Witch Glitch: Magic and Mayhem Book Two (23 page)

"My pleasure," Raquel said as she waved goodbye to me with her middle finger and flounced out of the room.

That would definitely be the first body part I would remove.

"Heathcliff, you wait here. Ethan wants to talk with you."

The sound of Raquel's laughter as she sped down the hall made me grind my fangs. She wouldn't have the last laugh. Nope, I'd make sure of that.

***

"She's a pain in the ass and as difficult as they come, but she's brilliant and she's my sister. You will make this work. And for God's sake stop betting her or daring her to do things—she can't stop herself," Ethan said tersely.

My oldest and closest friend ran his hands through his hair in frustration as he took in his office. I glanced around at the disaster and looked down at the floor. I never lost control. Ever. That woman was knocking me off my game and I didn't like it.

"She not difficult. She's a fucking menace," I told him. There simply had to be another way.

"Correct." Ethan grinned, enjoying my pain. He was just as bad as his mate, Astrid. "You two are it. Astrid and I trust you with the life of our son and that is not something we do lightly."

"She blushes," I said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Raquel blushes," I repeated.

Ethan busied himself with trying to piece together a statue that had been the victim of Raquel's wrath. He ignored my query.

"It's not normal," I went on.

"Nothing about my sister is normal. Nothing about her is typical and most of what I know about her defies logic. However, that's her story to tell. Not mine. Furthermore, you are both related by blood to my son and unfortunately the two of you are the most qualified to teach him what he needs to know," Ethan snapped as he tossed the statue into a wastebasket. "My child is six months old. He's the size of a four year old. He can turn people’s skin all colors of the rainbow, not to mention he can conjure Trolls and Gnomes." Ethan shuddered. "He's been kidnapped by Fairies and he needs to be trained to defend himself. Not sure how much clearer you need me to make this."

"Let me teach him to fight and send her back to the rock she lives under," I shot back. "He doesn't need to know his multiplication tables to kill a Troll."

"And that is where you are wrong, my friend," Ethan said. "His mind is a wonder. We need to feed it and keep it occupied so he stops animating stuffed animals that have death wishes."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not joking. Not even a little fucking bit," Ethan ground out. "Have you ever been attacked and almost decapitated by an army of orange and blue teddy bears?"

I was speechless.

"I thought not," Ethan said wearily. "Add to that a fire breathing purple plastic dragon and a dagger throwing headless doll. My son thinks this is funny."

"It actually is kind of funny."

The glare I received made me bite back the tasteless dragon joke that was on the tip of my tongue. Samuel was not just a Prince and the child of Astrid and Ethan. He was a True Immortal—one of nine. God was Good. Satan was Evil. Mother Nature was Emotion, her husband, the father of Satan was Wisdom. Hayden, the Angel of Death was Death. Elijah, the Angel of Light was Life. Dixie, Satan's daughter was Balance, her half-sister Lucy was Temptation. Astrid was Compassion and Samuel was Utopia—a combination of all of them. That kid had one Hell of a row to hoe.

"I knew this would be difficult," Ethan admitted, "but it is what it is. You’ll do this because I have asked you and you will do it well."

"Yes, I will. But I won’t be responsible if your sister loses a few limbs."

There was no choice in the matter. I had no issue with training the child. I adored him and it was an honor to have been asked. But getting along with the shrew was difficult at best and impossible at worst.

"As long as it's not her head then I'm fine with that. Just don't do it in front of my child," Ethan said. "Clear?"

"Clear."

It was a promise I didn't know if I could keep.

**Visit my website at
www.robynpeterman.com
.**

Excerpt from
Ready To Were

SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES
Book One

Book Description

I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever.

I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed –  a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.

Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return.

But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don’t have to eat my words and my paw. 

***This novella originally appeared in the
Three Southern Beaches
collection released July of 2014. This is an extended version of that story.

Chapter 1

“You’re joking.”

“No, actually I’m not,” my boss said and slapped the folder into my hands. “You leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to see your hairy ass till this is solved.”

I looked wildly around her office for something to lob at her head. It occurred to me that might not be the best of ideas, but desperate times led to stupid measures. She could not do this to me. I’d worked too hard and I wasn’t going back. Ever.

“First of all, my ass is not hairy except on a full moon and you’re smoking crack if you think I’m going back to Georgia.”

Angela crossed her arms over her ample chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Am I your boss?” she asked.

“Is this a trick question?”

She huffed out an exasperated sigh and ran her hands through her spiked ‘do making her look like she’d been electrocuted. “Essie, I am cognizant of how you feel about Hung Island, Georgia, but there’s a disaster of major proportions on the horizon and I have no choice.”

