THE CAT’S MEOW
A Witch’s Brew Book
A Witch’s Brew Book
Stacey Kennedy
Genre:
Urban Fantasy Romance
Length: 256 pages
Release Date: December 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62266-857-1
Imprint: Entangled Edge
Length: 256 pages
Release Date: December 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62266-857-1
Imprint: Entangled Edge
When a magical presence is detected around a recent string
of feline slayings, Libby, an enchantress, is determined to discover who is
behind the odd deaths. But being a witch gifted by the Goddess won’t protect
her from the talented warlock the Coven sends to assist her. Kale weaves a
spell more powerful than any she’s ever seen–and he’s sexy as sin. But why he’s
even needed for such a simple mission is beyond her.
While having some muscle around can’t hurt her investigation,
fighting her growing attraction for Kale is worse than a hex, especially
considering she knows he—and their Coven—are hiding something from her. When
she turns up clues that point to something far more sinister than slaughtered
cats, though, the elusive warlock isn’t the her only concern. She now has a
political rebellion on her hands, too. And when the truth about who she really
is begins to surface, the only person Libby can trust is herself.
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Copyright © STACEY KENNEDY, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Entangled
Publishing.
Chapter One
Fur. Guts. Blood.
I scrunched my nose as my spaghetti dinner threatened to
make an appearance at the sight of the slaughtered black cat on the forest
floor. The kitty’s stomach gaped open and its intestines spilled out along the
ground, as well as other grossness I’d rather avoid.
Not how I intended to spend my night, or any night for that
matter. I turned to my fellow witch, Peyton.
“Of all the hobbies to take up,
taxidermy isn’t something I’d peg you as interested in.”
Flicking her blond bouncy curls over her shoulders, her
baby-blue eyes narrowed on me. “This isn’t a time for jokes, Libby.”
Not as if her wrath had the desired effect; an angry Peyton
looked as deadly as a growling puppy. She placed her hands on her tiny waist,
pursing her lips. Too bad, I only paid attention to her cute knee-length black
baby-doll dress, a tad jealous I didn’t own it. “Look at the poor kitty. Its
guts are hanging out.”
“Yes, I see that.” Even if I wanted to pretend I didn’t. In
fact, I would have preferred to enjoy the dark night surrounded by the rich
earthy scents of the large trees hugging the trail. Sadly, that wasn’t an
option. Once again, I glanced down at the disgustingness at my feet.
From all viewpoints, this appeared to be an open-and- shut
case. “Looks like a wild animal wanted a snack.” Evil warlocks, I’m there. A
dead cat was not a priority. “You better have a good reason for bringing me
here.”
“An animal didn’t do this. There’s magic present.” She
fiddled with the hem of her incredibly cute dress. “Besides, it’s the fourth
gutted cat in three days.”
I paused at that bit of weirdness. I had dealt with at least
a hundred cases in the five years I’d worked for Charleston’s coven, and out of
all of those cases, none had ever involved animal murders. Four cats in three
days was staggering.
I sighed, beginning to understand my presence there. “Four,
really?”
Worry darkened Peyton’s eyes. “Each death the coven has sent
me to, there has been this weird magical presence.” She rubbed her arms,
shaking her head at the dead cat. “It’s peculiar.”
The leaves beneath the cat’s body were soaked in enough
blood that I assumed it had been killed at this location. To my disappointment,
even with that knowledge no answers materialized, and actually more questions
were raised. “If this is the fourth cat, why is this only coming up now?”
“At first, it didn’t seem malicious and no human deaths
resulted from the dead cats.” She shrugged.
“Now, with this many felines dead,
it could be an animal ritual.”
“Possibly,” I agreed. Charleston’s last case of a warlock
tapping into dark magic happened only a week ago, but it got cleaned up quickly
enough and the warlock received his death sentence. Compared to that, a few
dead cats wouldn’t concern the coven, but then why did it now?
