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Bridget’s Witch’s Diary

Witches of Mane Street Book 2

Heather Long

Contents

Bridget’s Witch’s Diary

THEN…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

Bridget’s Witch’s Diary

How much mischief can a witch with misfiring magical mojo get into? Plenty…

Life in Assjacket seems to have achieved an odd normal—if living with a former skunk turned into her professor lover and raising a hot-tempered teenager with out of control magic can be called normal. Bridget wants to embrace her new life except…déjà vu is driving her crazy.

Not to mention she still has to satisfy a deal with the vampires, please the Baba Yaga, get Rika’s wild magic under control, oh and—just in case there wasn’t enough on her plate, she has to learn to compromise with Martin, lest he skunk out on her again.

Impulse control has never been Bridget’s best quality. After Rika summons a highlander from the pages of her novel and declares her intentions to keep him, Bridget is pushed to the end of her tether. Then there’s that déjà vu. Maybe it’s just the repetitive nature of small town life.

Of course, when a witch shows up to take her highlander back, it will take Bridget’s odd little family working together to save Angus.

THEN…

Previously in THE WITCH SINGER…

Working for the vampires sucked, and not even in a nice way. When Mr. Nasty-Face—yes, I know that isn’t his real name, but it will do for these purposes—offered me a way out, I grabbed on with both fists and ran as fast as I could with one slipper on and one off. I hopped in my car, and high-tailed it toward Assjacket, West Virginia.

Along the way, I encountered a needy skunk. If one overlooked the fact he sprayed me—twice—then you might say it was the luckiest encounter ever. You see, the skunk turned out to be Martin, a gorgeous hunka-hunka man with a dark mop of black hair with a sexy white stripe. He’s a brilliant teacher, but even more, he’s my hot stuff.

Anyway, I digress, the whole point of coming to Assjacket was to find a way to unturn a vampire. If I can’t do it, I’m gonna be Mr. Nasty-Face’s lunch. BabaYoMama said she’d help—sorta—but I had to do a task for her first.

Oh, then there was Rika, the teenage moppet with a sock-it-to-you ability she can’t control. I have to teach her to harness her magic. No sweat, and not like I haven’t screwed up a hundred times in the past. How do you think I got here?

So, that was then…

1

Bridget

“C’mon, Rika!” Bellowing was my least favorite activity. In fact, the moment I had to raise my voice above conversational volume, magic swirled within me. With Rika, it seemed I waged a constant battle against decimating with my decibels.

“I’m not going to school!” The rebuttal carried down the stairs to the kitchen. “And you can’t make me.”

Like a red flag waved before a bull, the challenge sent fractures weaving through my tight-fisted control over my temper. After slamming a pan down on the stove, I marched my way up the stairs. When I flung her door open for dramatic effect, it bounced off the pile of laundry stacked just inside and whacked me right in the nose.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I slapped a hand against the wood to keep the door from assaulting me again. Great Green Goddess! It hurt like a…

“Don’t just charge in here like you own the place,” Rika said with a scowl as she whirled away from her desk. Dressed in ripped jeans, a flowy red top which bared one shoulder and matched the wild red of her ever-changing hair, the teenager took what could only be labeled a battle stance, right down to her clenched fists. On the desk behind her lay an open book—a very familiar open book.

The multi-colored pages were part of the reason I bought the book to use as my journal in the first place. “What are you doing with my diary?”

Wow, that came out scary calm sounding, even to me. The anger coursing through my veins which sent me rushing up the stairs slowed as ice sheathed my temper. There were only a few things I really couldn’t stand. Invading my privacy topped the list.

My recalcitrant witch-in-training seemed to get the message, because Rika paled and her vibrant red hair faded to an ugly ass orange. “I wanted to figure out one of the spells.”

Closing my eyes only blocked my view of her for a moment. There weren’t enough deep breaths in the world to ease the tension ballooning in my chest. “Come to me,” I sang the three words and bent the magic to my will. The book flew off her desk and into my hand.

When I looked at Rika again, chagrin replaced the rebellion in her stance. The orange hair began to flame around the ends. The spell I’d placed on her to contain her magical side effects held. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes took on a sharper color.

Yep, she was about to explode.

“How else am I supposed to learn?” Rika blustered, her defense shifting to full offense. “You’re supposed to teach me, and all you do is tell me to do my chores, and make me go to school. You don’t even let me…”

Boom!

The explosion engulfed the air around her and her hair flamed green and stood on end. If I weren’t so annoyed, I might have been amused. Rika clenched her fists and stomped her foot as she tried to get the flames under control. At least they weren’t actually burning her this time.

Martin chose that precise moment to stick his head into the room. “Problems?”

My heart did a little flip-flop. Martin’s deep, soulful brown eyes turned me into all kinds of chick flick mush. I adored his dark mop of black hair, even the white stripe which reminded me of his skunk origins. He had the longest, darkest lashes framing his gorgeous eyes. I’d be jealous, except I loved how he looked at me.

With Martin, I felt anything was possible—even dealing with the hormonal Rika and her misfiring magic.

“She’s a monster.” Rika snarled. Yes, the joy of the wild, unpredictable teenage years. “She won’t teach me. When I decide to take matters into my own hands, she acts like I’m the criminal.”

“I see.” Martin nudged his glasses up then looked at the book in my hands. He knew I kept a diary. Sometimes it was the only way to work out the problems plaguing me. Problems like how to undo the turn of a succubus into a vampire—have I mentioned how impossible that task had become? Or how onerous a weight it made sitting on my shoulders.

I’d been in Assjacket a month, and I was no closer to resolving the issue than I had been when Mr. Nasty-Face ordered me to fix it.

“Well, since I’m a monster, you’re grounded. You will go to school, then you will return and stay in this room.” I still sounded all kinds of ominous calm. I didn’t feel that way, but my voice let me do all kinds of tricks. When Rika opened her mouth, I made a zipping motion and it silenced her.

For a moment, her eyes bugged out like a cartoon, and she stomped her feet again.

“Here’s another fun thought, if you don’t have anything nice to say, you don’t get to say it. Downstairs. Breakfast. Now.” The magic flooded out of me, and it took control of Rika like a marionette. With jerky motions, she stumbled past us then down the stairs.

If looks could kill, I’d be toast.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Martin slid an arm around my shoulders.

“Too far?” I had to ask because, dude, I was not dealing with this whole teenage thing very well. Rika picked fights over absolutely nothing, blew up like I’d committed a crime when I caught her doing things she shouldn’t be and, really, what did I know about being a teacher? I did good to make my socks match in the morning.

“Maybe, but you two need to find a way to talk and work together or you’re never going to be able to teach her.” The soft caress of his fingers against my bare shoulder had me turning into him, seeking the comfort his embrace offered. Martin didn’t hesitate to hug me tight.

“I don’t know how to teach her at all,” I confessed. I could tell Martin these things. He was my guy. He adored me and the feeling was mutual. Who would’ve thought the best thing to happen to me on that mad road trip from Texas to West Virginia would include being sprayed by a skunk?

“Yes, you do,” he said, confidence rolling off of him. Leaning away, he braced me with a hand on each of my upper arms. “You’re scared because she’s hot-headed, impulsive, and prone to acting without thinking. Sound familiar?”

“Are you telling me I’m hot-headed, impulsive, and prone to acting without thinking?” I’d pout, but I definitely resembled the remark. Not that I needed my lover to remind me.

“Potentially,” he said, then nuzzled his nose to mine. “It’s part of your charm. You’re also compassionate, feisty, and determined. So, tell me—are you really going to let a teenager defeat you?”

A growl rumbled in my chest, but his laughter was hard to ignore. “I need to go apologize to her.” I’d rather swallow glass.

“Maybe not apologize so much as explain why you were upset she took your diary…and maybe extend an olive branch. She wants to learn. That’s important.”

“She has no patience, no discipline, and she wants everything yesterday.” It frustrated the hell out of me. One of the first tricks to controlling magic was to control yourself. Singing brought me a singular joy, but because so much of my magic inhabited my voice, I had to keep a lid on the notes.

“She can learn it,” Martin assured me, even as he began to massage my shoulders. The strength in his fingers dug into the knots of tension and I closed my eyes, soaking up his caring. It worked better to soothe my soul. “You can, too. You know?”

“I’m not impatient.” The petulance in my voice betrayed me. When he grinned, I couldn’t resist returning the smile. “Okay, I’m impatient. I want out of this deal with the vampires, and I came here to solve my problem, not take on the problems of others.”

With a gentle tap of his index finger to my nose, Martin didn’t look away from my gaze. “Thus, you are the perfect teacher for the recalcitrant teen downstairs. Stop seeing her as an obstacle, and start seeing her as an ally.”

An ally? Was he serious? Clutching my diary closer to me, I made a face. I hated it when Martin was right. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” The constant contact of his hands gliding along my cheek or massaging my arms soothed the restlessness invading me.

“Make it all better, love me, even when I’m stubborn and keep making mistakes?”

“Because you’re a wonderful woman,” he told me, solemn and devoted. “You want to make the world a better place, and even as spoiled as you can be at times—you have a huge heart. It’s three times too big.”

