Bewitched Murder (Inept Witches 3)

by Amanda A. Allen

  He chuckled and placed a hand on her lower back as he led her into the coffee shop. “Not as far as I know. Maybe nobody has said anything to me before now to protect my feelings. I don’t suppose that is a problem you have very often?”

  He pulled out a chair for her and she sat at a small round table and waited while he ordered the drinks, willing herself to get it together. Her fingers tapped the table while she muttered to herself like a lunatic. “He’s cute, but for the love, breathe. Just help him with directions, answer his questions, drool just a little and then drink your tea and get out of here before you do something stupid and fall for this idiot.”

  He placed their drinks on the table and sat down, his good looks taking her breath again. Oh man. Think about something else. Think about something else. Mary! That’s it. With Mary’s drama unfolding, she needed to figure out how to get rid of the dickhead ghost in her bookshop. She didn’t really feel right about leaving for Europe with that problem still hanging around. And Mary was a little distracted right now so they couldn't rely on her.

  “What are you thinking about? You look worried. I swear I’m not a serial killer. Or even a regular killer. Not any kind of killer. Pinky swear.”

  A grown man that said pinky swear? What? Why was that hot?

  “Oh, just thinking about work.”

  Willing herself to concentrate, she thought about who she could hire to purge the ghost from her shop. One of the local coven? Maybe she could order a cleansing from the internet? How about the evil coven? The one Ingrid kept almost hiring. Saffron was from that coven, she'd know...

  He interrupted her thoughts. “So, I’m actually looking for a gallery here in town. The address I have is on Main Street, but that address seems to be vacant.”

  “Oh, Gallery Guy. You must be looking for what's his name.?”

  “If the owner of that gallery was Doug Martin, yes.”

  “He moved his gallery. Gallery Guy was a terrible tenant and got kicked out of the building. He irritated the landlords. But his daughter is cool.” She knew she was rambling but couldn’t stop herself.

  “His daughter? How old is she?”

  Weird question. Why would he care? “A teenager. Anyway, what can I help you with?”

  “Do you know where his shop is now? I’m hoping to find him.”

  “No, I don’t know what he did after we—I mean after the landlords kicked him out. He is super irritating. Nobody in town likes him. Why are you looking for him?”

  “I’m a photographer and wanted to see about selling some of my photographs to him.”

  “Oh. Well, stop in at the Chamber of Commerce. They probably know if he set up shop somewhere else.” She looked at her watch, pretending to care what time it was. “I have to go. Good luck finding Gallery Guy”

  "Hey," he said as she fled, but she didn't stop this time and she had her purse.

  She stopped when he reached out and touched her hand, softer this time. It was somehow more sensual. Gah.

  “Wait. Don’t go.”

  She pulled out of his grasp and parked her hands on her hips. “Why?”

  She inhaled sharply when he leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because.” His eyes sparkled mischievously and he leaned in to kiss her. She expected his lips to taste magical, and they did. They were magic. Actual magic. He was a witch. What was he doing here? What did he want with Gallery Guy? The same day that Jill's body was found. That was a coincidence that seemed a little too convenient. She shoved that thought out of her brain and enjoyed the feel of him against her. Just as she started to settle into his strong arms and relax, he stopped abruptly and pulled back. “Okay, now you can go.”

  He winked at her and she thought she might punch him in the face. Maybe she could use her magic to squeeze his nether regions in a most painful manner.

  “Ugh. Jerk.” She turned and stomped off, his chuckles mocking her as she went. Who did he think he was anyway? To kiss her and then just discard her. She would not be used like that. But, oh, he was a tasty one. She stomped down the sidewalk and heard him call from a distance. “How about dinner later?”

  “Not a chance in Hades.” She flipped him off without even bothering to turn to look at him which elicited even louder laughter from him. It would feel really great to hurt someone right now. She balled her hands into fists and plotted a way to mess with this most delicious jackass.

  CHAPTER 7

  Through the Looking Glass

  Emily came back with a bit of a glow. She swung into Ingrid’s apartment looking all enlivened. It was like she had glitter on her aura. Ingrid looked at her friend for a long minute before she said, “Hooker.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hooker, Jezebel, Slut.” The words were lazy and she shoved tacos at her friend. Emily was hungry. Obviously. Not for tacos but that was all she was going to get right now.

