Magic and Mayhem: Witches Be Crazy (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries Book 0) Read online

  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.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  DEDICATION

  For the Hot Mamas over at Peterman’s Pleasure Palace and for the head honcho herself, Robyn. Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox!

  Other Titles In This Series

  Opal Fire: Stacy Justice Book One

  Bloodstone: Stacy Justice Book Two

  Tiger’s Eye: Stacy Justice Book Three

  Emerald Isle: Stacy Justice Book Four

  Obsidian Curse: Stacy Justice Book Five

  Phantom Quartz: Stacy Justice Book Six

  Witch Way to Amethyst: The Stacy Justice Prequel

  Geraghty Girls Recipes: A Companion to the Stacy Justice Series

  Deadly Diamonds: Stacy Justice Novella

  Other Titles By Barbra Annino

  Sin City Goddess: Secret Goddess Book One

  The Bitches of Everafter: A Dark Princess Fairy Tale, Book 1

  The Bitches of Enchantment: A Dark Princess Fairy Tale, Book 2

  Anthologies and Shorter Works

  Gnome Wars

  My Guardian Idiot

  A Tale of Three Witches

  Every Witch Way But Wicked

  The Graveyard Witch

  Stained

  Cupid’s Arrow

  Naughty or Nice

  Stacy Justice is called on to help a sassy southern witch when her spell goes haywire.

  ONE

  I awoke on Friday morning to a huge tongue flapping in my face and hot breath melting my eyelashes.

  “Dude, we talked about this.”

  It was a mistake opening my mouth because the tongue came at me without warning and an awkward make-out session ensued.

  “Ahh! Why are you up so early?” I whined, wiping off the facial. I sat up and stared into those big brown eyes that made my heart skip. How could I stay mad at that handsome, tan mug?

  Thor bellowed and trotted out of the room.

  Then I heard a strange noise. It seemed to be coming from the back door of my small cottage. I jumped out of bed, wearing only a tee shirt, and charged into the kitchen. I reached for my throat and—wait—where was my Seeker’s amulet?

  The knob turned.

  Thor, my 180 pound Great Dane familiar, let out a low growl that would make a linebacker wet himself. The fur on his back prickled, threatening, his ears stood erect.

  I extended my left arm and summoned the goddess sword from the wall.

  Just as it flew into my hand, the door creaked open. Thor lunged, took a giant leap and all four paws went airborne. There was a growl, a scream, and a grunt before both my dog and the intruder toppled out the back door.

  I hurried toward them, sword at the ready, wondering who the hell was trying to break into my home this time. There was Thor, tail thumping on the crisp grass, his huge head nuzzling the prone man’s chest.

  “It’s okay, Big Man, I should have used our secret knock,” said Chance, my construction worker boyfriend.

  I lowered the sword, frowning. It wasn’t like Chance to just barge into my house. Especially since it was a great way to get himself killed and he was not a stupid person.

  “You realize you could lose a limb breaking into a witch’s lair, right?” I stabbed my sword into the ground next to my bare foot for emphasis.

  Chance smirked. “Well, your bodyguard knocked the wind out of me and I’m pretty sure my left nut is deflated, so I propose I have been aptly punished.”

  I cocked my head as Thor climbed off my man. “I don’t know, Cowboy. I think you may need a spanking.”

  I reached my hand out to help him to his feet, but he grabbed hold and yanked me to him, wrapping his strong arms around me.

  Chance kissed me and said in a bad country accent, “And you’re just the woman to do it.”

  I laughed. “For a small town guy, you’re not very well versed in hick speak.”

  A shiver ran down my spine as Chance kissed me again. “Maybe not, but I am versed in other things.” His voice was soft, raspy, his blue eyes pierced through mine and I felt a rush of heat pump through me.

  Chance ran his arms along my bare ones as goose bumps popped through my skin. “Come on, let’s get you inside. November in Illinois requires more than a Mickey Mouse tee shirt.”

  He picked me up and I liberated my sword from the ground as he carried me through the open doorway.

  Back inside, Thor was already sprawled on the couch, chewing on a bone. Chance checked the door hinges while I put on a pot of coffee. I retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and placed them on a towel in front of the coffee pot next to the cream and sugar. The door was deemed healthy and I went to start a shower.

  Chance followed me into the bathroom. “I have a surprise for you.”

  I smiled at him through the bathroom mirror, checking the water temperature. “I would love your surprise, but I need to get to work. Derek scheduled some stupid morning meeting at the last minute.”

  Derek was my friend and business partner. We co-owned the newspaper for the small tourist town of Amethyst, Illinois, where I was born and raised. He was the chief photographer and editor and I was the reporter. Some might think there wasn’t much to putting a small town rag together. Alerts about bake-sales and high school football games, flu shots at the local clinic and bald eagle sightings is what a lot of papers around this northwest nugget of Illinois are filled with. But Amethyst was different. And not just because of the witches. There was something unique about this town that hugged the Mississippi. It had a certain allure that drew all kinds of people to it over the years. Mark Twain once performed his famous one-man show here. President Lincoln spoke from the balcony of the grand old hotel. Al Capone owned a hide-out in the hills.

