Hex at a House Party
(Sonoma Witches Book 2)
Gretchen Galway
Eton Field
From the Back Cover
Sometimes it takes a magic touch to solve a murder.
Twenty-six-year-old witch Alma may be a failed demon hunter, but she’s never lacked magical ability—just an Incurable Inability to kill. Recovering from defending her small town from a recent supernatural attack, Alma has sworn off working for the Protectorate, the witch governing body, to devote herself to learning and teaching the old ways of magic—without hurting anyone.
But soon she’s drawn out of her cozy house in the redwoods to investigate a high-society witch at a week-long house party on the remote coast north of San Francisco. When the party turns deadly, she’s forced to summon old powers and new, make allies she might not be able to trust, and face a shocking truth about her own identity. And maybe—if she can survive long enough—unmask a killer.
Hex at a House Party
Copyright © 2019 by Gretchen Galway
Eton Field, Publisher
www.gretchengalway.com
Cover design by Gretchen Galway
Illustrations: Shutterstock
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-939872-22-7
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-939872-23-4
v.20190618
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Also by Gretchen Galway
About the Author
Chapter One
Birdie sat on the ceiling of my living room, her brown hair hanging down around her face, collecting her tears as they fell to the floor.
I looked up at her and smiled encouragingly. “You’re doing great,” I said. “Now just find the spell I used to put you up there, focus on the invisible strings, and slice them.”
“I’m trying,” she gasped. “But I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” I held out one hand, fingers extended; the other held my staff. “Inside my house, I’ve got a lot of power. I won’t let you get hurt.”
She pushed the hair out of her eyes, but because she was upside down, it quickly fell back over her face. “I can’t concentrate.”
“Use the beads. Put your hand on them and feel the power.”
Hand shaking, Birdie clutched at the necklace I’d given her. “My nose is running. I’m dripping snot on your couch.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just think about the magic. Focus on finding it.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I felt the slightest touch of her force against mine. It was weak, but better than she’d managed so far. I’d put her on the ceiling to see if fear would help her find the power that had eluded her under less stressful conditions.
“Is that it?” she asked, probing the invisible strings I’d wrapped around her.
“Yes, great job. Now slice. Like you’ve got a knife.”
I felt a dull poke. “Like that?”
“Harder,” I said. “You can’t hurt me.”
“How can you be sure? Maybe I’ve inherited incredible powers from my father. I’m going to burn the house down and kill us all.”
“Tristan didn’t have that kind of power,” I said. Birdie’s late father, whom she’d barely known, had been a powerful witch, and the Protector of Silverpool, but not dangerous. “I can probably handle whatever you’ve got.”
“Probably?”
I wrapped my fingers around the staff and prepared to help her down. We’d gone too fast, and I’d scared her. “Never mind,” I said. “Hold on. I’ll bring you—”
I felt a razor cut one of the thin bonds. Then a huge, invisible sword slashed through all of them at once, and in an instant she was falling.
For a moment—only a split second because I’m not Shadow—I considered waiting to see if she could save herself. But then I reached out and cradled her body in a cushion of air before dumping her on the sofa.
“Great job,” I said.
My words were drowned out by her screaming. Mostly happy. She rolled over to the floor and jumped up, dancing, raising her fist to me in celebration. “Oh yeah,” she crowed. “Oh yeah. Doing magic, being a witch. Oh yeah.”
We bumped fists.
“You did it,” I said.
“It’s like music,” she said. “You can hear it. With a different part of your brain. Or it’s your heart. But I can taste it in my mouth, too, and it has a smell. It’s like being in a kitchen, and you’re cooking, and there’s music playing, and everything is a total sensory overload, you know? It’s hard to find what you want because there’s just so, so much going on.”
I nodded. “That’s why the focus beads help.” The handmade necklaces that I wore and had shared with her were my source of income as well as power. Every witch could use help breaking through the sensory overload, and the redwood and cedar beads I carved were excellent at honing a person’s focus.
“Also being terrified,” Birdie said. “You’re right. That got me started. I don’t think I could’ve done that if I hadn’t thought for a second I was going to die.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It was actually when you started to help me down that I relaxed enough to concentrate,” she said. “But now I understand. Don’t scare me again, OK?”
