Table of Contents
Amazing Grace
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Amazing Grace
Book One in the Lost Soul, Arkansas Series
By Michele Bardsley
THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. IF YOU GET THIS BOOK, PLEASE EMAIL ME AT [email protected] AND I’LL GET YOU THE ACTUAL, CORRECT BOOK! THANK YOU!
Chapter One
Grace Anne Hobbs stroked the bumpy back of her beloved familiar to keep her calm, not that the animal stretched on her lap needed any extra Zen. Elizardbeth was drooped across Grace’s legs like a bouquet of wilted flowers.
Sitting next to Grace was the last person she expected to see at the vet’s office, the violet-haired fairy named Zerina. Even in a town like Broken Heart, Oklahoma where most everyone belonged to parakind, Zerina stuck out. The fairy was dressed in a lavender corset, black leather mini-skirt, and shiny purple boots with black laces that traversed from the ankle to the knee. The outfit was as intimidating as the woman wearing it. Even though Zerina was known for being short-tempered and verbally blunt, Grace couldn’t help but admire the fairy’s confidence and don’t-give-a-crap attitude. If only I had a tenth of Zerina’s bad-assery, she thought.
“Okay. I give up. What happened to your baby dragon? Did it fall into a pit of acid, or what?” asked Zerina, her accent straight from the Emerald Isle. Her face scrunched as she peered at Liz, poking the lizard on the head with one manicured nail. Little purple skulls dotted the black nail polish. “This thing is crazy looking.”
Grace glanced at the small green rabbit with outrageously long and diamond-bedazzled ears sitting on Zerina’s shoulder. The tiny thing was asleep, its furry head snuggled against the fairy’s neck. Zerina saw the direction of Grace’s gaze and pointed to the rabbit.
“This is a púca. His name is Kevin.”
The rabbit popped open one golden eye. “That means handsome in Gaelic, you know,” he said in a soft Irish lilt. With that information delivered, he closed his eye. Then he began to snore.
“Oh,” said Grace. “He’s nice.” She petted her familiar. “Liz is a chlamydosaurus.”
“Isn’t that an STD?” Zelda snatched her hand back. “Didn’t you ever tell her no glove, no love?”
Grace laughed. “Liz is a frilled-neck lizard, known as a chlamydosaurus kingii.” Liz was forest green with a stripe of deep red across her spine. When she got excited, horny, territorial, or sometimes, just because she wanted to, she’d show off her orange and red frill. It made her head look like it was stuck in an umbrella. “So, not a baby dragon. She’s a full-grown lizard.”
“No shit.” Zerina’s amethyst gaze moved from Liz to Grace. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Grace moved to the protected paranormal community as a last resort. She stayed to herself, hiding away in a little trailer on the outskirts of Broken Heart proper, near the burned-out husk of the old Thrifty Sip convenience store. As a witch who specialized in plant life, Grace spent most of her time fabricating hybrids that held both beauty and magic. Parakind from all over the world ordered her ointments, tonics, and creams. It was a satisfying life, even if it was a lonely one.
Desperation had pushed Grace to seek a stranger’s advice. Not a single poultice or tincture Grace had given to Liz made the familiar feel better. Finally, she’d given up trying to heal the lizard and sought out the local vet. She rarely ventured into town, and she never asked for help. Grace tried to stay away from people, but not because she was anti-social.
She was cursed.
Wow. I’ve seen better hair on a scarecrow. And what color is that? It looks like someone dumped a bucket of paint on her head.
Grace side-eyed the ghost. Dorcas Hoar. Her ancestor’s nemesis. Her unwanted companion. Her family burden. Other than Liz, no one, not even the ghost-seeing vampires of the Family Amahte, could see the pain-in-ass who haunted her every step. The asinine spirit even followed her into the bathroom. It was really hard to poop with a smartass crone broadcasting a play-by-play.
She watched Dorcas zoom upward, perform a perfect triple Lutz, and land tippy-toe on Zerina’s head. She looked at Grace, grinned, and then bowed. Thank you, thank you.
