Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance Book 3)

by Dakota Cassidy

  Calla breathed a sigh of relief and blew her a kiss. “Bless your heart. Bless it so hard.”

  Nash gave Calla a quick kiss on her cheek then held his hand out, fist forward at Bernie, bumping hers. “May the force be with you. And if you hear someone yell duck, do it. I mean, get under a table and stay there until the dust settles,” he said with a chuckle, tipping his Stetson before he made his way across the wide floor and out of the center.

  Calla eyed Bernie, entwining her fingers behind her back, her smile facetious. “Soooooo…”

  “More instructions? Should I watch out for the floods and locusts?”

  “No, but you could tell me what that was all about outside. You know—you and Hot Bod Donovan smooching.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, damning Ridge for interfering. “I’m sorry. Ridge…he…caught me off guard. It was nothing. Do you want to write me up and give it to Greta? I’ll sign off on it.”

  Calla looked surprised before she scoffed. “Write you up? Because you kissed a delectable man who defended you from that viper on heels?”

  “How do you know he defended me?”

  She tugged her ear, where a small hoop earring was lodged. “Werewolf. We might not be able to conjure up things or cast spells, but by God, our hearing is magical.”

  Good to know. “Did Greta leave you one of those pads with the pink slips? We had them all over the prison. The guards carried them everywhere in case of infractions.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Bernie! I’m not your jailor, and I don’t have any pink pads, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t write you up. Violet’s a witch, and I don’t mean a welcome addition to your kind. If Ridge stuck up for you, good on him.”

  “I shouldn’t have let him kiss me.” But God, it had been so outstanding. It hadn’t lasted long, and it was only out of pity, but Ridge’s lips on hers, his arms around her, playing at being a couple, made her heart throb in her chest and her knees melt like butter.

  “Why the hell not? He’s hot, Bernie, and you’re gorgeous. Gorgeous women should be kissed—thoroughly. Now, listen to me. When tonight’s over, you and me are going to sit down and have a talk—”

  “Why are y’all talking when tonight’s over?” Greta asked, strolling up to the podium, making Bernie stiffen.

  Calla rested her elbow on Bernie’s shoulders and rolled her eyes upward. “Because Bernie seems to think she’s in trouble for kissing Ridge Donovan.”

  Greta frowned, twisting her whistle around her neck. “Why? Did you kiss him wrong or something?”

  First a car, now permission to kiss her boss from her parole officer.

  Bernie shook her head with a smile. “Forget it. That’s just me trying to keep my nose clean.”

  Greta waved a chubby finger at her. “While you’re keeping your nose clean, how about you start calling numbers? Natives are gettin’ restless. When Glenda-Jo starts shifting her troll dolls around, trouble’s a-comin’ soon thereafter.”

  Bernie got behind the podium and saluted Greta. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  “That’s Bitch In Charge to you, kiddo,” Greta said with a grin, pivoting on her sensible shoes and heading toward a table in the back.

  Bernie grabbed the mic and began to turn the cage housing the balls as she looked out on all the seniors, their faces expectant.

  But there was one face way in the back, beyond the table set up with coffee and cookies, beyond the bookcases and game tables.

  A face she thought she’d never see again in her life, chatting amicably with Violet Hammond.

  The face of the woman Eddie had cheated on her with.

  Doris Dobbs.

  Chapter 8

  Ridge watched Bernie call numbers, her beautiful face hiding something he didn’t understand. Her soft voice floating into the microphone and swirling around the room had a slight, almost undetectable shakiness to it, making him wonder what was going on in that head of hers.

  What kept her so skittish? What made her put up roadblocks over things like calling him Ridge? Why was she always apologizing?

  If Baba would just return his damn call, he might be able to get some answers.

  He’d come tonight specifically because Bernie was going to be here. He was hoping to talk her into a beer later. As he sipped his coffee, he reflected on how easy it was to joke with her when she wasn’t censoring her every word and move.

  Something else that was easy? Kissing her. He damn well liked it. They hadn’t even discussed their first kiss, knowing full well they should. Yet, they were on to number two and he was rarin’ to add number three to a notch on his belt.

