Witchy Hijinks - Ebook

What does a witch do when she wakes up and is too lazy to make her own coffee?

She goes next door to her aunts’ house to get it. That’s what.

Living next door to my aunts had its perks. Getting fresh coffee every morning without lifting a finger was one of them. Top five, really. However, having my aunts bust into our cottage without knocking when Marcus and I were tangled in some hot, horizontal tango wasn’t one.

But this morning, Marcus had rushed out early to the office, leaving our coffee machine cold and unattended.

We’d been married for two months now, and I couldn’t be happier. Yes, we were still in that disgusting can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other honeymoon stage­, and I didn’t want it to end. Not anytime soon. Never really.

I had a job I loved, a man I adored, and my own little haven—Davenport Cottage, my mini-version of the grand Davenport House. It had the same farmhouse charm: white wood siding, wraparound porch, and black metal roof. Inside, elegant Oriental rugs lay over white oak floors, white walls stretched to high-beamed ceilings, and the kitchen was perfect for cooking (one day, I swear). House had gifted us this cozy version of himself, close enough to the big house and my aunts but private enough for Marcus and me to start our lives together.

That’s right. Hollow Cove’s hot, sexy-as-sin wereape chief was my husband. Husband. And he was crazy about me. Yay!

Decision made, I dragged my lazy self out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom for a pit stop and to brush my teeth. Then, back in the bedroom, I pulled on a clean T-shirt, struggled into a bra, and grabbed my go-to jeans.

Only... they wouldn’t zip.

“Uh-oh. How did this happen?” Damn. I must have gained ten pounds in my sleep.

 I tossed my jeans on the bed, grabbed the nearest yoga pants, and then proceeded to the front door.

My bare feet flapped on the hardwood floors, and the familiar pulse of magic from House trembled through the floorboards like the soft hum of bees.

House, the ninja-butler, had helped to kick Benjamin Morgan’s butt. Though he was back in his natural farmhouse form, I knew if I wanted, he would appear to me as that humanoid version.

The magical entity that was House had really surprised me, in his ninja-butler form, yes, but also at the extent of his magical reach by transforming me into a gorilla.

Marcus and I, in our gorilla forms, had been enjoying many morning runs out in the woods. That feeling of freedom was intoxicating. For the past couple of weeks, though, Marcus had been heading to the office early to handle residential complaints and ensure regulations were implemented, putting our morning gorilla runs on hold. But that didn’t mean our woodland runs were gone forever. They’d just have to wait for the right time.

After slipping on a pair of green garden clogs, I walked out the front door, marched about forty feet across the lawn, and pushed open Davenport House’s back door.

“Morning, ladies,” I announced as I waltzed into the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee machine. The glass carafe was filled with delicious, mouth-watering hot coffee.

Dolores looked up from her newspaper, her dark eyes pinning me from above her reading glasses. “Is your coffee machine not working again?”

“Ha. Ha.” Obviously, we knew that could never happen, with the cottage being magical and all. I poured myself a wondrous cup of brown liquid heaven and took a sip, letting out a moan. “Yours is so much better.” Not really, but it was fun to tease Dolores.

“It’s the same coffee, silly.” Ruth let out a snort and whirled around from the stove. Clumps of beige batter flew from the pink spatula in her hand, landing all over the floor. A few wisps of white hair had escaped the bun atop her head, accentuating her charming smile.

I inhaled deeply. “What smells so delicious?”

Ruth beamed. “I’m making pumpkin chocolate chip pancakes. Halloween’s not for another few weeks, but I thought I’d get a head start. You want some?”

My stomach growled in answer. I needed to feed the beast. “I’d love some.” Did it matter that I couldn’t zip up my jeans? Shouldn’t I say no and start a diet?

Hell no. I wanted some pumpkin chocolate chip pancakes.

Hildo, her black cat familiar, sat poised next to the stove, periodically sneaking a paw into the batter. Not very hygienic. But Hildo wasn’t an ordinary cat. He was magical, so maybe that made him magically clean.

“Tinky?” questioned Ruth.

A flutter of wings caught my eye, and I turned to see a tiny woman, no bigger than my hand, hovering in the kitchen. She floated closer, her clear, delicate wings shimmering like a butterfly’s. Her strapless green dress popped against her fair skin, matching her dainty little flats. Blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, revealing ears that had a distinctly elf-like point.

In her grasp was a measuring cup, filled to the top with chocolate chips. It must have been heavy for her to carry, but the fairy, equipped with her own magic, was lugging it around like it weighed practically nothing.

“Here!” called the fairy in her familiar, bell-sounding voice as she hovered around the stove. She tipped the measuring cup over a bowl, and the chocolate chips dumped into Ruth’s waiting pancake mixture, but not before she tossed one in Hildo’s direction.

The cat whipped out a paw and snatched the morsel in mid-air. I blinked, and he’d already eaten it.

“Thank you, Tinky,” praised Ruth as she stirred the batter now peppered with chocolate chips.

“You’re welcome.” The tiny fairy placed the measuring cup in the sink and then fluttered over to the counter and settled next to Hildo. Her eyes brightened as they settled on me. “Did you go for a run this morning?”