“Don’t worry,” I began. “I won’t— Uhk—”
My feet flew out from under me. Two seconds later, I found myself staring at the ceiling, my skull throbbing against the hardwood floor.
Birdie rushed over and crouched down to help me up. “Are you all right? I thought I could do the same thing to you.”
“You were trying to put me on the ceiling?”
“I felt the strings. I was sure I could tie them around you.”
I grabbed the couch cushions and struggled to my feet. “Maybe hold off on the big tricks until you’ve had a little more practice,” I said. “Like with small things first. Small, light, inanimate things. Like cotton balls and packing foam.”
“Sorry, I’m so so
rry. I just was sure I could do it, and I wanted you to be proud of me.”
“I’m totally proud of you,” I said.
“Is there a way I could tap into the power inside your house too? So I can learn how to do what you do?” She pointed at the staff, which had fallen to the floor. “Maybe use that? Not now, of course. When I’m ready. After living here a month or two.”
Since inheriting a fortune from her biological father, Birdie had given notice on her house next door, planning to move away. But when she’d learned she might be a witch, she’d offered me a generous sum to rent my spare bedroom and take lessons from me. I’d been too broke—and curious—to refuse.
“My house will only make me more powerful, not anyone else,” I said. “That’s kind of the point. I’m safe here.”
“Is that why you don’t go out? You know, date or have any friends?” Birdie’s words hung between us for a moment before she realized she’d gone too far again. She put both hands over her mouth. “Sorry.”
I could’ve explained to her the ancient tradition of hearth witchery, an often-solitary profession that believed in the old-fashioned power of flora and fauna, wild and unpredictable but free to all who had the power to find and harness it.
But instead I said, “I go out sometimes. I dated your father.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, doesn’t count. I hear he slept with everybody.”
Sadly true. And he’d been at least twice my age. But he’d been nice to me after the Protectorate had fired me, when so few other witches had. “I did have a friend. And he turned out to be a murderer.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “What are the odds of that happening again?”
“In the witch world, quite high. I’m better off staying home. Trust me.” I brushed dog hair and a dust bunny off my jeans. Vacuuming and other domestic arts were not my strength. “You should be able to feel that the power in the house is attuned to me. That’s a useful skill. Necessary, really. You always need to know if the witch you’re next to is more powerful than you are. Because then you’re in danger.”
“I feel magic, but it’s everywhere. Like I said, it’s a noisy kitchen full of sounds and smells. I can’t tell anything apart.”
“Then let’s go outside,” I said. “Clean air, clean magic.”
I led her through my little kitchen at the back of my two-bedroom bungalow and out the door to the backyard. It was a late afternoon in October, and the sun was already low to the west behind the redwoods. The town of Silverpool, north of San Francisco in Sonoma County, was only a short drive from the Pacific. Like many days, my property was shrouded in coastal fog, heavier now that the sun was going down.
I didn’t stop walking until we were just outside the perimeter of the boundary spells I’d sprinkled around my house. The largest redwood, massive and ancient, was in the far corner of my yard across from the small detached garage.
“Now try,” I said. “Put your hand on the beads and reach out with your senses—”
Birdie was crying again. But also smiling. Her gaze was fixed on the ground behind me, near the big tree.
I turned, surprised she could see my garden gnome. He must’ve made himself visible because he wanted to meet her. “Good morning, Willy,” I said formally. “May I introduce my friend Elizabeth Crow? She’ll be living at my house for a little while.”
Willy was about as tall as an adult human’s forearm. He wore a red velvet coat in the old style, sometimes donned a pointy cap, and always held a pipe, usually unlit. His white beard was clean and carefully trimmed, and had it been large enough for a human face, would make a modern man of fashion proud.
“Oh,” Birdie gasped, visibly trembling.
I hoped she could pull it together. Gnomes were old-fashioned and appreciated etiquette. In fact, bad manners could make them abandon your property. When I’d first moved into the house, I’d been careful to follow the gnome lore I’d read. I offered food frequently, I always addressed him with deep respect, and I avoided asking questions. Polite ones were all right, but probing for information or magic was said to be highly offensive to the ancient creatures. If they thought you wanted to use them, they would leave. But if you got them to stay—
Well, the lore was vague on that, but he’d helped me recently more than I’d ever expected. Even if he hadn’t, I enjoyed his company.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Crow,” he said.
