by Zoe Arden
Sweet Murder Hex
Sweetland Witch Series
Zoe Arden
ReedFoster Press House
A Cozy Mystery Book
Contents
Copyright
Like my page
For You Personally
Dedication
About The Author
Personal Word from Zoe
.
Prologue
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Chapter One
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Chapter Two
.
Chapter Three
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Chapter Four
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Chapter Five
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Chapter Six
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Chapter Seven
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Chapter Eight
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Chapter Nine
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Chapter Ten
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Chapter Eleven
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Chapter Twelve
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Chapter Thirteen
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Chapter Fourteen
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Chapter Fifteen
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Chapter Sixteen
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Chapter Seventeen
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Chapter Eighteen
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Chapter Nineteen
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Chapter Twenty
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Chapter Twenty-one
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Chapter Twenty-two
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Chapter Twenty-three
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Chapter Twenty-four
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Chapter Twenty-five
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Chapter Twenty-six
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Chapter Twenty-seven
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Chapter Twenty-eight
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Chapter Twenty-nine
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Chapter Thirty
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Chapter Thirty-one
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Chapter Thirty-two
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Chapter Thirty-three
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Chapter Thirty-four
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Chapter Thirty-five
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Chapter Thirty-six
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Chapter Thirty-seven
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Chapter Thirty-eight
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Chapter Thirty-nine
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Chapter Forty
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Epilogue
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Preview of Next Book
Also By . ORDER OF BOOKS
For You Personally
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by
Zoe Arden
and
ReedFoster press House
All Rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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DEDICATION
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This book is specially dedicated to YOU- the reader!
First of all, I would like to thank you for picking my book and reading it.
Your interest to do so spurs me on to write even better stories, stories that will be capable in bringing us to a world of fun, mystery and suspense, albeit just for a little while.
Your support has always meant a lot to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy reading what I have written.
Thank you!
“ The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible. ”
Oscar Wilde
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
It was from reading Agatha Christie’s mystery books that inspired Zoe to write cozy mystery novels. Zoe liked the fact that cozy mysteries are able to offer readers a form of escapism that typical detective stories can’t.
Like what Marilyn Stasio, who has been the Crime columnist forThe New York TimesBook Review since the late 1980s, recently wrote: “The abiding appeal of the cozy mystery owes a lot to our collective memory, true or false, of simpler, sweeter times.” It is Zoe’s desire that her writings will evoke that nostalgic memory in all of us; those memories of the good old days.
What sets Zoe apart in her writings is her fusing of Mystery with Paranormal elements, a combination which will bring about fantasies that are intriguing and engaging. Her stories contain unexpected twists and sometimes light-hearted moments that will make one smile at Zoe’s quirkiness, fun and wittiness in her writings.
Much Love,
* * *
PERSONAL WORD
FROM ZOE ARDEN
* * *
Hello, lovely reader!
In my stories, you will find a unique juxtaposition of mystery and paranormal themes, an attempt which I believe will be enthralling.
You will discover how a mystery case is being cracked through peeling off layers and layers of suspense and clues.
And fantastical creatures play a part in this…how can it be?
That’s for you to find out.
Thank you once again, for being such an incredible support in my writing career.
Much Love,
.
"Do you really think it was a vampire who killed her?" I asked.
"She had two small puncture marks on her neck, so I'd say yes. I'm on my way to Sweetland Hospital to talk to Dr. Dunne. He should have more for me to go on."
"Can I just take a quick peek at the book before you go?"
"No," he said, gently but firmly, like a parent would. He ushered me out of the station along with him, then got into his car and headed for the hospital. The police were the only ones who used cars other than the tourists.
I started walking away when I saw Tadpole run out. Otis was chasing after him. "Tadpole, you get back here now," he said. They ran the opposite direction I was going. I watched for a minute as they disappeared a block down the street, then I turned and ran back inside. Elwin was nowhere to be found.
The station wasn't huge. I'd been here before, and I knew where the evidence room was. I made my way over to it. The door was locked but I remembered a spell that Colt had taught me a while back that was supposed to open anything. I muttered the words quietly so Elwin wouldn't hear and the door popped open.
The room was the size of a small walk-in closet. I scanned the shelves that lined the walls until I found what I wanted.
"Voila," I said and grabbed the book, flipping quickly to the back where the lineages were.
I heard footsteps coming and flipped off the light. Elwin was heading this way. I stuffed the book into my bag and ran out of the room, turning left when I should have gone right and bumping right into Elwin.
"Oh!" I gasped. "Sorry, Elwin."
"That's okay. Anything I can do for you?"
"Nope, I'm good. Thanks."
"Okay, see you later then." He continued on his way. I watched him a minute, thinking it was the sheriff's bad luck that he didn't have more focused deputies, but my good fortune.
* * *
Prologue
.
The morning started out badly and only got worse from there.
"I hate you!" Colt Hudson screamed at the top of his lungs. His face was red and pinched and tears ran down both cheeks. He stomped his foot on the ground like a two-year-old.
Everything had been fine at breakfast. It was Monday, so Terri had served bacon, eggs, and toast. For tomorrow, Colt had asked his mom if she could use Texas Toast instead of the cheap white bread she normally bought. She'd agreed. Russell didn't care one way or the other as long as he got his coffee.
"I hate you!" Colt screamed again. This time, he picked up a vase and threw it across the room. It landed at Russell's feet.
Terri Hudson's jaw dropped open. Russ knew what she was thinking. Colt was only twelve. If he was like this now, how much worse would it be he be when he got older?
"You do not speak to your father that way," Terri yelled. Her own face had become rather red and pinched as well.
Russell could tell that his son was waiting for the inevitable "young man" to follow his mother's admonishment. Do not speak to your father like that, Young Man. Do not get angry, Young Man. Do not throw vases, Young Man.