Furthermore, why hadn’t the coven contacted me? Peyton held
the ability to sense magic’s presence. I am an Enchantress, a witch gifted to
work spells. We both held an important role in the coven, as did every witch
and warlock who worked for them. Peyton located the scenes tainted with magic,
I found the offenders, other witches assisted with different gifts, and
warlocks killed the guilty.
If the coven had been as concerned as Peyton seemed now, I
would’ve been brought into this a lot sooner. They would’ve requested I take on
the case to search around and see if I discovered a reason behind it. That I
knew with total certainty. The coven didn’t take chances on these things. The longer
we waited to act on someone who harbored evil, the higher the chance they would
succeed.
“The coven clearly wasn’t worried about the past deaths, so
what’s happened to change their opinion?”
Peyton nibbled her lip. “They didn’t think much of it before
because the level of magic isn’t dangerous.
Strong, yes, but not dark.” She
continued to rub her arms, shifting uneasily on her feet. “I’ve been watching
over the matter to see if things worsened, but the only change has been more
deaths.” She tilted her head. “One cat can be shoved aside as maybe someone who
practiced their magic. This many deaths can’t be overlooked.”
The coven obviously requested that she see if the levels of
magic had increased. Yet, why did Peyton call me and not the coven? An order had
never come to me in this manner before and it made me curious. “Who told you to
ask me to come here?”
“Glenda.” Peyton grimaced at Fluffy. “There’s a reason
behind this. The Goddess is warning me.”
I refused to look at the mangy beast and attempted not to
inhale the odor of decomposed flesh beneath me. Instead, I scanned the area.
Within the dark night the old trees around me created shadows. The stars above
twinkled in the sky and the damp grass below my boots glistened with dew. A
typical night for me—I hadn’t seen a sunny day in the five years I’d been
employed by the coven.
Danger happened during the witching hours of midnight to
three in the morning because magic held the most strength then, so the coven
stuck to the night shift. I’d become so accustomed to it I never missed the
days I had lounged in the sun anymore.
On a sigh, I continued to ponder the fluff ball at my feet.
If magic were present, clearly someone had either spilled its blood as an
offering to dark magic, or simply practiced a spell to kill. Either one sucked,
at best. Resolved I’d get nowhere in discovering the truth right now, I moved
along. “What does the coven expect me to do about this?”
Peyton rolled her eyes, giving her customary flippant look.
“Find who’s responsible.”
I snorted. “What am I, a pet detective?”
“Yes, Lib, that’s exactly what you are.” She frowned. “Must
you be a smart-ass all the time?”
I grinned. “I must.”
She ignored my dig—as usual—and carried on in a hurried
tone. “Stop stalling, conjure a spell, and fix it.”
“You know I can’t—it’s dead.” I glanced at the cat and
groaned. Yes, still very dead. “The coven would wring my neck if I brought it
back to life.”
The role as Enchantress with the coven came with one
rule—never step out of white magic boundaries.
Resurrecting a dead cat hit the
no-no list. My job within the coven: stop those who went against the coven
rules to protect human lives, since the last thing we needed was the human
population going out on a witch hunt. The coven existed to keep witches in Charleston
safe. That one law ruled my life.
Peyton’s shoulders slumped and her eyes saddened. “Okay,
okay. I know we can’t, but it’s so sad, the poor little kitty.”
My best friend at her finest: her soft heart in this cold
magical world had never changed over the years.
Yet Peyton’s innocence had once
been damaged by loss and pain over the death of her mother, and ever since
she’d been emotionally fragile. Three years ago, I’d seen her go into a deep
depression at the death of a teenager, and it took her a good month to recover.
I would give my life to ensure she stayed away from anything that could damage
her again.
Especially now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes,
confirming that any death still rattled her. “Who’d do this?”
“Someone after a higher power.”
At the low velvety voice, I glanced over my shoulder,
scowling at the approaching warlock. The coven’s muscle came after I found the
offenders. I preferred no help, so his presence at my scene awakened my inner
bitch.
Not to say I didn’t realize their worth to the coven. I
might be brave, but I couldn’t kill, and warlocks held that desire in spades.