“Way to soften the criticism.” Still, I couldn’t help glowing a little at his praise. Even if it all felt a little familiar, like we’d already done this. Had this very conversation. “Am I really screwing her up?”

“Nah. She’s a tough little cookie. Nearly as stubborn as you are. Fortunately, you have way more control over your magic. Go make a friend. Don’t think of yourself as a mom or a foster parent, but a sister. She’s going to aggravate you, don’t let her see it.” He gave me another hug and I sighed into his arms.

“You were an amazing mentor and teacher, weren’t you?” It had been his calling until he tried to escape it. “I’m still glad I met you now and not then…” If it had been him instead of Nana doing my training, I wouldn’t have him as a lover.

“Life twists and turns, we can’t regret our past choices as we are the sum of them.” He rubbed his chin against my hair. “Now, go on before she burns down the kitchen.”

Oh crap. The scent of smoke wasn’t Rika, it was the sausages I’d left on the stove. Hurrying away, I took the stairs two at a time, then launched into the kitchen in time to find Rika turning the stove off and scooping the breakfast meat out with a spatula.

She shot a glare in my direction, but at least the flames in her hair had settled. The orange had given way to soft gold with hints of purple working their way up from the ends. Odd, but kind of cool.

Miming unzipping my lips, I released the silencing spell. “Thank you for rescuing our breakfast.” Trusting Martin’s advice, I waited a beat and let the words sink in.

With a sullen look, Rika carried the plates over to the table and set them on the table. The house was a charming little thing, and I loved it—I’d never had a cottage in the woods before. Kind of like a fairytale.

Finally, the teenager pulled out a chair and sat down with a huff. She poured orange juice for me, for her and a third which was likely for Martin. He hadn’t followed me downstairs, probably letting me extract my foot without his backup.

Good man.

Annoying man.

Loving man.

“Fine, you’re welcome,” Rika said in a snappy tone which didn’t engender warm feelings in the heart.

Still holding my diary, I walked over to the table and took a seat. Instead of eating though, I focused on the kid who cut into her breakfast and did her damnedest to avoid my eyes. Martin was right about one thing—I had been looking at her as a burden, an obstacle in my way to solving my problems. Whether she was or not, it wasn’t her fault.

I could be a bigger person. A better witch.

Or I am so colossally screwed it doesn’t matter, so maybe if I help her it will be one less natural disaster I leave behind.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and zapped your ability to speak.” Locking her powers had been necessary, the child exploded regularly and it was messy. The gold roots gave way to something bluish-green and it began to creep down to meet the purple. Rika kept eating though and didn’t look up.

Setting my diary down, I took it as a good sign that she was at least still listening and continued, “I will not apologize for being angry that you invaded my privacy.” Setting my hand on the diary I patted it lightly. “What I write in here isn’t just about magic, it’s about me, and what I am trying to figure out. Information is power.”

At that, Rika stole a look at me. Her eyes seemed to glitter with their own light.

“Yes, power. You don’t have enough control—yet—to try co-opting my magic. Not to mention, I don’t think you’re a witch singer, which means what works for me may not work for you.” Hence my biggest objection to teaching the raging brat…not a raging brat, Bridget. A teenager. Remember, teenagers suck as a general rule when you’re not a teenager and adults suck when you are. The internal pep talk didn’t help, but it did shove me back on track. “I have an idea, but I am going to ask your permission.”

The teen gave a little jerk and sat straight up. Yep, that got her attention. Heh. Adults don’t ask kids for their permission. Score one for me.

“What do you need my permission for?” Suspicion dripped from every syllable.

“Simple, I want to summon your familiar.” Until the words left my mouth, I hadn’t realized that was exactly what I planned to say. Yet at the same time, I felt like I’d said this before. The déjà vu rippled over me and left goosebumps in its wake.

“Really?” Careful excitement climbed in the teen’s voice and she set down the fork.

“Really. You were right, I’m supposed to be teaching you.” I raised a finger before she got too happy about my acknowledgment. “I was also right, you need more control in order to learn. So, we split the difference. A familiar can help you focus, and it can also help you measure your control. I can bind the spell containing your magic to your familiar—then when you have the control necessary, the familiar will know it and together you will be able to work your spells.”

“Does that mean the familiar will be in charge of my magic and my teaching?” It was an honest question, and the first one not marred by malice or rebellion.

“No, they will be a guardian to your level of control. I can’t be with you twenty-four seven, and you don’t want me to be.” For the first time since I broached the conversation, Rika and I were in perfect accord.

“No, I really don’t.”

Picking up my orange juice, I studied the glass for a moment. There was a smudge on the lip at the top. A finger print—probably from Rika setting the glass on the table. Yet, I felt like I’d seen the exact same thing before. Goddess above and below, the déjà vu threatened my sanity.

“Exactly so. I’ll cast the summon, then we’ll wait for your familiar to show up…” Didn’t I say this already?

“Why don’t you have a familiar?” A fair question.

“I told you.” Taking a drink of the juice, I still couldn’t shake the most unsettling of sensations. My gaze went to the diary, then to Rika, then to the food on the plate. Sausage didn’t sound remotely appealing, but at least it wasn’t burnt to a crisp…

…like before?

“Rika?”

Nervousness invaded the girl across from me. It was the second time something else stormed the child. Poor thing, she was worse the Poland. I didn’t have to look at her to feel the eddies in the magic around us. Tendrils of power began to dig into me, and I tasted the spell in the juice.

“What did you do Rika?”

Worry for Martin surged within me, but I couldn’t rise from the table. Cutting a look to the teen, I raised my eyebrows and panic tightened her expression.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

The backdoor thundered open and a brawny man with a bare chest and a dark green plaid kilt filled the doorway. “Wha’ the bloody ‘ell is this?”

Damn good question.

Then white light burst through the room.

2

Rika

Rika had done a lot of stupid things in her life, but the worst had to be pissing off the Baby Yaga. She hadn’t really meant to piss her off, in fact given her way, she would never have even had a conversation with the wickedly powerful head of all witches—like, ever. Still, she’d taken the job to investigate the new Shifter Whisperer in Assjacket because it would pay off her bills—and ‘cause she was genuinely curious.

Little did she know that her investigation would have her stepping on some very powerful toes. She hadn’t even been in town a week before the Baba Yaga had taken aside, calmly explained it would be in Rika’s best interests to back off on the investigation and get the heck out of Dodge. The Baba Yaga also reminded her that she could have been a very powerful, had she ever maximized her potential.

She hated that phrase. She hated that phrase so much it made her want to throw up in her mouth every time someone brought it up as a subject—her teachers, her mother, the Baba Yaga.

However, she knew enough to make a decent magical detective, which meant investigating people was how she made her living. Her clients hired her via private messaging services, paid her a decent finder’s fee to get started. After she investigated, she could then ransom the information to the client for a much higher fee. Everyone knew what was going to happen upfront. Nothing personal, just business.

Looking into who the new Shifter Whisperer was didn’t seem like a big deal. The Shifters would definitely know who he or she was. Assjacket was the practical location. What did it hurt? After the Baba Yaga gave her the lovely warning, Rika debated refunding the money for the investigation or simply finishing it. Who was she hurting? They wanted some basic answers to some fairly simple questions—who was she? Where did she come from? Was she related to? And how powerful was she? To be honest, it wasn’t a hard case, and she did have a rep to protect.

Unfortunately, all the answers she collected went out the window when the Baba Yaga discovered she was still investigating. “Fine, if you want to act like a brat, then you can be a brat,” were the last words Rika recalled before the old witch cursed her back into a sixteen-year-old body—right down to the zits, and the hormones and the out of whack magic.

What was up with that?

To add diabolical to frustration, she discovered she remembered her curse and the why of it, but she couldn’t say anything about it to anyone. Every time she tried to come clean, the words died unspoken or came out gibberish, and she blew herself up.

It would piss her off, and she’d blow herself up.

She’d pitch a fit, and she’d—yep, you guessed it—blow herself up.

The Baba Yaga was the Queen Beeyotch of the Universe.

If all of that wasn’t punishment enough, the Baba Yaga showed up three days later and saddled her with the single worst witch teacher on the planet. She didn't know where this Bridget chick had come from or why she was an Assjacket or what it was the Rika was really supposed to be learning from her, but Rika had discovered she could learn more reading the instructions on how to put together furniture then she’d learned from Bridget so far.

Well except for the bit where she bound Rika’s magic so that any explosion she created only affected her and no one else. It also made stabilizing her hair color and length a real bitch. It was like she had to experience every fashion rejected style she’d ever considered over the years.

The Baba Yaga probably cracked herself up on this one.

So maybe Rika could stand to learn one or two things. Martin was kind of cool, he was, like, the picture of patience. Of course, Bridget and Martin were both very loud when they got back to their bedroom—too loud so Rika had invested in a pair of really strong headphones and cranked loud music. She’d also come up with an idea that after a month of getting nowhere with Bridget's lack of teaching, she’d educate herself.

