Walking in a Witchy Wonderland Read online

  WALKING IN A WITCHY

  WONDERLAND

  JULIETTE CROSS

  Copyright © 2021 by Juliette Cross

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Jennifer Zemanek.

  For my beloved son, Jacob.

  Mom hopes you find your JJ or Charlie or Thomas. As long as they love and

  cherish the brilliant, kind-hearted man that you are.

  CONTENTS

  Bewitch You A Merry Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Rockin’ Around The Hexmas Tree

  7. Chapter 1

  8. Chapter 2

  9. Chapter 3

  10. Chapter 4

  11. Chapter 5

  Jingle Bell Jock

  12. Chapter 1

  13. Chapter 2

  14. Chapter 3

  15. Chapter 4

  16. Chapter 5

  17. Chapter 6

  18. Chapter 7

  19. Chapter 8

  You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grim

  20. Chapter 1

  21. Chapter 2

  22. Chapter 3

  23. Chapter 4

  Jingle Spells

  24. Chapter 1

  25. Chapter 2

  26. Chapter 3

  27. Chapter 4

  BEWITCH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS

  *Timeline: Takes place in December immediately following Wolf Gone Wild .

  CHAPTER 1

  ~EVIE~

  “You want me to do what now?”

  I stared at the thirtyish man in his well-starched shirt and fancy tie swallowing up the two-top table with his muscular frame. He pointed to his nose.

  “I look like fucking Rudolph!”

  He really did. His nose was puffy as if he had a cold, but much ruddier than someone with a sniffle. And it had a nice sheen on the bulbous tip like a glossy bowling ball. A shame, that. Because he’d be very good looking if it weren’t for his ridiculously red and swollen nose.

  “It could just be a bad cold. Why do you think this is a curse?” I asked calmly, flicking my gaze to my sister Violet. She stood behind the bar near us, chin in both hands, elbows on the counter, her Poinsettia-red dyed hair falling around her pale face, watching us with unabashed delight.

  It was always my first instinct to be skeptical when someone came in, swearing

  that a curse had been put on them. Only about twenty-five percent of the complainants who come to me actually had a witch’s hex put on them.

  “That’s not all,” he blustered.

  He glanced around then jumped up and stomped over to the Christmas tree next to our small stage for live entertainment. He grabbed an ornament off the tree, then huffed back over to me. Thankfully, it was four o’clock, our daytime lull for customers. However, a man reading his paper and drinking a Witch’s Brew

  longneck did pause to watch the angry guy plucking something off our Christmas tree before storming back across the room.

  Mr. Romano sat back down, the chair creaking beneath his weight. He was over

  six feet tall with a thick build. But I didn’t get any menacing vibes from him.

  They were all directed at the witch he claimed put the hex on him. She lived in the other half of the duplex building he rented.

  He slapped the ornament on the table. It was a metal angel with a skirt made into a bell. He pointed at the offending ornament, squinting his eyes like a snake ready to strike.

  “Ring that bell,” he commanded gruffly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Ring it.”

  Arching a brow at his aggressiveness, I lifted the obviously offensive angel ornament and gave it a little tinkling ring. His scowling face suddenly transformed into a comical doll-like expression then he said in a girly voice,

  “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

  Violet burst into cackling laughter behind me. I shot her a death-glare then returned my steady gaze to Mr. Romano whose expression hardened back into the deep scowl he’d been wearing since he stepped into the Cauldron ten minutes ago. I reached for the bell again.

  “Please don’t do it,” he begged, expression tight and grim. “Every time I hear a bell, I’m compelled to say that damn line from that old black and white Gary Cooper Christmas movie.

  I looked over at Violet. “Gary Cooper Christmas movie?”

  My sister rolled her eyes. “He means Jimmy Stewart. It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  Okay, now I had to admit this was looking like a curse.

  “Please ring it again,” pleaded Violet, barely smothering her wicked glee.

  I shot her another warning glare then returned my attention to Mr. Romano. “Is

  there anything else?”

  He scratched his jaw where his day-old scruff was morphing into a beard. I wasn’t sure if the hair growth was intentional or if this curse just had him so off-balanced he’d given up on regular hygiene. He was dressed impeccably, but the

  rest of him looked awful.

  He mumbled something I didn’t quite hear.

  “What was that?”

  “Wish me a Merry you-know-what.” He gave a flourish of his fingers for me to

  fill in the blank.

  Before I could even open my mouth, Violet belted out, “Merry Christmas!”

  Mr. Romano slammed a fast on the table, his brows slanted into an angry V, then growled dramatically, “Bah humbug!”

  Violet fell into a fit of laughter, drawing our bartender JJ’s attention, from where he was at the other end of the bar, talking to his one lone customer. Actually, the well-dressed gentleman was leaning in, gaze riveted on JJ. Looked like more than talking was going on. Good for JJ. He had been in a dating dry spell and needed to venture out there again. Maybe it was just because I was crazy happy

  and in love, but I wanted everyone to find themselves a Mateo. Not my Mateo, mind you, but their own version of my amazing, gorgeous, sexy-as-hell, werewolf boyfriend.

