EVERY WITCH WAY BUT WICKED
Compiled and edited by
Barbra Annino
Foreword by
Amanda Hocking
On every full moon, rituals…take place on hilltops, beaches, in open fields and in ordinary houses. Writers, teachers, nurses, computer programmers, artists, lawyers, poets, plumbers, and auto mechanics—women and men from many backgrounds come together to celebrate the mysteries of the Triple Goddess of the Dance of Life. The religion they practise is called Witchcraft.
STARHAWK, Spiral Dance
This anthology was carefully compiled to bring fans of the paranormal an enchanting mix of stories that appeal to the witch or warlock in all of us. Proceeds benefit Kids Need To Read, a charity supported by Nathan Fillion, star of the hit television series, Castle.
Barbra Annino - author of the Stacy Justice paranormal mystery series
Debora Geary - author of the Modern Witch series
Toni LoTempio - author of No Rest For the Wicca
Camilla Chafer - author of the Stella Mayweather paranormal mystery series
Misty Evans - author of the Witches Anonymous series
Christiana Miller - author of Somebody Tell Aunt Tille She’s Dead
Rose Pressey - author of the Larue Donavan series
Wren Emerson - author of the Witches of Desire series
Edie Ramer - author of the Haunted Hearts series
Dale Mayer - author of the Psychic Visions books
J.L. Bryan - author of The Paranormals books
Terri Reid - author of the Mary O’Reilly paranormal mystery series
Fillet of a snake that lived in a bog,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
A black snake’s forked tongue, and its cousin’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.
Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Second Witch
Foreword
Thanks for supporting Kids Need to Read by picking up this compilation of short stories.
A book is all kinds of things to a child in need: education, entertainment, and a temporary escape from a life that may be difficult and painful. Learning to read makes it easier to learn anything else and to create a better life through education. The greater a child’s literacy, the more opportunities he or she has for the future. This is one reason it’s so important to encourage reading among children who suffer from poverty or special needs. Whatever a child’s circumstances, developing a love of reading can only help them to cope and to grow.
Beyond preparing a child for education and a future career, reading helps children develop into more compassionate human beings. When we have seen the world through a fictional character’s viewpoint, and shared in that character’s struggles and triumphs, it becomes easier to see the world from the perspective of other people instead of just our own. A child who reads can become more kind and empathetic, so I think it’s great that Kids Need to Read provides books to juvenile offender facilities as well as underfunded schools and libraries.
I hope that you enjoy this collection of witchy stories, and I’m sure you will, because there are some terrific writers included here. I also hope you will consider donating to Kids Need to Read, or to a literacy organization or underfunded school in your area. Many of them will be happy to take your old books, too—and who doesn’t have a ton of those lying around? The gift of reading really is one of the best gifts you can give to a young person, and even helping out a little can have huge positive effects.
So, while you read this collection, you can feel good that you’ve helped promote childhood literacy just a little bit. And that’s a great feeling.
Oh, and Happy Halloween!
-Amanda Hocking
Austin, MN
October 5, 2011
CONTENTS
A TALE OF TWO WITCHES, by Barbra Annino and Christiana Miller
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
CATS AND DOGS, by JL Bryan
THE TROUBLE WITH SPELLS, by Camilla Chafer
THE HAZARDS OF DESIRE, by Wren Emerson
A GHOST OF A MATCH, by Misty Evans
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
A SAMHAIN SURPRISE, by Debora Geary
BLACK MAGIC WICCAN, by Toni LoTempio
RIANA’S REVENGE, by Dale Mayer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
THE WITCH IS BACK, by Rose Pressey
THE KISS, by Edie Ramer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
ORION’S MOON, by Terri Reid
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
A TALE OF TWO WITCHES
by
Christiana Miller and Barbra Annino
Chapter One
Mara bent to pick up the morning paper and was almost run over by two Dobermans, chasing full tilt after a toad. Technically, the ghost of a toad. The late, great Lord Grundleshanks the Poisonous Toad, to be exact.
“Bad dogs!” Mara yelled.
Grundleshanks hopped through the open front door and up onto the back of an armchair, closely followed by the Dobes.
Mara picked up the paper she had dropped, grabbed the morning mail, and went into the cottage just in time to see Aramis and Apollo skid into the chair and end up in a pile.
“He’s not alive, you goofballs. You won’t be able to catch him. You’ll just kill me in the process.”
The Dobes glanced from her to the toad and back again, eyebrows twitching, as if they were anxiously weighing their odds.
As Mara sorted through the mail, there was a thud at the door. Followed by a muffled, “Let me in, bee-yotch!”
Mara dropped the mail and the paper on the coffee table and opened the door. Gus, her best friend and cottage mate, stood outside, shivering in the cool fall air, balancing a bag of donuts, a tray of coffee, and a large box.
“Took you long enough. My cojones shrivel up any more, I’ll be singing castrato.”
