Shadow Witch (The Witches of Hollow Cove Book 1)

by Richardson, Kim

  I hadn’t moved to the dresser to look at myself, well, maybe a little, but for something else. Something I remembered my mother doing when I was a kid. I decided to give it a try. Why the hell not?

  I cleared my throat, feeling a little silly, and said, “House. What’s for dinner?”

  The mirror on the dresser shimmered and a plate of spinach and mushroom lasagna covered in a thick layer of cheese hovered where my reflection had been a moment ago.

  I beamed. “Now, that I could get used to. Thanks, House.” The mirror shimmered again, and my reflection stared back at me.

  “Yikes. I look like a crack-whore.” My hair was sticking out at the back in a big hair knot, I had dark bags under my eyes that I hadn’t noticed before, and my cheeks were sunken, making me look like I’d aged ten years. That’s what the stress of a bad and toxic relationship would do.

  After a quick shower—apparently, every bedroom in this place had its own bathroom—I ventured downstairs. I followed the smell of that juicy lasagna with my damp hair bouncing past my shoulders.

  The sound of voices wafted over to me and one sounded male. It sounded like Ronin. What was he doing here? I reached the end of the hallway and walked into the kitchen.

  “That lasagna smells amazing—”

  Dolores was leaning on the counter, her back to the sink.

  And next to her stood Marcus.

  It was like someone pressed my instant anger button, slammed it really. “What the hell is he doing here?” My voice rose to match my anger as the instant replay of what had happened last night flashed in my mind’s eye.

  My mother would never win any “mother of the year” awards, but she was still my mother. If anyone got to insult her, that would be me. Not him.

  His gray eyes fastened on me, his jaw clenching. A black leather jacket hung over his wide shoulders that drew my eye down to his narrow waist. His blue jeans fit his long thighs perfectly, and the T-shirt did nothing to hide his muscled chest. If he thought he could hypnotize me with his perfectly defined body and his killer looks, he was a moron. I did not forget nor forgive easily.

  If I’d known any cool martial arts moves, I would have ninja-flown across the kitchen and jump-kicked him in the throat. Seeing as I didn’t, I resolved to give him my killer stare. Yeah, that ought to do it.

  Dolores pushed off the counter. “Just… take it easy, Tessa. No need to destroy the kitchen.”

  Destroy the kitchen? Dolores was staring at me like I was a bomb about to blow. Her eyes moved to my hands.

  I looked down at my hands and saw they were shaking. I hadn’t even realized I’d balled them into fists. A thrum of magic pounded through me, energy pooling in my center as a quick influx of magic shifted. A ley line. I could feel the power of the ley line, but I had no idea how to tap into it. Which was good for Marcus’s sake.

  I let out a sigh through my nose, letting go of some of that pent-up anger. I saw my aunts’ shoulders lower as I did.

  Damn. I should have asked House who was at the front door. If I’d known he was here, I would have stayed in my room with my books. You could count on books. Books never let you down, and they were always there when you needed them.

  What pissed me off, even more, was the guy looked just as peeved as I was. The nerve of this guy. This was my house.

  “Here you go, Marcus.” Ruth came into the kitchen from the room just off to the left, which was the potions room. She handed him what looked like a glass vial with a blue liquid inside.

  What the hell? Why was my aunt Ruth supplying this creep with her potions? After what I told her he’d said to me, I hoped it was poison. A smile reached my lips. Hello, chlamydia.

  “Thank you, Ruth,” said Marcus as he pocketed the vial inside his jacket.

  My heart was pounding, and not in a good way.

  “Tessa,” said Ruth seeing me standing in the threshold. “Come and sit. You must be starving after all that studying.” She rushed to the stove and plopped a generous-sized square chunk of lasagna on a plate. Grabbing a knife and fork, she placed the plate on the kitchen table. “Come, before it gets cold.”

  I stared at Marcus, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Good. He wouldn’t get between me and my juicy, double-cheese veggie lasagna. No man’s worth that.

