Shit. Shit. Double shit.
Friday morning was not shaping up to be any better than Thursday. I’d laid awake most of the night picturing Jaxson Reid, the sexy as fuck wolf Shifter who’d invaded my town. The too sexy man had starred in numerous pornographic scenarios that somehow all ended with a bowl of brownie batter.
Bleary eyed, I made it to the bathroom and checked my messages while brushing my teeth. More bad news. My car was still on the fritz, and I woke up to dozens of emails concerning the safety of the school children. Miss Spritely had gotten all the parents of Castor’s Corner into a regular tizzy.
Someone was ringing the front doorbell like a psycho, and I’d just swallowed my mouthwash because of it. I went to rinse it out and splashed too hard. Causing a not small bit of minty water to go into my eye. It burned like hell.
“Evie! Open the damn door!”
“Use your key,” I yelled back between trying to flush the mouthwash from my eye and rinsing and spitting.
Donatella and Maribella both had keys to my home and vice versa. We were not the only three witches in the area, but we were the strongest and our nature was such that we relied on each other.
We were the trifecta. The three chosen to guard and protect Castor’s Corner. The three of us created a symbiotic circle. We could not share powers, but whenever we worked together, they grew. We made each other stronger and better.
My witchy power was the sight. The future was never certain, unless you were Fate or Destiny, of course. But when a witch had the sight, it usually meant she got feelings about things. It also meant she could see beyond the veil.
Whatever. I think mine was down. Or broken. Or maybe my Nonna was mistaken when she’d said I had inherited that gift. I mean, I hadn’t seen any of the shit with Dick coming. Not for a mile. And I certainly had no idea three Shifters were going to turn up last night.
Now I had to deal with the problem of three hot guys barging in on our monthly bonfire, now looking to set up camp permanently within city walls. I also had a town full of angry citizens breathing down my neck concerning some prankster getting his kicks scaring kids in the cemetery.
Even worse, I was pretty damn sure one of the three sexy Shifters from last night was kinda sorta mine. It was not the norm, but what about my life was typical?
Sigh.
Okay, fact check, witches could mate with other magical species. Our very own Shifter Whisperer, aka the Shifter Wanker, Zelda the good witch, was mated to one herself. She lived in Assjacket, West Virginia, and the stories surrounding her fab life were awe inspiring.
I mean, what did I know about it, really? Well, I knew Zelda had a wolf Shifter mate. In fact, he was the king of all Shifters. I also knew last night’s chance meeting was special. The second I’d seen that big silver eyed wolf staring at me, I’d gotten tingles from head to toe.
My gift of sight might be on the fritz, but I had eyes, dammit. I didn’t know shit about keeping a steady boyfriend, but I knew all about lust. My dubious success with sex did not mean I wasn’t enthusiastic about it. I mean, I liked sex. It was simply more a matter of having no luck with partners in the last, oh, decade or so.
Whatever. That was not the point. The point was, I had a very sneaking suspicion that wolf was mine. As in my mate.
Gulp.
“What the hell, Evie?” Donny spat, thrusting the town paper, The Daily Corner, at me.
Mayor Caught En Flambe With Friends in Orgiastic Ritual was the headline.
Fuck.
I shook my head and tossed the paper into the trash. The Daily Corner was just short of being this supernatural community’s very own Enquirer. The editor was a butt muncher of epic proportions.
“I’ll get Stanley on it,” I growled.
“You better. That fucking little prick of an editor, Ryerson, is still pissed because I refused to frost his hair. What kind of dweeb wants frosted hair, anyway? It’s the 21st fucking century, for fuck’s sake,” Donatella raged as she wore out my carpet with her incessant pacing.
Her hair was back to its natural inky black color and hung to her waist in fat curls that I envied. Mine was brown and mousy, cut just past my shoulders, but no matter how I magicked it, curls were not my friend.
“Donny, take a chill pill,” I muttered, trying unsuccessfully to open my mouth washed eye.
“Ohmygawd! Evie, your whole eyeball is bright pink,” she said, pointing and gasping in horror.
“What?”
It wasn’t that bad. Was it? I squinted in the mirror. She was right. I looked horrific. My appearance was that of some B movie monster.
