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