Witch, Please! (A Sisterhood Enchantment Book 2)

by Abby Knox

  Witch, Please!

  A Sisterhood Enchantment

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2018 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Perfect Pear Cover Creations

  Witch, Please!

  By ABBY KNOX

  Running the rowdiest pub in town is the perfect job for a nocturnal bachelor like Drew. Birchdale has its share of weird incidents and weird folks, so it’s the perfect place to lie low and live his passions: making beer and making eyes at the hot little witch across the street. He’s hoping by cranking it up to 11, she might decide to come a little closer. After all, he doesn’t bite. Much.

  Creating a safe space for healing and expression is part of witch Alice’s dream in starting an open mic night at her popular coffee house. After all, her little town has been through a lot lately. Bonfires gone wrong. Angry villagers armed with pitchforks and torches. Demons rising. The usual shenanigans. Foiling her efforts to Birchdale feel like a safe, serene place again is the overgrown frat boy across the street, Drew, who won’t stop ogling her at every turn. Something about his presence makes her feel anything but safe, and she wants no part of that. Nope. Not at all.

  For my fella.

  Contents

  Witch, Please!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  An excerpt from Abby’s next book …

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  Chapter 1

  Drew

  “Are you sure that thing isn’t too big?” asked Jenny as she tied her barmaid apron around her low-slung, barely excusable replica of a kilt. She eyeballed the thing that Drew held in his hand.

  He shrugged. “I found the biggest one I could that will still fit into this damn hole.”

  Jenny shook her head and smirked. “You’re such a perv,” she said. She pointed to the speaker. “That stack, is what I mean. The cord might fit into the outlet, but that speaker stack is way too big for this room.”

  Drew had spent all afternoon piecing together the ultimate sound system for the Valentine’s Eve Party for Stubby’s Tavern. He was finally pretty sure he had all the right cables attached to all the right equipment to produce maximum noise output tonight. He plugged in the main line to the surge protector and flipped the switch to “on.” He chuckled at Jenny. “Aw, you just got your panties twisted because I had to take out one of your tables.”

  “Damn straight, brother, and I’m not wearing any panties,” she said, tucking her notepad and pens into her apron.

  “Gross, Jenny. Come on.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Drew rolled his eyes and walked over to the stage, picked up his vintage Les Paul and plugging it in, letting the electric buzzing sound ease over him. It was the sound of the anticipation of sex, drugs and rock and roll. The tease right before the penetration. It would not be a stretch to say amplifier feedback gave Drew McAlister a hard-on.

  “I got news for you, little sis. Ain’t nobody gonna be sitting at tables in here tonight. I need you to make sure all the girls are moving the drinks fast. And I want you pushing the higher-end shots. It’s a party, goddammit.”

  Jenny shook her head and smiled at Drew as she returned to her party-prep duties. Drew and Jenny were not actually related, but he had a strict policy at work with his servers. No hanky-panky. And he had decided that having all employees of the pub call each other brother and sister helped keep that kind of thing in check. It worked for Drew, anyway.

  Jenny propped open the back door leading to the alley behind the bar, and a scruffy, three-legged dog ambled inside. “Hey, Stubby,” she said, leaning over to give the mutt a scratch. “Your boss will find any reason to party, you know that?”

  “Don’t need an excuse,” Drew muttered. “This is your bread and butter, too, I might add.” And with that, Drew tore into the first chord of “Sunshine of Your Love,” which, Drew believed, despite its dippy title, was the fucking best guitar riff of all time, in his humble opinion. And not just because it was one of five classic Clapton songs he knew how to play with his amateur guitar noodling.

  Stubby, whom Drew believed was a mix of terrier and who-gives-a-shit, ran up to the stage and barked at him, letting him know he had company.

  The members of Black Dog, the Led Zeppelin tribute band that Drew had booked for the evening, had parked in the alleyway and were starting to unload their gear. Drew stopped dicking around on stage and hopped down to help the guys get their gear set up, then went back to his actual job of running a brew pub.

  He pulled out the blackboard sign from behind the bar, grabbed the chalk and gave it an update for the night’s offerings.

  Saint Valentine Red Ale

  Big V Strawberry Cider

  Cupid’s Butt Stout

  Sloppy Seconds Lager

  Drew’s brews had won so many awards for the town he could pretty much call them anything he wanted and nobody would say a word against them.

  Except maybe that witch from across the street, he thought, as he and Stubby went outside to slap the sandwich board onto the sidewalk. In reality, it was an excuse to steal a glance at Kava. The little coffee shop, owned by the hottest of those freaky chicks from that place up in the woods, was bustling with activity. Good. If the coffee lady had an event going on across the street tonight, it would only mean more customers for him, too.