“Holy Befana! Oh, my Goddess!” I spat, staring at my reflection in abject horror.
I’d invoked both the ancestral witches of my foremothers, La Befana, and the Goddess herself. The myth of my family’s old world village witch was still talked about even in mortal circles as the witch who gifted good children with presents during the holidays.
Of course, the Befana I knew was hundreds of years old and gorgeous as ever, think an eternal Sophia Loren. These days, she lived in a multimillion dollar brownstone in Little Italy. Among her several holdings was one of the world’s largest Italian pastry franchises. Mama B’s Pasticceria. Her cannolis were fucking fabulous.
Still, she wouldn’t catch wind of the profanity spoken in her name. The Goddess, however, that was another story. But who could blame me for cursing, possibly pissing off the great benevolent Goddess herself? I looked like a traffic accident. Did I mention she was perfect in all ways?
I peeked up at the ceiling and window and noted no storm clouds. Hopefully, she missed my little faux pas and had no plans to zap my ass. Mouthwash in the eye was enough of a physical trial for one morning.
“Dammit, Donny, I’m late as it is, just fix it already,” I grumbled.
“Fine, but you owe me,” she huffed, then set about putting my eye to rights. And just cause I begged a little, my hair too.
Score me.
Donatella had a kickass talent to make people look their best. It wasn’t all just magic, but she did sometimes tap into her gifts to achieve what she was aiming for. After all, a lot of the time, a person’s outer appearance reflected what was inside. So really, my bestie was a healer with an affinity for makeup and hair dye. Yay me.
Fifteen minutes later, I left Donatella in my house and headed for the cemetery. It was on my way to work, and since I was walking, it would be easier to begin the investigation this way. Miss Spritely’s complaint was that more and more children seemed to be coming late to school.
It wasn’t the busses, I’d checked. And it wasn’t an illness either. No one had reported to the hospital or local urgent care. In fact, the kids were blaming it all on something or other they called the junk less wonder. I had no fucking ideas what that meant.
Being a supernatural community passing for normal in a world that refused to acknowledge anything unknown, Castor’s Corner had more than its share of local mysteries. It wasn’t any wonder I didn’t know them all.
For example, there was one street where it always rained regardless of the time of year or what was happening in the rest of the town. There was Mrs. Owen’s Clock Tower, on top of the old Marcy’s Department Store building on Main Street, that seemed to strike thirteen times at midnight, no matter what we did to it. Oh, and once every ten years, we all had to relive the same day for a full week for some strange reason.
There was also the fact that, though my family had tried to step back from running things, the town always, without fail, elected a Castor as mayor. Even when a Castor refused to run.
Sigh.
I’d learned that one the hard way. Had even left town to avoid it. Got as far as Hoboken, but the hometown of ol’ blue eyes had nothing on a bunch of witches and warlocks and a mysterious edict that decreed a Castor must rule or else ye shall fall. It was even inscribed on a bench in the park.
Damn superstitious townsfolk took that one to heart. I’d been mayor of this supernatural community going on six years now. My father had stepped down after he decided to bite the big one. Not death.
I am talking about marriage. Finally. To my mother. After hundreds of years of living together without conventional ties, they’d decided to make it official and not only were they mated, but they were now locked in wedded bliss.
Or as Daddy put it, “Your mother and I can finally commit to each other fully in the bedroom.”
So gross.
But if being forced to imagine my parents’ sex life wasn’t bad enough, they announced they were moving to Miami and leaving me the key to the city. And wasn’t that as much fun as sucking watermelons through a quarter inch hose nozzle?
It was a moot point. Nonna was already long gone. My loving and disturbingly sexually active parents were in Miami. The town had voted and, for better or worse, I was mayor. The early fall breeze was still warm at the end of summer, and I tried to enjoy my walk. Exercise wasn’t my friend, but I should really start making the effort or my almost identical to Aunt Edna’s ass wasn’t going anywhere.
FML.
The gates of Castor’s Corner Cemetery and Burial Grounds for Familiars, Loved Ones, and Supernaturals of all Species---yes, we were progressive like that--- loomed before me. Why the fuck did cemeteries always have to be musty and gloomy?