Because high school still sucked and being forced to repeat it sucked worse than having to deal with acne.

She was an investigator after all, so she would investigate…

Fortunately, she still remembered one spell and she could pull it off. Once she’d gotten it fired up, she went to work.

Waking early, she searched to the house quietly until she located the diary she'd seen Bridget writing in. Stealing away to her bedroom, she began reading through it. Bridget wrote a lot about different things, but she also wrote in the shorthand that was kind of hard to understand. Things like Mr. Nasty-Face sucks—literally. Who the hell was Mr. Nasty-Face?

There was also some bit about turning customers into cows, the human customers anyway. The last time Rika checked, casually dumping magic on humans should get one locked up in the magical pokey so why was Bridget in Assjacket and not in jail?

Then there was this long part. Where all that was written out in the book were lyrics… Lots and lots of lyrics. Bridget wasn’t the most gifted of songwriters. In fact, she seemed very intent on bastardizing every single pop song known to man.

Since Rika couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid welded on, singing her spells was not going to work for her. About halfway through the diary, though, she came to most interesting piece. It was still early, and she heard them starting to move around, which meant she would have to get dressed soon so they could send her to school. Rika rolled her eyes. Going to school would suck. She hated the whole going to school concept when she’d been on the merry-go-round the first time. Her plan had worked for three days—three days to find the damn diary, but at least she hadn’t had to go to school.

She checked her watch again. She still had about another hour, maybe ninety minutes, before her contingency kicked into gear. That gave her more than enough time to experiment with this new spell.

Warning, use only in controlled circumstances. Summoning a muse for inspiration can have unintended consequences.

Summoning a muse. That was exactly what Rika needed. A muse to help her figure out how to train the wild magic that she had at sixteen—how could she have forgotten how out of control she’d been back then? All she needed was to get it back under control as soon as possible, then she and her tight little sixteen-year-old body could get the hell out of town.

Still the curse did have its upside—like her smooth skin, and lack of stretch marks on her boobs. Gravity worked, but at sixteen, she was all taut body and perky breasts.

Flipping back and forth through the pages, she recited the spell until she had it committed to memory, then she looked around her room. What could she use in here to summon a muse? According to what Bridget had written, she required a very specific focus to make it work.

Still searching, her gaze landed on the Kerrigan Byrne book laying on her bed.

That guy was hot… So, she scrambled over, picked up the book, then returned to the diary. She’d just set it on the desk when she heard Bridget bellow from downstairs.

Same time every day.

Same sausage every day.

Same awful burnt smell invading the house. Blocking out all other sound she concentrated on the cover and recited the spell.

Sing a song of inspiration,

A pocket full of creation.

For I need a muse,

To chase away the blues.

Wait till the muse arrives

My power will revived

Remember above all belong

Lest you do wrong.

She finished with a flourish then waited.

“Rika, come on.”

Oh, for the love of magic… “I’m not going to school!” She was too busy searching her room. “And you can’t make me!” She’d felt something, a stirring and a bit of a pop, when she’d completed the incantation. Where was her…?

Her door slammed open, and suddenly Bridget was standing there, glaring daggers at her. Oh hell no. Bridget was not the muse she wanted.

“Don’t just charge in here like you own the place,” Rika scowled as she shoved the Kerrigan book out of the way, she didn’t need Bridget to give her grief about reading steamy sex scenes.

Her temper kindled. The worst part of being a teen was the utter lack of privacy. Bad enough those two boinked like bunnies and the walls were thin, but Bridget never gave her a break, even when the door was closed.

“What are you doing with my diary?”

Ice chilled along her spine. Bridget yelled. She flung her hands. She was bombastic and over the top dramatic…not serial killer quiet.

A sizzle and pop slid through Rika and a quiet poof sent her hair up. Yep, hormones sucked. She could barely control her own reactions, and she’d worked to perfect the red hair and she was pretty sure it sucked now. “I wanted to figure out one of the spells.” Honesty had to count, right?

Bridget closed her eyes so Rika kicked the book under the bed. The witch singer released three notes and the diary flew off the desk and into her hand. Damn. It had taken her long enough to find it, hopefully it would be right where she’d located it after the charm kicked in.

That muse spell must have needed another component—or something.

Fire licked along her hair, embarrassment was even worse than anger. It left her all kinds of crispy, and once, it had left her bald.

Rika really needed the muse.

Her so-called teacher didn’t budge from the doorway, though, and judgment rolled off her in waves.

Frustrated, she peeked around the room once. Still no muse. Damn. Double damn. “How else am I supposed to learn?” She exploded. “You’re supposed to teach me and all you do is tell me to do my chores, and make me go to school. You don’t even let me…”

Boom!

The explosion decimated the air around her and her hair flamed green and stood on end.

Crap. She stomped her feet trying to turn the flames off before they ate away her hair or worse, her clothes. The top had been expensive and it hadn’t been easy to work the security tag at the store without anyone noticing.

Martin chose that precise moment to stick his head into the room. “Problems?”

The way he looked at Bridget was sigh worthy, and when his patience gaze flicked to Rika, fresh guilt stabbed at her. He was such a good guy and Rika felt like a heel. Worse, she felt like she should apologize.

Rika didn’t do that. So instead, she picked a fight. It was easier.

“She’s a monster.” She snarled, though it lacked any real heat. “She won’t teach me. When I decide to take matters into my own hands, she acts like I’m the criminal.”

“I see,” Martin nudged his glasses up, and glanced at the diary in Bridget’s hands. He seemed even more disappointed if that were possible. Dammit, she was going to have to make nice…

“Well, since I’m a monster, you’re grounded. You will go to school, then you will return and stay in this room.”

Grounded? Was she insane? Before Rika could challenge or make amends, though, Bridget made a zipping motion with her fingers and suddenly, Rika’s voice vanished.

Oh. Hell. No.

“Here’s another fun thought, if you don’t have anything nice to say, you don’t get to say it. Downstairs. Breakfast. Now.”

The magic flooded over her and took control of her limbs, completely out of control, Rika marched down the stairs and to the kitchen where the sausage sizzled on the stove. It was close to burning—again.

As soon as she arrived in the kitchen, the magic released her. After three days of it, she’d come to hate the smell of burnt meat, she turned off the stove and set the table. Bridget would make her do it anyway, and if she could get ahead of the curve, maybe it would keep the peace for the next…what, eighty minutes or less? It wasn’t always precise.

Bridget arrived in the kitchen in a rush and paused, then she released the silencing spell. “Thank you for rescuing our breakfast.”

The freedom of speech didn’t mean she planned on saying anything. Better to say nothing and be thought of as a bitch than to open her mouth and start complaining.

Food on the plates, Rika carried them to the table and set them in their spots before plopping into a chair. What had she done wrong with that damn spell? Why hadn’t her muse shown up?

Was it her age? Her wording?

Oh Goddess, what if I have to sing it?

Bridget was still staring at her and Rika wanted to sigh. “Fine, you’re welcome.” Geez, just sit down, woman, and let’s get the reset over with. She kept the last part to herself.

Bridget still had the diary in her hands. Hopefully that wouldn’t mess with where it would be…

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and zapped your ability to speak.” The witch singer sounded like she meant it. “I will not apologize for being angry that you invaded my privacy.” She put the diary on the table and patted it. “What I write in here isn’t just about magic, it’s about me, and what I am trying to figure out. Information is power.”

No kidding. Rika studied her. Why else do you think I took it? Again, she kept the words to herself.

“Yes, power. You don’t have enough control—yet—to try co-opting my magic. Not to mention, I don’t think you’re a witch singer, which means what works for me may not work for you.”

Bah. Maybe that was why the spell didn’t work. I hate singing…

“I have an idea, but I am going to ask your permission.” Well that was different. They’d never had this conversation before.

Oh? Was she finally going to treat Rika like a person rather than a burden? “What do you need my permission for?”

“Simple, I want to summon your familiar.”

Great, gobbing witch balls of fire! “Really?” A familiar would be even better than a muse. A familiar could help her get everything under control.

“Really. You were right, I’m supposed to be teaching you.” She raised a finger before. “I was also right, you need more control in order to learn. So, we split the difference. A familiar can help you focus, and it can also help you measure your control. I can bind the spell containing your magic to your familiar—then when you have the control necessary, the familiar will know it and together you will be able to work your spells.”

Whatever makes you happy. When Bridget didn’t continue, it occurred to Rika she needed to play her part. “Does that mean the familiar will be in charge of my magic and my teaching?”

“No, they will be a guardian to your level of control. I can’t be with you twenty-four seven and you don’t want me to be.”

That worked. “No, I really don’t.”

Bridget hesitated. This time, though, she stared at her glass. Oh, great, she was going to explode over the fingerprints because Rika hadn’t grasped it at the base but around the rim.

Instead, she said, “Exactly so. I’ll cast the summon, then we’ll wait for your familiar to show up…” It kind of reminded her when she said she would summon Rika’s homework during their last cycle through. Not quite the same, but close. Yet she hesitated again.

Distract her! “Why don’t you have a familiar?”