  Violet choked on her own spit as she cackled, drawing me back to the present.

  Poor Mr. Romano looked appropriately humiliated. A sizzling charge in the air tingled along my skin, telling me that magic simmered in the room. I didn’t need to even “check” to see if this was a curse, but I figured I’d better go through the motions anyway. It would look more legit if he saw me behaving a little more woo-woo, like a witch who knew what she was doing. Besides, I needed something simple after my last job. That one had been a doozy. The only good

  thing about the last one was that it dropped Mateo into my lap. And into my bed, thank the heavens.

  “Hold out your hand, Mr. Romano.”

  He held out one of his giant paws, well-manicured, but broad with a thick, silver ring around his index finger. I took hold of him and closed my eyes. Within a millisecond, the electric charge of magic sizzled straight through my hand and shot up my arm, giving me a little shiver. I suppressed the smile, because the witch behind the hex was a benevolent one. Tracings of her personality mingled

  with the magic, telling me all I needed to know
. As if I wasn’t sure of it already, this hex was the hexer’s idea of a joke. Still, he was hiring me to break it, and I would. First things first.

  “Oh, I see,” I said, knitting my brow, putting on a grave face.

  “What?” he asked eagerly. “What do you see?”

  Opening my eyes, I let go of his hand and straightened my posture. “You’re right. Definitely a curse. However, I’ll need to come to your duplex to break it.”

  He ground out a few profane words under his breath, balling his meaty hand into a fist. “Why not now?”

  “I need to be where you were when the hex was placed on you.”

  Totally a lie. It didn’t matter at all. I just needed to meet the witch responsible, face-to-face.

  He grumbled something under his breath. I swear, if this guy had any magic of

  his own, I’d think he was a werewolf with all the snarling noises he was making.

  “I’ve got a meeting uptown in an hour, then a business dinner.” He pushed both

  hands through his hair, leaning back and linking his fingers behind his neck, his brown-eyed gaze focused on the ceiling. “I don’t think I can make it through without incident,” he said more to himself.

  Damn, this guy really was suffering. “What time is your next meeting over?”

  Gaze leveling on me with a heavy exhale, he mumbled, “Four thirty. I should already be on my way.”

  “And your dinner?”

  “Eight. In Metairie.”

  “No problem.” I glanced at Violet who was still completely riveted to my little business transaction. “I’ll meet you at your place at six-thirty, break the curse, and be gone within half an hour. Plenty of time for you to get to your business dinner.”

  “You can do it that quick?”

  This curse would take me about thirty seconds to unlock and release. But I didn’t tell him that. I needed some time to find out what this was really all about and keep it from happening again. His little Christmas hex was created with benign

  magic. But if I didn’t get to the bottom of why she hexed him in the first place, it could escalate to something more sinister if she was a vindictive kind of person.

  That was one thing no one realized about a hex-breaker’s job. Removing the hex

  was only one part. I had to get to the root of why it had been put on the hexee in the first place. I was sort of a problem-solver or conflict mediator to make sure both parties were at peace with each other by the time it was said and done.

  My sisters and I, the Savoie Sisters as our coven was known, played the part of law enforcers and peace-keepers among the supernaturals of New Orleans. We

  each held a unique magical gift to tackle different problems among our fellow witches, the vampires, the werewolves, and the elusive grim reapers. Actually, we’d never had to intervene with any grim that I’d ever known. But that wasn’t

  unusual. They kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble. Or they covered their tracks too well when they did get into a mess.

  The vampires tended to attract trouble, but their beauty and magnetism wasn’t their fault. The werewolves tended to have huge blowouts of violence that was

  quelled quickly or they stayed off the radar entirely. Like my darling Mateo.

  Until he was completely and totally on my radar.

  Surprisingly, it was the other witches who seemed to cause the most mischief.

  Like whoever had put this hex on Marcus Romano. So I had to intervene and do

  more than remove the hex. I’d confront her and make sure all was well and that

  this wasn’t going to escalate into some sort of turf war between the witch and her dominant, overbearing neighbor. Because with the way he was trying to control our short meeting, when he should at least attempt to be placating since he needed my help, told me a lot about Mr. Romano. He was a man used to getting what he wanted and accustomed to stomping over others to get it.

  “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, pulling out a business card and scribbling an address on the back. Then he stuck out his ham-sized hand for me to shake. “I’ll see you at six-thirty. On the dot.” He arched a commanding brow at me, his voice going

  gruff. I wanted to laugh at his attempt to intimidate me, if that’s what this was.