For fuck’s sake, I growled and trudged ahead. Fall in New Jersey was unpredictable, but at that moment, it was ridiculously warm. I had on a pair of loud, orange pedal pushers with a puffy sleeved top that stopped just at my waist in a paisley print that sported the same color orange throughout.
A pair of vegan leather moccasins adorned my feet with multicolored beads and fringes on them. I loved those shoes. They were a gift from this awesome Lenape priestess I’d gone to grad school with. Looking down at the muddy grass of the cemetery, I frowned. Maybe I should’ve worn my Crocs.
Oh well. Couldn’t very well go home and grab a different pair of shoes. I bit my lip and pushed the gate open. Cemeteries were not really my happy place. I mean, aside from being a witch, I was hardly into anything goth or gloomy.
It was a terrible stereotype that witches were like these Munster types. Not that I had anything against that show. In fact, I loved the cult classic. But I was more like the cousin who didn’t fit in. I liked happy and pretty things.
Who had time for misery? Not me. That was for damn sure. I was through with assholes and dicks. Speaking of, I groaned at the incoming invasion from a certain warlock I’d wanted to avoid like the plague.
“Hello there, Evie,” Dick Daniels, former Chief of the Castor’s Corner Fire Department, and ex-boyfriend, sided up to me. “What are you doing in there?”
I glared at the obnoxious warlock and turned my back on him. You’d think he would get the universal hint to fuck the fuck off, wouldn’t you? Alas, he was thickheaded, and short-penised, as was the case with most of his kind.
“I said, whatever are you doing in a cemetery, Evelyn?”
“Hello Richard,” I said, because I refused to call him Dick. “I am working. Why don’t you run off and do whatever it is you usually do?” I tried smiling, but it came out more grimace than anything.
“I just happened to be passing when I saw you---”
“Good mornin’, Madam Mayor.”
A deep, husky voice greeted me, interrupting Richard, and I turned to stare into a pair of deep-set eyes the color of stardust glittering under the full moon’s light.
Fuck me, he was gorgeous. Prettier than me, that was for sure. Didn’t that just beat all? The scents of lemon and basil filtered through to my nose and I unconsciously sighed. He smelled good. Too good. And I wanted to wrap myself in that warm, homey scent. Longed to wear it like perfume. Or armor. Or some combination of both.
My witchy powers zipped along my skin, and I wasn’t sure if they wanted to wrap around the sexy wolf or zap the shit out of Dick. Either option seemed a bit crude for a cemetery. So, in the interest of common decency, I did my best to calm them.
“Who are you? Evie? Who is this?” the warlock asked.
“I suggest you zip it, son. I was speaking to the lady,” Jaxson said.
Although now that I think about it, growled would also be an apt description for the husky, impossibly masculine sound that emanated from the wolf’s kissable lips. Hang on.
Did he just call me a lady? Wowza. That was hot. Like seriously hot. No one had ever used that term when referring to me. Psycho witch from hell? Yes. But lady? Never.
Gulp.
I practically drooled all over myself just watching the werewolf stare down that asshole ex of mine. Dick sniffled. Then he backed up. After another millisecond, he jogged away. Okay, fine. He ran.
Snort.
Watching a grown ass warlock run away after the sexy as all get werewolf snarled had a smile spreading across my face from ear to ear. My day was looking better already, and it was only seven in the morning! I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I wanted to. And really, I didn’t want to.
“So, is Jeff able to fix your car?” I asked once I’d stopped laughing at the picture Dick made.
Minutes later, I still wondered if he was still running down Main Street.
Probably.
Guts was not something the warlock had in any sort of abundance. Looking at Jaxson, I could understand the need he must have felt to get away. Though for me, werewolf’s growl caused something else entirely. Little lightning bolts of awareness danced along my skin just from being near him.
“We camped out in the woods. Used your bonfire, actually,” he replied easily.
I’d never felt so easy in someone’s company and so wound up at the same time. He was simply too good looking. That had to be it. And I knew better than to trust a handsome man. Beauty was only skin deep, but ugly went right to the marrow. Another of Nonna’s gems.
I stumbled slightly on a crack in the pavement and Jaxson reached out and grabbed my elbow. Our gazes locked on one another. The six and a half foot tall Shifter had eyes that shone like silver lightning when they glittered down at me, like they were right then. His freshly combed brown hair was thick and glossy, and my fingers itched to reach out and touch it.
