Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1) Read online

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2019 by Camille Douglass

  All rights reserved.

  Curse It

  First Publication: January 2019

  Dead Mouse on Cheese Publishing

  ISBN: 978-1-950163-00-7 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-950163-01-4 (paperback)

  Cover Art: Deranged Doctor Design

  For Weejer, a.k.a. D.J., my favorite brother

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  I chose the wrong dive bar.

  “Well, Jake, how is it justice if you’re cursed, and you have to apologize to the witch to have it lifted?”

  “I don’t know, Jessica.” The voices were slightly garbled coming from the cheap speakers.

  “Exactly. Why should we suffer them to live? The Bible says it plain and simple; we shouldn’t.”

  “Life isn’t fair, you idiot,” I yelled at the TV.

  The bartender glared at me. He probably hadn’t expected a rowdy patron at two in the afternoon on a weekday.

  My eyes dropped from his glare as I dug around in my purse looking for change. I would play anything at this point to drone out the daytime talk show. A girl just wanted to be able to sit in a bar and drink away an awful job interview. Not listen to dreck. Sadly, my purse lacked the quarters needed to end my suffering. I could leave, but I’d paid five bucks for the stupid vodka soda and damned if I wasn’t going to drink it.

  An angel of mercy heard my silent prayers because another patron in possession of quarters graciously started playing some Janis Joplin. The TV automatically muted in deference to the paid music. I could finish my drink in one song and get the hell out of here. I exhaled deeply.

  “Bad day, Sug?”

  My head snapped up to the deep feminine voice that I knew from somewhere. My eyes widened when I saw who’d taken a stool next to me. “You could say that.”

  The girlish giggle that escaped didn’t match Pammy’s husky voice and broad frame. “I would hope not. If you’re drinking in a bar this time of day without a reason, you’ve got a whole other set of problems.”

  “Why are you here?” I sipped my drink for a little liquid courage.

  “Well, Sug, I take care of everyone’s problems, so say something random and I’m probably dealing with it in some form or another.”

  I set the glass back on the napkin provided as to not cause another ring on the already warped bar top. “I guess being sheriff for the witches isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Oh no, it is everything it’s cracked up to be, but everybody needs some me time. And when your brain won’t stop running, sometimes it needs some help.”

  “Amen.” I lifted my glass and clinked it to her beer bottle.

  “Funny thing is, I came here to get away from witch problems and here I encounter another witch with a problem. I’m guessing divine intervention. So, tell Pammy your problem. I’ll try to help you fix it.”

  Janis stopped singing and Elvis immediately started crooning. Whoever played the first song had blessedly paid for multiple songs.

  “How’d you know I was a witch?” I gave my glass a little swirl, the ice clinking against the glass as I avoided eye contact.

  “Hmmph, how’d you know I was one?” She turned in her seat not letting me shy away.

  “Uh, being the sheriff of an entire state makes you fairly recognizable.”

  “Yup, and being sheriff I notice things. You were downright pissed off about that talk show. Got all red and splotchy, could just be a witch sympathizer if it weren’t for your tell.”

  I decided to play along. “Tell?”

  She teetered her barstool back on its hind legs holding onto the edge of the bar, rocking a back and forth like a twelve-year-old delinquent asking to break his head open. She wasn’t concerned; she let go of the bar with one of her hands to grab her beer and took a swig before smirking at me. “You were scratching your palms. You were so annoyed that your magic was giving you itchy palms. You know that tends to be a sign of a lot of raw power.” With that she plopped the stool back down on all four of its legs.

  I took another sip of my drink. “I’ve got a fair bit.” Not that it did me much good. The Mesa School District wasn’t impressed with the fact that I could take down a predator with one shot of power, help heal a broken arm, or perform magic light shows for children. In fact, all of my magical skills were decidedly frowned upon.

  “No need to be modest. It’s a good thing.”

  “One would think so.”

  “You here because someone didn’t think so?”

  “Yep, my twenty-third job interview in two years since I finished my master’s. Too bad nobody wants a witch for a teacher.”

  “Psssh, life’s a bitch, Sug. You had to have known there wouldn’t be a job for you.”

  Maybe I did know. I just wanted to believe that I was the exception. Rather than answer her I took another large gulp of my drink. There was only a sip left. I needed to head out. I raised my arm to gesture for the check.

  Just as the bartender looked up, Pammy called out, “Two reposado shots, and a couple of beers.”

  “Oh no, I can’t. I drove here.” I lowered my arm.

  “Take a cab, or I’ll get one of my girls to drop you off. No sense in going home where you’ll be miserable. Drink some tequila and tomorrow you can be miserable for a good reason, but tonight, tonight all your problems won’t exist.”

  A shot glass was set in front of me, overfilled so it ran down the side. My eyes crossed at the fumes coming off of it. Why the hell not? I raised the shot and clinked it with Pammy’s.

