The Cat’s Meow
Witch’s Brew Book One
Stacey Kennedy
Genre: Urban
Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Entangled
Publishing
ISBN: 9781622668571
ASIN: B00ANY22Z4
Number of pages: 256 pages
Word Count: 75,000
words
Cover Artist: PJ
Edwards
Book Description:
Libby is an
Enchantress—a witch gifted by the Goddess to conjure spells. When a magical
presence is detected around a recent string of feline slayings, Libby takes the
case to uncover the reasons behind the odd deaths. Much to her displeasure, the
coven also sends a sexy warlock, Kale, to assist her.
While having the
muscle around proves to be useful, fighting the attraction between them is
worse than a hex, especially considering Kale is keeping secrets. But soon,
Libby has bigger problems than the elusive warlock when her spells turn up clues
that point to something far more sinister than slaughtered cats.
Now Libby has
landed herself in the midst of an uprising. She trusts no one and isn’t
safe—not from the warlocks stirring up trouble. Not from the worrisome
rebellion she can’t escape. And certainly not from Kale, who is weaving a very
dangerous spell
over her heart.
Excerpt:
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 fluffball 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?
About the Author:
Stacey Kennedy’s
novels are lighthearted fantasy with heart-squeezing, thigh-clenching romance,
and even give a good chuckle every now and again. But within the stories you’ll
also find fast-paced action, life-threatening moments, and a big bad villain
who needs to be destroyed. She lives in Southwestern Ontario with her husband
and two children. If she’s not plugging away at a new story—which is rare because
her muse is annoying—you’ll find her camping, curling up with the latest flick,
or obsessing over Sons of Anarchy, Games
of Thrones, Supernatural and Dexter.
Tess Jennings has the ability to see and talk to spirits. On a daily basis, they harass and annoy her to save their souls. Sometimes she helps, other times she ignores them, but one ghost will give her no choice. Kipp McGowan, a cop with the Memphis Police Department, uses his ghostly charms to gain her attention and forces her to expose herself to his partner. As she’s pulled into the five year old cold case of Hannah Reid she wants no part of, she finds herself in more than one precarious situation. But that’s the least of her worries--Tess begins to have a serious problem on her hands. Kipp might be dead, but he’s drop-dead gorgeous and she’s beginning to forget that he’s a ghost. Murder and corruption has brought Tess and Kipp together. But as her feelings for Kipp deepen, she suspects she just signed herself up for a one-way ticket to the nut house, and can only hope, straitjackets come in a size four. 
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