Authors: Renee George
Magic and Mayhem: Witchin' Impossible (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Hazed & Confused Mysteries Book 1)
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Robyn Peterman. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic and Mayhem remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Robyn Peterman, or their affiliates or licensors.
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Witchin’ Impossible
A Magic and Mayhem World Story
Hazed & Confused Mystery Book 1
By Renee George
Dedication
For my sister Robbin.
You are always there for me.
You are the best, my darling,
even when I’m bratty.
Acknowledgments
A special THANK YOU to the fabulous Robyn Peterman, an awesomely funny writer and my favorite cookie, for allowing me the privilege to write in her world. I love your guts, woman!! This has been one of the highlights of my year.
Also, I must thank the usual suspects, my BFF sister and most fabulous beta reader Robbin, my BFF and critique partner Michele Bardsley, and my BFF and the person who talks me off the ledge, Dakota Cassidy. You guys are like the chocolate to my almonds, the butter to my toast, and the sweetener to my tea. I love you like I love my left leg.
To my Rebels, you all RAWK! You keep me going every day with your support. I love you to the moon and back.
To my fans, I would not be anything without you. Seriously. If you keep reading, I’ll keep writing! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. If I were reviewing you all, you would get five-gazillion stars and a million-gazillion smooches.
Oh! And lest I forget, thank you strong, black coffee. Without you, I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, let alone write a single word.
“TIZZY!” I SHOUTED
.
A large red squirrel leap-frogged the couch, the loveseat, slid across the dining room table, grabbed a nut from a bowl in the center as she passed, and flew off the edge and through the air the last couple of feet before coming to an abrupt halt in front of my coffee cup.
“You called?” Her voice and cadence was like the old movie star Mae West’s, only on helium. She cracked the walnut on the counter and picked away at the shell with a pretty pink painted nail. Through all this, she barely glanced at me.
“Where did you put my Glock?” I tapped my own pretty pink painted nail on the hard counter. “And quit using all my polish.”
She held out her tiny paw and examined her manicure. “I can’t help it if I make this shade look good.” Finally, she cast her large, dark brown eyes on me and batted her unnaturally thick lashes. “You’re a witch, Hazel. You don’t need a gun.”
“I’m an FBI agent, Tizzy. It’s expected.”
The squirrel turned around and swished her tail at me. “I worry about you is all.” When she turned back around, the nut she’d held was gone, and my pistol was magically on the counter in front of her. “Ta-dah!” She stretched out her arms, palms up, and wiggled her fingers.
I tried to keep my gaze disappointed, but when your flying squirrel familiar strikes a pose and gives you jazz hands, it’s hard not to freaking smile. I grabbed the gun and holstered it on my belt. “Just leave the standard issue FBI weapon alone. I’d hate to have to throw you in jail.”
Tizzy clasped her hands together and held them over her heart. “Oh, Hazel,” she said with great tragedy. “I am not made for a cage!”
“Calm down.” My phone rang as I contemplated putting my familiar on a mood stabilizer. I pressed the phone to my ear. “Special Agent Kinsey.”
“Haze?”
The quiet feminine voice startled me. “Lily?”
“It’s me,” she said.
Lily Mason had been my best friend all through elementary and high school. We hadn’t kept in touch. It had less to do with a falling out, and more to do with the fact that when I left Paradise Falls (more like Paradise Fails), Iowa, I never looked back. The memories were too painful. Even now, I felt trepidation like a cold trickle of sweat down my back.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
I heard a choke of grief on her end. “Danny’s dead.”
“What?” Danny was Lily’s younger brother. He had to be in his early twenties now. She and Danny had been on their own six months before our senior year ended. Guilt tugged at me when I thought about what it must have been like to have no options. Danny had only been seven years old at the time. I’d already received my acceptance to Iowa University, so the minute I had my diploma in hand, I hightailed it out of town. I didn’t even participate in the graduation ceremony. Lily, who had planned to go to the university with me, stayed behind to raise the kid.
“How did he die?”
Lily and her brother were werecougars. Shifters. Their kind is immune to regular disease, so I braced myself for an unpleasant answer. When she said, “Murdered. Someone or something killed him,” I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“You’re joking.” Her silence was enough to make me feel like a total ass. “What do you need me to do?”
“The witches don’t believe magic is involved, so they won’t investigate.”
“What about the Shifters?”
“Danny has been in and out of trouble the last couple of years. Drugs. Fights. They think he’s responsible for his own death. They won’t act.”
“Harvest in a hailstorm,” I swore. “How long ago did it happen?”
“It’s been four months now.”
“Oh, honey. You should have called me.”
“I’m calling now.”
But not in time for me to go home for a funeral. For Goddess’ sake. I really had been a rotten friend. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“I’ve checked with all his so called friends and acquaintances. According to them, Danny hadn’t pissed anyone off enough to take his life.”
“How did he die?”
“According to the medical examiner, every bone in his body was broken.”
“That wouldn’t kill a Shifter.”
“No,” she agreed. “But when his killer broke his ribs, one of the left-side ribs stabbed into his heart. In the end, that’s why he died. Haze?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“It was the very last bone. The examiner suspects it was meant to be a killing blow.”
“I’m so sorry, Lily.” I blew out a breath. No way would I let Lily down again. “I’ll check into Danny’s death. The witches might not talk to you, but they’ll talk to me.”
“Haze?”
“Yeah?” I was already looking up my boss’s phone number.
Lily was silent for a couple of seconds.
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Not about Danny,” she said quietly. “I’m…I’m glad you’re coming. Anything you can do would be great.”
A wave of guilt hit me when I heard the relief in her voice. Lily had really been there for me during a rough time in my life. She’d encouraged me to get the hell out of town and get a fresh start. This phone conversation was a reminder that I hadn’t just left my problems behind, I’d also left the one person I could always count on. “I’ll call you back when I have news.”