Anyone who knew me would never put the words “me” and “run” together. The only exercise I cared for at the moment was the cardio workout I got from having sex with my wereape husband.

But I knew what she meant.

I sighed. “No. Marcus had to go in early.”

“That’s too bad,” said the fairy, swinging her legs from the edge. “Must be exhilarating to run wild like that.”

I beamed. “It is.”

“And all that soft fur,” said a wide-eyed Ruth.

“And all the fleas,” mumbled Dolores.

Ruth giggled. “You’re like a big ol’ girlie teddy bear.”

“She’s a gorilla, not a bear, you idiot,” snapped Dolores. “I don’t think House will appreciate you bringing in ticks. I’m itchy just looking at you.”

I set my coffee mug in the palm of my hand. “You’re particularly grumpy this morning. Did you lose a game of magical Scrabble?” No idea if that was a thing. But I was going with it.

Dolores pulled the glasses from her nose. Her signature scowl returned as though I’d just told her that Ruth was smarter than her. “I never lose at magical Scrabble. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Right.

“She’s just upset because Gilbert won’t give her the director role for the Headless Horseman reenactment,” commented Ruth as she turned back around and poured some of her batter into a hot pan.

I raised a brow, curious. “The town’s putting on a play?”

“Yes.” Dolores leaned forward in her chair, gesturing with her glasses. “And I’m the best there is. Gilbert knows this. I directed Macbeth four years ago and even got a mention in the Hollow Cove Gazette. And I quote…” She actually made air quotes. “Dolores Davenport shines as the director behind the scenes. It was authentic, all adding to this magnificent performance.”

I caught a glimpse of Ruth rolling her eyes, which made Tinky and Hildo laugh. Guess this had been a topic of conversation for a while. “So, why didn’t he offer you the job then?” I asked, looking back at Dolores.

My tall aunt’s top lip trembled, and for a second, I thought she was about to beast out into some creature. Maybe the Sasquatch rumors were true. “Because the little shifter owl decided to take the job. He’s going to direct the play himself.”

Ouch. “Has he directed before? I mean, maybe he’ll be good at it?”

“The only thing Gilbert is good at is complaining,” snapped my aunt as red blotches marred her cheeks.

Ruth snorted. “That’s true. A really big complainer. Like big,” she said and spread out her arms to show me just how big. God, she was cute.

I laughed. “He is a bit of a whiner.”

“He thinks just because he’s the mayor he can ordain the town.” Dolores gripped her newspaper and twisted it, like she was imagining it was Gilbert’s neck. “We’ll just see about that.”

“See about what?” said a voice.

A stunning woman sashayed into the kitchen, her blonde hair perfectly styled and brushing just against her shoulders. She had that old Hollywood glam going on, wrapped in a snug pair of dark jeans and a top that hugged every curve—of which she had plenty. Red heels matched her red lipstick as she gave a smile that could stop traffic.

“Gilbert’s made himself the director of the Headless Horseman play,” I told her.

“Ugh,” said Beverly, waving a manicured hand in Dolores’s direction. “I’ve got bigger problems.”

“Like what?” What? I was a curious beast, and I loved a good gossip to go with my morning coffee.

Beverly pulled out a chair next to Dolores and sat. She grabbed her compact from her purse and said, “My sex life is over.” She swung an arm over her forehead to add a bit of flair.

Ruth spun around from the stove, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. “Oh, please. Your sex life is far from over,” she said, waving the spatula like it was a magic wand. “You’re practically a professional.”

Dolores laughed. “Did you get caught again doing the nasty in a parked car?”

Beverly ignored her sister as she stared at her reflection. “I have a wrinkle. A wrinkle! Beautiful women like me don’t have wrinkles. I’m finished. My life is over.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that beauty came in all ages and older women with wrinkles were still considered beautiful, but I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“Now I have to cancel my dates today.” Beverly pouted. “What man would want to date me now?”

“Dates?” inquired Dolores. “How many men are you dating?”

Beverly shrugged like this was a normal thing for her. “Three. Patrick at noon. Stephan at dinner. And Finn for cocktails later tonight.”

Ruth giggled. “Total slut.”

I moved forward and observed my aunt’s face. It was flawless. She had the skin of a twenty-year-old. Hell, I had more wrinkles than her. In fact…

“I don’t see any wrinkles,” I told her.

Beverly’s green eyes sparkled. “Then what’s that?” she pointed to an area near the outer corner of her right eye.

I leaned closer. “Nothing’s there. I don’t see a wrinkle.”

“Are you sure?” Beverly stared at her reflection again. “Oh, I think you’re right, Tessa darling. It’s not a wrinkle. Must have been a trick of the light. I’m too gorgeous to have wrinkles.”

I laughed. “You are gorgeous.”

“Don’t encourage her,” barked Dolores. “It’s bad enough that practically every man in this town has seen her vagina.”

I thought Beverly would lash out, but she kept smiling at her reflection and blowing it kisses.

A sudden rattling snagged my attention.

The toaster made a jarring noise, and something inside began to clatter. Hildo jumped onto the table with his back arched, head down, and eyes wide while he wiggled his hind legs in anticipation. He clearly wanted to pounce on the toaster or whatever was going to pop out of it.

