The Accidental Familiar (Accidentally Paranormal Series Book 14)
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Authors: Dakota Cassidy
Tags: #General Fiction
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Dakota recommends … Renee George
“
K
ool-Aid? Like for real, the kid is gonna drink a frickin’ metaphor?” Nina asked, her dark eyes skeptical.
January chuckled. “For real, Vampire. It’s just to hide the taste of the spell, but it works every time.”
January pulled a packet from her medical bag containing a powdery substance and dumped it into the glass of dark pink liquid. With her index finger, she made the water swirl until it was a deep vortex of color.
The good doctor’s calming tones, her honesty about this aura haunting her, her soothing nature, all served to calm Poppy. She didn’t doubt January was a solid therapist, and when all was said and done, when things had evened out a bit and her world wasn’t so filled with chaos, she planned to make an appointment with her.
Until then, Poppy prayed this protection spell would do the trick, and she was going in with total trust. Whatever it took to rid herself of the evil attached to her.
Closing her eyes, January squared her shoulders and said, “Spirits know this, know this well, protect Poppy with this spell. Harm be hindered, chaos be gone, keep her safe from dusk till dawn!” She let her hand fly open, her palm over the glass, before she removed it with flourish and snapped her fingers.
The pink water hissed and bubbled momentarily, creating a white froth. As quickly as the liquid stirred, it also calmed, eventually going still. The doctor opened her eyes and smiled at Poppy and pointed to the glass. “Chugalug, baby.”
Nina, Marty, and Wanda, along with sweet-sweet Carl, pounded their fists on the kitchen island like they were all in college and sang out, “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
Laughing, Poppy lifted the cup to her lips and threw it back, guzzling the drink until it was gone while everyone cheered—even the very proper Arch.
The moment she finished, she stuck her tongue out, scraping her knuckles over it with a gag. “Gah! That’s awful! What is that?”
Rick leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Goats’ eyeballs. Dried, of course, and maybe some virgins’ tears. I hear those are very powerful.”
Nudging him in the ribs, Poppy giggled. “You better shut—”
Those were the last words to exit her mouth.
What came out after that was her dinner, on a hot, acidic spew of liquid, spraying from her mouth like a fountain.
Her belly protested the contents being ripped from her, heaving and rolling with acrid swells. Leaning forward, Poppy gasped on a sharp intake of breath and wrapped her hands around her waist as a white-hot flash of electricity zigzagged through her, making beads of sweat pop out on her forehead.
Her eyes went wide in panic and fear. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t ask for help. She couldn’t do anything but fight a scream from the agonizing pain rising from her stomach and lodging in her chest.
The lights in the shed flickered, the small chandelier over the entryway swaying so hard, the sheetrock began to pull away from the ceiling. The floor beneath them rumbled, at first distantly, then growing louder as it picked up steam, crashing in her ears, matching the pounding tide of her pulse.
And with that, Poppy heaved again, this time her stomach almost turning itself inside out, the violent hacking stealing her breath.
She fell forward toward the island countertop, almost cracking her head but for Carl, who threw himself in front of her, gripping her shoulders as she dropped against him, unable to get her legs beneath her.
His awkward, stiff arms went around her immediately as her face cracked against his thin chest. “Popp-yy!” he stammered, the alarm in his voice crystal clear.
She heard Nina yelp, “What the fuck is going on, Doc? What the hell did you give her?”
And then Marty screamed, “What in the living hell is
that
?”
Accidentally Paranormal Series, Book 14
Dakota Cassidy
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-87-6
Copyright © 2016, Dakota Cassidy.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Book Boutiques.
Desperate to pay the rent, Broadway-star wannabe Poppy McGuillicuddy is the middle of DJ-ing a Halloween party when a mishap with a cat named Calamity changes her life forever. Suddenly, she’s a familiar—as in, a witch’s familiar. Or in her case, a warlock’s. Even more specifically, a gorgeous warlock…who wants nothing to do with her. Thank God for the ladies from OOPs, who’ve promised their help as Poppy navigates her accidental paranormal powers.
Despite his last familiar leaving him bitter and disillusioned, warlock Rick Delassantos still isn’t heartless. He’s agreed to give Poppy a few days before contacting Familiar Central and demanding she be reassigned elsewhere. But barely a day is all it takes for Poppy to become the target of some seriously bad magic, forcing Rick to keep her close to ensure her safety. Not exactly a hardship, when his new familiar is as sexy as she is sassy.
With help from Marty, Nina and Wanda—and assorted other OOPs friends—Rick and Poppy learn some important lessons: fate works in mysterious ways; things aren’t always as they seem; and sometimes the worst evil can be found close to home!
Darling readers,
As I’m wont to do, in this particular addition to The Accidentals, I’ve taken some liberties with witches and their folklore. I’ve tweaked and toyed with some hard and fast rules, and created others to suit my own devilish desires in order to put my stamp on this world. So if you note things that appear a bit outlandish and absolutely implausible, you’ll know you’re in the middle of an Accidental!
And it goes without saying my BFF, Renee George, isn’t just the most supportive, awesome friend a girl can have, she’s also super-plotter and a great writer to boot. I’d still be lost somewhere back on book three of The Accidentals without her brainstorming. Love you much, friend!