Instead, Russ walked over to Colt and simply yanked the saxophone from his grip. Colt held on tight, wrapping his arms around it like it was a woman. Though Russ was twice his size and trained in self-defense, he found it difficult to pry it away.
"You can't take that away from me!" Colt yelled. His voice was cracking. He was at that age.
"I can and I will," Russ informed him. His wife watched them with alternating looks of worry and anger.
"Russell," she finally said, sidling up to him. "Maybe we should let him keep it."
"What for?" Russell demanded. "So, he can grow up to be a musician?" He said the word as though it were a disease instead of a profession.
"It's what I want to do with my life," Colt tried to explain. "It makes me happy."
For one second, Russell's heart broke. His son was looking at him like he was a monster. But it would be easier this way. Much easier. For all of them.
"Happiness doesn't put bread on the table. What do you think bought that bacon you ate this morning? Happiness? Cheer?"
Colt's tears were coming faster and faster, but this needed to be done. Today. Now. He'd put it off for as long as possible, and it had almost gotten his family killed.
"You are grounded until further notice," Russell yelled. "And I'm keeping this saxophone."
"When can I get it back?" Colt’s voice was thick with tears.
"Never."
Russ set the saxophone on the coffee table, pulled out one of his COMHA-issued stun guns, and fired. The saxophone blew up into a thousand pieces. He turned back to see his wife and son both staring at him, their faces pale. Terri closed her mouth and shot him the angriest look he'd ever seen on her. It made her cheeks pink and gave her an unearthly glow. She was pretty even when she was mad.
She went to Colt and put one hand on his shoulder. Good. She was taking his side. Later, when they remembered this, it would only serve to reinforce that they were better off without him.
"Russ, how could you do that?" Terri turned to Colt. "I can fix it," she told him with certainty. "Witches can fix anything."
Colt shrugged her hand off and ran toward Russell, his shoulder lowered like a linebacker about to tackle the quarterback. He hit his dad square in the stomach and sent him flying backward. He landed on his butt.
"Colt! No!" Terri screamed.
Russ let his son have his moment. Colt raised his arm, his hand in a fist, and let it fly toward his father's jawline. At the last second, though, Colt got scared. He veered the path of his fist and hit the floor instead. He and Russell stood up and looked at the hole in the floor.
"That's some right hook you've got there. When you're older, the Council on Magic and Human Affairs could use someone like you."
"I'll never join COMHA," Colt spat. "I don't ever want to be like you. I'm going to be a musician."
Russell stared at his son, wanting to reach out and pull him close. To beg his forgiveness for the cruel things he'd done.
"Go to your room. We'll talk about this tomorrow," Russell said. Colt ran to his room and slammed the door. When he was gone, Russ turned to Terri. He couldn't help himself; he reached out one hand to caress her face. She turned away from him.
"Go to work," she said. Her eyes were watering.
Russell lingered a moment, then turned and left his home for the last time.
At headquarters, Dean Lampton was running around, checking people in and trying to act like he was in charge. He'd been the youngest member of COMHA in history, at the age of eighteen. That was a decade ago. He'd risen in the ranks fast since then. Everyone said if he kept it up, he'd be the next head of COMHA when Willis retired.
"Hudson," Dean called, motioning for Russ to join him. Russ walked over, pulling the fur tighter around his body. He'd never gotten used to how heavy these coats were but he'd become adept at hiding the discomfort it caused him. It was all in a day's work when you were an undercover agent.
"Just wanted to make sure you knew that we're all hoping you make it out of this alive," Dean said.
"Thanks."
"Of course, if you don't, your family will be well looked after. Rest assured."
Russ knew that Dean thought he was being nice, but it only made his heart do flip-flops in his chest.
"That reminds me," Dean said. "Alfred cooked this little guy up for you." He handed Russell a glass vial filled with blood-red liquid.
"What is it?"
"He's calling it coagulant juice, but I think that's a joke."
"Ha. Funny." It was hard to laugh when your life was ending.
"He said if you drink it within ten minutes of... you know... that it might stall the process."
"Stall? How long?" I asked, my ears perking up. Stalling was good. Alfred really knew his stuff. He was possibly the best extractor on the planet right now. If he said something would work, it would.
"Twenty minutes. A half hour at most. He's not making any promises, but it's possible that if you returned to us fast enough, we may be able to reverse the process."
Russ pulled Dean into a giant hug that lifted his feet off the ground. "I could kiss you!" he yelled.
Dean grunted, and Russell set him back down. A few of the other agents were laughing.
"Remember, before we can do anything, you need to get back here. And before you get back here, you need to get the information."
Russ nodded, too happy to tell Dean that his lack of concern for his life was as irritating as a wart.
"Are you ready?" Dean asked. He hesitated. "You know, if we weren't absolutely certain that they could do what they say they can do, we wouldn't send you into this."
"I know," Russell told him. "Come on, I'm ready."
Russ followed Dean to the transporter and stepped inside the stall that never failed to remind him of a tiny, square shower. The guys on the outside pushed some buttons, there was a flash of light, and Russell vanished.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in Ukraine.
"There you are!" a voice boomed in his ear.
> Russ jumped as Vlaski clapped him on the back.
"Where have you been?" Vlaski asked.
Russell got ready to put on his Slovakian accent. When he opened his mouth, he sounded like a completely different person.
"Looking for you," Russ said and clapped Vlaski's back. "I am ready to begin."
"Good. The group is waiting."
Russell followed Vlaski to the fire they had set up in a cave. The snow outside made everything cold. Even with the fire, he still wasn't warm.
"Do not worry. Once you are turned, you will no longer feel the cold," Vlaski said. Russell realized then that the fire was for his benefit alone.