Oh, gawd. On the rare occasions Grace went into town, Dorcas did her level best to annoy Grace to the point where she snapped and yelled at the ghost—or, as other people saw it—a crazy witch inexplicably yelling at thin air. If her efforts to irritate Grace failed, Dorcas would do everything possible to make Grace laugh. Grace couldn’t imagine that her suddenly cackling for no apparent reason was any less disturbing than watching her scream, “Shut up, already!” to no one.
It wasn’t like Dorcas had stayed the same Puritan witch in death that she had been in life. Today, the crazy old bat wore her gray hair in double-ponytails and a 1960s ensemble straight out Barbarella. Fashion in 1665 Salem had been limited to scratchy dresses designed to cover every inch of a woman’s body and sweat-inducing bonnets that invited bugs to nest in unwashed hair.
Dorcas was making rabbit ears behind Zerina’s head. Then she pretended to give Zerina a double wet willy. Grace pressed her lips together and gave a slight shake of her head. Dorcas took this as a challenge and proceeded to sit on Zerina’s head and fart.
“Stop it,” muttered Grace under her breath, trying to choke down her laughter. Damn it, Dorcas.
Zerina narrowed her gaze. “Stop what?”
Grace pretended innocence as she looked at Zerina. “What?”
Zerina’s expression turned suspicious. “Are you talking to yourself?” She pursed her lips. “Do you have voices in your head? Maybe the crazy is contagious, and you infected your lizard.”
Grace had long given up trying to explain Dorcas—even to paranormal beings who lived with the outrageous and the weird every day. Instead, she looked at Zerina and smiled. “You might be right.”
Way to stand up for yourself. Dorcas went horizontal and started swimming around the waiting room. For a witch born in the 1600s, she had an impressive backstroke. I’m bored. Put me out of my misery, and get a new familiar already.
“Shut up, you old hag,” said Liz as shook herself awake and wobbled upright.
“Old hag!” Zerin’s steely purple gaze affixed on the lizard.
“Oh,” said Grace hurriedly. “She wasn’t talking to you. That’s uh, her nickname for me.”
“Your nickname is Old Hag,” said Zerina disbelievingly.
“Ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” lied Grace.
“Ugh. Grasshoppers. I ate some of those.” Liz dug her tiny claws into Grace’s jeans. “I don’t feel so good.” She made a strange guttural sound, lurched forward, and puked.
On Zerina.
A noxious brew of bile, mushed crickets and the aforementioned grasshoppers, and digested mealworms splattered Zerina’s leather mini-skirt and boots. The vomitus smelled worse than it looked, adding to the horror Grace felt as the fairy looked down at her ruined clothing.
Hahahahahahaha! Sweet Satan’s Asshole. That’s hilarious. Hahahahahahaha!
Grace glared at the ghost, but Dorcas didn’t notice. The jerkface was too busy hyperventilating with laughter. She fell to the floor and rolled around, guffawing.
“I am so sorry,” said Grace. Zerina’s revenge tactics were legendary, and she could only imagine what kind of payback was in store for covering the fairy in a familiar’s disgusting vomit. “Um...is Kevin okay?”
“Kevin,” said Zerina, turned her stunned gaze onto Grace. “You want
to know if the sleeping púca on my shoulder survived your STD lizard’s vomit volcano?”
Grace grimaced. Shit. What a dumb question to ask. Kevin was fine. He hadn’t moved a muscle despite the ruckus, and in fact, continued to snore contentedly. She watched as Zerina plucked a teeny pink shoe from the mess clinging to the skirt.
“Onya, mate. Ta for the assist.” Liz rose onto two legs balancing effortlessly on Grace’s lap as she held out a clawed hand. “That belongs to my Happy Birthday Harpy.” Liz eyed the shoe. “That’s a bit of mess, isn’t it?”
“What did I tell you about eating shoes?” berated Grace as she grabbed the packet of Wet Wipes from her purse.
“You said not to eat your shoes,” said Liz.
“Your familiar murders shoes?” Zelda’s expression was pure horror.
“I only nibbled ‘em a bit,” groused Liz. “You can still wear ‘em.”
The packet crinkled under her nervous grip as Grace took out a wipe and wrapped the tiny plastic heel inside, which she then tucked into the outer pocket of her handbag. Then she offered the entire package of Wet Wipes to Zerina. The fairy took the Wet Wipes, studied her skirt, and then turned her fiery purple gaze on Grace. She stared at Grace for so long, Grace nearly melted under the impact of that hot glare. In fact, she felt her scalp tingle and wondered if Zerina was trying to make her head explode.
