Minions and Magic: Accidental Witches Book 5

by Dunbar, Debra

  Minions and Magic

  Accidental Witches Book 5

  Debra Dunbar

  Copyright © 2019 by Debra Dunbar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Also by Debra Dunbar

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Xavier

  I’ll admit that Benjamin Frederick Allen threw one heck of an engagement party, but then again he could afford to. The man had made millions over the last decade. Everything he touched turned to gold, just like Midas. And just like Midas, that gift had come with a price.

  I was here to remind him of that price—and to remind him that the poorly worded bargain he’d made ten years ago at a crossroads didn’t mean the money he so desperately desired would bring him any happiness.

  His lover had given him the clap. His wife had left him. He’d had ten years of IRS audits, and was facing a class-action lawsuit. He was completely unaware that the seam in his pants had split and everyone was getting a lovely view of his red underwear. In addition, the daughter whose engagement party he’d spent some serious coin on hated him and was eagerly counting the days until he died.

  That one wasn’t my doing. I too was eagerly counting the days until Benjamin Frederick Allen died, but for different reasons. I’d get his soul—a far more valuable commodity than a bunch of paper that the government would seize less than a year after his death.

  What to do, what to do? Hmmm.

  I’d thought about bringing an unexpected tornado to ruin this party, but that was too much work. So here I stood, looking quite dapper if I might say so myself, wearing a tuxedo and holding a glass of expensive champagne, trying to decide the best way to make Benjamin Frederick Allen just a little more miserable. He was going to die in two years, so I really needed to step up my game before he was out of my hands and into someone else’s in hell.

  The food.

  I felt a twinge of guilt, because the food really looked magnificent. Maybe I wouldn’t tamper with all of it. I sauntered over to the tables and eyed the spread. Prime rib sandwiches with fresh horseradish. Bite-size quiche with spinach. Little pastries with bresaola and blue cheese. Lamb meatballs with feta. Hand-made potato chips sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning. A mushroom pâté with bread that smelled like it had come right out of the oven. Tiny crab cakes that looked as if there was barely enough filler to hold them together. Colorful macarons. Cups with dark chocolate mousse. Cupcakes with rich buttercream. A ginger cake with a spicy aroma that made my mouth water.

  Messing with any of this would be a sin, but I was all about sin. Making a decision, I reached out to put my finger on the ginger cake and nearly leapt out of my skin when someone smacked my hand.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  A woman stood next to me in a neatly pressed apron, a white chef’s hat askew on her auburn hair. She waved a finger in my face—actually waved a finger in my face.

  “I see you. I know what you are, and what you’re about. No demon is gonna mess with my food. So you just back yourself away from the table and take your mischief elsewhere.”

  I’ll admit I stood there gaping like an idiot, partly because she was beautiful, partly because she had the effrontery to smack my hand and order me around, and partly because she was a witch.

  A witch. I hadn’t come across one in centuries. I’d thought that they’d died out until word went around hell that Lucien had bonded with one.

  A witch.

  “Sorry.” I was apologizing. Why was I apologizing? I never apologized. “It looks really good. Is there fresh ginger in it?”

  She sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Of course there is. It’s my own recipe.”

  Pride. I got a grip on myself and tried to act more like the powerful crossroads demon I was and less like a child who’d been caught trying to sneak a cookie. I could deal with pride. It was my favorite sin.

  “I haven’t had a chance to try anything yet.” I gave her my sexiest smile. “Maybe you could prepare a plate for me since I seem to be forbidden from touching any of the food myself.”

  A blush rose up her neck and across her round face, making the smattering of freckles on her cheekbones disappear. For a second I thought she would comply, but then she shook her head and glared.

  “Why are you here? I doubt Mr. Allen invited a demon to his daughter’s engagement party.”

  “No, but Benjamin Frederick Allen made a deal with me ten years ago, and ever since that point, I have an automatic invitation to anywhere he may be—whether that’s the boardroom, or the bathroom, or a party at his luxurious estate.”

  She appeared a bit taken aback at my words. “The bathroom? You seriously spy on him when he’s soaping up his nether parts in the shower, or taking a number two? Why the heck would you do that?”

  I blinked, a little shocked that she was more concerned about my violating a human’s expectation of privacy while cleaning himself or eliminating than that I was a demon who’d made a deal for a man’s soul.

  “Umm, well sometimes I make him drop the soap and whack his knee on the faucet when he bends over to get it. Or I make him slip and go down on his ass while getting out of the tub. And constipation or a burning sensation when someone goes wee is definitely on my list of favorites.”

  Wee. I’d actually said “wee” to this woman as if I needed to curtail my language in her presence. I was a demon. I could curse if I wanted to. And I’d just said “ass” so there was no need for me to use such an infantile euphemism as “wee”.