  Emily’s eyes narrowed as she faced off with Ingrid. She toed off her shoes and dumped her bag as she said, “You are. You’re the one tormenting the poor, good sheriff.”

  Ingrid’s eyes narrowed in return. That was too damn close to the truth. She wasn’t a whore. She was a tease. She was supposed to be too good to be a tease. She snapped back, ”Oh, now he’s the good sheriff?”

  Probably none of the guilt she was feeling about Gabe was coming out in her voice.

  Probably.

  Emily’s eyes were still a little mean when she said, “He’s the poor, good sheriff. The public defender in love, but ignored. Untrusted. Without appreciation from the one person he needs and wants.”

  “You are an evil nasty dove. Give me back my tacos.”

  “No,” Emily said, unwrapping the first taco to take a huge bite.

  Ingrid laughed so she wouldn’t cry and said, “Who is this dark knight you are lusty for?”

  “Why is he a dark knight?”

  “Because, you’re a hooker who likes them a little naughty,” Ingrid said, seeing how Em was hedging. Ingrid wasn’t going to stand for it. She well knew that Em read her texts to Gabe. If Em got to devour Ingrid’s life, then she got to devour back. Damn it. That was part of being best doves.

  “But not,” Emily finished, “too naughty.”

  Emily let her daydream take her for a moment. Tall, delicious Dean. Maybe he's the Knight in Shining Armor that Hazel saw in her Tarot reading.

  Ingrid made the appropriate mmmm sound and then said, “Well who is he? What’s his name? Why don’t I know who he is? This is a small island. Who caught your lusty eye? And when did Hazel do a Tarot reading for you?”

  “Earlier. When you and Gabe left. She held me captive and forced to look into my doomed future. Anyway, he’s visiting. Thinking of moving here. He’s a witch. He’s hawt. Like hawt-hot. He’s lickable like the sheriff but not so…”

  “Let’s just leave the poor, good sheriff out of it,” Ingrid snapped. “Or I’ll be the violent one this time around, and I’ll probably set you on fire.”

  “Again,” they said in unison. And then snorted.

  “Shut up,” Ingrid said pushing her tacos away. Her appetite was gone with the guilt. She needed the distraction. “Tell me everything.”

  “You realize what you just said right?”

  “Shut up and talk!” Ingrid ordered as she stood staring between the wine and the espresso machine.

  “Chocolate wine,” Emily said, solving the dilemma.

  Ingrid grabbed the bottle and wine glasses and slapped herself back into the chair opposite Emily. “Speak.”

  Emily described meeting her dark knight and as she spoke her eyes sparkled.

  “You got it bad, my dove.”

  “Only you get to have it bad?”

  “Look at the wreck of me and think better,” Ingrid advised. “But, before you do that tell me his name.”

  “Dean.”

  Ingrid frowned What…no way…no way….what to do? She had to tell, but Emily was glittery. Damn it. Ingrid didn’t want to de-glitter Em. I mean…not with
the truth. Especially after her doomed Tarot reading. Sigh. With sarcasm and best friend ways. You kicked the glitter off of your friend. It was what you did. But in a way that said you were glad they were glittery right before you dunked them.

  “No way.” It was all Ingrid could come up with.

  Emily’s eyes re-narrowed. “Do you know him? If you’ve slept with him, you will destroy my dreams, you whore.”

  “Em, my dove, I have not slept with him. I have, alas, slept with Harrison and Gabe. You know this. However, and I need to be clear on this, I investigated crimes today with Gabe. Like cops do.”

  “What does that have to do with my dark knight,” Emily demanded. Her eyes were worried, but then again, she knew Ingrid well, so she knew something was up.

  “While interviewing that cow-dove Autumn,” Ingrid said, “She listed off other necromancers who were often on the island. Among them was a guy named Dean Wallace.”

  “No,” Emily said.

  Ingrid just stared.

  “I said no,” Emily said. “Damn it. No.”

  “Well, apparently you only like them evil or stupid.”