However, his presence this early in an investigation meant this matter leaned
to the serious side. The coven wouldn’t have called him in if something wasn’t
up. More to the point, called in a warlock I’d never seen before. Two strikes
against my coven on the “what the hell are they doing” meter.
“Go away.” I pushed the bitch to the forefront of my voice
and snapped, “I’ll call the coven when I’m done.”
“I’m looking for Libby Jenkins.” The warlock stopped a foot
away by a fallen tree, ignoring my demand, and in the same low voice with a
slight Southern accent said, “Would that be you?”
I grunted, not at all impressed with the confidence he
exuded, either in his voice or his powerful posture. Doubly annoyed, in fact.
“I’m Libby. You are?”
As he took a step into the moonlight, the shadows of the
night left his face. He appeared relaxed, shoulders back in his black T-shirt,
chest out, and chin lifted. Typical I am a fine specimen of man.
His eyes were a shadowy gray and his face was defined by
hard angles, from his high cheekbones and sculpted jaw to lips that seemed
carved out for a serious smooch. His chocolate- brown hair reached the bottom
of his ears, all scruffy and sexy-like, and he filled out his pair of faded
blue jeans well enough.
Not like that impressed me either. Warlocks tended to be
pretty. Maybe to some I’d be easy on the eyes with my small frame, longish
light-brown hair with honey and auburn highlights, and my dark-blue eyes. But
it came from the magic, not a natural gift. Besides, witches aged the same as
the humans we lived among. We just tended to do it a little more gracefully,
and typically lived to be over a hundred.
The warlock’s focus swept over Peyton as if he took a
measure of her before his firm gaze returned to me. “I’m Kale Griffin. The
coven requested I join you on this case.”
Great. What serious danger had I landed myself in? “They
what?”
Sure, Kale looked nice, but I didn’t want—or need—his help.
The idea of being teamed up with a warlock interested me about as much as if
someone pulled out my hair strand by strand. Besides, never in all the years I
had worked for the coven did they team me up with a warlock, which only made me
wonder why they’d done it. I thought back over the past cases I’d worked.
Perhaps some cases took longer to solve than others, but why in the hell had
they sent me a babysitter now?
With more confidence than I felt, I returned his look of
challenge, and had the urge to take my clenched fist and send it into his flat
stomach. “Go tell the coven I refuse your help.”
His eyebrow arched, an emotion close to amusement crossing
his face. “The choice isn’t yours. I’ve been instructed to take over this
investigation.”
My already hot blood took a nosedive. I might abide by the
coven’s orders, even if I had no idea what they were up to now, but it didn’t
mean I had to like it. This brute needed to get one thing straight. “We are
taking over the investigation.”
He smirked. “Is that so?”
Damn the warlock for making the smile look sexy and damn me
for noticing it. “Yes, that’s so.”
Warlocks could kick some serious ass, and
the coven needed them, but they were so haughty and always the ones to grab the
glory.
Of course, I might be—scratch that, was—the only witch in
Charleston to dislike warlocks, since most swooned over them. Well, the witches
did. Non-magical folk lusted after their hot butts, never knowing what they
were up against.
After the Salem incident, we magical folk kept our powers to
ourselves and hid from the humans for good reason; a repeat in history wasn’t
on anyone’s to-do list. Especially not mine.
Inhaling to shed my frustrations, I fought my gag reflex as
I drew in the cat’s putrid scent. “Know this, if you get in my way I’ll hex
you.” I poked his chest and met taut muscle.
With indifference, Kale watched my finger hit his hard,
delicious pectorals. Seeing that my action unsettled me more than him, I
withdrew my finger and shoved my hands into the pockets of my skinny jeans. His
head slowly lifted, and when his eyes settled on me, they had darkened.
“Warning noted.”
The weight of his smooth voice melted across me like a warm
bath. I bit my lip and refocused my thoughts to my angry position. “Good.” My
voice sounded harsh, pleasing me since on the inside I’d become gooey. “As long
as we understand each other we won’t have a problem.”