  Although, if I were to be completely honest, admittedly, the biggest stories stemmed from the fact that people are always trying to kill me. Which is really annoying, because I’m basically a nice person.

  So why was that?

  Simple. My name is Stacy Justice and my role is Seeker of Justice. I used to think that was just a coincidence, but my reluctance to believe in my birth right diminished with each passing day. It’s a part of who I am now and a job that requires me to always be alert, always be prepared for the next storm.

  Because they came, often, and with deadly results. Which means I’ve had my fair share of battles and put away some bad guys. And girls. And the occasional demon. They aren’t always cooperative, as one might imagine. Hence the kick-ass sword and powerful amulet. Which reminded me.

  “Crap.” I shut the shower off and rushed out of the room.

  “Stacy, what is it?” Chance followed me.

  “My amulet. I fell asleep wearing it, but it’s not here now.”

  I frantically tore apart my bedroom looking for the talisman that was handed down to me by the last Seeker. The locket was pure power, bound to me, and it did my bidding as needed. But It was only to be used under the direst of circumstances. And only then—at a price.

  “Where is it?” I cried. Damn. How could I be so careless?

  “Um, Stace, bab
e—“

  “Help me look, will you?”

  I tossed pillows and blankets, and a slice of pepperoni flew from the bed. I shouted over my shoulder, “Thor! What did I tell you about eating in bed?”

  From the living room, Thor harrumphed.

  “Stace.”

  “Why are you standing there?” I yelled at Chance. “Help me.”

  He calmly walked over, plucked something from the back of my head, and handed it to me.

  I glanced down, then up, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.” I placed the locket in its box on my dresser.

  “It’s okay. Now about the surprise.” Chance produced a creamy ivory envelope and set it in my hands.

  I looked up. “What is this?”

  “Open it,” he said.

  Inside the envelope was a card that read Happy Anniversary!

  I searched Chance’s face for the meaning. Today wasn’t any anniversary that I could recall. We had been dating for several months since I came back to town, but this wasn’t even the day of our first ‘adult’ date. And back in high school, we had started dating in September, not November.

  “You’ve been back in town a year and a day.” Chance grinned, seemingly impressed with his knowledge of the significance of that. A year and a day is how long a witch must study before her anointment ceremony. Although I had been studying my entire life under the tutelage of my grandmother, Birdie, and her two sisters.

  “That is so sweet!” I threw my arms around him and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  He beamed at me as I stepped back and opened the card. Inside, was an embossed invitation with a beautifully illustrated sprawling estate on the front, dates and a room number on the inside, and a message that read, Welcome to The Biltmore.

  ~TWO~

  Chance said, “I already cleared it with Derek. I borrowed my mom’s SUV so we’d be more comfortable. It has heated seats, a built-in GPS, and a movie screen. What do you say, Gorgeous? Are you up for a romantic getaway to the mountains? It’s supposed to be a breathtaking drive.” He grinned, hopefully.

  I stared at the man that I had known since I was a kid. The man who was now privy to all my secrets and loved me anyway. The man who was built like a baseball player, with guns that showed he knew how to sling a hammer, and a confidence that wasn’t threatened by a woman who carried a sword.

  Goddess, I loved him.

  “You’re offering me a vacation? An honest to goodness REAL vacation? No stories to cover, no fires to put out, no helping out at the Geraghty Girls’ Guest House?”

  Chance ran a tanned hand through his sandy blonde hair at that last part. He shuffled his feet. “Thing is, I cleared it with Derek, but not Birdie. I figured I’d leave that bit up to you.”

  My brow lifted. “Why?”

  “Because the last time I tried to reason with Birdie, my tools were replaced with a set from Fisher Price. Do you know how hard it is to install cabinets with a pink plastic drill?”

  “Coward.”

  “The crew called me Nancy for a week.”

  “Well, that’s just absurd. Clearly, you would be a Julie if you had lady parts.”

  He smirked. “Also, I don’t want to wake up wrapped in a rug like a burrito and not remember my address.”

  “To be fair, that was Lolly’s doing. And that didn’t even happen to you. That was Leo.”

  Leo was the chief of police who occasionally found himself at the mercy of the Geraghty Girls, as my grandmother and her aunts are known around town.

  Chance narrowed his eyes. “The break-away thongs in my gym bag.” He stepped closer. “Every time.”

  “That’s Fiona. She’s concerned about our sex life.”

  Chance shook his head. “Why is your great aunt concerned about our sex life?”

  I waved my hand. “She’s concerned about everyone’s love life. It’s her gift. Love spells and matchmaking. You know this.”

  “Well, it’s nice to know they all have their special talents.” Chance moved forward and kissed me. He nibbled my neck just where I liked it and whispered, “Go get this over with and I’ll start a bag for you. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can be naked in front of a roaring fire.”

  How could I argue with that?

  I traded in the tee shirt for jeans and a sweatshirt and headed out to speak with Birdie.