  “No,” Emily shoved the tacos away now. “Damn it. No. I'm going to kill Hazel. I knew she would find a way to mess with my love life.”

  “I think Hazel only reads what she sees. It's not really her fault. Also, quit saying that.”

  “No.”

  Ingrid dumped most of what was left of the bottle of wine in Em’s glass. The sacrifices one had to make for the best dove.

  “No, I said,” Emily repeated.

  Ingrid just waited. Sipping the last of her wine slowly. She wasn’t going to get a refill. Well…not until they opened another bottle.

  “Well, shit.”

  Ingrid patted her hand, waiting.

  “That really pisses me off.”

  Here it was.

  “I mean, like really pisses me off. I am maybe even angrier than I was at dickhead when I realized he was cheating.”

  “But the glow had already faded then,” Ingrid said, consolingly. “This was different. It’s all fresh and pretty.”

  “And it’s like that hooker Autumn just went and pooped on my fresh and pretty lust for the dark knight.”

  “Plus,” Ingrid said prodding her along. “It means that he probably had some sort of ulterior motive in flirting.”

  “Are you trying to say he wouldn’t have wanted me?”

  “No,” Ingrid said, sincerely. “You’re one hot dove. I’m sure the lust was real. It was just layered. Like an onion. He had motives beyond you and your sexy sexiness.”

  “Ingrid Pickford, I am ready to do a spell.”

  Emily’s eyes glittered now. It was a totally different experience than seeing her aura glitter. Honestly, it gave Ingrid a bit of a shiver. But she was safe from Em. Em was going to try to hex the shit out of this rogue knight necromancer liar. But, truthfully, they’d probably try to hex him, fail, and then pay their coven sister, Saffron, to do it.

  Or maybe Hazel.

  Hazel would get behind teaching someone the error of their ways with ulterior motive flirting. Jerks. Men were jerks. Ingrid needed to go to Prague and buy Prague sandals. And get a Prague pedicure. And then she probably wouldn’t even take a picture and text it to Gabe.

  Probably.

  Not at all.

  Gabe, her conscience reminded her. Was a white knight. A flipping white knight who deserved better than an investigation-compromising, body-burying, girlfriend who had dead husband baggage.

  “Yes,” Ingrid said, knowing her own eyes glittered now. “Let’s do a spell. I’m pretty sure that my magic is feeling very mean right now. Right along with my mind and my heart.”

  Emily was the one who pulled out the spell book. She flipped and flipped until she found one that sent a spell over distance. “I think we could do this.”

  “That calls for more than sage,” Ingrid said.

  “It calls for a mirror and candles. You have those.”

  “Yes, but there was something about mirrors. Those spells are more challenging. Cause the mirror twists things. Right? I’m remembering this right. Right?”

  “I don’t know. But we’re mad. We can probably do it. Maybe we’re all badass when we’re mad. I mean. You might not be. But I am. I am one badass witch. I can hurt people when I'm mad Ingrid. This is my new purpose in life.”

  Ingrid doubted it, but she found the box of candles she had in her bathroom and did not think about why she’d bought them and how they had last been used and how she missed Gabe like she would miss the oxygen in her lungs.

  They put the candles in what was essentially a circle. It felt wrong. Ingrid and Emily looked at each other doubtfully, but they were angry enough to shrug and carry on. Ingrid lit the candles with a lighter. She couldn’t be trusted to actually use her magic like Hazel or Saffron or even that cow-dove Autumn would have. Emily propped the mirror in the middle and then shoved Ingrid in the circle.

  “You send the fire spell,” Emily ordered. “I’ll do the portal spell.”

  Emily read the words, sounding them out like a kid learning to read. Ingrid had no idea what language it was in, but the spell sounded angry. Maybe that was just Em, though. Something happened and Emily gave Ingrid the look that said send the spell. Ingrid was mad enough she didn’t even have to think. It didn’t feel the same, and honestly, that freaked her out. But the liar, Dean, got something. And she was sure too that he knew it was from them. She felt…blocked. But something had happened. His pants might not be on fire as she’d intended, but honestly. They only wanted him to know that he was a dick. And, that they knew he was a dick. Emily wouldn’t have told Ingrid to send the fire spell if she thought they’d do more than singe the hair on his legs.