  He couldn’t explain why he liked her. What it was that attracted him to her besides the obvious—she was gorgeous—but attracted to her, he was. When he’d caught Violet pulling her superiority act, looking down her nose at Bernie, he’d wanted to choke the life right out of her with a suffocation spell.

  So he’d reacted—protectively, no less.

  That meant something. He just didn’t know what, but the onslaught of thoughts about Bernie needed exploring. He’d hoped to talk her into that drink after bingo in an effort to try to get to know her a little better. But she’d shut right back down again once she felt as if she’d overstepped her invisible boundaries.

  Bernie’s eyes kept floating to Violet and the woman at the table behind him, but he couldn’t figure why, other than the fact the woman was a virtual stranger in Paris. But how would Bernie know that anyway? She’d only been here a week or so herself.

  Newcomers were few and far between for a reason. The witch community in Paris kept out as many humans as possible with heavy magic and spells, but every now and again one slipped by their radar, and they were welcomed, but pleasantly discouraged right over the town line.

  And this woman with Octopussy was definitely a human.

  “N-thirty-six!” Bernie called out, her eyes shifting about the room, searching for a winner.

  “Aw, c’mon, Bernie! Could an old man get just one daggone number?” George shouted, slamming down his blue dauber and running his hands over his lucky tarot card. “Give a warlock a break!”

  “George Wiffle? Are you holding me responsible for your losing streak, mister?” Bernie called him out with an impish grin.

  George flapped a hand at her, but he was smiling again as he shifted in his folding chair. “Just call the next dagnab number and quit flirtin’ at me with those big green eyes a yours.”

  Ridge chuckled to himself. Nice save.

  Whatever it was about Bernie, she had a way. With the seniors, with the animals on the farm, with him.

  “O-seventy-two!”

  “Bingooo!” both Violet and Gus shouted simultaneously, jumping up from their chairs.

  Hoo, shit. No way was Gus gonna let Violet win. There was a two-hundred-dollar booty at stake, and he wouldn’t like splitting it with the likes of her. That kind of money could buy a guy like Gus a lot of beer and Fritos, his favorite snacks.

  But likely, Violet wasn’t going to split with Gus, either.

  Violet stomped over to Gus’ table, her long legs eating up the space between them. “I called it first!”

  Gus’ wrinkled face scrunched up when he held his bingo card under Violet’s nose. “The hell you did, Fancy Pants. I called it first.”

  Violet held up her own card and shoved it right back at Gus. “Put your hearing aids in, old man. I called it first!”

  Bernie tapped the mic, making it squawk. “Please take your seats! Now, the rules say in the event of a tie—”

  “I don’t care about the rules for a dang tie!” Gus yelped, holding his card up. “I said it first and anyone with ears heard it!”

  Ridge rose from his seat, feeling the change in the vibe of the room. He strode over to Violet and cocked his head, taking his Stetson off. “C’mon, Violet. What’s the harm in letting him have this? What are you going to do with two hundred bucks? That doesn’t even cover the cost of one hair salon visit.”r />
  “It’s not the money; it’s the principal of it all. I won, fair and square. And that’s that,” she retorted, her mouth an angry line.

  He leaned in low and murmured, “What’s your issue with these people? They’re harmless seniors, out for a night of fun. You don’t even like bingo. Which brings to mind the question, why are you here, harassing your elders?”

  Violet bristled. Likely because no one ever told Octopussy no. “You don’t own this town, Ridge Donovan. I can do whatever the hell I please, and if I want to play bingo, I’ll damn well play bingo. It’s open to the public, as I recall. I’m the public.”

  Okay, fangs out and ready to bite his head off. He decided maybe appealing to Gus was his better bet.

  He turned to Gus and put a hand on his back. “It’s all good, Gus, my man. C’mon, let’s go get some lemonade and cook—”

  “Gussie said it first,” Henry blustered, popping upright in his chair where he’d been happily napping.

  Perfect. The Peanut Gallery was awake. If there was anything you could count on with this bunch, no matter how much infighting went on, they stuck together like flies on flypaper.