“I told you.” No, she hadn’t, well she’d mentioned something about familiars in the first cycle, but Rika had been a little focused on triggering the spell. The hesitations in Bridget’s voice were new, though. Had the second spell done something to the first one? “Rika?”

A wave of heat washed over her, eddies in magic—magic she hadn’t felt in a while. It was too soon for the reset to trigger, so was it the muse spell?

“What did you do, Rika?” Bridget stood, her expression incredulous and worried.

Oh, if the muse spell broke the reset… “I didn’t mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

The backdoor thundered open and a brawny man with a bare chest and a dark green plaid kilt filled the doorway. Gorgeous, and perfect—he was the cover come to life, and he was there for her. “Wha’ the bloody ‘ell is this?”

A shiver of delight rippled through her just as the second spell whiplashed and a white light burst through the room.

3

Bridget

It was early when I woke. I hated being awake before the sun. Having a teenager meant I needed to get moving, make breakfast and make nice before I kicked her out of the house. The sooner I got her going, the sooner I could get back to work on figuring out a solution to my vampire problem.

Yes, the Baba Yaga promised to help with a solution after I complete her task. The letter had been burned into my memory:

My dearest Bridget,

So happy you’ve finally decided to take life by the balls and come find me. Sadly, I got tired of waiting. Five years is a very long time to keep the Baba Yaga in suspense, so remind me to punish you for that later. Rika has keys to the cottage for you and your young man. She’ll be living with you both for the interim. In the meanwhile, I’m going to be late for the Madonna concert, so I wanted to write you this quick introduction to Rika. She is to be your new apprentice. I trust you will train her and raise her with style, class and control. Granted, you possess none of these attributes, but I’m a firm believer that teaching her will be an education for you.

Toodles Songstress,

Baba Yaga

P.S. As for that other problem, I will provide you with the answer to your question once you’ve completed this task.

P.P.S. Oh, and you need to sing at the weddings of two couples you help to unite. Remember, helping others find joy will allow joy to blossom within you.

P.P.P.S. If you say aloud all the things you are thinking right now, I’ll give you another task, and trust me when I say you will like it even less.

So, I kept my opinions to myself. Because I know the Baba Yaga, she didn’t do anything by half measures. If I said aloud half of what went through my head, I’d probably be a toad somewhere having to sing to the moon in a bayou while I waited for a prince to kiss my toady little head.

Blegh.

Martin sprawled next to me, one hand on my hip. His grip was familiar, and comforting…and I’d been waking up a lot like this, hadn’t I? Odd. More than odd. The weird sense of déjà vu permeated my mind, but I shook it off. Of course I’d been waking up with Martin a lot—we’d been living together for a month. I went to sleep in his arms every single night, and I woke up in them.

Sitting up, I glanced down at his slumbering face. We had some time, I could afford to wake him up with a little play before I went down to make breakfast. This domestic thing wasn’t me, but I was doing my best to make it work stubborn teenager or no…

A crash from downstairs had Martin sitting up. We split a look between us and I was out of the room ahead of him. Martin had the man thing down, and he was really protective, but I was the witch in the family and no one was touching my charges.

We found Rika at the top of the stares gaping at the living room below and I skidded to a halt next to her. A man in a sexy kilt stood dead center in our living room, broadsword in hand, chest thick and heaving, and looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of a romance novel.

“Wha’ th’ blewdy ‘ell is this?”

Goddess of Light, the man had a thick accent. “Very good question,” I said, projecting a calm I didn’t remotely feel. Then again, I’d dealt with pissy vampires on a regular basis, so pretending calm in the face of this—whatever the hell this was—I could handle.

“Um…” Rika, never at a loss for words, seemed frozen. Her eyes glazed over. “It’s him.”

“Him who?” I asked without taking my gaze off that very large sword or the menacing Scot holding it.

“I’m Angus, Lord of the Caithness, Master of the Highlands—who dares hold me?”

“Angus, Lord of Caithness?” Martin repeated next to me, then he slipped on a pair of glasses and studied the man. “Hmm, the tartan is wrong for the clans of Caithness.”

The tartan?

I wasn’t the only one who jerked attention to Martin. My gorgeous, studly academic with his sleep rumpled hair and hint of morning stubble. He scratched at his chin.

From below, Angus roared. “Who put me in these Montgomery tweeds?” Incensed, he ripped the wool off and proved the argument once and for all that real Scotsmen didn’t wear a damn thing beneath their kilts.

“Wow…” Rika reminded me of her presence, so I clapped a hand over her eyes. “Martin, can you invite our guest into something like a robe? Rika go to your room.”

“No!” The teen jerked away, and her hair went as red as her cheeks. “He’s here for me.”

“He is?” What had she done?

“I am?” Angus ceased his bellowing and checked his grip on his giant broadsword, though I could have wished he’d covered the other broad sword jutting out—especially when he stared at Rika.

Before I could grab her, she bolted down the stairs. Oh, not on my watch little girl. “You threw a wish in the well, didn’t ask and didn’t tell tale, and I’m looking at you, no I won’t let you set sail or trade your soul for a wish, pennies or dimes for his kiss—no, we’re not looking at it this way,” I sang and the magic swirled through me, one spell to capture Rika before she got too close to that sword, and the second I flung right at our buff, and very nude guest. “Your stare might be golden, but your skin is still showing, hot night, wind blowing, ripped jeans and t-shirt unfolded.”

The clothes slapped onto him with a snap and Rika jerked to a halt at the foot of the stairs.

“The sword, witchypoo. I recommend disarming him.” Martin was right at my shoulder, his presence a balm.

“Where you think you’re going baby?” I twisted into the song. “Sword to me, no ands ifs or maybes.”

Definitely not my best work, but the broadsword vanished from his hands, landed in mine, and damn near took me down with it.

What the hell was this thing made of? It weighed a ton. Staggered, only Martin gripping the blade kept me from landing on my ass.

“Bridget!” Rika shrieked. “I summoned him. Let me go.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought she’d said earlier. Still not on board with whatever mad plan she’d concocted. The Scotsman—oh, Angus, for beef and damn if he wasn’t beefcake…

“Witchypoo,” Martin’s voice took on a distinct note of disapproval. “You’re drooling.”

“Dude, he’s hot, but I love you and you’re way hotter.” To prove my point, I twisted, caught Martin’s face in my hands and planted a sinful kiss on his lips. His package came to life against my belly and now I really wished I’d had a chance to wake him up before the Celtic invasion.

My guy moaned against my lips. Soon, he had his hand in my hair, and I forgot all about our audience until the sound of Rika gagging penetrated the gorgeous sensual haze. “Oh, right…” I murmured against Martin’s mouth and he chuckled. Separating took actual effort on my part, but I managed it.

Returning my attention to the scene below, I studied Rika’s ill expression then Angus’ offended one.

Pointing a finger at the Scotsman, I said, “You are familiar with witches?”

“Aye.” And he definitely didn’t like them from the harsh slash of his mouth compressing together.

“Good, then behave like a good guest, or I’ll do something magnificently unkind to your pecker. Got it?”

“Aye,” he snarled, then folded those massive arms. The man was the size of a Redwood tree.

“Martin, would you be so kind as to take our guest into the kitchen for some coffee while Rika and I have a little chat?”

“Of course,” he said, hefting the sword as though it didn’t weigh a hundred pounds. I had to fight the urge to girly-sigh. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t as big as the highlander, he was all the stud I needed.

Martin winked, then descended the stairs. “Right this way, mate.” He said to the highlander, not giving Rika even a passing glance. The outrage on the teenager’s face faded as the Scotsman disappeared behind Martin and I descended the stairs to join her.

“In short, complete sentences not peppered by objection or hormones, explain to me the I summoned him statement.” Folding my arms, I waited. I was still dressed in a nightshirt which declared I Coffee Therefore I Am and in all likelihood, my hair was still sticking out at the sides ala Pippy Longstocking since I always looked like a wild woman, but comical appearance aside, Rika’s rebellion seemed to drain out of her.

“I summoned him using a spell from your diary.”

Cogent. To the point. “And way over the line.” When had she gotten my diary? “Summoned him from where?” Because we needed to put him back and depending on what spell she used…

“I used the spell to get a muse.” Rika actually grimaced. “Before you get all high and mighty, I just did it because—I’m a raging brat with delusions of grandeur and I don’t like rules, so why should I have to follow them?”

I blinked. Had she really just said that?

“Did I really just say that?” Stunned didn’t begin to cover the teen’s face. “That isn’t what I meant to say, what I am trying to tell you—is I’m hormonal, overindulged, and never paid a real consequence in my whole life.”

Rika clapped a hand over her mouth, and I hummed under my breath, not only to give myself a moment to consider her actions and words, but to release her from the holding spell keeping her locked on the stairs.

“Come with me,” I ordered and abandoned the stairs to head for the small office Martin had been converting into a study. We didn’t have a lot of books yet, but we would have privacy which was more important. Once she was inside, I kept the door open and sang three perfect notes, “Come to me!” The spell lashed through the house, raced to my bedroom, snaked under the mattress and drew my diary out. A moment later the book hurtled into my hand.