A vision of him on his knees, worshiping me with his mouth and me holding onto that very same head of hair flashed in my brain. My mouth went dry, and I was speechless for a moment.
Having the sight meant I sometimes got glimpses of the future as well as the ability to communicate with ghosts or spirits, sometimes even memories a place had of the people or events that happened there.
“So, what are you doing in a cemetery this time of morning, Madam Mayor?”
“Call me Evie,” I replied.
“Alright. Evie,” he said, trying it out.
The sound of my name on his lips made my knees knock. The man could make two syllables sound like six. Must be some Southern gift, or maybe it was a Shifter thing. Anyway, I sure as heck couldn’t wait for him to say it again.
“Well?” he asked.
“Oh! Um, I’m just here on city business. Investigating a complaint from some of our citizens,” I explained, tucking a lock of my newly styled hair behind my ear.
Thank the Goddess, Donny showed up that morning. I felt his eyes on me and was confident my hair was kickass. As for my extra curves in the bright orange 60s style outfit, well, he either liked them or he didn’t.
Was I on pins and needles, dying to find out? I’d never admit it. Not out loud, anyway.
“Mind if I accompany you? My mama would have a fit if she knew I let a lady, regardless of how capable, walk through a cemetery alone.”
“Alright,” I agreed. “And I like how you added capable to that otherwise chauvinistic request.”
“Ha, well, I just call it like I see it, Miss Evie. And you sure look capable to me,” he growled, and his gaze roamed over me from head to toe.
“Alrighty then,” I replied, straightening my shoulders.
Okay, so I might have thrust my chest out a little more than necessary, but my Nonna always said flaunt it if you got it. And my double Ds were nothing to scoff at. And what do you know, Mr. Smexy Pants was so checking me out. Score one for the big girls.
“Be sure to thank your mama for me for all your fine manners,” I replied, grinning.
We started down the path that led away from the light of the street. The earth was damp, and the smells changed from the regular city traffic to mud and musk. I frowned as the scent grew stronger, mold and mildew replacing the natural mossy grass and clean rain smell that usually hung over the graveyard.
“That doesn’t seem right,” Jaxson growled, placing his body slightly in front of mine as we rounded a bend and came to the section of one-family mausoleums.
I appreciated the gesture, but this was my job. I placed my hand on his forearm, ignoring the slight zing that raced through me at the platonic touch. Narrowing my eyes, I walked in front of Jaxson and approached the largest of the stone structures.
The name Castorini was inscribed on the slab of Italian marble that had come from my great-great-grandfather’s place of birth. My family mausoleum was rather large and a bit ominous. Okay, it gave me the heebie jeebies.
Vittorio Alfonso Gugliellmo Castorini was the first to cross the Atlantic and arrive here. He was my great-great-grandfather. Born in a little village just outside of Naples in the 18th Century. The place had been a kingdom of its own at the time. I only knew that because I loved reading anything that involved history or biographies. Regardless, my family immigrated to America with dozens of other supernaturals looking for a better life.
Castorini was eventually shortened to Castor, and when my illustrious ancestor had founded this cozy little spot, they named it after him. It was quite an honor, the way the supernatural citizens had gotten together, and voted for the town be named after the benevolent warlock.
He’d passed away before I was born, as had his son. But his grandson was another story. I narrowed my eyes at the place where Alfonso Castor, my grandfather, had been laid to rest. He’d run out on the family when I was a little girl, but I still remembered Grandpa Al.
The man always brought me a pineapple, and he used to call me pretty even when I was covered in sauce, which usually happened whenever I’d tried to help Nonna cook. He used to pinch my cheeks so hard I’d cry. But I loved him, as most little girls would love their grandfathers. He was funny and kind to me. But then one day, poof, he was gone.
Shit.
I squinted my eyes noticing something odd. Uh oh. This was not good. With my particular talent, I could see a slight effervescent residue coating the plaque that bore his name. It was a putrid green, glowing with magic. Not the good kind.
“Smells like rot,” Jaxson noted, leaning forward, and taking a great big sniff.
