Bewitched: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Betwixt & Between Book 2)

by Darynda Jones

  “You’ll have to forgive my coven mates,” the woman said. She had red hair and a wisdom about her. “They’ve never met a charmling.” She held out her hand. “I’m Serinda.”

  “Defiance,” I said when I took it.

  “Yes, I know.” She chuckled.

  “Right. You’ve met a charmling before?”

  “Goddess, no.” She shook her head. “I’ve never even . . . well, I never dreamed I’d meet one. Or that we would have one right here in Salem.” A telltale wetness suddenly shimmered between her lashes. “You can’t imagine what this means to us. We are blessed and honored.”

  “Thank you,” I said, a little overwhelmed. “I’m the one who’s honored.”

  “Oh, posh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Let me introduce you.” She went around the table and shared the names of each member of the coven.

  I didn’t even try to retain them. That was a skill I’d never possessed, even on my best days, and it didn’t look like that was something my magics were interested in changing. I’d already forgotten woman number three.

  After Serinda introduced the last member, an early twenty-something bundle of nerves named Minerva with long dark hair and a nail-biting habit, I waved an overall greeting. “Thank you all so much for watching over me while I . . . napped.”

  They laughed softly, completely reverent if not a little starstruck.

  It was a new feeling—as I’d never struck anyone with a star in my life.

  We sat and chatted, and I quickly caught onto the routine. They took turns. One sat beside me for a few minutes for a more intimate introduction and then another took their place. On and on through ordering and lunch and coffee.

  Serinda stayed by my side, and I got the feeling she was the leader of this here gang-o-witches. I liked her, and she kept me grounded through all the polite conversation.

  “Is Salem always this crowded?” I asked Serinda and my newest acquaintance, an older woman whose name began with an L. At least, I thought it was an L.

  Serinda scanned the area. “Goddess, no. It gets much worse.” When I wilted over that news, she chuckled. “Our biggest tourist season is in September and October. The closer to Halloween, the thicker the crowds. The locals know to steer clear of downtown for a couple of months. The rest of the year, it’s a pretty constant flow of visitors but not nearly like now.”

  I looked out onto the street and the leaves that were just beginning to change. “I like it here.”

  She smiled. “We like that you like it here.”

  I studied my coffee, then lowered my voice. “I don’t think I’m staying.”

  My words didn’t faze her, as though she’d already known what was in my heart before I did. “You do what you need to do, Defiance Dayne. None of us can know what you’re going through. What having something like this thrust upon you must feel like. Even your grandmother, as much as she likes to think she knows everything, can’t imagine.”

  A gracious smile spread across my face. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Of course, dear. Also, chocolate helps.” She nudged the last brownie my way.

  I couldn’t help but break off a bite.

  There was only one coven member left to talk with. The nervous one named Minerva. I worried I was all out of small talk.

  Annette, however, was doing more than her fair share with one of the male witches, a handsome kid in his very early twenties, if that, with thick muddy curls and shimmering eyes that made him look like he was about to cry all the time. The effect was rather mesmerizing.

  About three seconds before I was going to suggest we head back to the house—I had an escape to plan—Annette turned to me with a curious frown and asked from halfway across the table, “You went to bed with your boots on?”

  I blinked at her. “This is just hitting you?”

  “Why would you go to bed with your boots on?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, I scrambled for a plausible explanation that did not involve nibbling. Or, more importantly, the fact that I may have lit all those candles with my non-existent powers. “I—I saw a mouse.” It wasn’t a total lie. I had seen one in Ruthie’s chamber.

  Annette’s mouth flattened across her pretty face. “Please. Last time you saw a mouse, you named it Howard and tried to catch it so the two of you could be together forever.”

  Gawd, did she forget anything?

  She narrowed her eyes to accusatory blades of silver. “There is only one thing on Earth that would have you running and jumping under the covers like a kindergartener afraid of the monster under the bed.”

  The rest of the table paid rapt attention to our conversation, as though hanging on our every word. Thank God this one was fairly innocuous. Compared to most.

  “Maybe I am afraid of the monster under the bed.”

  “After what happened in the attic? You’re not afraid of anything. You’re like a superhero, only braver.”

  “You didn’t see my exit.”

  “Either way, that’s not it.” She pointed a finger at me in suspicion.

  “Fine then. What is it?” I asked, the challenge in my voice blatant.

  She leaned toward me.

  I leaned toward her.

  She glowered.

  I glowered.

  She studied me for a few suspenseful seconds, trying to summon her non-existent psychic powers, before her bow-shaped mouthed formed a perfect circle. She reared back with a gasp. “You hooked up with Roane!”

  Every pair of peepers at our table—and a few not at our table—landed on me. Some in shock. Some in curiosity, their grins reflecting their desire to hear more. And some in a poorly disguised fit of jealousy. Well, one actually. The skittish one biting her nails, Minerva.

  “I most certainly did not.”

  “You totally did! If you hadn’t, you would’ve denied it with regret not indignation.”

  Holy hell, she was good. Maybe she really was psychic. “Define hook up.”