So armed, I closed the door and turned to face her. Rika wore her anger on her sleeve and her bewilderment in her eyes. When she would have opened her mouth to say something, I held up a finger. She silenced.

“Write it down,” I suggested, then pointed to the stack of sticky notes and pens on the desk. Martin took copious notes on everything. He was a professor down to his sexy bones.

While she did that, I flipped through my diary. No magical disturbances arose from the pages. I usually kept it spell locked, so I would know if anyone got into it and the words would be just scrambled enough to be useless. Except Rika was a witch, a powerful one, for all that she couldn’t control her magic.

Rika straightened and extended the sticky note to me.

I’m under a curse.

“Read it to me,” I told her.

Fresh annoyance flashed across her expression. “I’m a danger to myself and others because I don’t consider how my actions affect them.”

Rika let out a little scream, and I had to feel sorry for her. “Yes, you are definitely under a curse.” Which explained a great deal. “So, we’ll go with you not spinning tales since apparently the curse keeps you from telling me what you want to say.”

The teen nodded emphatically, then wrote another note quickly.

Not a teenager. I turned forty-five three weeks ago, not that you can tell.

No, I definitely hadn’t been able to tell that.

Pissed off Baba Yaga.

Clearly.

Summoned a muse to free up my magic.

Huh. “I’ve been thinking about calling your familiar for you, to help you get some measure of control.”

Another stomp of her foot and impatience. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Interesting, since I’d just thought of it today. “I know I didn’t write that in my diary, so how did you know?”

Rika’s face went beet red, and her hair caught fire. Sliding onto the desk, she said, “Promise you won’t hate me?”

“Not a chance.” Any conversation that began with those words meant Rika had done something else horrible. I tried to keep my cool. This behavior had to be why the Baba Yaga stuck her with me in the first place. Martin was right, Rika and I were a lot—wait, when did Martin and I have that conversation? We’d avoided discussing her after the initial assignment, mostly because Martin wanted me to learn how to do this on my own. Life, as he liked to say, needed teachable moments. “What did you do?”

“I don’t want to tell you now,” Rika admitted, though the flames in her hair went out and left her with some limp, dull dishwater color. Whatever she’d done had to be bad.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you fix it.” I flipped through the diary to my muse spell. It had been a lame attempt at entertaining myself when the vamps had me in lock down all the damn time… “Oh Rika, you didn’t summon this guy from a book did you?”

Fictional alpha males were the worst. They could be such dicks.

“Maybe.” Another wince, then Rika added, “I need my magic under control and you don’t have time to teach me. Frankly, I think you need to learn a little control yourself, but you’re too busy worrying about your problems to care about mine. You’d rather send me off to school to suffer through the 21 Jump Street years all over again than deal with me.”

She had a point. I didn’t like it, but she did have a point. “I was more a 90210 girl myself.”

Throwing her hands up, Rika glared at me. “You’re doing it now. I may look sixteen, and I may have an ass you can bounce a dime off of, but I am not a—smartass who fails to listen to my elders when they give me advice.”

Wow, Baba Yaga threw a mean curse. I had to laugh, and when Rika looked ready to stab me with that pen, I held up my diary as a placating gesture. “Look, I get it. You’re screwed and so am I.” Only, if she wasn’t really a teenager then I wasn’t really responsible for her, was I?

Food for thought. The shaft of guilt stabbing me in the gut said otherwise though.

“You laughing at me is not helping—even if I deserve it.” Rika let out another shriek. “I love the Baba Yaga, she is the most awesomest of Baba Yaga’s ever. She’s Baba-licious, and I owe her a big bottle of wine when I’m old enough to buy it.”

Yeah, okay, now that was taking it too far. “First, we deal with your special friend in the kitchen with Martin, then we get a grip on your spellcasting, and then we’ll work on breaking that compulsion.” Being forced to kiss anyone’s ass was just mean.

“Really?” Shock coupled with hope filled Rika’s face.

“Really. Besides, the sooner we get you sorted out. The sooner we can part ways. I know you don’t want me looking over your shoulder twenty-four seven…” Wait. I’d said that to her before.

“No, I really don’t…”

“Bridget,” Martin called. “I’m making pancakes, did you want sausage or bacon with yours?”

A flash of sausage went through my mind. I’d burnt it and the smell was…

Across from me, Rika sank a little lower on the desk. “About that…”

White flashed through the room.

4

Rika

“Dammit,” Rika swore as she found herself standing in the center of her bedroom once more. She’d come clean with Bridget, and Bridget hadn’t kicked her out or turned her into an amphibian when she admitted to the Baba Yaga’s curse, snaking her diary, and summoning the really hot highlander.

Angus.

Crap.

Her spell reset to three in the morning, before anyone was awake. It was a limited time window, but she’d given herself five hours to loop. The idea being she could search while they slept. But it hadn’t been anywhere near five hours when it reset them…worry about that later. Find Angus now.

He’d come through the loop, and he’d been in a different place and arrived at a different time.

Rika hurried out of her bedroom as quietly as she could manage. Sometimes Bridget had the reflexes of a cat. Other times, she slept the sleep of the dead. Another inconsistency in the loop. Damn annoying one.

At the bottom step, she halted. Angus stood in the center of the living room. He wore ripped jeans, which hugged his massive frame and an ordinary t-shirt which stretched across his broad chest. Thunderstruck expression aside, he was the sexiest damn thing she’d ever seen.

And since he’d ripped off the green tartan earlier, she’d gotten an eyeful of the whole package.

“You’re here.” Relief swamped her or it did until he pinned her with a furious look. His eyes were the perfect shade of blue, and they seemed to shimmer in the low light of the lamps in the room. His dark hair hung past his shoulders, giving him a roguish appearance. She kind of missed the kilt, but he could definitely work the jeans.

“Witch,” Angus said angrily, storming over to her. He towered over her, and she didn’t think of herself as short 5’7, but he had to be well over six feet. This close, she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “What did you do to me? The sun was up, then it vanished. I was in the kitchen with the male who speaks like a priest, and now I am here.”

And his accent had definitely modernized a little, even if the brogue remained thick. Or perhaps she’d already acclimated to it. She’d always had an ear for languages.

“I can explain,” she assured him, though her gaze remained fixed on the fullness of his lips. Man, did he have to be so damn gorgeous? Of course, he’d looked pretty delish on the cover. Not to mention, what she’d read he could do with those lips…

“Then explain, witch.” The emphasis he put on the word witch sent heat coursing through her. Man, she could climb him like a pole. Of course, they didn’t have time for that right now, but she probably had more flexibility than she’d ever possessed.

“I summoned you.”

“I’m clear on that part.” He folded his arms, and invaded her personal space. The warmth of his nearness seemed to cling to her. As did the intensely masculine scent perfuming the air. It wasn’t cologne. No, it was all male and provoked images of the moors and the mountains. “Why did you summon me, witch?”

“Because I needed inspiration.” She didn’t usually let big men intimidate her, but he was different. Nothing spare on him, and she’d swear nothing gentle except despite his obvious fury, he didn’t make any move to hurt her.

“Inspiration?” He canted his head, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

Oh, boy howdy, and was she inspired. Her nipples tightened, and the flutter in her belly seemed to extend to the rest of her. Before she could think better of it, she placed her hand on his arm. Solid. Sturdy. Strong.

Her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. He glanced down at her hand, then at her. “Are you trying to enchant me with your magic, witch?”

“My name is Rika,” she managed to squeeze out past the need to drool. “Rika Tallulejah Smythe. Not witch.”

“Is that so?” Instead of being impressed, he appeared amused. “Well then, Rika Tallulejah Smythe, what am I to inspire in you?”

“Lots of lascivious thoughts at the moment.” The honest answer earned her a speculative smile, then he unfolded those gorgeous arms of his and slid his hand beneath her chin. The light caress sent another wave of shivers to riot in her system. “I need help.”

“What can I do for you, lassie?”

Her brain melted for a moment. “Um…”

“Ye kin tell me,” he assured her, then stroked his hand along her cheek and she rubbed her face against his palm. Suddenly, she felt like a cat and wanted to purr. Leaning toward him, she rose on her tiptoes. Would he get the hint? Would he…then he was bending his face toward hers and his lips just brushed across hers when the white light struck.

Goddess of light and dark, she wanted to scream when she found herself standing in the middle of her bedroom again. What the hell? It hadn’t even been an hour…why did it reset? Furious, she rushed for the door, and the stairs only to collide with Angus on his way up. He opened his arms and she all but fell into them. His mouth fastened over hers and her whole body pulsed with need.

White light flashed.

Rika wanted to scream. Need twisted inside of her, and she bolted for the door and slammed it open. Angus was halfway up the stairs, and his fierce expression was determined. This time, she made it to the moment his tongue glided along hers and desire burst into flames along with hair…

White light flashed.

Rika screamed, her frustration escaping on a wild note. Clenching her fists, she’d almost made it to her bedroom door when she heard Bridget.

“Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my house?” Her voice rose, then hit a dangerous decibal.

Oh crap. Angus.

