WITCH
by Kirsten Weiss
Books by Kirsten Weiss
Follow the links below for more information on each title and purchase links for all vendors.
Featured Book!
Spirit on Fire
What happened to Karin last summer?
A Doyle Witch In-Between by Kirsten Weiss, writing as Karin Bonheim.
What happens when a fictional witch authors a romance about a shaman and a fire demon? All hell breaks loose.
The Witches of Doyle Series
Bound (Book 1) | Ground (Book 2) | Down (Book 3) | Witch (Book 4) | Spirit on Fire | Shaman’s Bane | Lone Wolf | Tales of the Rose Rabbit
Doyle Cozy Mystery Novels
At Wits’ End | Planet of the Grapes
Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Series
The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum | Pressed to Death | Deja Moo
The Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery Novels
The Metaphysical Detective | The Alchemical Detective | The Shamanic Detective | The Infernal Detective | The Elemental Detective | The Hoodoo Detective | The Hermetic Detective
The Mannequin Offensive
The Pie Town Cozy Mystery Series
The Quiche and the Dead | Bleeding Tarts
Sensibility Grey Steampunk Suspense
Steam and Sensibility | Of Mice and Mechanicals | A Midsummer Night’s Mechanical
CHAPTER ONE
“Everything’s perfect.”
And with those two words, I blew my life apart.
Not right away. Dark magic doesn’t work that fast. It’s a slow, inexorable grind that uses you against yourself. But I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t even know what I’d done.
“You have a great day too.” I handed the latte over the counter to a tourist.
The rich scent of coffee filled the air. A low hum of conversation flowed through my coffeeshop, Ground. People leaned toward each other, their auras glittering in arcs of gold and green and blue. Morning autumnal light slanted through the red-paned front windows, setting the wood floors aglow.
I beamed, oblivious, at the room.
But why wouldn’t I be happy? After a fire had gutted my café, I was back in business. Life was back to normal. Better than normal. My magic was sizzling.
A chill shivered my skin, and I drew in my shoulders.
The bell jangled over the front door. I shook myself. Chills. Premonitions. Hogwash! Life really was per—
A hand grasped my wrist and yanked me through the kitchen curtains.
“Ack!” Laughing, I tumbled against Brayden's broad chest. “It’s a good thing this cup’s got a plastic lid, buddy.”
“Jayce.” In his blue EMT uniform, he drew me in for a kiss. And even though we'd been doing this sort of thing a lot, my body still heated, my heart still pounded, my knees still weakened. We’d waited a long time to be together, but the wait had been totally worth it.
I gasped, coming up for air. “And just what do you think you're doing?”
His face was tanned from weekends outdoors. I ran my thumb along the fine lines near his eyes. Brayden was a generation older than me, and I loved every one of the years those lines represented.
The corners of his mouth tilted upward. “Isn't that obvious?” Brayden’s eyes, the color of cool moss in a verdant wood, glittered.
“I meant, dragging me from the counter.” Mock annoyed, I gestured with my cup toward the blue-and-white curtain hanging between the coffee shop and the kitchen. But I couldn't be annoyed with Brayden. The deep, certain love I felt for him was like sinking into a warm bath.
“You're the boss,” he said. “You shouldn't be making out in front of Ground's staff.”
“Is that what we're doing?” Resting my wrists on his shoulders, I ran my fingers along the back of his neck, toyed with his locks of unruly black hair.
He grinned. “We need to get in all the make-out sessions we can before Terry arrives for early Thanksgiving.”
I bit my bottom lip. Uh, oh. “You told me she's okay about us.” Terry was Brayden's ex-mother in law, ex because her daughter had been murdered in my coffee shop last year. I'd had nothing to do with her death. But between that and dating her daughter's widower, things could only be awkward. I didn't want to cause her more pain.
“She is.” He angled his head. “But there's okay, and then there's okay.”
I swallowed. I couldn’t imagine losing a child, even an adult child. It had been bad enough almost losing a sister. My throat tightened at the memory.
I scented burning plastic and stiffened in his muscular arms. “Do you smell something burning?”
He sniffed. “No.”
“The new porch light—”
“Is fine. I tested it again this morning.” But he walked out the rear, metal door to the alley. His footsteps thundered up the exterior stairs, and the alley door swung slowly shut behind him.
Yesterday, Brayden had spent three hours installing an automatic light above my upstairs door and nearly gotten electrocuted in the process. I shivered and rubbed my arms.
After a few minutes, he returned. “Your new light is working perfectly,” he said.
I sniffed again. The acrid smell was gone. “Thanks, babe. You’re the best. I guess I’m a little paranoid about fire.”
“With reason.” He sobered. “How’s your sister doing?”
“Karin?” I looked down. A button on his uniform was coming loose. “She… seems okay.”
“But?”
I met his gaze. “There’s okay, and then there’s okay.”
His jaw set. “Damn this place.”
But it wasn’t this place that had damaged my sister. The tightness in my throat spread to my chest. Karin was going to be all right. Lenore and I would make sure of it.
“I'd better head out.” He kissed me lightly. “Does your truck need gas?”