“Where are you sending Clark and Jones?” I demanded.

“New York and Miami.”

“Oh my god,” I shrieked. “Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?”

“Those douches
do
have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You’re the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you’re going to Georgia. Period.”

“Fine. I’ll quit. I’ll open a bakery.”

Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. “Excellent, I’ll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet because you want to bake cookies.”

The Council consisted of supernaturals from all sorts of species. The branch that currently had me by the metaphorical balls was WTF—Werewolf Treaty Federation. They were the worst as far as stringent rules and consequences went. The Vampyres were loosey goosey, the Witches were nuts and the freakin’ Fairies were downright pushovers, but not the Weres. Nope, if you enlisted you were in for life. It had sounded so good when the insanely sexy recruiting officer had come to our local Care For Your Inner Were meeting.

Training with the best of the best. Great salary with benefits. Apartment and company car. But the kicker for me was that it was fifteen hours away from the hell I grew up in. No longer was I Essie from Hung Island, Georgia—
and who in their right mind would name an island Hung
—I was Agent Essie McGee of the Chicago WTF. The irony of the initials was a source of pain to most Werewolves, but went right over the Council’s heads due to the simple fact that they were older than dirt and oblivious to pop culture.

Yes, I’d been disciplined occasionally for mouthing off to superiors and using the company credit card for shoes, but other than that I was a damn good agent. I'd graduated at the top of my class and was the go-to girl for messy and dangerous assignments that no one in their right mind would take... I’d singlehandedly brought down three rogue Weres who were selling secrets to the Dragons—another supernatural species. The Dragons shunned the Council, had their own little club and a psychotic desire to rule the world. Several times they’d come close due to the fact that they were loaded and Weres from the New Jersey Pack were easily bribed. Not to mention the fire-breathing thing…

I was an independent woman living in the Windy City. I had a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and a gay Vampyre best friend named Dwayne. What more did a girl need?

Well, possibly sex, but the
bastard
had ruined me for other men…

Hank “The Tank” Wilson was the main reason I’d rather chew my own paw off than go back to Hung Island, Georgia. Six foot three of obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, alpha male Werewolf. As the alpha of my local Pack he had decided it was high time I got mated…to him. I, on the other hand, had plans—big ones and they didn’t include being barefoot and pregnant at the beck and call of a player.

So I did what any sane, rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, a flyer from the hot recruiter and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. Of course, nothing ever turns out as planned… The apartment was the size of a shoe box, the car was used and smelled like French fries and the benefits didn’t kick in till I turned one hundred and twenty five. We Werewolves had long lives.

“Angela, you really can’t do this to me.” Should I get down on my knees? I was so desperate I wasn’t above begging.

“Why? What happened there, Essie? Were you in some kind of trouble I should know about?” Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t yelling.

I think she liked me…kind of. The way a mother would like an annoying spastic two year old who belonged to someone else.

“No, not exactly,” I hedged. “It’s just that…”

“Weres are disappearing and presumed dead. Considering no one knows of our existence besides other supernaturals, we have a problem. Furthermore, it seems like humans might be involved.”

My stomach lurched and I grabbed Angela’s office chair for balance. “Locals are missing?” I choked out. My grandma Bobby Sue was still there, but I’d heard from her last night. She’d harangued me about getting my belly button pierced. Why I’d put that on Instagram was beyond me. I was gonna hear about that one for the next eighty years or so.

“Not just missing—more than likely dead. Check the folder,” Angela said and poured me a shot of whiskey.

With trembling hands I opened the folder. This had to be a joke. I felt ill. I’d gone to high school with Frankie Mac and Jenny Packer. Jenny was as cute as a button and was the cashier at the Piggly Wiggly. Frankie Mac had been the head cheerleader and cheated on every test since the fourth grade. Oh my god, Debbie Swink? Debbie Swink had been voted most likely to succeed and could do a double backwards flip off the high dive. She’d busted her head open countless times before she’d perfected it. Her mom was sure she’d go to the Olympics.

“I know these girls,” I whispered.

“Knew. You knew them. They all were taking classes at the modeling agency.”

“What modeling agency? There’s no modeling agency on Hung Island.” I sifted through the rest of the folder with a knot the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. More names and faces I recognized. Sandy Moongie?
Wait a minute
.

“Um, not to speak ill of the dead, but Sandy Moongie was the size of a barn…she was modeling?”

“Worked the reception desk.” Angela shook her head and dropped down on the couch.

“This doesn’t seem that complicated. It’s fairly black and white. Whoever is running the modeling agency is the perp.”