Flinging the door open, she made it to the hall just in time to see Angus flying backwards, suspended by magical chains.

“No! Wait! Bridget! Angus is here for me—I’m a dumbass who casts selfish spells and I’m never going to get what I want…”

Everyone stared at her and Rika wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Baba Yaga, it has to be…but how could she…

A snap cracked through the air and suddenly Rika stood in front of the Baba Yaga, the canny old witch in her neon hot 80s gear gave her a knowing look. “You have five minutes to come clean with all of them or you can live in a perpetual state of sexual frustration. Understood?”

The witch of witches didn’t wait for her answer. Rika landed on her ass on the floor of the living room. The sun shone outside, and instead of being suspended by chains, Angus stood next to the fireplace. Martin and Bridget were seated, and they all appeared in deep conversation.

A clock in the hall began to chime—eight bells. Her time loop had been broken.

“Lucy,” Martin said cheerfully. “You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

At least Angus was still there, but the dark brooding look he fixed on her didn’t promise her any resolved kisses anytime soon.

“My name is Rika Smythe, I’m a witch investigator. You want something found—person, creature, spell, information—I’m your witch. I can dig up just about anything, and I’m not a teenager, I’m a little over thi—” A hard slap landed against the back of her head. The Baba Yaga might not be present, but she was definitely still paying attention. Fine, she’d admit her age to the hot scot. “I’m forty-five years old. I was hired to dig up dirt and info on the new Shifter Whisperer. The Baba Yaga told me to back off, and I ignored her…three times—” Ducking from another potential brain duster, she hurried to add. “Maybe four times, I kind of lost count.”

No one hit her.

Whew.

“Condensing the story, the Baba Yaga cursed me with this oh so awesome teenage bod and screwed up my magic by making me all hormonal again.” Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to ignore the agog expression Martin and Bridget wore. “I came clean with you a couple of times, Bridget. You don’t remember because I set a time loop so I could find the spells I needed to get out of this.”

That pretty much brought her clean, right?

“And me?” Angus pulled her attention and she was reminded of the very hot kiss they’d almost shared. Did he even remember it now? The corner of his mouth kicked upward.

“I stole Bridget’s diary.” She didn’t look at her would be mentor. It had been hard enough to admit the last two times. “I found a spell in there to summon a muse. Since I’ve been struggling to get my control back…”

Angus gave her a quizzical look, and magic rippled over her. Great, what color had her hair turned this time? It seemed forever since she’d been her normal shade. Though what was normal these days?

“…so I summoned you from a book.” It sounded so much lamer than she’d intended. She’d chosen a great book with a hot hero, and man had it delivered in spades.

“Deep breaths, witchypoo,” Martin said soothingly into the silence. “She’s taken a big step, admitting her crimes.”

“Admitting my ass,” Bridget scowled as she stood. Anger wreathed her. More anger than Rika had ever seen the witch singer possess. The woman was a kook with a capital K, and she had a whacky ability, but she was also kind and she’d seemed earnest if not totally skilled at the whole mentoring thing. “Baba Yaga yanked you out of here, then dropped you back off, didn’t she?”

“Um…yes?” Rika stole a peek at Bridget’s eyes. She expected to find anger, and while it was there, so was concern.

“She cursed you. Stuck you with me, without giving anyone the whole story, and now, she wants you to confess.” None of that had been a question, so Rika nodded.

“Pretty much.”

“Don’t mistake my empathy for forgiveness,” Bridget said, holding a hand out to her. Rika grasped it and let her pull her to feet. “You had no business snooping in my diary, or using the spells you found in there.”

“I know I’m supposed to be sorry, but hunting up magic…it’s what I do. Ferreting out secrets, and knowledge.” Her shame surprised her, though. Guilt wasn’t an emotion she was well acquainted with. “I needed help.”

“Help I wasn’t giving you,” Bridget sighed, then squeezed her hand and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll help you now. We’ll figure this all out together…starting with putting Mr. Angus there back into his book.”

“Ye canna…” Angus protested.

“I can’t,” Rika joined with him even as she pulled back on Bridget’s hug. “Wait, I know why I can’t put you back,” she said, looking at the Scotsman. “Why do you not want to go back?”

“That’s a little personal, lassie. Ye and I kin discuss it without your parents.”

“We’re not her parents,” Martin and Bridget said in unison.

“Even better. I plan to steal her, and I didn’t fancy having some wee powerful witch hunting me down, especially when I haven’t located a horse yet.”

“Uh huh,” Rika’s face warmed and her hair started to flame. Oh enough of that. She gripped her hands into fists and the flames smothered. Her hair smoothed, all the curls relaxing and the hair lengthened. Angus stared at her in wonder, and Rika leaned to the left to check her appearance in the mirror.

Dark blue hair, purple tips and looking fabulous.

Much better.

“Now, let’s talk about that stealing away piece?”

“In a minute,” Bridget interceded. “Back up to the not returning you to the book.” Then under her breath, the witch singer muttered, “Are we really having an argument with a fictional hero?”

“You did tell me that alpha heroes in the books were kind of dicks in real life.”

“Did I?” Surprise colored Bridget’s voice. Great, probably another bonding moment lost to a loop.

Why had she cast that spell in the first place? Oh, right, to get out of the situation she wasn’t enjoying. Yet, she’d ended up in what might be a worse one.

Maybe.

“You did,” she said, when she realized everyone was looking at her again and she hadn’t answered Bridget’s inquiry.

“I’m a warrior,” Angus interjected. “Not a dick.”

Rika would not laugh.

“And I don’t belong in a book.”

Her lips twitched, but she contained the giggle. “How would you know? I summoned you from a book, remember?”

“Aye, lassie,” Angus said setting aside his cup and taking a step toward her. “I was trapped there and ye freed me.”

Trapped?

Oh crap. What did she do?

“A witch trapped me in a tree, a long time ago, then that tree was cut down, and milled, then turned to paper…and…”

“…you were trapped in the paper.” Rika grimaced. “So you don’t belong in the book?”

“Not at all,” he said, his gaze promising her all kinds of passionate things. “Ye freed me…which means I’m at your service in any way you might desire.”

“Hold it right there, Mr. Hot Brogue,” Bridget intervened, stepping between them and breaking her line of sight. Rika remembered how to breathe all at once. Wow. “She might be forty-five and under a curse, but right now she’s sixteen and under my roof.”

“Bridget…” Rika touched her arm. “Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I’m really fine with the whole servicing thing.”

The witch singer turned on her. “You’re sixteen!”

“In form only, the mind in here? I’m middle-aged, and I got the scars to prove it. Call this the ultimate mid-life crisis, only I got the hot bod to test drive.” Her gaze drifted to Angus. “In more ways than one.”

His answering grin stoked the flames in kindling in her blood. Fortunately, her hair didn’t go up and she didn’t boom.

Look at that. Control.

“Except for one little problem…” Martin said idly. He stood at the living room windows and stared outside.

“What problem would that be?” Thankfully, Angus asked the question because Rika had their earlier, aborted kiss stuck on replay in her brain.

“You said a witch trapped you in a tree that became a book, right?” Martin took a sip of his coffee.

“Aye.”

“Tall, swanky looking lady with green hair and different colored eyes?”

Angus scowled. “Aye, Georgiana. A wicked woman who demanded I wed her, but when I refused, she exacted her retribution by trapping me.”

“Wonderful,” Martin said, his tone anything but. “Bridget darling, we’re about to have company.”

The door shuddered under a pounding and the witch singer pivoted.

“Where’s my sword?” Angus demanded.

“No sword for you. Rika, you and Angus get upstairs. I’ll deal with this Georgiana.”

Torn between taking the escape and helping Bridget, Rika hesitated. Angus didn’t. He scooped her up and took the stairs two at a time. “I’ve got ye, lassie. Let the wise witch take on the bad witch.”

“You do realize I’m a bad witch, too, don’t you?” The blunt honesty irked her, but at least she had some control over it. They were near the door to her room when the whole house shuddered—then Bridget began to sing.

After Angus closed the door, the sounds muted. It was suddenly just her and the hot highlander.

“We have a lot to say to each other,” he admitted, but his gaze fixed on her mouth. “But if I kiss ye again, will that white light fling me back downstairs?”

“No,” she promised. The Baba Yaga had severed the time loop and Rika didn’t have any desire to summon it again. Not when she had Angus all to herself. “But I should help Bridget.”

“In a minute, lassie. I promise, we won’t let anything happen to her.” His mouth settled on hers and every synapse Rika possessed short-fired. Opening her mouth to his sensual invasion, she groaned then wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her grip.

If she knew nothing else, she knew she belonged in his arms.

An explosion blew out all the windows, but she barely heard it. Not with Angus twining his tongue with hers.

They tumbled onto the bed, and the earth shook.

“Did you feel that?” he murmured in between brushes of his lips to hers.

“Feel what?” She slid her hands beneath his shirt, and explored all that sinewy muscle.

Oh yeah, she was definitely inspired now…

5

Bridget

Kid steals my diary, casts a spell to summon her muse, and frees a guy from a book who just happens to have been trapped by a witch. The same witch who was now hammering the exterior of the cottage with spell after spell.