Peyton stifled a laugh by coughing. No doubt she’d taken
notice of Kale’s attributes too. “I guess I should be…uh… going home to Jace.
Call me…ah…” Her eyes twinkled as she fought her smile and turned. “Just call
me later, Lib.”
I snorted softly, only imagining what she’d go home and tell
her boyfriend, Jace, about this moment. I could do without him having the
knowledge that I tried to dominate a warlock and failed miserably, even if Jace
was the only warlock in existence I tolerated. “Let me know if the coven
contacts you
again,” I called after her.
“Will do.” She waved a good-bye, striding down the trail,
and her laughter followed her out of the forest.
I watched Peyton until she faded into the shadows before I
finally looked at Kale. He regarded me with such a probing look it became all
the more irritating. “Before we start, I need to give the cat a proper burial.
Which I’m sure you won’t understand since you’re a big ol’ bad warlock.”
His gray eyes sharpened, voice equally so. “You appear to
have misconceived notions about warlocks.”
“Sure I do,” I muttered, grabbing the cat by the tail and
ignoring the guts flapping in the wind. Without a glance back, I headed out of
the forest.
The trees passed by in a blur as I hightailed it out of
there. The sooner I got to my SUV, the sooner I could stop pretending I wasn’t
holding a dead cat. Thoughts of Kale’s arrival worried me and I didn’t like it.
Had the coven hired a new warlock without my hearing of it? While that wouldn’t
surprise me, since I tended to stay away from the coven unless I had to be
there, it did shock me they didn’t throw a welcoming party for him. Moreover,
why would they send a new warlock to me, and not one experienced in Charleston?
If the matter were serious, which I suspected it was if he
was there, then why were they taking chances? It didn’t add up. This, I’d get
to the bottom of. For now, I focused on getting rid of the stinky cat.
Kale followed behind me for only a moment before he easily
caught up with his lengthy strides. When he settled in next to me, he slowed
down since my five-foot-five frame couldn’t match his six-foot-three, and he
stayed silent.
Fine by me.
At the edge of the forest, I spotted my black Benz parked on
the grass near the entrance. My SUV wasn’t anything sporty like I’d prefer, but
my M-Class sport utility vehicle made sense. The SUV was safe, big, and
powerful. All good things to have in my line of work. Besides, it also had a
big-ass hatchback to put things like dead cats in.
I grabbed the keys from my pocket and clicked the button to
open the back. Scanning the area, a missing object grated my last nerve. I
glanced sideways at Kale. “You didn’t drive here?”
He shook his head.
Terrific! The bitch of it, he had to come with me. “How’d
you get here, then?”
“Walked.”
The silence continued.
Once at my SUV, I reached into the side compartment of my
hatchback and drew out a garbage bag.
“I’ve got that.” Kale stepped next to me and took the bag,
holding it open while I dumped the cat in.
The kitty plopped into the bag and
Kale tied the red string to close it, then he threw the bag into the back. It
landed with a heavy thud.
I glared at him, even if his helping me came as a shock
since no warlock had ever offered to help me before. “Couldn’t you have been a
bit gentler?”
“It’s dead.” His eyebrow lifted. “I doubt it noticed.”
A sassy retort hung on my tongue, but I ignored my impulse
to rise to the bait. “Warlocks.”
I left said warlock behind, making my way over to the
driver’s side of my SUV while Kale got into the passenger seat. Careful not to
touch anything with my dirty hands, I settled into my leather seat and grabbed
my hand sanitizer from the cup holder, drenching my hands with it.
I could only imagine what I would have seen on the cat’s
tail if I had looked hard enough, but I shoved the images of maggots from my
mind to settle my woozy stomach. I dropped the sanitizer in the holder, then I
started the SUV and headed off in a hurry.
On the outskirts of town, leading back into Charleston, the
streets were relatively quiet. For the most part, if any people were out and
about they would be downtown to enjoy Charleston’s nightlife. Most around here,
including warlocks and witches, lived a relatively normal life. Sadly, I wasn’t
among them, and my “normal” involved a hunt for evil before it became danger.