Last, but never least, thank you for your continued, amazingly awesome support of The Accidentals! You’ve consistently shown the girls your love by emailing me, posting reviews, sharing your concerns (mostly about Nina and the loss of her vampirism. LOL! I’m sorry. I made it right—swear!), asking whether Carl, Darnell, and Arch will ever get their own stories, and I’m so grateful to find you all so invested in this monster I’ve created.
Much love always,
Dakota XXOO
Illustration: Katie Wood
Cover: Valerie Tibbs
Editor: Kelli Collins
“
Y
ou’re talking. Like
talking-talking
, as in your mouth is moving and words are coming out. Words, I might add, that make total sense.”
“Totally fucked-up, right?”
Poppy McGuillicuddy snorted
. So totally.
“
How
is it even possible that you’re talking to me?”
“You have three choices.”
She gulped in the chilled autumn air, inhaling the scent of damp fur and the lingering stench of cheap booze before she sat up straighter and looked the talking cat in the eye (
the talking cat
).
“Okay, give me my choices. I’m listening.”
The tiny, round black cat began to pace the length of the brick garden wall they’d sat upon when Poppy had demanded she needed air after their “accident”.
The cat stretched, arching its rippling spine, the blue-black of its fur shimmering under the street lamp at the end of the driveway. “First, I just have to make mention. Cooler than coolio costume. Big KISS fan here.”
Poppy preened, fluffing her Afro wig and puffing out her chest to accent the shirt she wore, nude in color with glued-on patches of cotton balls she’d dyed black to mimic copious amounts of chest hair.
“Thanks. I worked extra hard on the star over my eye. Rock and roll hootchie-koo.”
“It totally shows. I’d know you were Paul Stanley if I was blind. Kudos for not going with the obvious choice, too.”
She flapped a hand at the cat and smiled at how clever she’d felt when she’d put this crazy costume together. “Gene’s so overdone. Plus, there’s the tongue thing, you know? I’m just not qualified. Anyway, where were we?”
“Choices,” the cat repeated.
“Right.”
“So let me lay this out for you in list form. You sure you’re ready?”
“Probably not, but I feel like choices are probably moot.”
The feline dipped its shiny, dark head. “No truer words. So here it is in a nutshell. Option one: you can hear me talking to you because you’re fuckin’ nuts. Two: you’re on drugs or have been drugged, which wouldn’t surprise me with that crowd of bananapants stoners in there at that lame excuse for a Halloween party. Three: I’m really talking to you.”
Poppy looked off toward her best friend’s house, sitting just behind the garden wall, and shivered. “I don’t like any of those categories, Alex. Can I have another?”
“
Jeopardy
doesn’t work that way, Poppy, and you know it,” the cat scolded. “Alex Trebek would be so insulted.”
She gaped at the cat. “How do you know my name?”
The cat scoffed, sitting up straight and affecting a jaunty pose. “Well, it went something like this: ‘Yo, yo, yo, girlz and booooyz! This is Poppy M to the C to the Guill-i-cudd-E in da house, spinnin’ you some oldies but goodies tonight! Who all remembers this mad-ass hit by the Spin Doooctooooors?’ So see? It wasn’t like you kept your name some big secret.”
Right. Her Run DMC impression. She’d been DJ-ing at her old friend Mel’s party before all this had gone down. And what had gone down during that party was nutters. Everything was nutters.
So she said as much to the cat as she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. “This is insane.”
“Or maybe
you
are,” the feline offered, dry with sarcasm, sitting back on its haunches and eyeballing her with those wide green orbs.
Poppy cocked her head, remembering the cat’s words. “Insanity… That was one of the choices you laid out, right?”
“Yep. Because sometimes if you’re crazy, it goes hand and hand with delusions. Maybe I’m just a delusion you’ve cooked up in your nutbag head.”
Right. Maybe this was all a delusion. She wasn’t prone to them that she knew of, but how would you know you were having delusions if you were delusional?
She looked down at her phone and the number the cat had told her to call when it realized something was terribly out of whack and talked her into coming outside to handle their little indiscretion with less Blink-182 and Rick James blaring in their ears.
Poppy picked up her phone, letting her feline companion hear the endless drone of ringing on the other end. “I don’t think anyone’s going to pick up. Maybe I dialed the wrong—”
“This is Nina Blackman-Statleon of OOPS, for all your dramatic, life-altering emergency paranormal needs. Recently PA-and ratchety-ass, bag-o’-old-crusty-Paranormal-Council-bones approved as a legitimate source for the stickier paranormal events in your life. So, do tell. How can I help your pathetic, whiny soul today?”
Before Poppy was able to ask what all this talk about crisis and crusty-bones approved business was about, someone cut off the woman on the other end of the line.
“Nina!” a woman with a melodic voice chastised in the background. “Stop that! That could be a real client on the other end in dire need!”
“What, Fakey-Locks? Like they’re not pathetic when they’re all needy and clingy? Please. You asked me to answer the phones tonight, and that’s what I’m doin’. Just shut your over-glossed lips and let me handle this.”
Poppy waivered, rethinking the cat’s nutball suggestion to ring up this hotline called OOPS, one alleging it offered help when you were in paranormal crisis.
But the cat had told her to call this number as if the number itself were a lifeline to God. The
talking
cat said this was who to call—nay, it had insisted these were the people to bring into this so-called mess.