  He didn’t know I’d wrestled with the most dominant alpha of them all and won

  —Mateo’s wolf. Actually, that was what his wolf called himself. Alpha. He had

  a voice of his own inside Mateo’s head. If his self-appointed name didn’t fit him like a glove, it would be laughable. But there was little about Mateo’s wolf that made me laugh. Moan? Melt? Shiver? Scream his name? Yeah. But not laugh.

  “On the dot.” I shook Mr. Romano’s hand. “I’m curious. How’d you know to come to me?”

  Few humans knew that supernaturals lived amongst them, that magic was real.

  Those who did know pretended they didn’t, because who would believe them, right?

  He stood from the table. “I’ve done some business with Ruben Dubois.”

  “Ahh.” I nodded.

  That was all the explanation needed. If he’d done business with the head of the vampire coven in New Orleans, then he probably knew a great deal about our kind.

  Without another glance at me or Violet, he strode out of the Cauldron, banging

  the door open as he left. Mateo brushed past him, frowning over his shoulder. I stepped over and leaned on the bar, arms crossed, watching my man come closer. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back away from his face, one wayward piece loose over an eye. He’d told me he’d be working on his latest commission in his studio most of the day. Those well-worn jeans, ripped at the

  knee, made my mouth water. I was sure he had one of those threadbare T-shirts

  on underneath his black hoodie. I wanted to pull off his hoodie and find out.

  “I’m going with you to that guy’s place,” said Violet on my left behind me.

  “The hell you are.”

  Scoffing like she was insulted, she said, “Why not?”

  Leveling my are-you-kidding-me look at her, I rolled my eyes and turned back to Mateo, who’d caught sight of me, his tilted smile and roving gaze heating my skin and making my pulse flutter in my chest. I wondered how long it would take for the newness of our relationship to wear off, for my heart to not trip every time he stepped into the room. I hoped never.

  “Well, you’re not going alone.” Violet pulled a rag from behind the bar and swiped it over the wooden counter. “That guy could get violent. He had that look about him.”

  “What guy?” asked Mateo, now in front of me, hands sliding around my waist,

  his mouth dipping to brush a sweet kiss over mine.

  “That behemoth who just left,” answered Violet. “Mateo, don’t let her go alone.”

  His mouth worked mine open, his tongue taking a slick glide inside. One of his

  hands pressed at the small of my back, the other wrapped around my ponytail and tugged so he could have better access to my mouth. I clutched onto his hoodie, moaning as I sank against his six-and-a-half-foot frame. He was built leaner than Mr. Romano, but he was packed with sinuous muscle. And inside him lived a nearly nine-foot werewolf if I ever needed him. This was my safe place. My heaven on earth. My Christmas wish come true.

  He broke our kiss. I chased his mouth, still hungry, but he gripped my ponytail tighter. “Why would you go to that guy’s place?”

  Fisting tighter on his hoodie for balance, I lifted onto my tiptoes and nipped his jaw. “I have to break his hex and meet his neighbor.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he offered, his voice di
pping into a husky purr.

  Flattening my feet, I glanced up to see a flash of gold roll over his eyes. Alpha wasn’t happy about me going to some guy’s place. I pressed a finger into the divot of his chin.

  “Of course you’re going with me.”

  He grinned back in reply, both of us just staring like the lovestruck dummies we were.

  Violet rounded the bar to bus a two-top. “You do know we have customers, right?”

  Not pulling my attention from Mateo, I slid my hands up his chest to lock around his neck. “One is flirting with JJ, and the other is buried in his newspaper.”

  “Still,” she passed by us, carrying three beer mugs in each hand, “it’s rude.”

  Sighing, I pulled out of Mateo’s arms, glancing at my watch. “I’m off shift in

  thirty minutes, then just need to go take a quick shower.”

  He tugged on the bottom of my T-shirt, his index finger sliding over the skin of my belly. “New T-shirt?”

  Looking down like I could forget my latest novelty shirt, I read the caption below Deadpool in a Santa suit: Sit on my lap. I’ll make your wish come true.

  “I’m getting in the Christmas spirit.”

  “I see that.” He slid the back of his index finger along my skin above the edge of my jeans, sending a pleasant chill down my spine. Goosebumps tingled on my skin. When he looked up from where his hand glided under my shirt, his eyes flared more gold than brown. “When do I get you to myself, Evie?”

  Shivering at the roughness in his voice, I replied a little breathlessly, “Soon. I have to get a shower and go break that hex first.”

  He leaned down and bit my earlobe, then licked away the sting. “I’m going crazy over here.”

  “Evie!” I jumped back out of Mateo’s arms like a child caught with her hand in

  the cookie jar. I glanced down at the bulge in his jeans, kind of wishing I’d had my hand in his cookie jar.

  “Yeah?” I circled to the sound of my sister Isadora hurrying into the bar.

  Her blond waves streamed loosely around the shoulders of her pale green peasant blouse. She scurried around the tables, her flowy, cream-and-crimson skirt swishing, desperation in her bright green eyes. Isadora was my only sister with the same green eyes as my own.