  “To poor life choices!”

  Pammy laughed before adding, “Peg Darrow, don’t be so sure it’s a poor life choice. This might the beginning of something wonderful,” knocking back her tequila in a single swallow.

  I stared at her for a moment, wide eyed. How did she know my name?

  Pammy set her now empty glass down and stared at mine expectantly. I slammed the shot before I lost my nerve, or maybe to gain some nerve--because I wasn’t sure if having the head honcho of the Arizona witches know my name was a good thing or not. She must have read my mind because there was another shot in front of me before I could think too hard on the subject.

  I decided to go with the flow and lifted the shot to my lips without argument.

  “Atta girl,” she smiled wide, her teeth a startling white against her dark skin. “Since the teaching gig ain’t happening, ever think of working for me?”

  The tequila went down the wrong pipe, burning as I coughed it out. Pammy gave me a hearty slap on the back. I spluttered as she continued.

  “If it’s money you need, I could use
another Fortune. Think about it.”

  I grabbed a napkin and continued to wheeze, my mind spinning. I wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the unexpected offer. Once I could breathe again, I looked at Pammy, who arched a brow at me in challenge. Crap, she practically dared me. I never could turn down a dare.

  2

  Three weeks later and I still couldn’t look at a bottle of tequila. Sometime in that long day that had not ended until the wee hours of the next morning, I’d accepted Pammy’s job offer. I’d assumed the offer had been made in pity, but drunk Peg did not believe that pride was a particularly useful trait. Pammy had seemed pleased when I’d made a bottle of vodka explode in protest when the bartender cut us off, five drinks after he should have. Good thing Pammy held her liquor better than I do because someone had needed to calm down the bartender when he’d threatened to call the cops on us. Ironically, Pammy would have been called on herself.

  Witches didn’t fall under police jurisdiction. Pammy and her Soldiers of Fortune otherwise known as Fortunes took care of policing their own, for a price. The government said they weren’t equipped to deal with magical crimes. Truth was they didn’t really want to protect witches. Especially since the general public didn’t hold much love for us, thanks to an ancient curse, a messy betrayal, and the death of children. I always thought it was the last one that set the humans off. But, if humans knew what else lurked in the dark, they would consider us downright harmless. Unfortunately, that ancient curse also took away our immortality, leaving our kind too low on the totem pole to stir the cauldron, so to speak.

  For the past few weeks, I’d played Pammy’s errand girl. I dealt with the small-potato gigs, a curse gone bad, a missing familiar, underage drunk witches. All in the minor leagues. Not that I was totally keen on taking on the majors. The state of my bank account argued otherwise. After all, more danger meant more money.

  Friday night rolled around and here I stood in front of the house of a Violet Williams. Another easy job, Violet hadn’t checked in with her sick father in the last twenty-four hours and he was worried. Fifty bucks for a quick welfare check was definitely worth my time.

  Pammy texted me the address, along with a photo, and some general info about the missing girl. The drive hadn’t been far from my house, which was just a bonus. The city of Mesa was mostly suburban sprawl outside of Phoenix. Some areas, like the one I was driving through, were built in the earlier half of the twentieth century and included large lots with irrigation to flood the water-starved yards. I pulled up to such a house with my turquoise seventies Jeep Grand Cherokee. The secluded house sat at the end of a dead-end street. Citrus trees peeked over the block fence, much like those in my own yard.

  Thanks to the big yard, Violet’s home remained somewhat isolated, even though it was near downtown Mesa. Since witches were the only supernatural race currently out to the humans, so to speak, we tended to like our privacy. The neighborhood streetlights were sparse, other than the general outline of the house and trees, there wasn’t much to see. It garnered a sinister feeling but that could be due to the late hour, my tiredness, or both. Grabbing my phone, I got out of the Jeep, not bothering to lock it, despite leaving my purse in the car. This time of night, no one would be wandering by to check cars. Perhaps I was being more trusting than the average person and definitely more trusting than the average witch. A concrete pathway led up to the front porch, and I followed it. As I went to step onto the raised porch, I hit the wards.

  The impact knocked me back about a foot and nearly set me on my ass. Not what I expected. Apparently Violet wasn’t the trusting type. My heavy-duty wards were because of my job and a rough family history, but according to Pammy’s texted information, Violet was an RN at a local witch clinic. Not the usual type for deluxe warding. Besides wards were expensive, unless she had the power to do them herself. If Violet was home, her wards would’ve warned her about my presence. Perhaps she’d come out and see who was visiting. I waited a minute and then put up my hand sending a pulse of non-threatening power through the ward. A simple knock, knock. Again, I waited. No answer.

  It didn’t look like anyone was home. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a good enough answer for a worried father. There weren’t any set rules to completing bounties. The main goal was to get the job done without pissing Pammy off. However, different things would piss her off on different days, which meant I seemed to be walking on a tightrope. I was tempted to call and ask if I should break the wards to check the house, but then Pammy’s lecture on growing a pair and making my own decisions from a case a few days ago echoed in my head.

