Witch Way Inn
By
Kate Richards
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Kate Richards
Also by Kate Richards
Witch Way Inn
Growing up in a town populated by magical beings, Karina Jewel’s complete lack of ability is an embarrassment to her family and a source of great personal misery. But an inheritance from an aunt she’s never heard of offers her the chance to break free and start life anew in the scenic High Sierras. The Witch Way Inn, a haven for magical and non-magical folk alike is about to open, and it holds all her hopes and dreams. In addition to the house, Aunt Graciela left her a prophesy. She will reconnect with someone from another life...and that connection will change everything.
Early Rogers’ article about the Shifter Whisperer for The Journal of Magical Times received a less-than-positive response from Zelda, who happens to be a good friend of his publisher. Instead of his usual globe-trotting assignments, he’s to cover the grand opening of a hotel with such low standards even regular humans are invited. He’s already got the piece half-written in his head. The sooner his punishment is fulfilled, the sooner he can get back to the real world and his exciting life.
Neither is looking for their other half, at least not in this life. But could they have been looking for lifetimes? And maybe, just maybe, there is a key somewhere in the mountains to unlock Karina’s magic, if there is any to unlock. They say opposites attract, but sometimes opposites collide with explosive results.
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Kate Richards
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.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.
The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.
Foreword
Blast Off with us into the Magic and Mayhem Universe!
I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.
What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?
Well, let me explain...
It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you...the results are hilarious!
So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!
For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com/. Grab your copy today!
Chapter One
Karina Jewel
Six months, every penny, and enough of a personal loan to put me in debt to the Wizard’s Bank and Trust for years, but the sign hung outside: Witch Way Inn...Something’s Always Brewing. And the little placard in the front-door window ready to flip to Open. Come on Inn. Puns were a good thing, or so my sister-in-law would have everyone believe. Truly, I didn’t make a habit of it. Even the placard was a grand-opening gift from Tinsley. The half-ogre, half-fairy was a quirky character who’d married my brother only a few short weeks before his ship sank in one of the “storms of the century,” taking all hands with it. She’d been heartbroken, wilted, and sad.
Thus...she came to live at the inn, insisting she take her place as the cook, something I still had my doubts about, but hoped would work out in the end. I’d vetoed most of her more outlandish suggestions like elderberry and mushroom pasta, sauerkraut souffle, and, worst of all, pizza with ham and pineapple.
My goal had been to create a unique setting for magical and non-magical folks to come together in mutual understanding here in the High Sierras. With fall settling in, the days remained warm, but the nights were cooler and would soon be cold. But as I stepped out into my backyard to check and make sure everything was ready for my first guests and the opening day fire circle, I was overwhelmed with the beauty surrounding me. Overwhelmed and grateful to my late aunt, Graciela, who had left me the rundown Victorian era manor, set in such an unlikely spot.
Usually homes like this were in places like Virginia City and other areas where the Earth Mother had been ripped asunder for minerals. Mining areas. This home, my beautiful inn, had been built for an artist who loved having her friends and family visit, but had never left the mountains from the day she arrived. My aunt had been that artist, and she’d loved this place. The letter I’d received after her death brought tears to my eyes when I thought of it. So short, I’d memorized it.
Beloved niece, Karina,
Although we’ve never met in person in this incarnation, we know each other well. We’ve been together many times, and I trust we will be again. Perhaps next time around the wheel. But for now, accept my gift of a home. Trust that it is where you need to be now. Pack and go. Do not allow anything—even the doubts of my sister who kept us apart—stop you from boarding a plane within one week. It would be best if you didn’t tell your mother your plans until you land in Reno. The timing is critical.
I am compelled to tell you that someone you’ve waited lifetimes to encounter again will find his way there. There will be impediments, but if you surpass them, you may find the happiness denied you in the past.
Oh, and when you open the inn—yes, that is what you will do with my old haunt—call it the Witch Way Inn.
The Lady’s many blessings upon you until we meet again.
Your loving aunt, Graciela
I settled into one of my pretty new patio chairs. Well, new to me. I’d found the set in a secondhand store in a nearby town, along with a number of other intriguing pieces that fit in the various rooms as if they’d been made for them.
A shame my aunt didn’t say more. Critical? I’d been here all summer, remodeling, and seen no signs of anything critical whatsoever. I did get the part about not telling Mom. She’d never even told me I had an aunt, much less that said aunt was her sister. Taking that as a sign she wouldn’t handle with grace my crossing the country to accept my inheritance, I’d spoken only with Dad who flushed with shame as he admitted that his wife, my beloved mother, and her sister had parted ways shortly after my birth. When the coven they belonged to examined me and pronounced me a magical failure, Aunt Graciela had apparently made the huge gaffe of suggesting they accept me as I was and just learn to love their disappointingly unmagical child.