  Violet’s beautiful face went sour fast when she whipped around to assess Henry. “How would you know? You were over there snoring like you were vying for first place in the lumberjack two thousand.”

  Flora rose from her seat and climbed on top of the metal chair, crossing her arms over her chest and shooting Violet a narrowed gaze. “Gus absolutely said it first, Violet Hammond.”

  Ridge looked around the room as all the seniors followed Flora’s lead and got up on their chairs and began stomping their feet to the chant “Gus! Gus! Gus!”

  Bernie tapped the mic again to get everyone’s attention, but Calla swiftly intervened. “Guys? Take your seats, please, and we’ll get this sorted out.”

  But the seniors weren’t having it, and Violet was growing angry—he knew that look on her face. It was just like the one she’d had when he’d told her he didn’t want to date her that night at the party.

  There was a breeze, a slight but noticeable shift in the air at the center, which meant shit was about to get real. He smelled the magic before he was able to capture it, felt that racing sizzle of energy he always experienced running up and down his spine.

  Violet’s eyes flashed as her hair lifted from her neck and her nostrils flared.

  Yeah. It was gonna get hairy.

  Rushing for Flora, Ridge ran across the room and grabbed her around the waist, setting her on the floor. “I’m going to ask you kindly to stop antagonizing, Miss Flora. No broken hips on my watch,” he said before turning to see Gus winding up a fireball.

  Aw, Jesus. Gus liked to think he still had his magic under control. Worse, he liked to think he could have played the majors back in the day, but his aim stunk.

  The last time he’d shot a fireball in the bowling alley at someone, the hot dog machine in the kitchen blew up, and he’d actually been aiming at Morris Walthrup—positioned at the end of the alley completely opposite the kitchen.

  “Gus!” he roared as the wind picked up, scattering bingo cards everywhere. “You put that arm down right now!”

  Just as he caught Gus’ attention, Violet began to shake, her anger taking on a new, almost physical form in the way of smoky colors of red and purple. Sparks flew from her fingers and her eyes glazed over.

  The lights flickered then turned off completely.

  Then total chaos. In a huge-kick-in-the-gut kind of way.

  Chairs toppled, flying in the air and narrowly missing Calla’s head. The hiss of wands greeted his ears, slicing the air with saber-like motions. Books flew from their shelves, coffee cups splattered to the ground, walls began to bow and move.

  Then Violet turned her rage on Gus, who wasn’t backing down.

  Oddly limber for his age, Gus hiked up his red suspenders, climbed atop his table and hollered, “C’mon, Fancy Pants! Gimme your best shot, you plastic surgery addict—you’ll be walkin’ funny for a week!”

  Just as Violet twirled her finger in the air, creating a small cyclone of wind that danced toward Gus, Bernie jumped off the podium and ran for Violet.

  Hell. Violet was a pretty powerful witch, skilled in the elements, among other things. No way was he going to let Bernie go up against her alone.

  Everything happened in slow motion—Bernie screaming at the seniors to get down while she held up her pants and took several of the chairs in her way like a hurdle jumper.

  She flew the distance between she and Violet just as Ridge raced toward the two women, hoping to cut Bernie off at the pass.

  But Bernie zigzagged, stopping dead in front of the whirring cyclone and raising her arms, opening them wide.

  No. She wasn’t. What the fuck was she doing?

  Holy fuck, she was going to end up splattered from here to eternity.

  His heart began to crash in his chest as he realized what she was attempting.

  So he began waving his arms along with the rest of the seniors. Waving his arms and moving his legs.

  “Bernie! Nooooo!” he roared.

  * * * *

  The cyclone hit her full force, almost knocking her down, tearing at her tracksuit’s jacket until it was almost entirely ripped from her body as she wrapped her arms around the funnel.

  The energy moved in her grasp like an entity, struggled against her as Violet pushed harder, her ugly thoughts flowing around the moving air.