  “Well. I'm pretty sure that failed,” Ingrid said.

  Emily didn’t look happy. But then she said stoically. “Well, we aren’t good witches, but we’re good enough witches. We only wanted to succeed enough to let him know I was pissed. Setting him on fire would have gotten us in trouble with Hazel. And probably witch cops or whatever. Gabe. Maybe Gabe would have to use his handcuffs on you for real.”

  “Pretty sure that being pissed came through,” Ingrid said. “I felt…surprise and is consternation the word? Definitely, he was irritated, though. Maybe something happened.”

  Emily flopped onto the couch and said, “I feel like I should want food. But I don’t. I want something, though. Can we go to Prague yet?”

  “Emily, has it occurred to you that the last idiot you dated, Fireman Sam, and hawt-Dean—your most recent ill-conceived bad boy idea—have something in common?”

  “Something in common besides being bad ideas, you mean?” Emily rolled her eyes. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Ingrid. Yes, they have me in common. I’m obviously the common denominator here in the crazy mess that my love life has turned in to. It’s almost funny, you know? Funny how terrible I am at this dating thing.”

  “It’s true. You are terrible at this. And it’s a good thing you’ve got me to keep you from going too far in to the deep end with these men. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Emily stared at her blankly. “What? They both have dark hair? Man parts? That’s my type. What can I say?”

  “You might be the densest, most lovely dove I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, Em. The main characters from Supernatural. You are—or were—dating Sam and Dean, demon hunter crazies from a fictional show.”

  “Ha. Well, that is—interesting?”

  “I just wondered if you think you might decide to date an archangel next. Just for fun? What was his name? Michael?”

  Emily coughed and laughed simultaneously and sounded like some kind of frog. “Yeah, his name was Michael. I think there was a Gabriel also. Come to think of it, the women the men on that show date never seem to fare too well.”

  Silence settled between them for a minute. Then Emily spoke again, the humor returning to her eyes. “So, n
ote to self. Don’t date guys from Supernatural. Or maybe from any television show. Check. But, don’t you think my Dean looks something like Dean from the show?”

  “Maybe,” Ingrid thought. “Yeah, your Dean—although I don’t think we should call him yours at this point, it’s just dragging out your inevitable heartache—your Dean has darker hair. And he’s maybe even hotter than the TV Dean. His scruffy beard is certainly sexier. But don’t think that way, Emily. There’s nothing down that road for you but heartache. And maybe some good dreams. But I don’t think those dreams are worth it.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll stop thinking about him. Soon. No promises. But soonish. Sooner rather than later. Well, maybe later than soon.” Emily sighed. “I’ll stop thinking about him eventually. I’m not sure he’s out of my system yet. To be honest, he isn’t in my system enough. I want more of him, so that I can really appreciate what I’m losing when I purge him from my thoughts.”

  Ingrid rolled her eyes. “You are a glutton for punishment—a stubborn dove. Whatever, though. Suit yourself. You always do like to learn the hard way.”

  Emily blew Ingrid a kiss. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “Whatever.”

  The subject of Dean dropped and they both sat in a somewhat rare silence. No banter. No more teasing. The heaviness of the day was catching up to them.

  Ingrid wondered what they were even doing. Sure, Hazel had said Gabe needed help but that didn’t mean Ingrid had to help. It just meant Gabe needed it. And sure, they really liked that little brat, Mary. Who was totally broken up over the murder of her mom.

  “Em,” Ingrid said with a rare flash of seriousness, “It’s her mom. Can you even imagine?”

  Emily’s voice was soft as she said, “Damn it. Everyone loves their mom. My mom was pretty cool.”

  “I am an utter disappointment to my mom, I think.” Ingrid said, lifting her feet and stretching them towards the ceiling, trying to care more about her pedicure than her failings as a daughter but she couldn’t. “But I love her. She loves me. Sort of. She loves me, but we have baggage. She is so pissed at me about giving up magic for Harrison. Autumn told me I was a Samantha today.”