According to Dad, Mom was so insulted at the implication I couldn’t be “fixed” she never spoke to her sister again.
Then Mom spent the first twenty years of my life trying to make me a “real” witch. I’d been subjected to every possible treatment, cure, and spell that could be found by a devoted parent who was embarrassed by her less-than-adequate child.
Looking around me at the aspen
s in all their autumn glory, their leaves rattling in the breeze, the creek babbling its way across the back of the property, I bowed my head to give thanks for my change in circumstance. Far from those who’d known me all my life, I could start fresh, maybe try to forget the burn scars on the bends in my arms from the helpful spells gone wrong. The occasional nightmares caused by a healer who’d delved into my mind to see if she could find a block. The fear of deep water from I didn’t remember what.
Given a choice, I’d have called the inn something else. High Sierra Retreat or Absolutely No Magic Required Hotel. Or Graciela’s Rest. But my aunt had not asked much of me in return for a whole new life in a place where I could go about my day without pitying looks and whispers behind hands. That was worth something.
Lucky it wasn’t on a lake. I felt no anxiety whatsoever at the sight and sound of my little creek beyond the garden. No, it made me smile. As did so much around here. I breathed the pine-scented air and watched the shadows lengthen, the sun lower toward the range to the west. This would be my last chance to relax before tomorrow’s grand opening and although I wasn’t magical, as a generational witch, I still had a ceremony to perform. The sun disappeared early here, surrounded by the peaks, so quite a few hours remained before my dawn ritual.
The breeze kicked up, rattling the aspens harder and bending the boughs of the pines, sending fallen leaves skittering across the ground. I mentally ran over the list of tasks I’d performed that day, satisfied to find them accomplished. Our guests would be welcomed in style tomorrow. Each room was decorated in a slightly different style. Many thought of Victorian as heavy draperies and velvet, horsehair—heaven forbid—sofas, and lots of bric-a-brac. But they forgot the era went on for over sixty years, and styles in that time changed from year to year and season to season. And place to place. The overlap of the era with the Industrial Revolution contributed to more elaborate styles being made available to more people. It was a topic I could go on about forever to the desperate boredom of almost anyone present.
Design. It’s my thing. And Victorian design is my passion.
I’d wanted to celebrate the many faces of a Victorian life. With magic, I’d have been able to do it with not much more than the swipe of a hand, but being me...it had taken half a year, gallons of sweat, and yeah, money.
Dad would have helped me. As my only living blood relative—since my brother’s death—who didn’t see me as a genetic goof, he’d showered me with love and acceptance. Without him, I don’t think I’d have made it to adulthood, at least not with any level of wholeness. But to ask him to lend a magical hand would mean asking him to deceive my mother, and while she wasn’t an easy woman to live with, he adored her.
I couldn’t do that to him.
Plus, I’d wanted to prove myself, to myself. Our town, the one I grew up in, had been almost 100 percent “extraordinary” folk. Witches, shifters, wizards, a few vamps... In fact, now that I’d flown the coop, they could probably claim the 100 percent mark. I didn’t know of any other “lesser” folk there.
This wasn’t my first attempt to leave...just my first successful one. If anything had convinced me Aunt Graciela had spent time with my mother, it was her warning not to let her know I was leaving. I couldn’t say for sure, because she’d denied it every time, but somehow no matter my plans to escape that town, even temporarily, they fell through.
The summer after high school, I’d packed the car, headed for a beach town to work in a boardwalk burger stand for the summer...but my car broke down, and the repairs were more than the vehicle was worth. Since Mom didn’t want me to go, magical repair was not offered.
Then I’d decided to go to a small design college in New Hampshire, but an earthquake damaged the buildings so severely they had to close for a semester, and I was afraid to reregister for fear other “unfortunate” and unusual disasters would befall them.
Finally, after completing my online college education, I accepted a position with a New York City furniture company to work on designs for their new Murphy bed line. I’d already designed a number of them for my classes, and they were coming into fashion in a big way. I’d even won an award for my Victorian tweak on the design. My passion... Unfortunately, the owner of the company suddenly decided he hated anything Victorian and me for liking the era.
After that, I’d given up, stayed at home, and worked on my designs, selling one online, occasionally, but mostly just becoming smaller and smaller in my mind until I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
Except lonely. After all, what boy in our town would go out with a girl like me? Even if he could get past my failings, he’d have the prospect of non-magical children in his future. It could be genetic.