  Feeling the use of my legs again, I moved to the table and sat, tearing into the lasagna even before my butt hit the chair. It took every bit of effort not to moan as my taste buds exploded with all the wonderful flavors. Ruth could cook up a mean lasagna. I chewed, my eyes on Marcus’s jacket, wondering what that vial was.

  I swallowed and said, “You better pay up for whatever my aunt gave you. I don’t care if you’re the chief. She doesn’t work for free.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked shocked. He made to answer me, but Dolores got there first.

  “So, Tessa, did you finish those book covers you were working on?” Dolores smiled at me, but I could see it was forced. Nice way to change the subject. “My niece is an artist. Did you know that, Marcus?”

  The chief shook his head but said nothing. Good. I didn’t like the sound of his voice anyway. Better keep it shut. Or my fork might find its way to lodge in his throat.

  The silence stretched.

  “Here you go, Tessa,” said Ruth, stepping into the silence before it got awkward, and placed a tall glass of water next to my plate.

  “Thank you.” I took another bite of the lasagna, my eyes still on Marcus. I was waiting for him to pull out his wallet, but he just stood there, hands in his pockets. Maybe he paid her before I got there. Either way, I would make sure he wasn’t stiffing my aunts. And I was going to find out what that vial of blue liquid was. You could count on it.

  “You like it?” Ruth asked, her smiling face so innocent sometimes, she looked like a young girl. She was the most free-spirited of the sisters, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. She wouldn’t be Ruth if she wasn’t.

  “It’s amazing. Really. And that sauce? What’s in it?”

  Ruth’s smile widened to her ears. “Ah. It’s my secret.” She spun around and went back to the kitchen, humming a tune that sounded a lot like Deck the Halls.

  Heels clicked on the hardwood floors. “What smells so good in here?” asked Beverly as she entered the kitchen, her perfect face smiling and beautiful. She was graceful in her sophisticated blue dress. “Oh. It’s me,” she laughed, winning a scowl from Dolores.

  Beverly sashayed her way to the kitchen table, sat, and began applying powder to her nose and forehead.

  I flicked my eyes back on the chief, wondering why he was still here if he’d paid Ruth for whatever concoction was in that vial.

  “Well, I should go,” said Marcus, having read my mind. “Thanks again, Ruth. You’re a godsend.”

  Ruth turned around, beaming. If there was a contest in Hollow Cove for the most radiant smile of the year, this would be it. “Oh, nonsense,” she made a gesture with her hand, her cheeks a little pinker than before. “I’m here to help.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Ladies,” he said as he started for the kitchen’s back door. “I’ll show myself out.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” I muttered under my breath, which turned out to be louder than I’d expected as Marcus whipped his head in my general direction. Whoops.

  “Just a minute, Marcus,” said Dolores, her gaze over me again. A faint smile curled up on the corners of her mouth.

  Hmm. Why didn’t I like her smile?

  “Marcus, could you give my niece a ride?”

  That’s why.

  I choked on the piece of lasagna in my mouth. Cauldron be damned. “What? No? I’m not riding with him.” I hesitated. “Why would I need to ride with him?” Yes, that sounded a little childish, but the guy had basically expressed that he hated my guts to the entire town, the entire universe.

  Dolores put one hand on her hip and gave me a pointed look. “Because you have a new case today, and Ruth and I have a meetin
g with the town mayor so we need the car.”

  I looked at Marcus to see his face had gone two shades darker. “He was just leaving. He has places to be. I’m sure he’s too busy.”

  Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I need to get back to the office.”

  Dolores put her other hand on her hip, her face pinched. “Are you refusing to give my niece a ride?”

  The chief looked taken aback. “Ah…”

  “Hmmm?” pressed my aunt Dolores.

  Marcus blinked a few times. “No. It’s just… that’s not it… I guess I could,” he added finally.

  Dolores clapped her hands together once. “Excellent.”

