when you might need it, and it needs to stay close to you. As for being of interest to someone else, it’s much more than that. It’s worth money, and that is always going to make it something to covet.”
“You’re really worrying me now,” said Christelle.
The oven timer pinged, and Christelle instinctively placed the book to her side. She grabbed a pair of oven mitts and readied to take the muffins out before they started to burn.
“I’m confused as to what I’m meant to do next.”
She waved her hands over the steaming cakes, trying to cool them quickly. They smelled heavenly, and just the scent of them made her feel a little more in tune with the day. She was starting to think more clearly.
“Wait a minute, something’s coming to me. What about this idea...a locking spell? Is there such a thing?”
Mrs. Mogridge smiled.
“You mean a spell that would keep the drawer locked? The kind of spell that only you could break?”
Christelle took a big bite of a muffin.
“Ow! Hot, hot, hot!” she said, waving her hand in front of her mouth.
Smoke poured out.
“Whoo! But they do taste great! Even if I did just burn the roof of my mouth... and my tongue!”
“Patience is a virtue, as you should know by now,” said Mrs. Mogridge. “It’s a good thing you’re not one of the judges – you wouldn’t be able to take any of the food put in front of you today!”
“Very true,” agreed Christelle. “But since I’m not actually allowed to take any of it anyway, I may as well enjoy the muffins. But back to this spell that can lock the drawer. I don’t suppose...”
Mrs. Mogridge nodded before Christelle could complete her thought.
“I can’t cast it, as you know, and anyway that’s your job if you want to keep your book safe. But I can tell you how to do it. Listen carefully.”
The old woman imparted yet more wisdom to Christelle, who felt simultaneously pleased to be learning something new and ignorant, as she felt she should know all this stuff already. Mrs. Mogridge could clearly sense the impasse.
“Now, not to worry dead,” she said, to comfort Christelle. “Most witches have a head start on you; they began learning the moment they’re born. By the time they are adults, it’s all instinct. You’ve just got some catching up to do, that’s all.”
Christelle sighed.
It was true, but still... she couldn’t help but feel just as out of place in the paranormal world as in the mortal world. When she had returned to the mortal world for a few days between filming, everything about her previous, mortal existence felt flat and dull. The colors weren’t as bright, and the people weren’t as interesting. Yet back in the paranormal world, though everything was so much more vibrant and exciting, it was almost too much. Was there nothing in between?
“Right,” Mrs. Mogridge said, interrupting Christelle’s wandering thoughts. “Pop the book into the drawer if you’re done with it, and try your hand at the spell I just taught you.”
Christelle did as she was told, finishing the now much cooler muffin as she did so. Crumbs tumbled into the drawer along with the book, but Christelle left them there. What harm could they do? She closed the drawer and closed her eyes. She then spoke the incantation that she had just learned. The words were strange, a mix of Latin and old English, but they felt natural on her tongue, despite being so foreign.
Mrs. Mogridge stepped forward.
“Right, let’s check that this has worked.”
She tugged at the drawer handle, but it did not budge. She continued to pull, tugging, and then yanking, as hard as she could. She kept at it until she was red in the face and breathless.
“Now you,” she panted.
Chapter 3
Christelle did as she was told, and the drawer slid open without any resistance. Quickly and smoothly, Christelle opened and once again shut, the drawer that would now safeguard Granny Meadow’s book of shadows.
“Perfect,” said Mrs. Mogridge. “Well done.”
Christelle was proud. She knew she still had a lot to learn, but in that moment, she finally felt as though she might get there. True, she was starting later than most other witches, but earlier than some. Anyway, everyone learned in their own time, didn’t they?
“Thanks,” said Christelle, giving Mrs. Mogridge a quick hug. “That’s one problem sorted. Now for the next; is there any news on where Orchid went? How she could have disappeared like she did?”
Orchid was Christelle’s best friend. A few weeks prior, everything had been normal. But then, disaster had struck, and Orchid’s life had been turned just as upside down as Christelle’s. Orchid had murdered her employer, a certain Mrs. Adonia Crowe, who had been at least partly responsible for imagining and producing The Kitchen Witch Wars. Orchid had admitted to the murder, no thanks to a spell that Christelle herself had conjured up. Orchid found herself on the run for murder at nearly the same time her best friend had discovered she was a kitchen witch.
Luckily for both young women, Mrs. Mogridge had discovered that the murder was not Orchid’s fault at all; that she was under a powerful spell that had caused her to commit someone else’s murderous crime. Orchid had come to the studio, where Christelle agreed to hide her until they could sort out the details and vindicate Orchid’s name. Then, just as suddenly as it had all occurred, Orchid literally vanished from the windowless bathroom and was since, nowhere to be found.
“I’m afraid there’s not a word about her,” said Mrs. Mogridge. “She seems to have disappeared into thin air completely.”
Christelle shook her head in despair.
“Just a couple of months ago I would have said t
hat was impossible, but now... now I know it’s not and she could be anywhere. If the person who put her under that spell is around, if they found her, if they are going to make her do something else... I’m worried about Orchid, Mrs. Mogridge.”
“As are we all,” said the old woman. “And I will keep searching as best I can. But you need to get ready. Daegal called a meeting and if you keep moving this slow, you’ll be late, and that’s not a good way to start the day, is it?”
That was true. Daegal had called a meeting and Christelle had forgotten all about it.
“Thanks for the reminder!”
She quickly brushed her hair and again, checked her face in the mirror. She looked tired, though that was no surprise. The last 48 hours were a blurred iteration of murder, confession, murder, confession. Christelle had been through so much. One of the murders was nearly committed right in front of her, after all. She was the one to discover chopped corpse in the fire extinguisher cupboard, and then it was she who uncovered out that the murderer had been in front of her the whole time.
Most regular human beings, mortals, would have ran the other way quite long ago, but for Christelle the newfound kitchen witch, ‘normal’ was a relative term. Then there was that contract to consider. The binding agreement still worried Christelle. She decided that she would read it again, properly this time, instead of skimming like she had before. That would lay her mind to rest, or it would at least give her a little more information.
“Right, let’s get to this meeting,” she said.
“Me! Me! Don’t forget me!”
It was Sol, the parrot.
“Well, Sol, don’t jump off to go and stare at your pretty face in the mirror so often and you won’t run the risk of being left behind, will you?” said Christelle laughing.
At least Granny Meadow’s parrot was still able to bring a smile to her face.
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