I couldn’t figure out why Mom, if I embarrassed her so, wanted to keep me around. Dad couldn’t explain it, either, although he did say he would miss me if I left.
“Karina?” Tinsley’s voice broke into my ruminations. “Dinner’s ready.”
I blinked into the gathering darkness. While I’d been lost in time, the air had cooled and the lights come on in the kitchen behind me. It was probably logical to be thinking of the past tonight, when tomorrow was such an important day for me. Witch Way Inn was not only the way—was that a pun?—I’d make my living, but a place I hoped would attract others like me and people who might be their friends. People open-minded enough to accept that not everyone had to be magic to be worthwhile.
It seemed a dream...but I’d put a lot of time, energy, and money into making it happen.
As to the person from another life, that would have to wait. I’d long since given up on finding a true love. I’d be satisfied with a business that made enough for me to live on, and nice folk who came there to stay.
Lady, in your wisdom, you made me as I am. I know I’ve not often been happy with my lot, but I think I see the potential for contentment here, in this peaceful, beautiful place. Help me to bring these gifts to those who stay here. I have no gift of prophesy, but I feel somehow that I have found my purpose here. Keep us safe through the night.
After all, there were billions of people walking the Earth who lived an entirely mundane existence. Some didn’t even know there was an alternative. They were happy, right? At least sometimes?
“Karina!”
“Coming, Tinsley.” A good hot supper, followed by a relaxing bath and early bedtime, just the thing to have me ready for the grand opening. “What are we having?”
“Liver and sweet potatoes. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
“Oh.” I stood and brushed a few leaves the wind had deposited in my lap. “Yummy.” I needed to go over the menus one more time.
Chapter Two
Early Rogers
Who ever heard of such an assignment? As the senior news reporter for The Journal of Magical Times, my usual pieces were about disasters caused by magic, magical malfeasance, crime in our communities, and on a slow day, a new and innovative spell or technique. On a very slow day, I might cover a magical device guaranteed to change the world.
But the opening of a hotel deep in the mountains? A hotel whose owner was even worse than mundane. She was a dud. Humans couldn’t help how they were born, but when the genetics went bad and spat out someone who had none of the good stuff, why make a point of it? At least, leave her in peace. Surely, she wouldn’t want her sad state to be any wider known than necessary.
Driving through the mountains after landing in Reno, I could appreciate why someone would want to come here for peace and quiet. You know, someone in their declining years. Who’d done everything exciting and now was ready to enjoy nature. But my readers wanted adventure. Perhaps there was some bungee jumping or something on the grounds of this Witch Way Inn. Rock climbing, at least? The Sierras were tall and majestic with their rocky peaks already frosted with snow. There were some decent ski resorts up there. I could see the charm in running a resort with attractions like that. Maybe working on freelance pieces.
If I had to write an article on a
bunch of witches sitting around drinking herbal tea, I’d lose all credibility with my audience. I could just see it now... Karina Jewel, the owner of the lovely new hotel wore her finest organamata gown, if that was a thing, and served chamomile tea and Pop-Tarts at her well-attended event.
Let this be a lesson to me. In the future, I’d try to avoid offending friends of the publisher. Zelda the Shifter Whisperer had a lot of fans, and my feature on her for the magazine had been, per the subject of the piece, “assholish.” Was that even a word? In the group Facetime with my publisher, she accused me of being insensitive to her and her people, to making them seem, well, the language she used was not printable, nor was the response from my publisher who, as it turned out, was one of Zelda’s shifter buddies. Together, they had come up with a fabulous plan to punish me for my lack of respect and creative cursing. Because I’d done some, but they’d voted it “banal” and “depressing,” and so here I was.
Covering the exciting opening of an inn in the back of beyond. I almost drove past the exit to Sierra Crown Loop, which might not have been a bad thing. I could have ended up in a certain town about sixty miles further with a famous bakery where I could have stuffed myself on cinnamon rolls and stollen...and maybe taken in enough carbs to develop carb poisoning and forget what I was supposed to be doing to start with. Since carbs had been outlawed in the magazine offices since 2012, it might be the only excuse that would save me.
But if it backfired, I’d lose my job so perhaps it was just as well that I now drove along the two-lane road into the mountains. I saw no other cars, making me wonder how the grand opening had gone. Certainly there would be overnight guests, but wouldn’t some people already be leaving? It would have been ideal for me to arrive sooner, in time for the festivities, but my last-minute flight bookings had been far less than ideal, and one plane had been taken out of service for wing issues. I didn’t need to know more than that to agree to change to a later flight.
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