  My cottage was situated on the back of the property where the Geraghty Girls ran their bed and breakfast from an old painted lady my great-grandfather had built over a hundred years ago. The house was brushed in jewel tones with a sprawling porch, a thriving magical herb garden, and a black wrought iron fence that wrapped around it like a ribbon.

  I could see through the back door that Lolly, the oldest Geraghty Girl, was in the kitchen. I could also see, judging from the shocking orange lipstick that didn’t quite make it between the lines and the silver false eyelashes glued to her eyebrows, that the engine was running, but the driver was asleep at the wheel.

  The door was unlocked, so I pushed my way through and went to assist my great aunt.

  “Hi Lolly. How are you doing today?” She was wearing yellow galoshes, a seashell bra, and a white poodle skirt. I didn’t wait for an answer. I just headed straight to the cupboard where we kept Lolly’s medicine.

  She blinked at me, her copper head bobbing, and said, “I’m sorry. We’re all booked up for the weekend.” Then she went back to what she was doing. Which was building a teacup pyramid using maple syrup to glue it all together.

  I poured a shot of Jameson and set it in front of Lolly. She automatically downed it in one gulp and I waited for the booze to kick in. Why this works, no one knows, but liquor has the opposite effect on my great aunt than it does normal people. It makes her sharper.

  Fiona, the middle Geraghty sister, breezed into the kitchen, then carrying a blue cashmere sweater that she slung around Lolly’s bare shoulders. For this I was grateful, because I wasn’t too keen on catching a preview of the state of my rack at seventy something.

  “Hello, Dear,” Fiona said in that breathy voice that only Ann Margaret and my aunt could pull off with credibility. She wore a sleek A-line dress, a string of pearls, and a smile that could stop a clock.

  I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

  She fluffed her auburn hair and steered Lolly to a stool in front of the island. “What brings you by?”

  “I wanted to talk to Birdie. Is she here?”

  Fiona said, “She came downstairs before me. Did you check the dining room or the parlor?”

  “Not yet.” I glanced at Lolly who was pulling the lashes from her eyebrows. She winced as some hair tore away. “Do you need help here?”

  Fiona looked at her sister and flashed me the kind of grin that came from loving someone who was a bit off the beam. “We’re good here. Aren’t we, big sis?”

  Lolly flashed her own grin, her eyes back in focus. “Right as rain.”

  “All righty then.”

  I pushed through the kitchen door that led to the front of the house and went to search for the youngest Geraghty, hoping that there wasn’t some Impending Doom or other disaster she or the Irish council wanted me to fix.

  “Maybe, just this once, everything is right in the world,” I muttered.

  I should have knocked on wood.

  ~THREE~

  I found my grandmother’s auburn head bent over the antique desk, flipping through the reservation book, making notes. Check-in was between three and four pm and she often finalized guest requests the morning of their arrival.

  “Hey Birdie, I have to talk to you.”

  She held up one ringed finger. “Just a minute, Stacy.”

  “Okay.”

  I busied myself fluffing pillows, straightening magazines and adjusting doilies when a ghost floated into the room.

  No, no, no. Not now!

  I flicked my eyes to Birdie, who was still jotting in the book, and the woman did the same. She was mid-thirties and dressed as if she had just stepped out of
an old tube television set playing a Cyndi Lauper video.

  Discretion. That’s what was in order. Get her out of the house and away from Birdie. At least until I could figure out what she wanted. From the looks of her, she may have had an old score to settle with one of the Geraghty Girls and frankly, I had neither the time nor the patience for their shenanigans.

  I approached the ghost slowly. Whispered, “Look, I’ll help you, but not here and not now. Okay? Please, wait for me outside.”

  I should explain that all the women in my family were gifted with a unique witchy ability. Fiona had a knack for matchmaking as well as animal communication. She knew Thor was my familiar and Chance was my soul mate before I ever did. Birdie had many talents, especially when it came to casting, but her main niche was healing beings of all kinds. Lolly, when she was shuffling a full deck, had a talent for sensing things. She could predict an approaching storm while the Weather Channel was still boasting about sunshine, make whatever a guest might be craving for breakfast on any given Sunday, and she always knew who was calling before the phone rang. I’m told she drove her sisters batty back when she was in her prime.

  My gift, aside from ass-kicking, was that I could see and talk to the dead. That’s not as fun as it sounds. Because sometimes ghosts had no sense of boundaries. Sometimes they touched you. Or tried to kill you.

  Cyndi said, “Excuse me, Miss Priss, but I don’t take orders. I give them.” She parked her hands on her narrow hips and glared at me.

  They can also be total nutfuggets.

  “I’m sure that’s true, but in case you didn’t get the memo, you can’t just show up unannounced. It’s rude.”

  As my gift grew stronger and I came into my own in my thirtieth year, I learned to ward off unwanted spirits through a series of charms, spells, and guided signals. Before that, they were completely out of control. Imagine how disturbing it would be to have an eighty year old man show up in your shower. Naked. Singing Sinatra.