Bad Witch: A Snarky Paranormal Detective Story (A Cat McKenzie Novel Book 2)

by Lauren Dawes

  Bad Witch: A Snarky Paranormal Detective Story

  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Dawes

  www.authorlaurendawes.com

  The right of Lauren Dawes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  E-book: 978-1-922353-29-0

  Print: 978-1-922353-30-6

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Deranged Doctor Designs

  Edited by Swish Designs & Editing

  Proofread by Swish Designs & Editing

  To Leila - the best beta reader an author could ask for.

  Thank you.

  One

  Tell me if you’ve heard this one before…

  You come home from therapy, and there’s a vampire at the door.

  No?

  I guess it only happens to me.

  I slowed my steps as I approached my apartment, questions swirling around my head. Alistair de Champ turned when I was about ten feet away, his green eyes glowing in the artificial light of the hallway. At first glance, he looked like any other human would. On closer inspection, though, there was a layer of danger that surrounded him, and right now, my primitive brain was screaming at me to run.

  Run like fucking Forrest.

  I didn’t want a vampire at my front door, and I certainly didn’t want one inside my apartment. Moving closer, he seemed to stop breathing… well, maybe not breathing. He was a vampire, after all, but he did become very, very still.

  Coming to a stop a healthy distance away, I swallowed. “I didn’t take you for a Girl Scout.” I made a show of glancing around at his feet. “No Thin Mints?”

  He flashed me a fang-filled smile that I guessed he thought was comforting, but it only made me want to hide under my bed. As I waited for him to tell me what he was doing there, I let my eyes drift down his body, taking in the expensive charcoal gray suit, the crisp white dress shirt and his blood-red tie.

  Hello, vampire movie cliché!

  Tossing the keys in my hand for a moment, I began walking again. I hadn’t seen him in a little over two weeks, not since my partner, Sawyer, and I went to visit his mistress on the hunt for information about a ticked-off vampire who had it in for me.

  Yup, just another day in the life of Cat McKenzie.

  “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” I asked cautiously.

  His eyes drifted to the brace on my knee outside my jeans. Dammit, I hated to show weakness, especially to a supe.

  “I have a message to deliver.”

  “Ever heard of a phone?”

  He smiled without warmth. “It’s not that kind of message.”

  “Okay, well, I’m here. What’s the message?”

  Alistair stared at me with all the emotion of a hungry shark. “Perhaps I should come in. I doubt you’d want your neighbors to overhear the conversation.” When he saw me hesitate, he added, “I swear no harm will come to you by my hand if that is what’s concerning you.”

  “A lot of things concern me,” I replied curtly. “Teenage pregnancy. Gen Z’s obsession with vanity, selfies, and IG filters. Running out of toilet paper during a zombie apocalypse. Just don’t expect me to offer you a drink.” When I slid the key into the lock, the teeth chattered along the tumbler, echoing like gunshots in my ears…

  Or my death knells.

  Christ, I hoped I was doing the right thing.

  I stepped inside, placing my keys onto the hook on the wall, but Alistair stayed exactly where he was. Staring at me.

  “Are you just going to stand there all night?”

  “I can’t come in until you invite me.”

  I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Seriously? That’s a legitimate rule?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Peering over at the couch, I saw my back-up plan—Reaver—propped up against the arm. It was a perplexing sword that seemed to be rather attached to me, following me around and showing up whenever I really needed it. I’d unwittingly whet with my blood, causing it to become even more attached to me.

  Content that the mysterious angel sword had my back against the big bad vampire, I swept my arm out in an overly exaggerated welcoming gesture. “Then please, won’t you come in.”

  The vampire bobbed his head in thanks, his blond curls voluminous and dancing around his head. I wondered what kind of shampoo he used because his hair was ah-mazing. He held his breath as he stepped over the threshold like he was expecting to spontaneously burst into flames or something. When he didn’t become a fireball, I closed the door behind him.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of you showing up on my doorstep like a stray dog?” I asked, wandering into the kitchen. I pulled open the cutlery drawer and took out a wooden spoon. Shoving it handle-first into my knee brace, I groaned in relief as I scratched the itch that had been bothering me all day long.

  I’d hurt it two weeks ago trying to find out who was making baby vampires. My shoulder—which I’d injured when my truck was hit by a semi, with me in it—had come out of the sling about a week ago. Aside from some stiffness, I was healing well.

  The vampire’s upper lip screwed up in distaste as I jettisoned the cooking utensil on the counter and shuffled toward the fridge.

  “I’m going to pretend you used another simile.”

  I made a waving motion with my hand. “Go right ahead, but know that in here…” I tapped my temple with my index finger, “… I’m imagining you as a cute little teacup pug.”

  He actually growled at me. “My mistress sent me.”

  I paused as I reached for a bottle of water. Roxanne Monroe, mistress of the Buxton Vampire Kiss, was one of those supes who scared my extra pair of big girl pants off of me. “What does she want?”

