by Sarina Dorie
Hedgewitchin’
in the
Kitchen
THE WITCH’S FAMILIAR
AND
THIRTEEN MAGICAL RECIPES FROM
WOMBY’S SCHOOL FOR WAYWARD WITCHES
SARINA DORIE
Copyright © 2019 Sarina Dorie
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1095088807
NOT-SO-COZY MYSTERIES
IN THE womby’s school for wayward witches SERIES listed in order
Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells
Hex-Ed
Witches Gone Wicked
A Handful of Hexes
Hexes and Exes
Reading, Writing and Necromancy
Budget Cuts for the Dark Arts and Crafts
My Crazy Hex-Boyfriend
Spell It Out for Me
Hex Crimes
Of Curse You Will
Cackles and Cauldrons
Hex and the City
Wedding Bells and Midnight Spells
Hex Appeal
Safe Hex
The Joy of Hex
Hedgewitchin’ in the Kitchen: Thirteen Magical Recipes
The Problem with Hedge witches SERIES
The Witch of Nightmares
A Cauldron Full of Curses
A Pocket Full of Poison
The Witch’s Familiar
SON OF A SUCCUBUS SERIES
Other Titles To Be Announced
Table of Contents
The Belated Wedding Present
The Witch’s Familiar
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
Thirteen Magical Recipes from Womby’s School for Wayward Witches
Entrées And Savory Dishes
Tamale Pie
Irish Lamb Stew
Wet Burritos
Magical Herbal Blend
Lasagna
Your Just Desserts
Turkish Delight
Earthquake Cake Brownies
Dirty Chai Brownies
Seven-Layer Bars
No-Bake Cookies
Raspberry Cream Cheese Brownies
Blackberry Pie
Bacon Caramel Popcorn
Quick Bread Cinnamon Rolls
The Witch of Nightmares PREVIEW
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you are reading this far in the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches series, I’m guessing you have read the other books as well. Whether you have stuck with the series because you love the quirky characters or the world of magic, I appreciate your enthusiasm.
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Happy reading!
The Belated Wedding Present
The war was over, but it wasn’t without its casualties.
Clarissa Lawrence found the book under shoes and bags in her wardrobe as she cleaned her room in preparation for the big move into Vega Bloodmire’s new castle. The book was covered in dust, and she’d never set eyes on it before. Clarissa set it aside, adding it to her sketchbooks, assuming it was a scrapbook of some sort that belonged to her husband.
Clarissa would have preferred to stay in the palatial “cottage” that belonged to Elric, Prince of the Silver Court, but Vega Bloodmire had firmly told her that wasn’t an option. Clarissa still wasn’t sure she had made the right decision to accept the dark arts and crafts position at Vega Bloodmire’s Academy for the Morally Challenged—or whatever her former roommate decided to call the school for misfit witches.
As Clarissa packed the book into a box, she paused to open the scrapbook. When she skimmed the first page, she recognized Abigail Lawrence’s handwriting. Her fairy godmother. Her throat tightened as she read over the words from the woman who had raised her. The woman she’d called “Mom.”
Dear Clarissa,
I am so proud of you! You’re all grown up, and you made your own path in life to make your every dream possible. You’re a witch, an art teacher, and a soon-to-be bride. For your wedding present, I put together a special scrapbook of your favorite recipes so that you’ll always have a taste of home no matter where you go. I hope these foods fill you with happy memories of the people you’ve shared these meals with. I’ve also included some handy tips that every kitchen witch needs to know.
XOXO,
Mom
Tears filled Clarissa’s eyes. Alouette Loraline, her biological mother, had left her a journal with a recipe for disaster. Good had come out of that spell as well as destruction, but the journey there had been no cake walk.
Her fairy godmother had left her a practical book of tips and happy reminders of what kind of person she wanted to be. Clarissa flipped through the book. She could almost taste the Irish lamb stew and wet burritos. Memories returned to her unbidden. She wished her fairy godmother were there with her to make earthquake cake brownies and make the world complete again.
The Witch’s Familiar
CHAPTER ONE
Hedge Witches with Cattitude
The trouble began when Abigail MacQuillan Lawrence wrestled her suitcases off the human-crafted bus in the middle of the Olympic rain forest, and her black cat, Lucifer, leapt out of her oversized purse. Abigail smelled an enchantment in the air before she saw the glitter of it in the Douglas firs. Her familiar stalked toward the shimmer, yowling in warning.
Abigail didn’t think she could handle one more piece of trouble right then. She was already worried enough about her daughter, Clarissa, who was in the infirmary after being attacked at the magical boarding school where she’d just started working as a teacher. Abigail didn’t need one more thing to delay her from seeing Clarissa.
Especially not something related to magic.