  I didn’t lack assertiveness, but bounty collecting hadn’t been my planned career, and the job training for Fortunes was shockingly sparse. Mesa Schools had grudgingly granted me a sub license, but the schools only called me when they were desperate. So here I was, trying out a new job to pay the bills, and trying to “grow a pair” in case this became my permanent bread and butter.

  Stepping up to the wards again, I raised my hands and sent out another pulse of power. This time it wasn’t a knock but a probe. My magic picked its way over the wards, looking for a weak spot. They were stronger than I had first thought. Luckily, what I lacked in finesse I made up for in raw power. Pammy hadn’t been reluctant to keep to her word and give me a job because she had “found dynamite” where she’d “expected a candle.”

  The only weakness was on the corner of the porch roof. Which made sense because it was likely the place the ward had been started and completed. Personally, I would have double-knotted them with a spider web, but I wasn’t in the business of creating wards; the insurance premiums were too high. I put up both my palms and centered my magic. It took a few minutes to pull up the amount of power needed, but once gathered, I pushed it out toward the weak spot with as much force as I could. The bright green light of my power would have woken up the human neighbors if they could see it. But humans lacked witch sight. Or goblin sight, vamp sight, fae sight, or whatever, depending on whom you asked.

  When the stream of green hit the weak spot, it met with the wards’ own magic, and the impact forced me backwards. My power turned defensive, fighting against the red glow of the wards, then winked out. The wards weren’t defeated, but they were weakened. Unfortunately, so was I. I bent over placing my hands on my knees and took a few wheezing breaths.

  Power wasn’t infinite, otherwise becoming mortal wouldn’t have mattered to witches. I needed sleep and food and regular practice to maintain my stamina. Since I had two out of the three, I straightened up and released my power again. This time when it hit the wards, I could feel little static pop pops in the air. Despite my exertion, my magic remained bright green whereas the wards became a flickering pink.

  When they finally shattered, I took a shaky step back and sat in the middle of the walkway cross-legged. I took a few deep breaths feeling like I’d just ran a marathon and noticed the sweat running down my forehead and soaking my shirt. Sexy. I reached up and touched my hair, sure enough my sweat had made little wisps stick out at frizzy intervals. All that wasted effort to tame my hair into a French braid. I sighed and pushed myself to my feet before I drew the attention of a nosy neighbor.

  After all of the effort I used breaking the wards, I was surprised to find the front door unlocked. The discrepancy of the unsecured door versus the heavy-duty wards made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Before stepping into the darkened foyer, I did a quick check on my power reserves. Not much there. If I were attacked, I could cast a quick knock back and run.

  Never underestimate the flight in the fight-or-flight mindset. I didn’t, and it had saved my ass on many an occasion. I considered doing an aura sweep, but I couldn’t justify using the last of my reserve. The last thing I needed was to pass out on the stoop, vulnerable to anyone or anything passing by.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to enter the house.

  “Hello? Violet, are you home? Are you hurt? Do you need assistance?” I called out
into the dark space. Receiving no response, I wasn’t sure it was a good thing or a bad thing. If Violet was hale and hardy, living it up in Rocky Point, she was going to be pissed to come home to broken wards. Still, she could take that up with her father, or Pammy, if she was feeling suicidal.

  Running my hands blindly over the cool stucco wall, I searched for a light switch and was happy to find it without stubbing any toes or bruising any shins. The light illuminated the small foyer and cast shadows to my right into what appeared to be a living room. Reaching around the entry, I did another grope for a light switch, surprised to find the smooth plastic easily yet again. Normally these older home were wired in what could be at best described as a creative fashion, and at worst as a pain in the ass.

  The sudden light illuminated the room, and the results were a bit startling. Like Violet, I owned a small older home on a big lot, so I expected something more like my living space. Whereas my home was warm with thrift store finds and antiques, Violet’s was jarring, with bold colors and clean sterile lines. Her couches were scarlet and didn’t look comfortable. Her end tables and coffee table were chrome, glass, and severe angles. Some would like it; I wasn’t one of them. I liked comfy furniture and tables that wouldn’t draw blood if I were unlucky enough to bump into them.

  Shrugging, I gave myself a mental slap. I was here to look for Violet, not judge her taste in interior decorating. Stepping into the room, my tennis shoes sunk into the deep black carpet. It was downright luxurious. Maybe she could lie on the floor when her couch made her ass fall asleep. Walking around the small space, I saw no sign of anyone. The room had a connecting walkway to what looked to be a formal dining room. Turning on another light, I reminded myself to ignore the furnishings while scanning the space for possible threats. Again the room was empty. Continuing on through the house, I found the same thing in the kitchen and a small spare bedroom doubling as an office.