“Thanks, Haze.”
“I can’t promise anything, Lily. Just…well, hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I’ll let you know as soon as I can get on my way there.”
She hung up, but it took me a second to put the phone down. Little Danny Mason was dead, and my best friend was alone in her pursuit of justice.
I CONTACTED MY DIRECT SUPERVISOR
at the Kansas City office for the Federal Bureau of Investigation before making the call I’d dreaded the most. I punched in the number quickly as if I were ripping off a bandage.
It went straight to voicemail. “You’ve reached Carol. Please leave your name and a number after the beep, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Belch fire and save matches,” I grumbled. I never mixed my business and witch life, but if I wanted to investigate a supernatural crime that possibly involved witches, I had to get permission first for her highest of selves, the Baba Yaga. I’d been so out of touch with the magical part of my life that I’d had to call my cousin Sassy for the number. When she told me she was living in some place called Assjacket, West Virginia, was best friends with a Shifter Wanker, and she was boffing a kangaroo, I was pretty sure she was high on something. Even so, she’d come through for me.
I cringed as the phone beeped. “Uhm, Baba Yaga, this is Hazel Kinsey. You probably don’t remember me, but could you call me at—Ah!” I jumped back, my hand automatically going for my holstered weapon.
Right in the middle of my living room, a woman wearing neon green leggings, an oversized purple sweatshirt with the neck and arms cut out and off one shoulder that said “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” and the most heinous blonde mullet I’d seen north of Arkansas. The 80s were calling, and even they didn’t want this hairstyle back. Whatever her fashion choices, I knew the woman in front of me instantly. This was Carol aka Baba Yaga.
“You called,” she said, reminding me of Tizzy for a moment.
“You scared the crap out me.” The last time I’d seen the WIC (aka Witch in Charge), she’d been directing a couple of her witch goons to transport my dad to prison in Salem, Massachusetts. I think she’d worn the same outfit.
“I thought I smelled something foul,” Tizzy said, waving her tiny fingers in front of her face.
“Tiz.” I shook my head. She rolled her eyes. The fact that my familiar wasn’t more scared spoke volumes to just how out of the witch loop I’d kept her.
Baba Yaga, who looked to be in her mid-thirties but was actually over three-hundred years old, raised an appraising brow at the squirrel. “Tell me what you want, Hazel.”
“Really. You could have just called me back. That would have been totally cool.”
“You have spent your whole adult life avoiding our world.” She pulled out a tiny spiral memo book and flipped it open like a cop at a crime scene. “Here,” she said, pointing at a tiny line of writing. “The last time you used magic for any real purpose was in the spring of your eighteenth year, right before you left Paradise Falls. Do you even know how to spellcast anymore?”
“Yes,” I said unconvincingly. Cripes, she was like the freaking Goddess with the whole “all-knowing” shtick.
She smiled, and I’d never seen anything scarier in my life. I wasn’t sure whether she was going to break out into a Jane Fonda workout or smite me down. “I not only know everything, Hazel, but unlike the Goddess, I pay attention to everything as well.”
Goose bumps raised on my arms as I felt the enormity of Baba Yaga’s power. Tizzy scampered under the couch, and for a second, I wondered if there was enough room for me.
The powerful witch snapped her fingers at me. “Now, tell me, why, after nearly two decades, you are calling me for help.”
“I…” I spilled everything. “And so,” I concluded, trying to sound as procedurally official as possible. “I’d like your official permission to investigate Daniel Mason’s death so that the witches in town will cooperate, or at least, not interfere.”
She tapped her chin. “Granted.”
My inner witch squeeed, but my outer agent kept a professional expression in place.
“However…”
My heart sunk as my inner witch said,
well, crap
. “Let me have it.”
“I would like you to be more involved in our community. I’m not asking you to leave the FBI, but you can no longer act as if you live on Lone Witch Island. And…” She narrowed her gaze. “You will owe me a favor. A marker I can call in anytime I wish.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about Lily, how desperate and bereaved she’d sounded on the phone. I couldn’t let her down, but turning myself into Baba Yaga’s bitch seemed like a hefty price to pay.
“Forget it,” Carol said, waving me off with a quick flick of the wrist. “Permission denied.”
“Wait!” I gripped the edge of my counter. “I’ll do it.”
She raised both brows. “You’ll do what?”
“I’ll be more involved with the witch community, and I’ll owe you a favor.”
“Two favors now.”
My aggravation made my fingers spark. Channeling electricity was one of the first kinds of magic I’d mastered, and occasionally, when my frustration level rose, it manifested like static electricity. “Yes,” I finally said. “Two favors.”
“Correct answer.” She produced a card and handed it to me. “So mote it be.”
I automatically recited back, “So mote it be,” as I took the card. The small, white rectangle had one word on it: Pass.
“What’s this?”
“It’s your
Get Out Of Jail Free
card. The witches of Paradise Falls will know it’s from me.”
“Thank—” Before I could finish, she poofed out. “Wow.”
“No kidding,” Tizzy said, still under the couch. “That is one terrifying witch!”
“Yes, she is. And you had to go and poke her. What was all that crap about a terrible smell? You have a death wish?”
She peeked her head out from under the couch and looked up at me. “You want me on my best behavior, then warn me the next time you invite her over.”
“I didn’t invite her.” I tucked the white card into my wallet. “It doesn’t matter. I’m alive. You’re alive. And we have a murder to solve.” In the last place on earth I ever wanted to see again. “We’ve got packing to do.”
Tizzy scurried up the couch until she was on top of the backrest. “Seriously?” She fist pumped the air. “Road trip!”