A brawny man stepped out from between two firs. A car sped past Abigail, nearly clipping her luggage. The driver wouldn’t have noticed the man concealed in the shadows. Even if a mortal had, they might have taken him to be a shirtless hiker with a pair of shaggy pants. With his tawny complexion and dark hair, he could have been Greek or Italian. His unruly hair made his horns hardly noticeable. It took Abigail a moment to notice the way his furry legs bent like the hindquarters of a goat.
He was a satyr, and from the way he squinted at her, he knew what she was too.
Abigail halted in her tracks. She’d been expecting some kind of treachery from the moment she’d gotten the phone call informing her of her daughter’s condition. And yet, she couldn’t not come, even if it might be some kind of Fae trap.
“Looks like you’ve got quite a few bags to carry. Need any help with that?” The satyr’s accent was Eastern European; Abigail suspected Transylvanian. He rubbed at his hairy chest, an impishness to his grin.
Abigail knew to be wary of handsome men with easy smiles. Fae men weren’t always what they seemed. Nor were the Witchkin half-breeds they sired with humans. Most likely he
was sent to snatch her so that one of the Fae courts could use her to lure her daughter into their keeping.
“Lucy, come back here.” Abigail called her cat quietly, not wanting this man to grab her familiar and make a meal out of him. When that didn’t work, she used his given name. “Lucifer, come.”
Her cat ignored her. He prowled closer to the satyr.
The man looked Abigail up and down, his grin growing wider. “You’re Clarissa Lawrence’s adoptive mother?”
“It depends.” She studied his face, trying to read whether there was guile in his eyes.
“It depends on what? What kind of mess Clarissa has gotten into this time?” He laughed.
This man knew her daughter’s name. That implied he was from the school where her daughter worked as an arts and crafts teacher, but he might be from the Raven Court, intending to trick Abigail into going with him. One could never be too safe when dealing with those who used magic.
Abigail snapped her fingers at her cat and pointed to her side. Lucifer ignored her. She focused her attention on the satyr. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sam. I work as the groundskeeper at Womby’s School for Wayward Witches.” He strode forward, ignoring Lucifer.
Abigail stepped back into the road. “I was told the dean would be meeting me to show me the way.” Over the phone she’d been told to look for a man with a hot-pink shirt.
Sam nodded. “Mr. Khaba was busy disciplining a student. He caught some kid setting the toilet paper on fire again. You’ll have to put up with me instead.”
Sam knew the correct names of the staff at the school. He probably was telling the truth. Some of her apprehension melted away, but not completely. Abigail knew never to let her guard down.
Sam strode closer, though he didn’t come out to the road. He held out his hand. “Let me help you with your luggage. It looks like you brought everything but the kitchen sink.”
If she stepped forward, she would leave the safety of the road where humans might be passing by. Abigail knew she was being overcautious. Reluctantly, she heaved her bags closer.
“It’s kind of you to come in the dean’s stead.” She was careful not to thank him. She didn’t want to owe him a favor. In this realm, one could easily lose their soul by thanking the wrong person.
Lucifer circled around them, eyes narrowed.
Sam lifted one suitcase. He took her free hand with the other, shaking it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lawrence.” His gaze flickered to the wedding band on her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you. Call me Abby.”
He held her hand, a beat too long. “They told me I would be meeting Ms. Lawrence’s mother. They didn’t tell me to look for someone so . . . young.” He winked. “So beautiful.”
That was the moment Lucifer launched himself at the man’s face.
CHAPTER TWO
Someone Let the Cat out of the Bag
Lucifer hadn’t always been a cat or Abigail’s familiar. Once, he’d been a handsome young man with his entire life ahead of him.
Together, they’d stepped through a fairy ring and escaped the Faerie Realm as teenagers. Lucifer had assured her that his electrical magic would repel Baba Nata’s curse—and even if she did try, how could Baba’s magic reach him in another realm?
Abigail had dared to hope they’d escaped without punishment. They were together and could be happy at last. Abigail wouldn’t have to choose between the two unhappy fates she’d seen in her mentor’s crystal ball. She was making her own path and choosing a different future by going to the Morty Realm.
It had been during their first night together that the curse had struck. The forest was dark around them, their campfire having burned out. He’d woken Abigail, twisting in agony.
“Lucy?” She laid a hand on his shoulder, thinking he was having a nightmare. “It’s all right. It’s just a bad dream.”
“No. It’s her curse.” He groaned and sounded like a wounded animal.
She stroked his back, helpless to do anything since she’d been drained of magic. “What can I do?”
He shuddered. “Promise me you won’t go back. I don’t want either fate for you.”
In one possible future, her life had ended in slow dismemberment and death. In the other, her heart had grown wicked. She wished she had kept the truth to herself, for now he’d fear for her.