“Nope.” Brayden was always on my case about letting my gas tank get below a quarter. It was a delightfully quirky obsession.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to fill up the tank?”
I gave him a look, and he grinned. “I almost forgot.” He reached into the pocket of his EMT's jacket and pulled out a small, black box wrapped in shiny brown ribbon.
“What's this?” I loosened the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, atop a layer of black velvet, lay an amethyst crystal ball. I gasped. “It's gorgeous.” Lightly, I ran my fingers across its smooth surface, and it seemed to vibrate beneath my skin. “It likes me.”
“It made me think of you.”
“It's perfect. Thank you.” And that was one of the many things I loved about Brayden. He wasn’t magically inclined, but he got that magic was a part of my life.
Another quick kiss, and he took the cup from my hand and strode through the small, modern kitchen and out the back door.
Returning to the counter, I rested my palms on its cool granite.
The tables were packed this Monday morning. Miniature gourds lined every spare space on the shelves. The chalkboard behind the counter was decorated with post-Halloween pumpkins.
The scent of burnt wood and plastic coiled through the café. I straightened, hurrying through the curtains into the kitchen. But no smoke drifted down the stairs from my apartment. No flames licked from the electrical outlets. No pot sat burning on the narrow industrial oven.
I sniffed.
Coffee.
The burnt odor was gone.
Had I imagined it?
A wave of heat dizzied me, and my new kitchen vanished.
I stood ankle deep in blackened wood and ash. Burnt insulation hung from the ceiling. The wall between the kitchen and coffee shop was gone. I could see through
to the smoke-darkened brick, the ruined bar, the tables turned to kindling. The stench choked me. I gagged, staggering sideways and grasping the blackened sink.
And then I was in my real kitchen again, and all I could smell was coffee and the faint scent of pumpkin spice.
I swayed, grabbing the metal sink for balance. Sweat burned my eyes. Breathing hard, I brushed it away then blotted my face with a damp towel.
“Damn.” You don't get to be a thirty-year-old witch without learning a thing or three. The vision had been an omen, a message from beyond, a warning.
Shaken, I smoothed my hair, pulled into a ponytail, and returned to the café.
My sister Karin bumped through the red front door, baby strapped to her chest. Her writer’s laptop stuck out at an angle from the carriage. She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear and maneuvered the carriage through the tables.
“Are you all right?” my assistant manager, Darla, asked me, her round face worried. She wore the Ground uniform apron and tee as well. Her blond hair was tied in a strict knot, high on her head.
“Of course,” I said automatically. “Everything’s great! Why wouldn’t it be?” A belated warning note sounded in my brain.
Some witches believe if you put positive expectations into the universe, they'll return fulfilled. But I’d recently been freed from a century's-old curse. I needed to be more careful of other, smaller-minder beings that didn’t have my best interests at heart.
It was surprising and depressing how many of those are out there.
But I wasn’t worried. Not really. My sisters and I were officially curse free. So free, that Karin dared to bring her baby girl into Doyle, something she'd once sworn she'd never do. I had nothing to worry about.
Right?
Karin wheeled up to my counter. The carriage bumped against the “new” reclaimed wood, and I grimaced at the blow.
Motherhood had softened my sister’s athletic body. Her hair hung about her shoulders in a sexy tangle which I knew had nothing to do with art and everything to do with forgetting to brush. It was adorable.
“Don't worry,” she said. “I didn't scratch it.” Karin and I were two-thirds of a set of triplets. She claimed we knew what the other was thinking out of habit. We knew each other so well, we could predict where each other’s thoughts would run. I suspected there was something more to our silent communications.
“It's fine.” I reached across the counter and brushed my palm across my niece's downy head. “Hi, Emmie,” I cooed.
The baby kicked, her head resting against Karin's breasts, and didn't open her eyes. Her tiny hands fisted, and my heart squeezed. I was in no hurry to have kids of my own, but I loved being an aunty.
Darla slid a white mug across the counter to my sister. “Your usual, Karin? Mochaccino?”
“You're a lifesaver. Thanks.” Karin swiveled and glanced toward her favorite window seat. Her hazel eyes narrowed with annoyance.
A tanned woman in her mid-thirties sat at Karin’s usual table and pecked at a laptop. A braid cascaded down her slim back. She wore form-fitting khaki pants, and the sleeves of her white blouse were rolled to her elbows. It was a simple shirt, but the fabric somehow managed to shriek, expensive!
“I suppose it would be unethical to send a repulsion spell her way,” Karin muttered.
“What?” Darla asked.
The muscles in my shoulders tensed. Since having the baby, Karin’s hormones hadn’t quite swung back to their normal equilibrium. And she really loved that window spot.
Karin smiled. “Hm? Nothing. I'll find a chair…”
A pair of hipsters rose from a table jammed against the brick wall.
“…there.” Karin wheeled her computer to the table and claimed a seat.
I blew out my breath. What had I been worried about? My sister totally wasn't the type to blast a stray customer with a curse. She was way too uptight.
A flurry of customers strolled into the café. Darla and I worked through the line, my gaze darting to my sister.