Mara rolled her eyes. Gus was such a diva. “I told you to wear a jacket.”
Gus handed her the coffee and donuts, and took a firmer hold on the box.
“What’s in the box?” she asked. “It’s too early for Christmas, and too late for my birthday.”
“Not everything is about you, Miss Thing. Where’s my little girl?”
“Paul took her to visit Daniel at the assisted living facility.”
“Aw, some daddy and grandpa bonding time. How sweet. Does that mean he’s over the fear that she’ll blink and turn him into a flying squirrel?”
“Give him a break, Gus. He’s trying.”
As far as they could figure out, Paul was the little girl’s father—technically. But since he had been possessed at the time, Mara wasn’t sure she could really hold Paul accountable for the pregnancy.
Apollo and Aramis, ever on th
e lookout for treats, trotted over, begging. Mara gave them each a piece of glazed donut and sat down on the couch, sipping her coffee, while Gus set the box next to the coffee table and picked up the mail.
He handed an envelope to Mara. “Here’s one from the dead letter department.”
It was addressed to Tillie MacDougal. “Aunt Tillie! You’ve got mail!” Mara called.
Aunt Tillie shimmered and appeared in the armchair. Grundleshanks hopped down to sit on her shoulder. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, child. What does it say?”
Mara opened the envelope and an invitation slid out, along with a handwritten note. “Spend a haunted weekend at The Geraghty Girls Guest House. Tour the most haunted spots in Amethyst and end the weekend with a Halloween festival and parade.”
“Sounds like a job offer, Tillie,” Gus said, through a mouthful of donut. He looked over Mara’s shoulder. “Is it from undead_monster.com?”
“It’s actually from someone named Birdie.”
“How lovely. I haven’t seen Birdie in ages,” Tillie said.
“Too bad you’re dead,” Mara replied, unfolding the note.
“But you’re not.” Tillie said pointedly, “And you could use a vacation.”
“Vacations are for single people with no responsibilities.”
“Pish tosh,” Tillie snorted.
“I’m with you, Til,” Gus said. He took the handwritten note from Mara and read it, giving a low whistle.
“Well? What does it say?” Tillie snapped. “Don’t keep an old ghost in suspense.”
“Dear Tillie,” Mara read, taking the note from Gus. “This is crucial, I’m afraid. There’s a great trine aligning in the stars and the portents are centering on Amethyst. My granddaughter continues to fight against her destiny. We must have a gathering of elders to meet the challenge ahead. We need you, desperately. I’ve set aside a room for you at the B&B. Please, hurry.”
“Well, that settles it,” Tillie said, standing. “Pack your bags.”
“Tillie! I can’t leave the baby. And what about the dogs?” Mara protested. “Besides, Gus just brought home a mystery box, and I have to see what’s inside it.”
“You are not going to call Birdie and break the news of my demise over the phone. You will do it in person, like a responsible adult. More to the point, she needs you.”
Mara looked at her, anxious. “But…”
“It’s a high chair for the wee lass, and you’re welcome. Anyway, isn’t that what dads are for? Paul can stay here and watch the baby and the dogs.” Gus grinned at Mara. “Duty calls. Have magical powers, will travel. Witches to the rescue. Hip, hip, hooray.”
Mara groaned.
“Get that suitor of yours over here and make it happen,” Tillie snapped.
Mara groaned again. Last time Paul stayed over at the cottage, a malevolent spirit had possessed him. Mara wasn’t at all sure he’d be up for staying there again.
Chapter Two
To say the dream was unusual would be putting it mildly. There was a toad hopping all around a pumpkin patch and the thing had such expression in his eyes, Stacy Justice could swear he was Lord Byron reincarnated.
Her Great Dane, Thor, was galloping after the toad, his huge jowls flopping in the fall breeze, until he came across an old woman with a temperament so ornery, it fired off her in tiny purple sparks. Stopped the dog right in his tracks. Thor rolled over on his back and whinnied, kicking his legs in the air. The toad shrugged, climbed on top of Thor’s belly and blinked at the woman.
She gave a reluctant smile to the toad, but to Stacy, she said, “You kids think you know everything. Think your brains are better, just because they’re younger. You better wise up, toots. I don’t have as much patience as your grandmother. Just ask Mara.”
Then she was gone.
Stacy bolted upright in bed, jostling Thor, who was snoring next to her, his giant tail thumping happily.
Was she talking to me? And who on Earth was Mara? Stacy thought.
*
Stacy’s eyes were still heavy as she crawled out of bed. She cursed herself for not making coffee the night before. She would need a whole pot to kick off this weekend. Not only was it the busiest tourist weekend of the year, it was also jam-packed with family activities that she was bound to be dragged to, whether she wanted to go or not.
Being raised by witches was bad enough. Being raised by a grandmother who was convinced that Stacy was not only a witch, but The Seeker of Justice (whatever that meant) was a bit harder to swallow.