  Alistair slowly walked around my apartment, stopping to look at some of my ceramic unicorn statues on a shelf next to the TV. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he pointed at a unicorn farting glitter and raised his eyebrows.

  Huffing, I said, “What? Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “Yes, but I thought yours would’ve been guns or something.”

  “I much prefer wooden stakes and holy water.”

  Okay, yeah, that got me a glare. I shrugged. “What are you doing here because it sure as shit isn’t to make fun of my collection.”

  “I didn’t know about your collection,” he replied smugly. “This is just a pleasant bonus.”

  I twisted the cap off my water and took a drink. “I’m sure it was. Look, can we just get down to it? I’ve had a long-ass day, I can’t do kickboxing for another five and half months, and now I have a sulky vampire who showed up unannounced in my apartment.”

  “I’m not sulky.”

  “Petulant? Moody? Brooding? I could keep going.”

  The air seemed to chill then, the source of all that cold-and-unpleasant emanating from the pissed-off vampire across the room. “You’d best remember who you’re talking to, Cat McKenzie.”

  I swallowed another mouthful of water, then mentally chastised myself. I’d just invited a vamp
ire into my apartment and now I was antagonizing him. If that wasn’t at the top of the list of dumb-ass moves, I didn’t know what was. So, biting my tongue, I said, “I apologize. I’m not in a good mood. What is it that you came here to tell me?”

  We had one of those Mexican standoffs then, only I had no hope of winning because as far as I knew, vampires didn’t need to blink. With a resigned sigh, I replaced the cap on my bottle and leaned against the counter.

  Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he produced a black business card on thick card stock and handed it to me. For a moment, I could only stare. I felt like I was on the cusp of falling down a rabbit hole—a rabbit hole filled with razor wire snares and poisonous walls…

  But then I thought I was being paranoid.

  It was just a bit of paper.

  I took it, flipping it over and over, looking for a name or a number, but it appeared to be blank. I wondered what the gag was.

  Alistair cleared his throat and said in an imperious voice, “Roxanne Monroe, Mistress of the Buxton Kiss is hereby in your debt, Catherine Ellen McKenzie.”

  I winced at the use of my full name.

  “As such, you can speak the words ‘Roxanne Monroe’ three times to this card, and your desire for an audience with her will be relayed to the mistress.”

  I stared at the business card some more, then looked at him. “Seriously? Did you guys just rip off the Beetlejuice franchise?” He gave me a puzzled look. “Please tell me you’ve seen that movie?”

  Alistair shook his head. “Human pop culture holds no interest for me.”

  I dropped the card onto the counter, then rocked back on my heels. “So, that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” he replied. “Welcome to the world of temporary-kiss protection.”

  “What happens after I use the card?”

  “Then our association is done. Any goodwill you may have earned will be ended, and we’ll be back to a relationship that only exists because Sawyer is a friend of the vampires.”

  “How did Sawyer become a friend of the vampires?”

  The vampire gave me a smile that reminded me of a snake. “There are some things we don’t discuss with outsiders.”

  “Outsiders?” I asked. “What, because I’m not a supe, I’m an outsider?”

  “Precisely.”

  And with that, he turned on his designer shoes that matched his designer suit and strode to my front door. I glanced down at the card, touching the gilt-edge with my fingernail. It was like having a supernatural ace up the sleeve, and I would either never use it or covet the shit out of it.

  I wondered how much I’d get for it on eBay.

  A high-pitched whine suddenly filled the room, the resonance getting louder and louder with each second. When the glass in the windows began to shudder in their casements, I glanced at Alistair, who had stopped on the other side of the apartment door, his pale face stricken.

  Before I could ask what was happening, the floor beneath my feet buckled, the building rocking from one side to the other. Dust and debris fell onto my head, cracks appeared in the walls, but Alistair was still frozen to the spot. I looked to him, desperate for an explanation. I mean, he’d know, right? He was a centuries-old vampire.

  I was knocked sideways when a boom went through the building. The sound of shattering glass echoed around me in surround sound, and my apartment building groaned like a dying beast. In the hallway, my neighbors began screaming and shouting, all running toward the stairs and down to the ground floor.

  “What the hell?” I yelled over the noise. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  The vampire made a strangled sound, whispered, “Death magic,” then poofed from the hallway.

  I cursed as another shockwave went through the bricks, so strong that it knocked the air from my lungs. Looking down at my necklace, I found the opal my father had given me glowing brightly. The last time it had put on this kind of light show was back at Slayke when Sawyer and I had been bespelled, and we did things to each other no professional partners should.

  Was that what was happening now? Was this magic?

  The floor shuddered beneath my feet, a steady rhythm reminding me of an oncoming train. Some of my unicorn statues jumped off their shelves and smashed on the floor. Pictures swung violently on their hooks before finally being spewed off the wall too. I threw my hands over my ears when a high-pitched scream threatened to perforate my eardrums.

  When the sound finally ebbed, my fingers came back sticky and wet with blood. Pocketing the card from Roxanne, I walked carefully to the door, leaving streaks of blood on the jamb as I peered into the hall. Outside, the walls were shaking like a nervous dog at the vet. The screams of the building’s residents fleeing down the stairs surrounded me as I joined the frantic stream of people.