“Should mausoleums smell like rot?” he asked.
“No, they should not,” I replied. “Mausoleums are sealed to prevent that. Furthermore, this cemetery has magical wards in place. Something is wrong here.”
It was quiet in the cemetery. Eerily so, as Jaxson and I spent a few more minutes looking around. What or whomever it was that had scared the children was currently gone. But I did not know if it was over.
“Looks like whatever made this mess is gone for now,” Jaxson stated.
“Yeah, and I have to get to work,” I said.
I wanted to remain, whether to find the reason for the stench and slime or to be with the wolf, I couldn’t really decide. Maybe a bit of both. Didn’t matter, I couldn’t stay there. There were other things that needed my attention. I walked away, turning when he called me as we exited the gated graveyard.
“Hang on a sec, Evie,” the werewolf said, catching my attention all too easily.
That wasn’t good. But with his long, rugby player legs and sexy grin, I didn’t stand a chance. He was gorgeous, and I appreciated the attention. I turned to him, trying my best to remain professional. But it was difficult, what with him in a soft cotton shirt and tight fitted jeans. The man looked scrumptious.
“The boys and I were wondering, is there a motel hereabouts? Or maybe boarding house in town? You know, a place to stay while we wait for our car to be worked on.”
“Oh, um, yeah. Maribella, you met her last night, has a cottage behind her bakery she sometimes rents out. Just head on over to The Tasty Tart and tell her I sent you.”
“Thank you, darlin’.”
Jaxson smiled that panty melting grin of his and stepped into my personal space. He reached out with his large, long-fingered hand and touched my hair.
“What are you doing?” I asked, but didn’t move.
My feet were glued to the spot. I held my breath, afraid I’d shatter whatever spell had made him touch me. Gulp. What was wrong with me?
“Couldn’t resist, pretty girl,” he murmured, gently framing my face with his hands. “You have your hair done for me?”
“Um, yeah,” I replied. “Well, not for you. For me,” I added quickly.
Could the man be any more perfect? And conceited. LOL. I mean, what member of the male species actually noticed when a woman got her hair done? Pleased with the compliment, I felt my cheeks heat like a blushing virgin bride. I was neither, of course. Not a virgin and not a bride.
Still, I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“Would it be too forward if I asked you out on a date tonight?” Jaxson said, southern drawl making my knees weak.
“Is that really a good idea? I mean, you aren’t staying here long.”
“Maybe, but we gotta eat, right? Does seven suit you?” he replied, his silver eyes sparkling mischievously.
“Yeah, I can be ready at seven.”
“Perfect,” he growled, dropping a short kiss on my mouth.
I was startled and hadn’t even kissed him back, but he was already moving away. Dammit. I wanted to enjoy that. But I just stood there, watching Jaxson as he tucked his hands into his back pockets and bit his lower lip.
I knew he wasn’t talking about himself when he’d said that word, but damn. He really did look perfect. Maybe after dinner, the big bad wolf would be amenable to a little mutual exploration? If I let him ravish me, I could get him out of my system and out of my town.
What guy wouldn’t agree to a little or no strings attached smexy times? I might be a witch, but I had needs that required the aid of other living, breathing beings. In other words, my battery operated boyfriend, Ernest, could not scratch this particular itch.
Nope. I needed me something warm with muscles and a smattering of hair on his chest. Silver eyes were a plus. So yeah. Dinner. Sex. Bye-bye furball. It was the perfect solution.
I get a smiley face guaranteed to last a few days. Then he and his pals could hightail it out of my town without causing any irreparable damage. I mean, I wanted the big guy. I wasn’t dead. For fuck’s sake, he was hotter than Hades. But I knew outsiders were dangerous to Castor’s Corner.
I needed him out of my system and my town. Then I could get back to my job as mayor and focus on protecting my little patch of earth. It was the only possible way I could foresee us both surviving this star-crossed meeting.
Of course, it dawned on me as I climbed the stairs to my office that he didn’t have a car and neither did I. We could stay in and cook, but I had no groceries. How were we going to eat?
I could think of at least half a dozen ways. All of them delicious, and none of them food.
Fuck me.
No!
Wait.
I mean, yes.
Please, do.
Gulp.