Birdie was unusually speechless. She nodded rapidly, eyes shining, and glanced at me. “Birdie,” she whispered. “Me. Birdie.”
“Willy is a gnome,” I said.
“Please don’t insult her intelligence, dear Alma,” Willy said. “She can see me plain as day.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said.
“Did you come to life from a statue?” Birdie asked, then turned to me. “Can you do that?”
“Oh no,” I said quickly, horrified he would be offended. “Willy is…” How could I explain? He was real but not solid. Alive but not living.
To my relief, Willy smiled. “I am as you see. Just as I am and have always been. Just as you are.”
“I’m not the same as I’ve been,” Birdie said. “I’m a witch now.”
He shrugged a tiny shoulder and sucked on his pipe. “The animal loves you, so I shall love you,” Willy said.
“Do you mean Alma?” Birdie asked.
I cleared my throat. “I think he means Random.” Random was my dog. He’d been outside in the yard while I’d been gluing Birdie to the ceiling. I turned away to look for him. “Where did he go, anyway? I’ve trained him to stay near the house, but sometimes—”
“Oh,” Birdie said. “Willy disappeared.”
I spun around. It wasn’t like the gnome to leave without a formal goodbye; usually he would wave and pretend to walk through a door at the base of the tree unless there was some kind of danger—
“Random?” I called softly, and then more urgently. “Random!”
I brought my hand to the necklace at my throat where my pulse had begun to race. First Willy, then my dog…
Knowing trouble could always pounce out of the shadows, I walked carefully down my driveway toward the street, drawing my magic into my boundary spells.
Chapter Two
“What’s the matter?” Birdie called out behind me.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, gripping the beads. “I just… have a feeling…”
“Do you think you should put up a fence?” Birdie asked, following me. “I was afraid of Random running around loose. There’s traffic, sketchy people, mountain lions. Even some of the raccoons are scary. I saw one that was as big as Smokey the Bear, swear on my mother’s grave. I mean, not seriously, because I’m exaggerating, and my mom always hated that, but huge. I mean huge. Like a walrus. Its belly was dragging along the ground. That one could’ve taken me down. Not that I’m very large for a person, but compared—”
I stopped listening to Birdie’s stream of babble and turned my attention to the end of my driveway where a shadow lurked near the mailbox and wild shrubs. There was movement—black fur—a tail—a flash of a dark paw writhing on the ground—
“Hello, Alma,” said a man’s voice from the shadows. “You might want to train your guard dog to bark instead of lick. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m concerned about your safety. You know how much I care about you.”
“Seth!” I said. In spite of myself, my heart leapt to hear his voice. I’d thought he was dead.
Suppressing a smile, I reeled in the attack spell I’d been preparing for any unwanted intruders with evil intent. That should’ve included Seth Dumont, a changeling from Minnesota, formerly thought to be a demon, but I’d never been convinced he was dangerous. When I’d been a Protectorate agent, I’d been supposed to kill him, but it turned out I wasn’t a blind order-follower, and here we all were.
“He didn’t bark because he knows you,” I said. “What are you doing here, SD?” I was careful to hide my enthusiasm. Sometimes he too
k it the wrong way.
He’d been rubbing my dog’s belly, but now Seth straightened, brushed a swath of dark hair out of his eyes, and winked.
“Hi, Seth,” Birdie said behind me. “You should’ve texted me. When did you get here?”
I turned. Oh no. “You guys know each other?” I asked warily.
They’d both been with me during a battle with a Shadow witch and a bloodthirsty fairy six weeks ago, but I hadn’t realized they’d actually met. It would’ve been safer if they hadn’t.
“He’s moving into my old place,” Birdie said, pointing next door. “He bought the house from my landlord. I promised to show him around. You know, explain how the weird showerhead in the bathroom sprays on the floor if you don’t put the curtain just right, the broken burner on the stove, that sort of thing, but I bet he’ll just fix everything instead of letting it stay broken like I did. And my landlord. She was nice but really terrible at fixing things. Which is funny because she owns Cypress Hardware, you know? I’d think owning a hardware store would make you a person who wouldn’t have a broken stove, even in a rental—”
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