  The cage holding the bingo balls began to whir before jettisoning the plastic globes out into the room rapid-fire.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw some of the seniors with their wands, spewing crackling lines of electricity and aiming for Violet, who ducked them with the grace of a ballerina. Flora and Clive crossed streams, creating a sizzling arc of angry blue.

  Oh, shit and piss, things were going to get ugly.

  “Bernie! Forget everyone else and listen closely to me!” Fee ordered, pushing against the wind to stand by her side. “Seven hells, B, hold that bitch! Concentrate. You gotta concentrate to harness the energy! You’re in control—take control!”

  As Fee’s words flowed over her, warbled and muddy, and as everything around her became a silent blur, Bernie focused, struggling, losing her balance, righting herself then pushing back until she heaved forward, almost falling to her knees.

  “Wait for it, B!” Fee shouted, his claws stuck in the wood of one of the tables in an effort to stay near. “Wait for just the right time and a clear line of vision, then let ’er rip Plastic Patty’s head right the hell off!”

  Violet rose off the ground, levitating, making the cyclone bigger, stronger, but Bernie pushed back with her mind—harder, gritting her teeth, sweat dripping into her eyes from the effort.

  The cyclone began to shift, change shape, cut into her skin with razor-sharp pricks, making her screech in pain.

  “Don’t let gooo, Bernie girl!” Fee howled, clinging to the leg of the table, his poor body almost perpendicular to the floor from the raging winds. “Show that motherfluffer who her mama is now!”

  Violet’s face popped into her line of vision, smug, daring Bernie to challenge her magic skills with a catty smile on her face.

  So she lost it—literally.

  With a warrior cry, hoarse and raw, Bernie bent her knees and launched the cyclone at Violet, screaming an order for everyone to duck as she did.

  Pitching forward, she hit the floor the moment she released the funnel, catching herself with her palms then grabbing Fee, tucking and rolling to shelter him just before the table above them exploded.

  Violet howled her outrage, screamed her ire as the cyclone crashed into her. She was blown back against the far wall, taking out two ficus trees and a bookcase before she hit the wall and slid to the ground, her body limp.

  Bernie tried to rise, but her legs wobbled and her ribs ached. Blood dripped from her head and spattered to the shiny white floor.

  Ridge pushed his wa
y through the debris of broken tables and scooped her up, hauling her to his chest and helping her to one of the few chairs still standing.

  She leaned forward, gasping for air, sucking in as much as her lungs would allow. It was then she realized her tracksuit jacket was torn and her too-big bra was exposed.

  Fee appeared between her feet, swirling in small circles. “You did it, B! Jesus, you were like Xena the Warrior Princess out there! Way to nail a broad.”

  As the haze of whatever had taken over her body lifted, she raised her head and groaned, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh God, Fee. It’s a mess.”

  The center was a disaster; metal chairs were twisted and almost unrecognizable. The podium was nothing but a pile of rubble with bingo balls scattered in every direction.

  Plants were turned over, the dirt spilling on the floor, their leaves shredded. Books were torn almost in half, their pages still floating to the ground in soft flutters.

  She jumped up, her eyes scanning the room for Calla as she shrugged off Ridge, who tried to help steady her. “Did I hurt anyone?”

  As life began to stir again in the center, all the seniors turned to look at her.

  Ridge gripped her upper arms and smiled. “Everyone’s fine, Bernie. You saved Gus.”

  The center was torn up as if she was the bulldozer and the Hallow Moon was a damn condemned house. If she had better control of her magic, maybe this wouldn’t be such a disaster.

  She didn’t need any more proof than that. Lesson learned, Bernie Sutton.

  “I’m sorry I’m not better at this magic thing yet. I don’t even know how I managed this much.”

  Calla’s face appeared behind Ridge’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare apologize, Bernice Sutton. You saved Gus’ neck, honey. Violet would have torn it clear off if not for you.”

  Flora pulled off her sweater and wrapped it around Bernie, covering her gaping tracksuit jacket. “You listen to me, Bernice. That woman’s nothing but trouble. She’s ornery, spoiled and destructive. She started this. You finished it, by hell. You saved Gussie, girl. I won’t hear another word about it.”