When the counter finally emptied, Karin was still typing. Emmie had been transferred to the baby carriage. Karin pushed it back and forth with one foot while she worked on her latest paranormal romance. Since she'd married Nick Heathcoat, she'd cut back on her legal practice, but she'd managed to keep writing. Writing had always been her first love.
I made another mochaccino, manipulating the foam into a heart shape, and took the cup to her table. “Because you’re friends and family, you get a free refill.” I slid myself onto the empty chair.
She looked up. “Hey. Thanks. You’re awesome.”
“Damn skippy.” I picked up Emmie and braced her against my chest. She smelled of baby powder and vanilla.
My niece grabbed a fistful of my hair and jammed it into her mouth.
“Ow.” I laughed, disentangling myself, and brushed the back of my finger against her achingly soft cheek. Emmie grasped my finger, and that went into her mouth as well.
Karin leaned back in her chair and watched us.
“I'm glad you brought her,” I said.
My sister’s expression turned smooth as a summer lake. “She's safe with the both of us watching her.”
My gaze flicked toward the ceiling. Not this again. “Karin, Doyle is perfectly safe whether we’re here or not.”
“Never mind.” Karin’s lips pressed together.
I sighed and looked out the front window.
On the opposite sidewalk stood a tourist couple, dressed in odd, vintage clothing. The woman wore an emerald green, nineteen-forties style suit Rita Hayworth would have envied. The man was dressed in a Victorian brown-checked jacket, waistcoat, and trousers. Two battered suitcases sat on either side of the couple.
For a moment I wondered if I’d gained our sister Lenore’s talent for seeing ghosts. But these two looked solid enough, even if it was weird they weren’t wearing coats in this weather. And what was with the old clothes?
Karin closed her laptop. “There's no point arguing.” Her gaze traveled across the café. “Prosperity spell?”
I dragged my attention back to my sister. Guilty!
I laughed. “You say spell like it's a bad thing.” I glanced out the front window. The strange couple had vanished, and I frowned.
“We need to be careful,” she said.
“You're one to talk.”
Her face tightened.
Okay, that might have been a little harsh. Careful not to look at my sister, I smiled at Emmie. Even the drool on her cheek was charming. Not that I'm biased or anything. I blotted it with a paper napkin.
Darla hobbled to the table carrying a cardboard container of coffee. “Jayce?” she asked, her voice strained.
“What's wrong?”
“I twisted my ankle—”
Alarmed, I half rose from my chair. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’ll sit on a stool behind the register and put some ice on it.”
I slowly sat back down. “What happened?”
“There was some water on the kitchen floor—”
“How’d that get there?” Karin asked sharply.
“Mathilda said she’d spilled some and didn’t have time to clean up—”
“Seriously?” Karin asked.
“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, but…” Darla’s round face scrunched with more than pain. “It was bad luck.”
“No one’s lucky all the time,” I said. Darla had lived an unlucky life until recently. Now the pendulum was swinging in the other direction. She’d even won a lottery. But she was terrified her bad luck would return.
“We're supposed to deliver this to Mr. Mansfield.” Darla lifted the cardboard carrier higher. “But I sent Mathilda to get more soy milk — I don't know what happened with the soy order. And now—”
“I'll take it,” I said, relieved by the interruption. Belatedly, I pulled my phone from my apron pocket. It was ten-thirty A.M., wh
en things generally slowed down before the lunch rush picked up again. I rose. “And you take it easy. If the swelling isn’t down by the time I get back, you’re going to the doctor. Sorry, Karin. Maybe—”
“Why don't we come with you?” She slid the laptop into the carriage and took Emmie from my arms. Expertly, she strapped the baby into her carrier. “I could use the exercise.”
Karin waited while I went to the kitchen, exchanging my apron for a faux-fur vest.
I followed my sister outside, into the cool autumn air. Our old-fashioned Main Street had gone full-on harvest festival. Pumpkins and twinkle lights and autumn leaves adorned its Gold Rush-era storefronts. I'd even succumbed, offering pumpkin-flavored coffees and a pumpkin-coffee scrub. The latter was selling faster than I could restock it.
Okay, yeah, the prosperity spell might have had something to do with the sales. But it's not like I was forcing people to buy things they didn't want.
Karin levered the carriage down a set of wooden sidewalk steps. “How's Darla doing?”
“There's nothing wrong with Darla's luck,” I said, defensive.
“Now who's paranoid? I didn't mean anything by the question.”
“I never said you were paranoid.” At least not out loud. Or at least not out loud to Karin.
I folded my arms over my sleek ruby sweater and wished our sister Lenore was here. She'd know how to smooth our ruffled feathers.
“And Brayden?” she asked. “Do you think he's going to pop the question?”
“I'm in no hurry. We're having fun.” Though lately we’d been in a rut. Too many Friday nights at Antoine’s bar, not enough spontaneity. “He did install an automatic light over my upstairs door yesterday.” I rolled my eyes and laughed. “We’re domesticating.”
“Lucky girl. Nick installed one of those pull-out garbage bins on a track under the kitchen sink last month. It’s changed my life.”
“You do you.” The sad thing was Karin wasn’t being sarcastic. “But I would rather spend my time and money on fun.”
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