  “Defiance Dayne,” she said, her voice edged with a warning. Not that she could do a freaking thing, but it was adorable just the same.

  “Okay.” I caved. “Maybe just a little.”

  “How little?” Cupping her chin, she rested an elbow on the table, her expression turning dreamy.

  The fact that we were discussing my love life in front of the entire coven, after only just meeting them, would not fully sink in until later.

  I hedged. A lot. And I wasn’t a hedger. “We just . . . you don’t understand. He set up this test and there were candles everywhere but I told him I wanted to test him first and he was like bring it and then he gave me cake.”

  She grinned. “I bet he did.”

  “No. Not like that. There was some nibbling, but that’s as far as it went.”

  “Nibbling?” She clasped her hands together. “You guys are at the nibbling stage?”

  “Is that a real stage?”

  A male voice intruded into our heart-to-heart just when it was getting good. A male voice edged with impatience. And derision. And a hint of disgust. “Are you Defiance Dayne?”

  We turned to a large man, with thinning brown hair, standing beside our table. He wore tan coveralls, a ruddy complexion, and a toxic frown.

  “I am,” I said, not offering any more than that.

  “I’ve left you three messages.” His voice reminded me of the edge of a dull knife.

  Annette bolted to attention. “Sorry. Defiance has been under the weather—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted. “Until yesterday.”

  How could he possibly know that?

  “I called seven times.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “The phone was ringing off the hook, and it’s so loud. I unplugged it for a couple of days to allow Defiance a chance to rest.”

  I reached over the table and set my hand on top of hers. She had zero reason to apologize or explain anything to this man. His demeanor spoke volumes.


  He stopped and scanned the table as though just realizing we weren’t alone. “I have a situation I’d like your help with.” He changed his attitude, though not by much.

  “We aren’t taking on clients just yet.” Annette squeezed my hand.

  “I thought you took over for the witch,” he said to me, his earlier marching back.

  “I haven’t done anything of the kind.”

  I could practically hear his teeth grinding when he bit down. “It won’t take long. I have money since that’s all you people seem to care about.”

  I was just about to launch into a tirade—one I had no hope of nailing, since I had no clue who this man was or what he wanted—when a calmness came over me. I looked past the giant and saw Roane walking toward our table, his strides full of purpose.

  He didn’t stop when he walked up behind the man. He strode past him, leaned down, and pressed his lips to mine.

  The kiss lasted barely the span of a heartbeat, but it was enough to steal my thunder. And my breath. And my complete train of thought.

  He kept his face close to mine. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He raised up and addressed everyone at the table. “Ladies, gentlemen, lunch is on me, but I need to steal these two away if you don’t mind.”

  They shook their heads indulgently. A few gazed lovingly. Serinda gave him a wicked grin. “Thank you, Mr. Wildes.”

  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anytime, Ms. McClain.”

  She shook her head. “Incorrigible.”

  After gracing her with the sexiest wink I’d ever seen, he helped me to my feet and led me and Annette away without so much as a glance at the man.

  I risked a quick peek just in time to see ire spark around him as he watched us go. “I’m going to lose count,” I said, as Roane held open the door.

  “Count?”

  We walked toward a public parking area. “How many times you’ve come to my rescue, especially considering the fact that I’ve only known you five days. If you leave out my six-month dream-a-thon.”

  “How many times has it been?” Annette ticked them off on her fingers. “He rescued you when your ex and his horrible mother were trying to weasel Percy away from you.”

  “And when my powers emerged,” I said, remembering how Roane had held me under the cold shower while my powers burned me from the inside out.

  “And when he got stabbed saving our lives from that guy who wanted to kill his girlfriend for leaving him.” She added another finger.

  “If we keep going at this rate”—I weaved through a group of tourists—“you may not live much longer.”

  “You’re worth the risk.” He kept his hand on the small of my back as we walked. His warmth seeped through my sweater and blouse.

  “Were you following us?”

  “Not us,” Annette said. “You. General’s orders.”

  “What?” That threw me. “What general?”

  Annette grinned. “That would be the silver-haired vixen living in the basement.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Roane, you do not have to watch me.”

  “Because it’s so taxing?” he asked.

  “Yes. You have things to do, I’m sure.”

  “Not today I don’t.”

  A rush of excitement laced over my skin.

  “So . . .” Nette glanced over her shoulder at us. “About the nibbling.”

  Leave it to Annette to douse that excitement with a hefty dose of humiliation. Thankfully, we got in the car alone, and Roane followed us home on his Harley. I was nigh hyperventilating from watching him in the rearview. Muscle looked good on him in every way imaginable.

  “You know”—Annette adjusted the mirror yet again—“some drivers like to use the rearview for their own, selfish purposes.”

  “Are you catching this?” I pulled down the sun visor, trying to see him in that mirror. “He’s riding that Harley in his kilt.”

  “Duh. That’s the selfish part. I want to see too.” She’d brought her car from Arizona at some point in the last six months, a ruby red Dodge Charger with a blacked-out hood. We’d had a lot of good times in that car. And a lot of tickets.