  “OK, Stubs, you hang out here and charm the dinner crowds and do your thing. Give me a paw, hype man,” Drew said. Stubby gave him a doggy handshake and sat in his spot next to the sandwich board. “Good boy.”

  Drew and the witch, Alice, had never exchanged real face-to-face words before, but he had seen her at downtown chamber meetings. She, and her penchant for never wearing a bra, was the only thing that kept him from falling asleep at these boredom fests. Why did they have to have meetings to plan things that could easily be planned via email? And why did they have to meet in the mornings, at a coffee shop full of over-caffeinated town boosters? Not the favorite scene of Drew, a dedicated night owl who didn’t much care for coffee or sunlight. Whenever Drew and Alice had exchanged glances, it was usually a result of her seeming annoyed with him. Whether her annoyance stemmed from the look of his ball cap pulled down tight over his dark sunglasses, or because he slouched in his chair and stayed in the shadows, he didn’t know. But he kind of liked that annoyed look on her face. She made annoyed look sexy. Which worked for him, as he was pretty sure he was good at making annoying look sexy.

  Alice had also given Drew the impression she was stuck up. He had seen her looking over at his bar with a
snooty expression on her face, rolling her eyes at his crude signage.

  Drew had often wanted to ask her what her problem was, but she always swirled around with a flourish of those layers of skirts. Fine, he would think. March back into your own little world of overpriced coffee and of figuring out new and different ways to charge people money to see a bunch of moldy old buildings they called a “living history museum” on the top of some creepy hill in the woods.

  He dusted the chalk off on his jeans and watched Alice wiping down tables across the street. She was leaning over in her white, flimsy peasant blouse, and he could see the tops of her breasts jiggling around seductively as she cleaned. He may not care for her attitude, or that of any of those weirdos, but damn. He sure did appreciate those peasant blouses.

  Not that he was at all interested in anything Alice did with those museum chicks they called “The Sisters.”

  And not that he would care to watch whatever it is they did up there on Colony Hill.

  Well. Maybe just a little.

  Chapter 2

  Alice

  Kava was all set for its first open mic night, and Alice was super excited. Her new barista, Jordan, was taking over the busy work with the coffee service all evening. All of the Sisters were coming down to participate. That was the nice thing about belonging to a group of people who, collectively, fueled much of the community spirit in Birchdale. They always came out to support each other.

  Ever since opening Kava, Alice had dreamed of starting an open mic night for anyone to share their art, whether it be poetry, comedy, dramatic reading and recitation, or acoustic music. The only thing she wouldn’t allow was political speeches, especially after what happened last Halloween. Some local loser had pulled a gun after she refused to let him post a campaign poster in her shop window. Turns out, he had been possessed by a demon trying to use the lunar eclipse as a window to become corporeal and take over the town. You know, the usual shenanigans. But even though it had turned out very badly for the demon—thanks to a huge group of badass witches coming together—the events had made the sweet and agreeable Alice a little bit harder around the edges.

  So, she had drawn an even harder line around politics, local or otherwise. And she didn’t appreciate anybody trying to step on her attempts for a serene, healing environment after all that trauma.

  Tonight was going to be a part of the healing process and she was already feeling the positive energy flowing. She went over her list. She had three of the Sisters signed up to perform something—she did not know what exactly. But it didn’t matter, because really, she just needed them to warm up the audience. After that, she was hoping the free-coffee-in-exchange-for-a-performance would encourage others to step out of their comfort zone.

  She lit all the candles on all of the tables and spritzed the air with water that Sister Fern had blessed with healing herbs. Fern was not a biological sister; it was just a term the witches used to address each other, and they found it added to the mystique that drew tourists and school groups to visit them up at their living history museum. But tonight was not about promoting tourism, but about strengthening the bond between the Sisters and the town. Alice had even baked a huge batch of her famous brownies of all different flavors to pair with all the espresso drinks she offered.

  Alice then lit a single white candle and sat in front of it cross-legged on the floor and slipped into her meditation. She asked the goddesses to make her place a sanctuary for the lonely, as Valentine’s Day weekend was often a difficult time for people who did not have a partner. Not for Alice, though. She didn’t have an exclusive partner, per se, because she enjoyed having so many Sisters nearby and could not imagine living anywhere else. She didn’t much see herself as someone with sexual needs, outside of the monthly moon rites. But that was for strengthening their bonds as a group, and less for partnering up.

  As she opened the door to sweep out any possible mischievous spirits, she noticed Drew McAlister watching her. Again. He thought he was so smooth, checking her out whenever he went outside to change the ridiculous messages on his sandwich board. She could also tell he thought he was just the bee’s knees. He wasn’t bad to look at. He’d be pretty cute if he would just take off that damn ball cap when inside her shop. And remove his sunglasses and meet her eyes when she was leading a meeting of the downtown merchants. Or even say any words at all and contribute a damn idea once in a while.