  “Those are spelled out in your contracts as liberties you can take when someone makes a deal with you?” She shook her head, her disgusted impression making my stomach twist into a nervous knot.

  “No, they’re not spelled out in the contract. That’s the point. Broadly worded, sweeping contracts allow me a lot of latitude. Basically I get to do whatever I want to the person while they’re still alive as long as they get whatever they traded their soul for.”

  She shook her head, mouth tight with disapproval. “Well, I don’t think that sounds right. And what happens after these people die? Do you torture them with more than constipation and yeast infections?”

  I shrugged. “Once they die, it’s all out of my hands. My job is done. Their soul goes on to some other demon in hell. I don’t bother myself with the administrative policy of what soul goes where and to who for what punishment. All I do is make the deals, deliver the requested wish, then make whatever remains of their lives miserable.”

  She didn’t look particularly impressed by any of that. I clearly wasn’t making a good impression on this witch, and for some crazy reason that bothered me. I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to find me clever and funny, smart and resourceful. Yeah. Crazy, I know.

&
nbsp; “So Mr. Allen sold his soul to you? For what?” The witch asked.

  I waved my hand around at the largesse. “What do you think? Money. It’s the usual request. That and sex.”

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “He seriously didn’t earn this money?”

  I shrugged. “Well, technically I guess he did. But it never would have happened if I hadn’t intervened. Benjamin Frederick Allen may have been upper middle class without the deal he struck, but no mansion, no yacht, no private jet, no daughter-marrying-a-trust-fund-heir.” I sent another slow, sexy smile her way. “No amazing catering of this party by a truly talented chef.”

  Her arms remained across her chest. “You haven’t eaten anything yet. It might taste like my smoothies for all you know.”

  I had no idea what smoothies had to do with anything. Did she not like smoothies? Did she lack the ability to make one? Because I couldn’t imagine how someone who could cook all this could screw up a simple blended beverage.

  “Well,” I tried the sexy smile again, “I would love to eat something, if only someone would stop smacking my fingers when I attempt it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I see auras, I’ll have you know. You weren’t going to eat that ginger cake, you were going to put some demon spell on it. Make it rot, or taste like dust, or give everyone who ate it explosive diarrhea or something.”

  It wasn’t as if I’d lied to her. Maybe. I couldn’t really remember half the time when I had told a lie. But either way, I really did want to try the cake, and a few of these other foods. Suddenly the day was less about ruining Benjamin Frederick Allen’s life and more about this witch.

  She regarded me for a moment then slid a slice of the cake onto a plate, handing it to me with a fork. I took a bite and had to pause to savor the texture and flavors before swallowing. Moist with a delicate crumb, the cake had the refreshing tang of fresh ginger tempered with a hint of vanilla, and balanced with a shadowy trace of Ceylonese cinnamon. And the icing… It had the richness of buttercream without the sweetness. I’d thought it was cream cheese, but it lacked the signature sour notes of that frosting.

  It was magic. Once more I looked at the witch before me with her red hair and freckles, with the smug satisfied smile of someone who knew how good her culinary skills truly were. Pride. It was the best sin of all and it made my heart sing to see such a thing in her.

  I wanted her. I wanted her magic sizzling against my skin. I wanted her body and her soul. I wanted her in my bed, by my side. I wanted her for all eternity. I was a crossroads demon, and all I desired was only one bargain away.

  But first I needed to finish this slice of cake.

  I swallowed that last amazing bite and was just about to wind up my pitch, when I found another plate in my hands. This one held the mushroom pâté surrounded by chunks of hearty bread.

  It was a farmhouse style bread that had a thick crust with a faint dusting of flour and an uneven, bold crumb. I sniffed and caught a faint note of sourdough. Scooping up the pâté with a chunk of bread, I popped it into my mouth. The creamy-earthy complexity of the mushroom pâté mixed with the robust texture of the bread delivered a taste that angels would have described as heavenly.

  I finished, and she shoved something else in my hands—a huge prime rib sandwich that took up the entire real estate of the tiny plate.

  “Here. I need to get back to work. Help yourself to the food.” She waved a stern finger under my nose. “But if I hear of one person getting sick, I’ll hunt you down and lock you in a magical circle for the next two thousand years. Got it?”

  I wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t have been sexy at the moment given that my mouth was full of beef and sinus-cleansing horseradish. She was lying about the magical circle and the two thousand years thing, but she wasn’t lying about hunting me down. The thought sent a rush of desire through me. I was tempted to see exactly what she would do with me if I tampered with her food.

  But I had a better idea—one that would lead to a more mutually beneficial, long-term relationship with this witch than her trapping me with her magic. She’d be a worthy opponent, a tricky prey to catch, but I’d never lost a deal before and I was confident I wouldn’t this time either.