  I stood up, heat rushing to my face, and I was very aware I was probably the color of molten lava. Hell, that’s exactly how I felt. “No, not excellent.” I pointed at Marcus. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to ride in a car—with him. I despise his ass, and I don’t care that he hears it. No. Way. You’ll have to kill me first.” A little overkill, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Dolores turned on me. “Are you finished?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Dolores. “Marcus has agreed to drive you.”

  I gritted my teeth, wanting to scream. I gave my aunts my word to join the Merlin Group but asking me to ride with a man who despised me as much as I despised him was too much. Even for me. I was emotionally drained and didn’t need this right now. What I needed was a tall glass of wine and to binge-watch something on Netflix.

  I averted my eyes, and they settled on a silent witch. “Beverly? Can’t you work this case?”

  Beverly pulled out a lipstick from her purse and smeared it over her full lips. “Can’t, darling. I have a date.”

  “Can’t you cancel it?”

  Beverly looked at me like I’d just soiled her best dress. “Is the world on fire?”

  “No.”

  Beverly slipped her lipstick into her purse. “Charles is taking me to Chez Maurice. Do you know how hard it is to get a decent table? I can’t wait to show him my new dress.” She laughed and adjusted the spaghetti straps of her light blue dress that accentuated her eyes. “Besides, Dolores and Ruth are taking the car. And I haven’t ridden on my broom in ages.” She gave me a wink.

  My face was blank. I didn’t find her particularly amusing at the moment. I never understood why my aunts only owned one car, and old gray, 2000 Volvo v70 station wagon.

  I wanted to combust into flames right there in the kitchen. This was not happening. They knew I loathed the man. We all knew the feeling was mutual. How could they do this to me?

  Ruth came and patted my head like I was a Golden Retriever who’d just performed a trick for her. “You’ll do fine. Don’t you worry. You’ve got this.”

  I shook my head, refusing to look at Marcus but noticing he hadn’t moved. “What’s this new case, anyway? Does it have something to do with what happened to Avi?”

  Ruth smiled. “No idea.”

  “What? But you just said—”

  “Here it comes,” said Ruth. “It’s on its way right now.” She moved away, nodding. “Any minute now. Here we go…”

  “What?” This was weird, even for them.

  There was a sudden ting, and the toaster ejected a white piece of paper like a cue card. Ruth stuck out her hand and snatched the card in midair. “It says it right here. Requests the help of The Merlin Group.”

  I had to refrain from my mouth opening in surprise.

  “See for yourself.” Ruth handed me the card.

  I took it and read.

  Notification alert.

  Attention: Merlin Group. Services required.

  Problem: Unlawful pixies.

  Location: Hot Mess Witch, Beauty Salon. Hollow Cove, Maine, USA.

  I shook my head, rereading the card over and over again, hoping this was a bad dream. “This is not happening.”

  “It’s happening.” Dolores eyed me for a moment and then nodded in something like approval. “Put your big girl pants on and get to it.”

  I dropped my hand with the card still holding it. Guess that settled it, huh?

  I was in hell.

  The muscles around Marcus’s jaw tightened. “I’ll be in the car,” was all he said as he left through the back door.

  The door slammed, and I bared my teeth and hissed like a cat.

  I was going mad.

  I stood there, wanting to strangle him. Emotions pressed against my head and my heart as I started to shake again. I could feel the pressure inside of me, ready to flick back beneath a tide of raging anger.

  Just breathe, Tessa. You can handle this pompous bastard.

  I moved toward the back door and grabbed my black cotton jacket from the wooden peg rack. I slipped it on and pulled the strap of my black leather messenger bag over my head.

  “Here, you’ll need this.” Dolores handed me a large red leather-bound book.

  I grabbed it. A star was etched into the leather, right smack in the middle. “The Witch’s Handbook, Volume Three,” I read.

  She raised a knowing brow. “Never leave home without it.”

  I flipped it open to the first page and peered down at the handwritten notation. Amelia loves Sean was written on the right top corner, encased within a heart.

  It had belonged to my mother once. Guess it was mine now.

  “And these.” Ruth handed me a handful of chalk. “You’ll need those too.”

