Bewicched, p.1
Bewicched, page 1
BEWICCHED
The Sea Wicche Chronicles
SEANA KELLY
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Bewicched: The Sea Wicche Chronicles
Copyright © 2023 by Seana Kelly
Ebook ISBN: 9781641972345
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
NYLA Publishing
121 W. 27th St., Suite 1201, NY 10001, New York.
http://www.nyliterary.com
Contents
1. They Weren’t Kidding When They Called Me, Well, a Wicche
2. Chocolate Makes Everything Better. Mostly
3. Dealer’s Choice
4. Yes, Mom. I Know, Mom
5. It Doesn’t Pay to Piss Me Off
6. In Which Arwyn Learns the Conditions Put on Love
7. Wanna See My Fort?
8. Spider-Man, Ironman, and Wile E. Coyote
9. The Woods Are Watching
10. It’s the Balance That Impresses Me
11. In Which Arwyn Needs to Deal with Creepy Shit Closer to Home
12. See? She’s Not All Bad
13. This Tentacle Isn’t Going to Seal Itself
14. Let the Apologies Begin
15. Worst Walk in the Woods Ever
16. When I Said She Wasn’t All Bad, It Was Understood She Was Pretty Bad, Right?
17. Blackmail Is Such an Ugly Word. Accurate, but Ugly
18. Actually, I Do Know a Demon
19. I Was Going to Need a Nap After This
20. You Might Want to Look Away
21. Muffins Alfresco
22. Does Everyone Have a Cousin Who Can Get You What You Need?
23. The Dreaded Three Naming
24. Mom’s Meltdown
25. Unexpected Visitors
26. In Which Sam Learns She Has Family Who Don’t Want to Kill Her
27. Demicche
28. Just a Little One?
29. Thanks, Dad!
30. Nightmare Negotiations
31. The Siren and the Werewolf
32. Jeez, Is This the Real Corey Curse?
33. Never Get Between a Bear and His Honey
34. Too Bad You Can’t Eat in a Vision
35. Unicorn Deception
36. Cookies & Milk
37. So, We’re Doing This?
38. My Cousins Suck
39. Gran Brings the Hammer
40. Unexpected Messengers
41. In Which Arwyn Comes to Terms With Her Life Being a Bit Too Interesting
Excerpt from Wicche Hunt: The Sea Wicche Chronicles #2
Dear Reader,
Acknowledgments
Want more books from Seana?
Titles by Seana Kelly
About Seana Kelly
For my brother Pat Kelly
who invited me into his room when we were little to read the poem Annabel Lee to me,
thereby assuring my love of reading, Poe, and him
1
They Weren’t Kidding When They Called Me, Well, a Wicche
Ursula, a villain who did not deserve to be considered one, was my favorite Disney princess. She’s a working woman, offering a service, and was vilified for it. The payment was obvious. The whiners knew the score. They just thought they were special, that they could get magic for free. That’s not how magic works. You always have to pay. Plus, octopuses are incredible, so I refused to support fairy tales disparaging them.
The Little Mermaid aside, I was calling my Monterey seaside art gallery and tea bar The Sea Wicche because I, Arwyn Cassandra Corey, am a sea wicche, or at least I really wanted to be. The wicche part is true enough.
It was a perfect day, with clear blue skies and a cold, salty wind on the California coast. I went out the back door of my art studio to the deck that ran along the ocean side of a small, abandoned cannery I was having renovated. The deck gave a little with each step. Strangely enough, rotting wood was a bit of a safety hazard. I loved this place, though, even when it had been filled with standing water and rusted machinery.
I used to break in and run around here when I was little. Mom worried I’d hurt myself, but Gran said she’d seen in a dream it would be mine and to leave the poor child alone. In wicche families, the older you are, the more powerful. No one messes with the crones. I was, consequently, looking forward to getting old. The crones do not give a fuck. They’ve seen and done it all and have lost the ability to be polite about it. They’ll tell you what they think to your face, because what are you going to do about it? That’s right. Nothing.
I couldn’t wait. Anyway, Gran said the cannery was mine, so it was mine. Even at seven, it was all mine. The deck sat on tall posts that were mostly submerged at high tide. Now, though, at low tide, the barnacles, oysters, coral, and algae were visible. There were even a couple of gorgeous orange starfish that had made my posts their home.