  I needed a plan. And I intended to get to work on one, just as soon as I finished this sandwich and ate some lamb meatballs as well as a few other things.

  Chapter 2

  Glenda

  A demon.

  I tried really hard not to stare at him as I went about my duties, but he was always there in the corner of my vision.

  Wow. Totally hot. I mean, smoking, inferno-of-hell hot.

  Don’t get me wrong, the demons who my sisters were bonded with were good-looking guys, but they did nothing for me. I’d just assumed maybe I wasn’t into demons. I wasn’t into a lot of possible romantic partners that I met—humans, shifters, vampires, fae, or any of the other supernatural beings who called Accident their home. Yeah, I’d dated a bit and even had a boyfriend or two throughout the years, but none of them had ever made my heart race the sort of giddy rhythm that this demon had.

  Physically, he was a good-looking guy with golden-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and that self-assured, sexy smile that sent electricity zinging right down between my legs. I’d met lots of handsome men in my life, and none of them had rocked my world quite like this demon.

  It wasn’t just his muscles and gorgeous face. It was his aura. Silver and black with swirls of orange. Looking at him with my second sight made me feel like I was staring down into an active volcano. Hot. Sexy.

  And the best thing? He was scarfing down my food like a man who’d been living on cheap take-out for the last decade. I was a witch, but my greatest skills were in the kitchen. A man, or demon, that loved my cooking? That was the way to my heart.

  Of course, everyone loved my cooking. People swooning over my custard creams led more to catering deals than dates, but a woman could always hope. And whether or not this demon was interested in things beyond my food, I still had a win here—he was completely ignoring his job duties and instead of making my client’s life miserable, he was having a second helping of ginger cake.

  Things got busy, and by the time the guests were beginning to filter out and I had started to clean up the empty trays and pans, the demon had left. Well, he’d left the food area where he’d stationed himself pretty much since he took that first taste of ginger cake. Just to make sure there was no mischief afoot that could tarnish my culinary reputation, I scanned the remaining crowd. Then I scanned once again using my second sight, just in case he’d changed forms.

  Nope, no demon. My chest felt a little heavy to realize he truly was gone. Just like a hot guy to eat and run without even a thank-you. Figures.

  I loaded the rest of the equipment into my van, cleaning the area and making some notes until Mr. Allen made his way over to me, check in hand. The man had always seemed polite and stately to me, and I admired that unlike most of my wealthy clients, he communicated with me himself rather than through an assistant or their party planner. Now I saw him through different eyes, looking at the lines around his mouth and the nervous tic at the corner of his eye. Had he really made a deal with a demon for his wealth?

  The man handed me the check, which was made out for more than the contracted amount. “Thank you so much for today. The food was outstanding. Everyone raved about the cake and those little sandwiches. I’d worried there might be some…problem, but everything went off without a hitch.”

  His gaze darted around the manicured lawn, and I couldn’t help but want to confirm what the demon had told me.

  “You were worried about unwanted guests?” I smiled sympathetically. “An ex-boyfriend of your daughters with a grudge, perhaps?”

  His laugh had a guilty edge to it. “No, more like an old business associate. I never invite him, but he has a habit of showing up and wrecking things. I thought maybe he was here earlier, but then nothing happened.”

  I was pretty sure if an
old business associate had been crashing parties and harassing him, he would have had security here and a long-standing restraining order out on the guy. Unless, of course, the old business associate was a demon.

  And if he couldn’t keep a demon out of his bathroom, he didn’t have any hope of keeping him away from a private party.

  “There was a man who I’m pretty sure wasn’t on the guest list.” I forced a worried frown. “I made him a plate of food and kept an eye on him. He left a while ago.”

  I kept an eye on him because he was hot as sin and obviously enjoying my food, but Mr. Allen didn’t need to know that.

  The man blew out a breath. “Thank you. It might not have been him, but I’m glad you were vigilant. I’d love to have you cater our board meeting next month, by the way.”

  My heart danced. The more jobs on my calendar, the better. Didn’t matter how overbooked I was, or how many late nights I spent cooking and prepping. This was my life—well, this and brewing my healing potions. I was happy to throw myself twenty-four-seven into cooking and catering. It brought me joy. And it meant I was too busy to think about how lonely I’d become.

  “I’d be happy to, Mr. Allen.” I reached out to shake his hand. “Just send me the details, and I’ll put it on my schedule.”

  The man nodded, shook my hand and turned away from me. I slapped a hand over my mouth to hold back a laugh, because the man’s pants had split clear down the back seam revealing a bright red pair of underwear.

  Clearly he hadn’t realized this. I was pretty sure I knew who was to blame for this wardrobe malfunction. And I must be just as bad as the demon, because I giggled to myself and never said a word, letting Mr. Allen walk all the way up to his house with his underwear showing.