  I stared at the chalk sticks, five of them, all new.

  I looked up to find the three witches watching me steadily and expectantly. But there was also a hint of mischief flashing behind their eyes. Almost like… like they were testing me.

  I dropped the chalk and the book in my messenger bag, closed the flap, and frowned all the way out the back door.

  7

  It was the worst six-minute-and-thirty-three-second car ride of my life.

  I sat in the front passenger seat, pushed up against the door as much as I could without actually feeling the pain of the door handle poking against my side. Marcus’s burgundy Jeep Grand Cherokee was supposed to be a comfortable ride with all the luxury of an expensive four-by-four. Yet I was only aware of an eerie feeling like my insides being rearranged in my belly and swirling up into my throat with an added uncomfortable silence, accented by the whoosh of igniting gas. Freaking fantastic.

  We didn’t speak. We didn’t as much as glance in each other’s direction. I even tried to hold my breath, not wanting to share the same air with this guy. But when my lungs burned after a minute, I let go. Yeah, not smart.

  My anger sizzled inside me. I could barely think as my fury clawed its way up to the forefront of my mind and took over. What made it worse was the bastard had the nerve to keep breathing hard through his nose, like he was irritated and angry that I was soiling his expensive jeep with my dirty ass.

  Marcus swung the car at the curb of Charms Avenue, his white knuckles and red neck telling me his blood pressure was probably as high as mine.

  “Out,” growled the chief, staring at the street in front of him.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I was barely clear of the jeep when it started moving forward. I stumbled, catching myself with my hands as I nearly went sprawling. The pavement burned the skin on my palms.

  I straightened, seeing Marcus reaching over to shut my door as the jeep pulled out from the curb and took on speed down the road.

  “You’re welcome!” I shouted after him, realizing only the moment the words were out of my mouth that he had given me the lift.

  “Jerk off.”

  After I pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail, I adjusted the strap on my bag and turned around.

  A pink, two-story Victorian house with white trim and moldings stared back at me. Above the front porch was a large, flashing neon pink sign written in bold letters: HOT MESS WITCH, BEAUTY SALON. And then below that was written: Where magic transforms the ordinary to extraordinary!


  Marcus was a douche, but at least he’d dropped me off at the right place. He could have made me walk. I would have made him walk.

  Screams erupted from inside the salon in startled panic, drawing my gaze up. Shadows moved past the windows on the first floor, and I ducked as a black shoe crashed through a front window to land at my feet.

  “This is going to suck.” I sighed, knowing I wasn’t mentally prepared for whatever was happening. “Follow the screaming,” I told myself. I climbed up the steps, marched up to the front door and stepped inside—

  Right into a war zone.

  Miniature humans the size of my hand with multicolored wings that looked like they belonged on butterflies darted through the salon, leaving trails of brilliant dust in their wake as though the shop’s sprinkler system was raining glitter.

  Five pixies had a woman pinned against the far wall next to a row of shelves filled with bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and an assortment of hair products. The woman’s eyes widened; her face rippled from what looked human to the tawny-colored face of a deer. It seemed as though she couldn’t control her inner beast under the stress of getting her eyes poked by pixies. She was shifting back and forth like a cartoon character.

  Two other women—one with light hair crammed onto purple rollers and the other with dark hair—were hiding behind a long counter to my right, their faces cut and bleeding from multiple wounds.

  The hum of wings reached me, and I ducked as a throng of pixies flew at me like a swarm of giant wasps. Only wasps didn’t carry miniature swords. These pixies did.

  A pixie hovered in the air, right below a crystal chandelier. He blew a blast on his trumpet and shouted, “Kill the giant beasts before they eat us! Kill them all! Kill the enemy!”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Pixies charged, exploding in clouds of pinks, blues, yellows, and orange sparkles as they dived around the salon, their eyes wide with manic glee. From what I remembered about pixies growing up, they were territorial and would attack if you threatened their homes. But this was not their home. Pixies didn’t attack people for no reason. They attacked when they felt threatened. But what did this salon have to do with them?