In my hopes of keeping conversation to a minimum, I cranked
the radio station, drumming my fingers on my thigh to the alternative song
blasting through the speakers.
Kale didn’t appear to have the same wish. “Do you plan to
tell me where we’re going?” I turned the music down and he continued, “With a
gutted cat, no less.”
Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I noticed how his body
filled my seat quite nicely. Too bad warlocks were men I avoided—I found
getting with a warlock always led to disaster—because this
warlock would be one
to have some fun with.
While his looks might tempt me, the decision came years ago
when I’d had enough of their egos, their need to be the tough guy, and their
tendency to have their own agenda. My last attempt to respect warlocks ended at
the age of twenty when one broke my heart. Since then, the only warlock I could
stand was Peyton’s boyfriend, and even he walked a fine line of always needing
to prove himself to
me.
Lately, I’d stuck to the non-magical man, but those
relationships hadn’t led to anything serious, nor did they belong on my
fantastic memories list. Where warlocks had too much stuff, non-magical folk
didn’t have enough. Needless to say, it’d been months since I heard the word
date and my regions south had declared death a while ago.
I cleared my mind of unimportant things and set to answering
him. “We’re going to Magnolia Cemetery.”
“I see.” He turned in his seat and set his hard stare onto
me. “You’re an Enchantress?”
The rich nature of his voice made funny things awaken in my
dead regions. Perhaps my libido wanted to be reincarnated. I quashed the
thought with a fierce no. “Mm-hmm.” Two could play at the game he presented—if
he wanted to assign labels, so could I. “You’re a Ward?”
“Correct.”
Not like I needed the confirmation. Any warlock who worked
for the coven received the title. “What’s your talent?”
“Runes.”
I jerked my head to look at him and the car swerved before I
straightened the wheel. “You draw runes?”
A hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “You
look surprised.”
“I am,” I admitted with no shame. “I haven’t met a Ward who
holds the talent of rune magic.” Glancing back at the road to avoid a crash, I
shrugged to downplay my awe. “At least, not any from Charleston.”
“We are few and far between,” he replied, cool and
collected.
My breath seemed lost in the state between shock and
bewilderment. He appeared to hold back on the interesting talent. Intriguing,
considering most warlocks I’d met would gush at the opportunity to prove their
abilities over mine. My curiosity about the warlock next to me rose, especially
since I needed to discover the reason he’d been assigned to the case. “How long
have you lived in Charleston?”
“Not long.”
Oh, this made no sense at all. We had our own Wards, who
were talented in their own right, so we didn’t need Kale. I waited two breaths
for him to answer, but he didn’t oblige me. “Where are you from?”
“Down south.”
I blinked at his indifferent voice, keeping the wheel tight
in my hands to ensure the SUV went straight, but looked at him. “Do you plan on
telling me anything about you?”
“I just did.” He gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’m a Ward, who
draws runes, and I live down south.”
I snorted loud enough to ensure he heard it. Elusive might
be an understatement when it came to Kale Griffin. I almost laughed at the
situation; I wanted warlocks to shut the hell up, and now one did and I’d
rather he talked.
Figures!
I had to wonder if he did it to get a rise out of me, since
warlocks tended to do that, too, which is why I bit back the rest of my
questions. He might want to play that game, but by the Goddess I wouldn’t feed
into it. I slammed the accelerator down, ignoring the sexy warlock next to me.
We had bigger problems.
The dead cat stinkin’ up my SUV reminded me of that.
Stacey Kennedy is an urban fantasy lover at heart, but she also enjoys losing herself in dark and sensual worlds. She lives in southwestern Ontario with her husband, who gave her a happily-ever-after. Together, they have two small children who can always make her smile, and who will never be allowed to read Mommy’s books. If she’s not plugging away at a new story, you’ll find her camping, curling up with the latest flick, or obsessing over Sons of Anarchy and Game of Thrones.
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