But then, when Samhain—the strongest Sabbat in the Pagan calendar year—rolled around, well, that was a front-row seat on the train to crazy town.
Stacy slipped into a robe and padded into the kitchen. The dark roast coffee can was nearly empty so she made half a pot, licked the grounds off the spoon and grabbed the milk from the fridge.
The carton was still in her hand as she turned around to see a face staring back at her. Stacy screamed, punctured the milk with her nails and fell backwards into the trashcan.
“Hello, Anastasia. Do you have any idea what time it is?” It was Birdie, Stacy’s grandmother and aforementioned witch. Birdie never called her granddaughter by her given name, which was simply Stacy. Everything had to be more dramatic, more pronounced, just – more with Birdie, who refused to answer to Grandma.
“Dammit, Birdie! Why do you always sneak up on me like that!?” Stacy pulled herself up and went to the sink to wash the milk out of her eyeballs.
“It’s after nine o’clock. I cannot believe you slept the morning away when we have so much work to do.”
Stacy groaned. Her grandmother owned a bed and breakfast called the Geraghty Girls House, and the ‘girls’ the title referred to her were Stacy’s great aunts, Birdie’s sisters. Not one had seen the underside of seventy in some time.
“Birdie, you know I worked at the Black Opal last night. Cinnamon was short-staffed.” The Black Opal was Stacy’s cousin’s bar and last call wasn’t until one a.m.
Birdie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, the morning light dancing off her copper waves. “A young person like you should have more stamina.”
An old lady like you should have more manners. At least, that was what Stacy wanted to say. But she settled for “Fine.”
Stacy flipped the off switch on the coffee pot. “Just let me get showered and dressed. How many guests do you have arriving?”
“Two guests. Three rooms.”
“You’re kidding.” There were three guest rooms, but accommodations for seven people. Often people traveled in packs on this weekend.
Birdie just stared at her.
Stacy sighed. “I know, you never kid. Still, this weekend is usually booked solid.”
Something flickered across Birdie’s face for an instant. Stacy couldn’t identify it, but she didn’t like it.
“This weekend is special.” Then Birdie turned and floated out the door.
Yep. Stacy definitely did not like it.
Chapter Three
Mara frowned at her tarot cards. They were arranged on the table, in two different streams, as if she were doing two separate readings. Gus walked through, crunching on an apple.
“Want a bite? Fresh picked.”
“Sure.” She took the apple from Gus and went on frowning at her cards.
“What’s going on?” He sat down next to her.
“I’m trying to find out if this trip is a bad idea. This pile is what will happen if we go, the other is what will happen if we don’t go.”
“And…?”
“They’re both bad. If we don’t go, there’s going to be chaos and disaster, and if we do go there’s going to be chaos and disaster.”
“Then there’s only one thing to do. Screw the status quo and full speed ahead. Life is all about change, Miss Thing. I’m already packed. Where’s Paul?”
“I can’t pay him enough to spend the weekend here. He took the baby and the dogs to his place.”
“
So what are we waiting for? If we leave now, we’ll get there by morning.” Gus grinned at her and stood up. “Samhain awaits!”
*
They drove all night, finally arriving in Amethyst, Illinois on Halloween day. The town itself seemed a lot like Devil’s Point, Wisconsin, where Mara lived—small, picturesque, antique-y, with an undercurrent of the supernatural. An undercurrent that vibrated so strongly, even normal humans could feel it.
“I love this place!” Gus shouted, as they parked in front of an old, three-story Victorian house. In the front yard was a sign: Geraghty Girls Guest House. Even though the house was painted in cheerful colors, it couldn’t quite shake its spooky aura.
They parked the car and walked along the black wrought iron fence to a winding brick pathway. The path and the expansive porch were decorated with gourds, cornstalks, tiny skull lights and everything you might expect of the season. Except instead of a scarecrow sitting on the front porch, it was a witch, complete with long pointy hat, flowing velvet cape, striped nylons and ruby slippers.
As they climbed the stairs to the porch, Mara took a second look and realized the witch was also wearing a fluffy pink tulle gown beneath the cape and holding a wand with a star at the tip. It was as if they couldn’t decide on the Good Witch of the North or the Wicked Witch of the West, so they opted for both. Mara smiled. She had a feeling she was going to like these Geraghty Girls.
Then the witch pulled out a flask of Jameson, startling Mara, who screamed and bumped into Gus, who then fell into the doorbell.
The witch looked at them and said, “Hello, dears. Do you have a reservation?”
Mara doubled up with laughter.
Gus rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind her,” he said, pointing at Mara. “Her brain’s been oxygen-deprived.”
Mara tried to stop laughing. “It’s not my fault. She startled me!” To the witch she said, “That was great.”
Gus elbowed her in the stomach.
“We do have reservations,” Mara explained, once she regained her composure. “Under Tillie MacDougal.”
Every Witch Way but Wicked Page 1