“Miss Hobbs?” A pretty young woman wearing pink scrubs and holding a chart stepped into the lobby. “We’re ready for Elizardbeth.” The woman took in the scene—from Zerina’s soiled clothing to Grace’s chagrinned expression. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” said Grace. “In fact, I think Liz is all better. We’re ... uh, just gonna go.” Grace tucked Liz under her arm, grabbed her purse, and offered one more “I’m so, so, sorry” to Zerina before she hurried out of the vet’s office.
Grace didn’t drive anymore. She’d gotten into more fender benders than she could count thanks to Dorcas, so she’d traded in her car for a mint green and tan cruiser bicycle. She’d attached a basket to the handle bars and padded it with a nice little cushion for Liz. She shoved her purse and her familiar into the basket, hopped onto the seat and peddled as fast as she could toward home.
And all the while, Dorcas flew beside her, pointing at her and laughing, laughing, laughing.
“Holy shit. Is that a talking lizard with an Australian accent?”
Everyone turned to face the four people who’d suddenly appeared in the kitchen. The question came from a very pale brunette dressed in jeans, a pink T-shirt with “I’m the Vampire, That’s Why” printed on it, and a pair of pink Nikes. She gazed at Grace’s familiar with amazement. Next to her was a tall vampire with wavy black hair, silvery eyes, and a chiseled visage. He was dressed just as casually, but his black T-shirt outlined his muscular chest, and his jeans fit like they were painted on.
Grace backed away a step. She’d never met a vampire before. They didn’t have the best reputations in the witch community. Next to the male vampire stood a man roughly the size of a linebacker. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Jeans that hugged muscular thighs. Whoa. He wore a pair of black cowboy boots, a belt with a buckle the size of a plate, and khaki short-sleeved shirt with pearl snap buttons.
Underneath the tan cowboy hat was the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Those angular cheeks could cut glass, and his chin sported an adorable dent. His nose was slightly crooked, but the imperfection only enhanced his good looks. His chocolate brown gaze was aimed at Zelda, and why not? She was stunningly beautiful. Still, Grace felt a sting of disappointment she hadn’t been the one to turn his head. What’s wrong with you? Relationships are not in the cards. Not ever.
Dorcas had effectively ended her love life, which at the age of twenty-three, had consisted of two whole boyfriends. She’d broken up with Boyfriend #1 on her own because he kept putting his penis into other women. Boyfriend #2 hit the road after Grace appeared to lose her mind thanks to Dorcas constantly scaring the shit out of her. She screamed a lot during those first weeks with the ghost. The warlock might’ve okay with that—witches weren’t exactly known for their mental stability—but then Dorcas went all Donkey Kong on his ass. At the end, he believed Grace was trying to kill him, so he left without saying a word.
Grace blinked. Shit. She’d really gone off the rails there for a minute. Maybe the acid trip down memory lane was because she wanted to avoid the fourth person who’d magically appeared in the kitchen.
Baba Yaga, AKA Carol, the big boss of all witches.
Chapter Two
Baba Yaga wore a neon orange tank top and black leggings with leg warmers that matched the eye-blinding color of the shirt. She wore neon green Jellies. Both of her forearms were covered with red, green, pink and orange neon rubber bracelets, and she wore fishnet fingerless gloves a la 1980s—the Madonna years. Her blonde hair was pulled up into an impressive ponytail. It looked like a hair volcano had erupted on top of her head.
Grace felt nausea churn in her stomach. Her knees started to quake. Baba Yaga scared the pee out of her. She avoided the most powerful witch in the world like the plague. After all, the previous Baba Yaga, Carol’s mother, had put the curse on Grace’s family.
“This is Jessica and Patrick O’Halloran, vampires in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Baba Yaga. “And that’s Tabor Cotton. He’s a bear Shifter and the guardian of Wild, Texas.”
Mr. Cotton tipped his hat to Zelda and then to Grace. “Nice to meet you, ladies.”