“Martin, you should go upstairs, too.” I knew he wouldn’t go. My darling professor would never leave my side.

He’d withdrawn from the windows and retrieved a shotgun from the closet. When had he picked that up? “I’ve got your back.”

Warmth bloomed within my soul at his declaration. I’d never had anyone I could rely on in that fashion. A magical blast shook the house, but I ignored it. My wards held. The older wards someone, likely the Baba Yaga, had placed buffeted my protections. I was a singer, not a combat witch. Throw me into a sing off, and I’d come out the champion.

Brute force? That was going to take a minute. Rika had the raw power, but she lacked the real focus to keep it under control. The house shuddered as I closed the distance between Martin and me. He opened his arm and pulled me in for a slow, gentle kiss.

“Don’t let any spells hit you.”

“I’m pretty much immortal, remember?” His fingers splayed against my lower back. Pretty much wasn’t an exact science. He was reborn, he could remember all his lives, that didn’t mean I wanted to spend the next thirty years missing him like hell until he rejuvenated.

It had been an insane morning. Rika’s disappearance hot on the heels of the highlander just showing up in our house had left me a little disconcerted. More, Angus had been a personable fellow and very interested in defending Rika.

Everything else aside, his absolute honesty in his caring for our teenage—not a teenager, Bridget—right or wrong, it would still take a while to get used to that little nugget. For the last month, I’d complained about her and resented her presence and now I kind of missed her.

Another boom from outside the house, and the glass in the windows shattered inward. I hit a perfect high C, vaporizing the flying shards before they could strike us. Whoever this witch was, she wasn’t going away. “All right, stay inside.” Trusting Martin to watch my back as he’d promised, I made for the doors.

The air sparkled with a dozen different kinds of fireworks. The green haired witched stood about thirty feet away, launching them from her palms. She probably couldn’t get any closer, thanks to the wards. At my appearance, her crazy eyes widened, and she flung another volley of magic toward me. It impacted on the wards and created a hell of a light show.

Thank the Goddess it was daytime, or we’d have the locals swarming over us. Huh, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Shifters comprised a lot of the locals. They could eat her.

“Excuse me,” I said, though it was unlikely she heard me over all the explosions her fireworks generated. Squinting, I tried to shield my eyes from the bright array. It took her five minutes to expend her wad. The wards wobbled, but they didn’t collapse.

Yep, years with the vampires had made me meticulous about some things.

When she paused for a breath, I tried again. “Excuse me.”

“Give me back my highlander,” the woman shrieked. It was a discordant yowl that seemed torn between sobbing and fury.

“Yeah, about that…” I kept my voice as soothing as possible. Maybe I could lull her into relaxing her crazed attack. “I get the feeling the relationship between you and Angus didn’t quite work out.”

“He’s mine!” And the fireworks started all over again.

Holy Aphrodite on crack. Had someone struck this woman with a love spell? It didn’t seem to matter that nothing she did was getting through or that I was simply standing there under the full weight of the assault. Folding my arms, I waited her out—again.

It took her longer than five minutes. Maybe my presence incensed her, because she switched from sparklers to virtual hammers of force. One of the wards finally cracked under the pressure, but I had a dozen layers settled atop the older ones. At this rate, it would take her a day or more to get through.

Hopefully she’d pass out before then.

“Anytime you feel like talking,” I called. “I’m right here.”

“Witchypoo?” Martin said from somewhere behind me. My adversary’s gaze didn’t move off me, so my lover hadn’t stepped into her field of vision. I was so proud of him.

“Yes, love?”

“Coffee?”

My lips twitched. “Sounds heavenly, but it might be rude to drink in front of her.”

“Since she invited herself and hasn’t had the courtesy to open a line of conversation, she can suffer.” His firm tone brooked no argument.

“You have a point.” Trusting the wards, I turned my back on the crazy lady and ascended the stairs. Martin stood just inside the door and offered me the mug of coffee. “Thank you, darling.”

“You are so welcome,” he said with a smile. “Now, I’m pretty sure the squeaking has nothing to do with the attack from outside.”

I grimaced and he mirrored the expression. “Well, she’s not really sixteen.”

“Hard to wrap the mind around that, isn’t it?”

Georgiana renewed her assault and the noise level rose. Ugh, it was so going to give me a headache. I took a sip of the delightful coffee then sighed. “I can’t deal with the idea that she’s having sex with a guy she summoned from a book. So, we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Martin gave me a skeptical look.

“Yeah, don’t start. We have a thousand issues. Her sex life is not going to be one of them.”

Georgiana’s assault ceased. The abruptness had me twisting to see her sink down into the grass. Her raw fury had vanished to be replaced by heartbroken despair.

Despite Martin’s earlier question, I didn’t hear any squeaking.

Pop went the highlander….

Angus and Rika…sealed the deal. Georgiana knew it.

There wasn’t enough wine in the world for this kind of drama. “Remind me to stake the next vampire I meet.” I handed my coffee cup back and marched across the yard to the sobbing witch.

I stopped just inside the wards—you know, on the off chance the crazy lady went batshit again—and said, “Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s chosen her…the magic that linked us is gone.”

Pretty sure it had evaporated a long time before Angus met Rika, but my comment wasn’t likely to be helpful at this moment, so I settled for, “I’m sorry.”

The words penetrated her wailing, and she looked at me through teary eyes. Huh, she had one blue eye and one green. Kind of interesting. “Why are you sorry?”

“Well, that’s a damn good question, but if you’re done raining hell down on my house, maybe I can help.”

“Can you get me Angus back?”

“No, probably not.” I didn’t even hesitate to turn down the nutty. “In fact, I would recommend not mentioning your participation in his incarceration. Pretty much against the law, and the Baba Yaga frowns mightily on that.”

Gripping her green hair in her hands, she seemed to be tugging on it. “The Baba Yaga doesn’t care about me.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly, either.” Their great and masterful witch of witches had a peculiar sense of humor, a long memory, and a wicked sense of spell casting.

“Just leave me here to die. My heart is forever broken.”

Before I could come up with some pithy remark, Martin appeared with a bucket, and he flung the contents over Georgiana, soaking her to the skin.

She shrieked, jumped up, then danced in a circle.

“Ice water,” Martin said cheerfully. “That’s a wakeup call. Stop sobbing over a man who didn’t want you and who you had to trap into a tree to keep. It’s undignified and rather sad. You’re pretty enough, and powerful enough, and one would hope intelligent enough, to recognize your own value rather than basing it entirely on a man.”

I adored him. He was so practical.

Georgiana stopped circling and stared at Martin. Her wild unhappiness ebbed and a speculative gleam entered her eyes.

“Do it, and I’ll shatter every bone in your body.” I didn’t like violence, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t use it if she didn’t take her skank gaze off my guy.

Her attention jerked to me and she bit her lip. Whatever she saw in my face must have convinced her, because she nodded and backed up a step. Then another. Finally, she turned and began trudging away in the direction of town.

We stood there, watching her go, and I sighed.

“It’s okay,” Martin told me, rubbing my arm. “You want to help her.”

“Not really, I want to go back to bed and wake up and send Rika to school and get back to the fixing the problems I already had.” Yet, I couldn’t take my gaze off her. Right or wrong, Georgiana was hurting. I felt bad for her. I didn’t want to feel bad for her, I wanted to utterly ignore her plight. I had windows to fix, and a mess to deal with upstairs.

Whether she was really forty-five or sixteen, the Baba Yaga charged me with teaching Rika. I’d already made a colossal mess of that.

“Well, on the upside, we don’t have to fight with her to go to school anymore.”

I couldn’t help it, that did make me laugh. “And we can charge her rent.”

The humor didn’t last long. “Bridget…” Martin slid his arms around me, and pulled me back against him. Georgiana had vanished in the distance. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like the jokes on me. Rika was annoying, but she was—ours, and now she really isn’t. She’s just another recipient of re-education courtesy of the Baba Yaga.”

He said nothing for a long moment, but his hands settled against my abdomen. Finally, he asked, “Were you nesting, witchypoo?”

Making a face, I pulled away. “Don’t you get any ideas.” The idea of nesting meant I was thinking of settling down, which meant babies were an option. Martin would make the most beautiful babies, and a darling of a father…nope.

Not doing it.

“Let’s go clean up.”

I made it all the way to do the door before he caught up, and he didn’t even try to hide his chuckling at me.

“We have all the time in the world, witchypoo…”

A hint of white light hit the corner of my eye and I jerked, ready to shield Martin. That time warp spell was not welcome. But it wasn’t a spell, it was the light hitting Angus’ sword, which Martin had set in the corner next to the shotgun.

“Wait a minute, he was in a tartan and carrying a sword, right?”

“That’s what we saw.”

Georgiana had been in a long white shift, it kind of reminded me of an old granny gown…and Angus said he’d been in a tree.

The where Angus came from suddenly had a lot less impact than the when. Chronomagic—stealing people out of time—that was not a crime she wanted anything to do with.

“Martin…hypothetical question?”