  Jumping off on the floor below mine, I made my way to Sharyn Wyatt’s apartment. The witch had helped with my last case, so if this was magic, she’d have to know something.

  I walked as fast as my bum-knee would carry me, shuffling down the hall like a shambolic zombie in search of brains. Brains. Braaaiiinnnsss.

  “Good Lord, what is that smell?” I covered my nose when the scent of sulfur became so thick it was almost visible. Then I was pulling at the collar of my sweater in an attempt to cool off. I looked up. Around.

  Was there a fire on one of the other floors? I didn’t smell any smoke…

  Annnd then I saw a fireball shoot out of Sharyn Wyatt’s open apartment door.

  Two

  Another ball of flames came zooming out. It smashed into the hallway behind me, and I watched in horror as all the paint in a two-foot radius bubbled and peeled away.

  What the fuck was that? Hellfire?

  There was a squeak behind me, and I spun to see a young mother clutching a sleeping baby to her heaving chest. Her eyes darted from side to side, taking in the destruction.

  “Run,” I hissed. “Go!”

  She bolted past me, stumbling and tripping when the floor buckled again. The shuddering made the marrow in my bones quiver and my teeth clack together. The woman fell to her knees with a curse, and I ran to her aid. With my hand under her arm, I managed to get the woman back on her feet and helped her into the stairwell, telling her to get her and the baby out of the building while she still could.

  “Thank you,” she gasped before disappearing down the stairs that were quickly filling with smoke.

  I clutched at the shuddering walls, my bones rattling with each and every shimmy and shake of the Sheetrock. Making my way back to Sharyn’s apartment, I cursed when I reached down for my sidearm and realized I didn’t have it because I was an idiot, forgetting to pick it up on my mad dash out of my apartment. Reaver was mysteriously absent too.

  Man, that sword and I were going to have a chat later.

  With my back against the wall, I peered around the jamb, scanning the space efficiently before pulling back. There was one woman crouched down in the center of the living room, but it wasn’t Sharyn. I took another look, sucking in a hiss when the scent of freshly spilled blood registered with my olfactory senses.

  Maybe registered wasn’t the right word.

  It was more like they were drowning in a big vat of the stuff.

  The woman began chanting, her words soft at first before the volume increased to a fever pitch. Magic rushed over me, and I shuddered as the sensation of a thousand spiders scrambled all over my skin. Against my chest, the opal began to pulse with heat.

  I scratched at my arm and looked around for something I could use as a weapon. I spotted a wooden spoon that had been discarded by one of the building’s residents in their mad dash to escape and snatched it up. It was insanity to run into that room with nothing but a wooden spoon, but as an officer of Buxton PD, it was my responsibility to go where nobody else wanted to go.

  Like a spaceman…

  A supernatural spaceman…

  With a cooking utensil.

  As if I needed the cosmic push, and a remi
nder that now was not the time to be thinking about my foray into space exploration, the opal around my neck kicked up its heat to nuclear.

  “Right, let’s do this.”

  I lurched into the room.

  Then abruptly came to a stop.

  Bile bit the back of my throat, my stomach sending the evac order as my brain tried to process what I was seeing, which was nothing but varying shades of red and chunks of things that should’ve been on the inside of a body.

  Sharyn Flynn was prostrate, her mouth slack, her eyes clouded over in death. The other woman was crouched over the witch’s body, her head bent as she worked a dagger into Sharyn’s exposed stomach and chest. The woman was muttering something unintelligible while she worked. When the last word dripped from her lips, the wave of magic that hit me was like a sledgehammer, making my legs weak and my injured knee throb with my heartbeat.

  Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I tried to breathe through my mouth, but the tang of blood lingered on the back of my tongue. When I reopened my eyes, I tightened my jaw and focused on what I needed to do.

  Brandishing my not-so-lethal weapon, I cleared my throat “Buxton PD. Stop what you’re doing.”

  Of course, my words would’ve had more impact if I wasn’t holding a fucking spoon in front of me like it was a sword, but I was nothing if not resourceful. The woman turned to look at me through the curtain of her red hair, her muddy brown eyes small and spaced too closely together. Baring her white teeth at me, she hissed and stood. I had to crane my neck back as she did, judging her height to be somewhere at nearly the six-foot mark.

  Man, I hated it when the bad guy was taller than me.

  “Step away from the witch,” I said, my voice holding steady despite the waver I felt in my throat. “And drop the weapon.”

  The woman did as I asked, moving away from Sharyn and dropping the knife. It clattered dully to the filthy, blood-and-gore-covered carpet. That was when I noticed the symbols that had been carved into Sharyn’s body, each one of them flowing like water from one to another to another. There wasn’t a single straightway or angle, the formation of those characters organic. I didn’t recognize any of the markings, though—had never seen them before—but even looking at them, I knew they were magic, and it made my skin crawl.