His deep voice, as smooth and rich as a late-night DJ’s, made her whole body tingle right down to her toes. He had a light twang that served as a reminder he was Texas born. Bear Shifter, huh? That explained his height and muscular body. Grace tried not to stare so hard at him. Liz crawled on her shoulder, curling her tail around Grace’s neck. She whispered, “That Tabor’s a nice one. You could take ‘em for a ride. He’s already wearing the hat.”
Grace blushed to the roots of her hair. Dear Goddess, if she didn’t get out of here, she was going to die of embarrassment.
“Gang,” said Baba Yaga gesturing at the witches and wizard, “meet Zelda, Fabio, and Grace Hobbs.”
Grace drew in a shaky breath. “Nice to meet you.” She smiled weakly at Zelda. “Thanks for your help.” She backed up another step. “I’m gonna—”
“Stay,” said Baba Yaga with decisive, scary authority.
The room went dead quiet and for a long moment, no one spoke.
“Well, so far, this is fun!” All eyes turned to Jessica, and she grinned. Then she looked soulfully at her husband. “Patrick, I need a talking lizard.”
“Now, Jess, love. Only witches have familiars,” said Patrick with an Irish lilt. He kissed her forehead. “Besides, we’re up to our ears in zombies.”
“But they don’t talk,” she said.
“Just give Jennifer time, sonuachar. She’ll have ‘em speakin’ soon enough.”
“True.” Jessica studied Liz. Her gaze was one of yearning. “Dead people smell like shit married sewage and had stinky babies. Even when you give them baths. Besides, their skin slides off and parts go missing. Next thing you know, you’ve got a bath full of decomposing flesh and all these fingers and toes.” She brightened and looked at Zelda. “Can you fix zombies?”
Jessica painted a way too vivid picture of the walking dead. Oh, Goddess. Grace felt her throat tighten as her gag reflex kicked in.
“If even I could,” answered Zelda in a strained voice. “I’d rather cover myself in honey and sit on an ant hill than get near—” she swallowed “—a zombie.” Obviously irritated, she stuck her hands on hips. “What the fuck is going on?”
Baba Yaga ignored Zelda’s questions. Her nose crinkled as she examined the ruined blouse. “What happened to you?”
Zelda pointed to her chest. “This is what I get for being nice.”
“I’ve seen worse,” said Jessica. “Have you ever stepped in zombie guts and then gone face first into more zombie guts?
Let me tell you something about the slipperiness of intestines—”
All three witches in the room started gagging. Even Fabio looked a little green around the gills.
“Perhaps we could discuss your reason for visiting?” asked Fabio as he patted his daughter on the back. “Before we have more vomitus eruptus.”
That Baba Yaga is just as awful as her mother. No sense of humor. And look at those ta-tas. If she jiggles the wrong way, they’re gonna pop out—and someone’s gonna lose an eye.
Baba Yaga snorted. “You should talk,” she said, looking to the right of Grace. “Your boobs look like deflated balloons. A silver top and bootie shorts with those heels? You look like a retired hooker.”
I can wear what I want. I’m dead.
“So’s your fashion sense,” said Baba Yaga.
Hel-lo. Have you looked in the mirror lately, Carol? Enough with the Madonna-wannabe-bullshit.
“Do you want to be bald?” asked Baba Yaga. “If you keep insulting me, you’ll spend the rest of your afterlife without hair.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” asked Zelda. She squinted at the space next to Grace.
“Dorcas Hoar,” said Baba Yaga. “Even dead, she’s a loudmouth with a penchant for dressing like a cheap stripper.” She reached over and patted Grace’s shoulder. Holy crap! Baba Yaga is comforting me. Grace tried to remain upright as Baba Yaga offered a sympathetic smile. “Dorcas is also the scourge of the Hobbs family.”
Scourge. Yeah, well, whose fault is that?
“Yours,” said Baba Yaga.
“You...” Grace swallowed. “You can really hear her?”
She can see me, too. Big deal.
“My mother created the curse—so yeah, I’m the exception to the rule.”
“I can see her, too,” said Liz. “Not that she’s worth looking it.”
Shut it you scaly bitch or I’ll hide your treats again.
“Knock it off,” demanded Baba Yaga. She turned to the others in the room. “No one else can see or hear Dorcas. Being invisible to the rest of the world is part of the curse.”
Amazing Grace Page 1