Suddenly, a white card shot out of one of the slots like toast popping up.

Being the closest, I snatched it in mid-flight. I was getting good at this.

“We’ve got a new case,” exclaimed Ruth as she spun around, sending droplets of batter all over her feet and the floor.

“What’s it say, Tessa?” asked Dolores.

I looked down at the card.

You are cordially invited to compete in the Arcane Summit.
Location: Dueler’s Dome, Great Lawn, Central Park, New York
Date: Saturday, September 14th
Time: 9:00 a.m.

Competing Witches:

Dolores Davenport

Beverly Davenport

Ruth Davenport

Tessa Davenport

*Opening ceremonies are to be held at the Twilight Hotel on Friday the 13th.

“Are you going to answer, or has your brain finally got muddled from all that coffee?” asked Dolores.

I looked up at her. “It’s not a case. It’s something about an arcane summit?”

“What!” chorused my three aunts.

“Give me that.” Dolores jumped to her feet, and rushed over, knocking me sideways with her hip as she snatched the card from my fingers.

Dolores’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open in shock. “It’s true. I can’t believe my eyes. We’ve been selected to compete in the tournament!”

Ruth let out a squeal and did a little dance. “It’s like a dream come true.” She clapped her hands together, spatula and all, her fingers dripping in batter.

“It’s not a dream. This is real. It’s happening!” cheered Dolores, and I could swear I saw a manic storm brewing behind those dark, intelligent eyes.

“I don’t get it.” I looked around at my aunts. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a competition,” informed Beverly, still admiring herself in her mirror. “A magical tournament.”

“I get that. But what’s the big deal? Why does Dolores look like she won the lottery? Is it like the Witch Trials?” Every witch had to go through the Witch Trials and compete in order to get his or her Merlin License. I barely passed them. And if it weren’t for my ley lines, I wouldn’t have. But I did, much to Silas’s disappointment. The memory of his outrage made me smile.

Dolores fixed me with a look reserved for toddlers who ask if the moon is made of cheese. “This isn’t just any invite. It’s better than winning the lottery. This is the Arcane Summit, the crème de la crème of magical competitions. It’s held once every ten years, and only the most powerful witch and wizard families get the nod.” She closed her eyes dramatically and clutched the card to her chest like it was a love letter. “Finally, recognition for being the exceptional witch I always knew I was.”

“All your names were on there,” I added. “Not just yours. And mine’s there too.” Which I thought was strange since I’d only been a “real” witch for a moment compared to my aunts. And how did this organization know of me? Weird.

Dolores’s eyes flashed open. “You’re a Davenport witch,” she answered as though that was answer enough.

“Right.” Yet, so was my mother, and she wasn’t on the list. But it was no secret that her magical abilities were equivalent to a rock.

“It’s magical families against families,” said Beverly, finally putting her compact down.

I cocked a brow, intrigued. “You’re kidding.”

“Of course she’s not,” snapped Dolores, throwing another glower my way. She held up the card. “It’s the most prominent magical families all over the world competing against one another. I’ve been waiting more than a decade for this. Winning means glory, respect, and a significant boost in power within the witching community.”

I nodded, seeing how this was adding mounds to Dolores’s ego. “I wonder if Iris is invited. Dark witches can compete. Right?” Her name wasn’t on the card either. But seeing as she was living with Ronin now, maybe this tournament committee sent it there? I needed to call her as soon as Dolores’s outburst was over.

“Yes,” answered Ruth. “Dark witches, mages, Dark wizards, sorcerers, even warlocks,” she added with a frown as though the mention of warlocks bothered her. “Any magical family.”

“Not any,” shot Dolores as she raised her chin proudly. “Only the best.”

Okaaaayyyyy.

“You know what this means. Don’t you?” said Dolores, a wild look in her eye.

I shook my head. “No. But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Dolores slapped the card on her open palm. “Ha! That I’ll finally show these Wanderbush witches who’s more powerful than them. Me.”

I’d always thought their cousins had shown a great amount of magical power. But who was I to judge? I knew their rivalry went a long way and before my time.

“But it’s this Saturday,” said Ruth, losing her smile and looking worried. “That’s in two days.”

Dolores sucked in a breath through her teeth, looking pale. “We need to prepare!”

At once, my aunts scattered around the table. Dolores shot out of the kitchen like a pro sprinter from the Olympics. Beverly jumped to her feet and sashayed faster than I’d ever seen her, all the way up the stairs to her bedroom.

And Ruth? Well, Ruth dropped her spatula on the floor before dashing to her potions room. I noticed a small smell of something burning. Her pancakes.

“Whoa,” said Tinky. “I’ve never seen Ruth forget her pancakes. This competition must be really important.”

“Yeah.” Hildo was back on the counter with his paw in the bowl as he scooped up some batter with his kitty fingers.

I chuckled. “I think you’re right, Tinky.”

Whatever this magical competition was, it had my aunts acting even crazier than their usual level of bonkers—and that was really saying something.

It sounded like a challenge. And I never turned down a challenge.

I grinned.

Arcane Summit, here we come.