“If we go back, will the curse stop?” She gazed out into the blackness, uncertain she could find the way. “Will you feel better if we return?”
His voice turned into a guttural growl. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m not going.”
“You’re being stubborn.”
“I can’t stop it. I’m so sorry, Abby.” He twisted away from her.
He shrank, and his shape altered, his limbs twisting. Dark hair sprouted over his arms. He blended into the shadows so completely he was almost invisible. Abigail couldn’t see what was happening, but she tasted the magic in the air, starlight and herbs.
Lucifer melted away, his clothes remaining. Something stirred within his shirt. She scooted back as a dark shape wormed its way out of his collar. Luminous yellow-green eyes stared at her.
“Meow,” he said pathetically.
She’d hugged him to her chest, vowing to find a way to save him.
Abigail had thought they would get married and start a new life together. They had made plans to find Grace, the kind woman who had taken them in once before when they’d come to the Morty Realm on an errand for Baba.
Abigail told herself she wasn’t alone. Lucifer was still with her. This form surely was temporary. His magic was more powerful than Baba’s even though he hadn’t finished his apprenticeship and wasn’t as skilled as she was. It would only be a matter of time before he broke the spell. If Abigail had possessed magic, she could have helped him. As it was, she needed to figure out how to survive in the Morty Realm first.
At daybreak, Abigail followed the map Grace had left her. She found the landscape changed from when she’d been there last. More houses had been developed on the farmland. Time passed differently between realms, and Abigail didn’t know if Grace would recognize her or even still be alive.
The trees in the forest were lush and green with summer leaves, but the air was damp, and it drizzled as Abigail walked with bare feet along a gravel road. She shivered in her threadbare clothes, hugging Lucifer to her chest to keep herself warm.
Abigail recognized the hardware store from the last time she’d been there. When she showed the proprietor inside the card of paper with Grace’s address and something called a telephone number, he rang Grace up on a Morty-crafted contraption. Abigail marveled over this invention as Grace answered on the other end, her voice so clear she could have been standing in the same room with Abigail.
“It’s me. Abigail. I don’t know if you remember me,” she said.
The proprietor eyed Lucifer with wariness. The black cat’s eyes narrowed.
“How could I forget you?” Grace chuckled.
“I’m at the hardware store where we met before,” Abigail said. “You said if I ever needed anything, I could . . . that is to say . . . I don’t want to impose. . . .” Her breath caught in her throat as she admitted a hint of her desperation. “I don’t know what to do or where else to go.”
The silence on the other end unnerved Abigail. She wondered what emotions were crossing Grace’s face. Annoyance? Disgust?
“Don’t worry. We’ll be there in a jiff,” Grace said. “You just hang tight.”
Abigail waited at the counter, shivering and dripping water on the floor. All the while, the patrons of the store looked her up and down, as though she were a curiosity in her old-fashioned clothes, while they wore denim trousers and coats heavy enough to stave off the morning chill. She slipped outside, not liking the stares. Her parents had once said it wouldn’t do to stand out. People would target her as a easy mark if they heard her country accent or knew h
ow uneducated she was—both of which she’d striven to remedy while apprenticing with the powerful hedge witch, Baba Nata.
Abigail huddled under the awning of the store, watching for Grace and her rusty pickup truck. Though Grace had been the one to answer the phone, it was a young man who approached Abigail. She stared at him warily as he waved to her, jogging across the parking lot in the rain. Lucifer hissed from where he sat on her feet to keep them warm, but the threat in his tone was lost under the rustling leaves in the trees.
The man removed his hat and grinned. “Don’t recognize me, do you?”
His face was young, but he was still older than she was by several years. The wind tossed his coppery brown hair around his face, making his features difficult to make out. Only when he was beside her under the awning did she know him as Grace’s nephew.
“Adam?” she asked, surprised by how much more of an adult he looked. He must have been five years older than when she’d seen him last. “Where’s Grace?”
“My aunt had an appointment with a client. She sent me to come get you and said I could join her later.” His expression was all sunshine, which almost made up for the gloom of the day.
“You live here?” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.
“I’m here working for Aunt Grace’s landscaping business. Just during the busy season until I get accepted to dental school.” He removed his jacket and shifted closer to drape it over her shoulders. “What brings you back into town? Is everything all right?”
She didn’t answer. Everything wasn’t all right. She had assumed it would be Grace picking her up, and she had planned on telling her the truth—or as close to the truth as she could.
“Where’s your brother?” he asked.
She gazed down at Lucifer nudging himself between them. “He wasn’t my brother.”
Adam’s expression turned serious as he studied her. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t feel all right. Lucifer wasn’t all right. “Nothing ails me.”