  But I guess when you run the most popular bar in town, you can act however you want. Excuse me, “brew pub.” Whatever that meant. His dog was pretty cute, though. It was a three-legged mutt he apparently rescued from some asshole’s house with, like, 57 animals living in filth and starving. It was on the news. That dog sure brought in the ladies. Well, goody for him. He probably slept with every damn one of them. Not that she cared. Why would she care? She was a witch! She didn’t judge people based on sexual proclivities as long as all involved were consenting adults.

  So why, when she looked at him, did she feel a thrill at the idea of being kidnapped in the woods and pinned against a tree by a hulking male figure?

  Oh my god. What is wrong with me?

  Her face unintentionally made a scowl at his sign and she flounced back inside and let the door shut behind her, still feeling his gaze on her back. What was that about? Was she a schoolgirl? No! She was a grown-ass woman.

  Healing, Alice. Tonight is about healing. Not worrying about the meathead across the street and anything he might be thinking. He may be an especially fine-looking piece of meat, but he could keep his meat to himself, thank you very much. There was nothing he could satisfy in her that couldn’t be satisfied with a vibrator and some jolly good moon rites.

  Overall, her plan for the evening was working. Sisters Morgan, Fern and Birdie each read a piece of poetry they had written for the occasion. After that, the three of them, along with Morgan’s fiancé Adam, got up to do a theatrical reading from an actual transcript of the Birchdale witch trials. Granted, not as famous as the Salem witch trials, but it served as an easy promotional tool for their Living History Museum up on Colony Hill. Besides that, Adam—Birchdale’s famously good-looking hero cop who helped take down the demon last year—was a huge hit, reading the parts of the village reverend, accusers, prosecutor, judge and executioner.

  During tonight’s performances at Kava, twelve more people signed up to sing, play or read something.

  After the Sisters and Adam were finished with their reading, a very pretty, shy young woman with an acoustic guitar took the stage and sat on the stool. She awkwardly tried to adjust the mic to her short height, and Adam graciously went up to help her. Oh dear goddess, Morgan somehow had found the one perfect man who fit in with the Sisters. Of course it helped that he was also a witch and his mother was the high priestess of the region.

  It was hard to watch this awkward young lady at first, but then she began to play. It was an enchanting little ballad. She had a quiet, sweet voice and a mild but pleasant way with the guitar.

  But as this tiny woman reached the second chorus, she was suddenly interrupted by the thundering sound of an electric guitar intro to “Whole Lotta Love.”

  “What the fuck!” hissed Alice, looking around frantically, but she knew full well where the god-awful noise was coming from.

  The unfazed young woman on the stage strummed away, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. It may not have bothered her, but there was no way that anybody could hear her meek little self and tune out the Jimmy Page-style screaming electric guitar slides.

  Alice locked eyes with the Sisters. Morgan, who was five months pregnant at the moment and therefore harnessed the most power, mentally sent Alice some extra-strength take-care-of-business energy.

  Alice bolted out into the street and found the source of the noise. Obviously, it was the pub across the street. How could it be anywhere else? She went inside and the vibrations from the speakers shook the ends of her hair.

  People were everywhere, swilling beer, raising
their beer steins or fists. Laughing bawdily. It all resembled a mountain dwarf convention. Not any witch’s favorite thing, by a long shot.

  She scanned the room for the bar owner. She had the sense that he was hiding from her. Sure, he had the nerve to ruin her first open mic night, but then didn’t even have the balls to come out and make himself seen, to be held accountable for his actions? Typical non-magic male.

  She closed her eyes and pushed her mind into the room. She would call him out with his conscience.

  Drew …come out and face me like a man.

  Chapter 3

  Drew

  The beer was flowing and the cash register was ringing. All in all, it was a successful event within the first hour, before the band had even started.

  As expected, there was an immediate backlash to the music. That backlash came in the form of that hot-ass hippie chick from across the street.

  Drew stayed behind the bar, using bar patrons to stay out of her view. If she couldn’t find him, he wouldn’t have to deal with her complaining.

  The drawback to this plan was he didn’t get to stare at her.

  For some reason, his conscience got the better of him. He didn’t often have a conscience when it came to his own mischief. So this was new. He took a peek out from behind a large biker fellow but stayed in the shadows. The witch was even more beautiful than he remembered from staring at her from across the street. She wore the same gauzy peasant blouse and weird, layered, gypsy-style skirts, only now she had some jangly beaded scarf thing adding a never-needed extra layer of fabric. It totally overwhelmed her small frame and hid her figure. Besides, he kind of wanted to see what the February air was doing to her nipples. She had something going on with her face beyond her simply annoyed look. She looked mad. Beyond mad. Pissed. More pissed than a 14th-century black arts witch that had cursed every neighbor who had dared speak to her.