Authors: robyn peterman
Tags: #Werewolves, #Fantasy Romance, #Paranormal Romance, #Witches
Table of Contents
Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.
Copyright 2014 Robyn Peterman
Rebecca Poole of dreams2media
Thank you to so many. Writing may be solitary, but it takes a hell of a lot of people to help finalize the finished product!
Donna McDonald, I would be toast without you. You are my friend, Mystery Science Theatre partner and so much more. Thank you. Rebecca Poole you are a cover guru and I don't want to do a book without you! Mary Yakovets, your editing rocks! My beta readers, Melissa, Jennifer, Christi, Kellie, Amanda and Wanda, you are the BOMB! My Pimpettes are my backbone and I am humbled by your support. My family makes everything worth it and I adore you!
And my readers...I would be nothing without you.
For Dakota. You are my sister from another mister.
Finding you was one of the loveliest things about this business called writing.
"If you say or do anything that keeps my ass in the magic pokey, I will zap you bald and give you a cold sore that makes you look like you were born with three lips."
I tried to snatch the scissors from my cell mate's hand, but I might as well have been trying to catch a greased cat.
"Look at my hair," she hissed, holding up her bangs. "They're touching my nose—my fucking
Zelda. I can't be seen like this when I get out. I swear I'll just do it a little."
"Sandy…" I started.
"It's Sassy," she hissed.
I backed up in case she felt the need to punctuate her correction with a left hook. You can pick your friends, your nose and your bust size, but you can't pick your cell mate in the big house.
"Right. Sorry. Sassy, you have never done anything just a little. What happened the last time you cut your own bangs? Your rap sheet indicates bang cutting is somewhat unhealthy for you."
She winced and mumbled her shame into her collarbone. "That was years ago. Nobody died and that town was a dump to start with."
"Fine." I shrugged. "Cut your bangs. What do I care if you look like a dorkus? We're out of here in an hour. After today we'll never see each other again anyway."
"You know what, Miss High and Mighty?" she shouted, brandishing the shears entirely too close to my head for comfort. "You're in here for murder."
That stopped me dead in my pursuit of saving her from herself. What the hell did I care? Let her cut her bangs up to her hairline and suffer the humiliation of looking five. Maybe I wasn’t completely innocent here, but I was no murderer. It was a fucking accident.
"You listen to me, Susie, I didn't murder anyone," I snapped.
"Whatever." She was giving me a migraine. Swoozie's selective memory was messing with my need to protect her ass. "Oh my Goddess," I yelled. "I didn't sleep with Baba Yaga's boyfriend—you did."
"First of all, we didn't sleep. And how in the hell was I supposed to know Mr. Sexy Pants was her boyfriend?"
"Um, well, let me see… did the fact that he was wearing a
Property of Baba Yaga
t-shirt not ring any fucking bells?"
I was so done. I'd been stuck in a cell with Sassy the Destructive Witch for nine months—sawing my own head off with a butter knife had become a plausible option. I was beyond ready to get the hell out.
"Well, it’s not like the Council put you in here just to keep me company. You ran over your own familiar.
," she accused.
I watched in horror as she combed her bangs forward in preparation for blast off and willed myself not to give a rat’s ass.
"I did not run over that mangy bastard cat on purpose. The little shit stepped under my wheel."
"Three times?" she inquired politely.
We glared at each other until we were both biting back grins so hard it hurt. As much as I didn't like her, I was grateful to have had a roomie. It would have sucked to serve time alone. And coming up with different female names that started with the letter S had helped pass the time.
"I really need a mirror to do this right," Sassy muttered. She mimed the cutting action by lining up her fingers up on her hair before she commenced.
I walked to the iron bars of our cell and refused to watch. Our tiny living quarters were barren of all modern conveniences, especially those we could perform magic with, like mirrors. We were locked up in Salem, Massachusetts in a hotel from the early 1900s that had been converted to a jail for witches. Our home away from home was cell block D, designated for witches who abused their magic as easily as they changed their underwear.
From the outside the decrepit building was glamoured to look like a charming bed and breakfast, complete with climbing ivy and flowers growing out of every conceivable nook and cranny. Inside it was cold and ugly with barren brick walls covered with Goddess knew what kind of slime. It was warded heavily with magic, keeping all mortals and responsible magic-makers away. At the moment the lovely Sassy and I were the only two inhabitants in the charming hell-hole. Well, us and the humor-free staff of older than dirt witches and warlocks.
I dropped onto my cot and ran my hands through my mass of uncontrollable auburn curls which looked horrid with the orange prison wear. I puckered my full—and sadly lipstick-free-lips as I tried to image myself in the latest Prada. The first damn thing I was going to do when I got out was burn the jumpsuit and buy out Neiman’s.
"Fine. We're both here because we messed up, but I still think nine months was harsh for killing a revolting cat and screwing an idiot," I muttered as the ugly reality of my outfit mocked me.
I held my breath and then blew it out as Sassy put the scissors down and changed her mind.
"I can’t do this right now. I really need a mirror."
It was the most sane thing she'd uttered in nine months.
"In an hour you'll have one unless you do something stupid," I told her and then froze.
Without warning the magic level ramped up drastically and the stench of centuries-old voodoo drifted to my nose. Sassy latched onto me for purchase and shuddered with terror.
"Do you smell it?" I whispered. I knew her grip would leave marks, but right now that was the least of my problems.
"I do," she murmured back.
"Old lady crouch."
?" Her eyes grew wide and she bit down on her lip. Hard. "If you make me laugh, I'll smite your sorry ass when we get out. What the hell is old lady crouch?"
My own grin threatened to split my face. My fear of incarceration was clearly outweighed by my need to make crazy Sassy laugh again. "You know—the smell when you go to the bathroom at the country club...powdery old lady crouch."
"Oh my hell, Zelda." She guffawed and lovingly punched me so hard I knew it would leave a bruise. "I won't be able to let that one go."
"Only a lobotomy can erase it." I was proud of myself.
"Well, well, well," a nasally voice cooed from beyond the bars of our cell. "If it isn't the pretty-pretty problem children."
Baba Yaga had to be at least three hundred if she was a day, but witches aged slowly—so she really only looked thirty-fiveish. The more powerful the witch, the slower said witch aged. Baba was powerful, beautiful and had appalling taste in clothes. Dressed right out of the movie
complete with the ripped sweatshirt, leggings and headband. It was all I could do not to alert the fashion police.
She was surrounded by the rest of her spooky posse, an angry bunch of warlocks who were clearly annoyed to be in attendance.
"Baba Yaga," Sassy said as respectfully as she could without making eye contact.
"Your Crouchness," I muttered and received a quick elbow to the gut from my cellmate.
Baba Yaga leaned against the cell bars, and her torn at the shoulder sweatshirt dripped over her creamy shoulder. "Zelda and Sassy, you have served your term. Upon release you will have limited magic."