“Hmm?” He’d fetched a broom and already begun sweeping up the glass debris.

“Someone steals someone else out of time, stores them away, and they’re freed now. Who’s guilty? The person who took him? The person who set him free? Or the witch who just let it all happen?”

He paused. “Interesting question.”

So not the answer I wanted to hear. Above—the squeaking started again. Martin and I shared a look and I started to sing. Soundproofing took precedence over everything else.

6

Rika

Angus had an insatiable appetite, and Rika thoroughly enjoyed being the recipient of all his passion. Sometime between her first orgasm and her third, the assault on the house ceased. They’d sprawled together, all naked limbs and with the magnificent male beneath her. He curved his hand around her hip possessively. The tingling in her body spread out and his expression softened.

One by one, the chains on her magic fell away, and she sat up abruptly. A hint of a stretch mark appeared on one of her boobs. They were fuller, heavier and her hips seemed to spread a fraction. A glance at her hands revealed hints of tougher skin.

“Oh!” Wiggling away, she stalked across the room to the mirror. The face staring back at her was fuller, the hard angles of youth having softened over the years. A little more weight sat on her hips and her tummy had rounded out—her passion for ice cream cakes biting her in the ass and her abs.

“Lassie, don’t look so distressed.” The mirror filled with his presence as he came up behind her. “You’re exquisite.”

“I was kind of hoping I’d keep the firm body.” She wasn’t bad looking, but she didn’t have a pert ass anymore. The hard-bodied highlander pressed up against her and drew her to him. He covered her breasts with his wide hands. They were heavy and calloused and warm.

“Your body is beautiful, Rika.” He promised her, then dipped his head to tease her cheek with a kiss even as he began to massage her breasts. “You’re a woman, strong, proud, and utterly perfect for me.”

“You do know I was in that tight little body you debauched all over that bed a few minutes, ago, right?” The debauched word had been his choice, but she rather liked it.

“I know, and I enjoyed you immensely.” He turned to nuzzle a kiss on the other side of her face. Against her bottom, the evidence of his interest thickened against her bottom.

Okay, now she was certain she’d summoned him from fiction. No guy had that kind of stamina unless he was a Shifter.

“Lassie, don’t get any ideas in that head, ye ken? I’ve spent centuries locked away, the prisoner of a witch who wanted me to love her, and while I’d thought well of Georgiana, she never had my heart. You? You stole your way in at first glance.” The depth of emotion in his voice had her meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Don’t lock yourself away from me because your body has changed. Twasn’t the body I wanted, but the woman I see in your eyes. The woman who is still there.”

It seemed forever since she’d been herself, she’d almost forgotten what being an adult felt like. Angus’ declaration took her out at the knees. “We barely know each other.”

“Then we take the time, you still have to study with the witch downstairs, aye?”

“Aye…”

“Then while you study, we shall court, if the lady be willing.”

Court. It was so—archaic a gesture and yet her heart fluttered. Why now? Why had she gotten her body back? She’d confessed her transgressions, more out of self-preservation than anything else.

Because you thought of someone besides yourself. The Baba Yaga’s voice held an element of annoyance in it. Now, the spell is done and you’re free. Just remember, I’m watching you.

The last link containing her magic faded away and Rika snapped her fingers. The room around them filled with candles and rose petals. The bed grew, and the highlander watched her with the most besotted look.

“I think I’d very much like to court with you.” Elation curved through her heart. “Does that mean we’re not allowed to debauch each other anymore?”

Flexing his considerable muscle, Angus lifted her into his arms and turned her so he could press a kiss to her lips. “That is entirely up to the lady. If you wish me to remain chaste while I prove my worth, then I shall suffer for your favor.”

Oh, bringing him into the present was going to be so much fun.

A chittering sounded from the center of the bed and they both paused. From beneath the rose petals a pair of chipmunks scurried and Rika felt her eyes grow round. Angus’ arms tightened.

“Hello!” One of the chipmunks declared.

“Hi hi!” The other echoed. They scurried around each other in circles, then paused at the end of the bed. Their heads tilted in unison. “Whatcha doing?”

“Witch,” Angus said in a controlled voice.

“I think I just got my familiars.”

It was Christmas, witch style.

“Then rodents are good things?” The careful question suggested he wasn’t as comfortable with the little woodland creatures.

“We’re not rodents.” The chipmunks chorused. “We’ve waited ages for you.”

Had they really?

Happiness ballooned inside of her and she grabbed Angus for another delighted kiss before looking to her familiars. “I’m so happy to meet you, but we’re naked and going to have lots more sex. Could you two go find Bridget and introduce yourselves, and I’ll find you later?”

The critters high-fived each other and vanished in a poof. Angus walked onto the bed with her, knocking the rose petals aside with his feet before he settled her onto the bed and leaned down to steal another kiss.

“So now I know you’re a witch with delectable curves and rodents for a familiar.”

“Chipmunks,” she corrected, deliriously happy. Who knew thinking of others could pay off?

Maybe she’d been in the wrong racket all these years.

“Indeed,” the highlander began kissing his way down to her breasts and she forgot about anything except Angus.

“Are we courting?” Breathless, she didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Debauching,” he answered as he continued his descent. “Court later.”

All right by her.

Music filled the air, soft jazz that Rika loved. Overhead, stars began to dance and her magic swirled through her.

The only explosions she created were all Angus’ fault.

Bridget

It took two days, but Rika and Angus finally came up for air. After sending Angus off with Martin to get clothes, supplies, and a twentieth century crash course, I found Rika in the kitchen playing with her chipmunks. Searching her face, it took me a moment, but I located the girl we’d been ‘raising’ for the last month in the woman before me.

“I feel like I should apologize,” Rika began. Even her voice had changed. It had grown huskier, and the haughtiness in her manner vanished. The woman held herself with confidence and poise, but without the bitchiness of her younger self.

“For what?” Genuinely curious, I poured a couple of mugs of coffee.

“For misleading you. And, yes, I know the spell kept me from telling you what was going on, but I thought I was stuck until I learned magic all over again, and you weren’t thrilled with the plan to begin with…”

It made sense. “You were worried I would kick you out if I found out about your crimes?”

“Something like that,” Rika admitted. “And even when you were driving me nuts, you and Martin were great. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

After handing her a cup of coffee, I gave it some thought. “I’m not.”

“No?” Rika sounded so surprised.

“No.” I couldn’t really think of her as the younger witch anymore. Not when we were apparently the same age. The wistfulness I’d experienced after her ruse had been discovered remained. Martin was all on board with the idea of giving me babies, but I kept that tabled for now. “I’m glad I got to know you. I learned a lot about myself.”

“Me, too.”

“Yes, but we’re talking about me right now,” I reminded her. Rika laughed then waved at me to continue. “I learned I don’t have as much patience as I thought I did. I learned that helping someone else doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ignoring what I need to do for me, too. Even if I am, then sometimes it’s worth it.”

“I hear you on that.” For a moment, we were in perfect accord. “I don’t think you were great as a fake mom, but I would like to be your sister.”

I considered it for a long moment, then raised my coffee cup. “I should warn you, I come with a lot of baggage.”

“Hello, my lover was a romance hero for several years, and before that he was a tree.”

Hmm. I could see her point. “Mine is a teacher for the ages, and when I met him he was a skunk.”

Rika’s lips twitched. “I defied the Baba Yaga.”

“Been there, done that—and I pissed off a whole nest of vampires. Spent a few years as their pet siren.”

“You got me there.” Rika considered her coffee cup. “We’re kind of misfits.”

“Yes, but I win.” I toasted her with the coffee mug, then began to take a sip. Just as the mug touched my lips, an explosion rocked the house, and we both looked at each other

“Again?” Rika raised her eyebrows.

I sighed, then set the cup down. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Hang on!” Rika grabbed my arm. “Sisters remember?”

A strange sensation settled in the vicinity of my heart, near where Martin had taken up residence. When he said he’d always have my back, I believed him.

“You don’t have to go out there alone. The only person who gets to give you a hard time is me.” The possessive note in Rika’s tone was almost cute.

“Fine, but if you take my diary again, I’ll sing your hero impotent.”

“Mean.” But she laughed.

Another explosion rocked the house.

A drunken voice yowled from outside.

“It’s Georgiana,” I sighed. I knew I should have gone to find her after she disappeared from the house.

“Then let’s go see if we can fix her problem.”

“You do know, we don’t really know what her problem is.” Losing Angus wasn’t it. That was just a symptom.

Rika winked. “I’m an expert investigator, and you’re the witch singer…we got this.”

Crazily enough, I believed her. When she led the way to the door, I followed.

First Martin. Now Rika.

Family was a pretty cool thing to have.

Especially when a drunk witch was flinging spells at the house…

Who knew? Maybe we’ll adopt Georgiana next.

Don’t scoff, I hooked up with a skunk, remember?

No one knows what the future holds.

I just know it’s going to be sweet.

Bridget, Martin, Rika, and Angus will return in The Witched Away Bride.

June, 2017

About the Author

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

www.heatherlong.net

Twitter: @HVLong

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