  We pulled up to Percy and parked next to my vintage mint green Volkswagen Beatle, a.k.a. the bug. Annette didn’t trust me to drive, as though I’d lost the ability in six months of abstinence.

  Our neighbor, Parris Hampton, was out gardening. Which was ridiculous. Judging by her wardrobe and nails, Parris had never gardened in her life. Also, she paid a nice man named Rocko a small fortune to keep her yard looking pristine. If not other things. Rocko was built.

  Bottom line? She was spying. Waiting for Annette and me to get back so she could get the scoop on where I’d been.

  She waved when we got out.

  “Hey, Parris!” I walked to the edge of Percy’s property.

  Parris lived in a mansion on one side of Percy. Her husband, Harris, lived in a mansion on the other side of Percy. It was weird, but I guess it worked for them.

  “You look fantastic.” Parris gestured toward me with her never-used trowel.

  I wondered if she knew what it was for. “Thank you.”

  Roane must’ve parked behind the house. We heard his motorcycle growl and then shut off.

  She pulled a wide-brim hat lower over her eyes. “I dropped by a couple of times, but you were asleep.”

  In the last two days, I had yet to ask my family what they’d told people. Frankly, there just weren’t that many to tell, so it hadn’t occurred to me to inquire. “Yes, they told me,” I lied. “I appreciate it.”

  “Well, Ebola is a hard disease.”

  I blinked. “Ebola?”

  Annette walked up and patted my back. “Doesn’t she look great, considering?”

  “She does,” Parris agreed. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’d love to share another bottle with you two. I don’t get to girl talk often.”

  “Absolutely,” Annette said. “But I think we should get Deph back to bed for now. Don’t want to overdo it.”

  “Of course. I should probably go in. It looks like rain.”

  We said our goodbyes and headed inside. “Ebola? Are you kidding?”

  Nette cringed. “Sorry. She ambushed me. I panicked.”

  “No worries. I’m telling everyone you’re trying to kick heroin.”

  “That’s fair.”

  Roane walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. “Coffee’s on if anyone wants some.”

  Annette looked at me. “Does he know me at all?”

  He grinned at her. A sweet thing. Innocuous and sincere. But the grin he gave me, when she turned to hang up her jacket, bordered on feverish. It was full of longing and desire, like the wolf in him was hungry. I’d never met a man who could communicate so much with a single smile.

  We followed the kilt-clad hottie into the kitchen.

  Annette’s laptop perched on the breakfast table along with the pocket folder holding the messages. An ancient phone sat on the counter by the table, which was why she’d set up shop there. The glow still seeped out of the edges of the folder.

  Roane poured us each a cup and joined us at the table.

  I about ovulated. He never just sat with us like that.

  Annette took a few sips and opened the folder. “I want to know who that man was,” she said, suddenly determined. She brought out dozens of messages and spread them over the table.

  “The man in the café? I do too.”

  “James Vogel,” Roane offered. “I went to school with him.”

  It was so strange to imagine Roane growing up. Roane as a teen. Roane in school. A school for humans. It was like he was above it all. But maybe that was only in my mind.

  “He’s an ass,” she said.

  “He always was. He was what one would call a nemesis.”

  “What?” I asked him, surprised.

  “At first he was just a bully, but it became much more than that over the years. Much m
ore, volatile, until one day I had to . . .”

  When he didn’t finish, Annette asked, “Kick his ass?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Roane.” No idea why, but I somehow felt responsible. He’d been made human from a wolf. I did that to him. He didn’t know the language or the customs or how to behave. Statistically, children with social challenges were bullied much more often, though I couldn’t imagine he’d been bullied long. Still, how would I know? Maybe he went through hell. So many kids did. The unfairness broke my heart. The thought of Roane going through something like that threatened to swallow me whole.

  The look he gave me hovered somewhere between gratitude and curiosity, as though he was trying to read my thoughts.

  That would be so bad. I dropped my gaze to the messages.

  “Here they are,” Annette said. “James Vogel. He did call. I remember him now. He said he had a situation he would only discuss with you.”

  “When was this?”

  She fanned through them again. “Okay, three messages. The first one was about a week ago. Then he called again the next day and again the day after that. That was a couple of days before you woke up. He was very determined but never would give a reason.”

  “Why would he stop calling after I woke up?”

  “His niece,” Roane said.

  “His niece?” Annette and I asked simultaneously.

  “The squirrely one. Minerva.”

  “From the coven?” Annette asked, appalled. “Only the coven knew about you. She was keeping tabs and told him you’d woken up?”

  I tilted my head in doubt. “If that’s so, why was he calling in the first place? He would’ve known I was asleep.”

  “True. But he didn’t call for two days before you woke up. Maybe when you didn’t return his calls, he asked her thinking, since she was in a coven, she might know.”

  “Because all witches are psychically connected?” I joked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “It would explain how he knew where to find you today.”

  “Or he’s watching you,” Roane said.

  I gaped at him. “Is he?”

  He paused and took a moment to scrutinize me. “He wouldn’t still be alive if that were the case.”