I sat on the edge of the deck and leaned over, holding on to the weather-warped wood with my ever-present gloves. The two starfish were still there. One was clinging to a post covered in a carpet of purple and green algae. I needed photos. Tourists snapped them up for a good price, especially this close to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
Tipping back, I rolled over onto my stomach and took my phone out of my back pocket. Dangling over the deck edge, I framed the shot and took it. Perfect. Yes, my DSLR camera would be better, but the light was magical now. The colors were so vibrant, they’d pop out of the frame. If I ran back in for my camera, the light could change and I’d lose the shot. I’d made that mistake too many times. I had a phone with the best digital camera on the market and I could tweak the image once I got it on my laptop.
I wear special gloves all the time, not just when touching rotting wood. They’re a thin, soft bamboo fabric with connective threads on the fingers so I can still use my smartphone. Touch is a problem for me; clairvoyance is not for the faint of heart. I see too much, hear too much. You try shaking someone’s hand and hearing he thinks you’re a money-grubbing fake taking advantage of his mother, bilking her out of her last dime, and he wants you to drop dead. All of that and more the moment his hand touched yours.
Or, even better, how about finally getting a kiss senior year from the guy you’ve had a crush on since sixth grade, only to learn that he really wished your ass was smaller and he hoped Rachel heard about his kissing you because he was trying to make her jealous. Oh, and he actually thought you were a weirdo, but groping was fun, so…
Yeah, dating sucked when touch meant picking up every stray thought and emotion. For a while, I self-medicated with booze. That wasn’t a sustainable plan, though. I hated drunk Arwyn and hated even more the predators who moved on me when they saw I was wasted enough to dull the voices. So, new sober me wears gloves and has sworn off dating and sex. It’s a modern world. There are electronic alternatives that don’t close their eyes and think about someone else.
I took a few more photos as long as I was hanging here, none as perfect as that first one, though. A text popped up on my screen and I flicked it away. It was my mom again, reminding me that Gran expected me at dinner tonight. They’d been trying to get me to join the Council since I was in my teens.
Maiden, mother, and crone, the Council oversaw all disputes, heard pleas for help, and granted magical aid, usually for a fee. Now that I was back from England—and my chess set was finally in the hands of the werewolf book nerd it was intended for—they were pushing hard for me to join. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t help when they needed me. I just didn’t want to be tied to the regularity. I had my work and really did not care about the day-to-day petty crap. If they needed me to power a spell, fine. The rest of it, not so much.
Mom and Gran knew the toll it took on me, knew I lived through the worst horrors the people petitioning us carried with them, but they didn’t experience it, so it was easy to forget the price I paid for my magic. I hadn’t had a full night’s rest in ever. The nightmares haunted me as though they were my memories.
So gloves, isolation, and my ocean buddies it was. There was movement in the water below. A tentacle almost broke the surface. Yes, my octopus friend was still hanging out below the cannery. “Hello, Cecil! I hope you have a lovely, watery day!” The way he moved was mesmerizing to watch. So much so, it took me too long to realize what was happening. Damn it! I was going to end up in the ocean.
Throwing the phone over my shoulder, I gave it a magical push to get it to the deck and then hoped for the best. My vision went dark. Snarling. I heard that first. Often the sounds and scents came to me before the images. Growling and the scent of the forest. Two yellow eyes, huge, staring into me, before the scene formed. Large wolves circling one another, one jet black, the other tan.
The tan lunges. The black meets him, clashing tooth and claw. Blood flies as they shake off the pain, circle, and charge. It’s vicious and violent. I don’t want to watch, don’t want new nightmares. The tan one, bloodied and limping, cringes away when the black one howls. The black wolf is set upon by others as they drive him into the dirt…
My body tipped as I watched the wolves tear each other apart. Damn it, I knew it. I was about to get dunked, watching wolves kill each other.
Yellow eyes stare into mine, waiting.
I wasn’t in the water, wasn’t wet. What I was, though, was hanging in the air. A very tall, very strong man was holding me a foot off the deck, a hand gripped around the back of my neck. I stared into warm brown eyes and shouted, “What the fuck? Put me down!”
He dropped me like I was on fire. Thankfully, my balance was pretty good and I kept my feet under me.
He cleared his throat and pointed toward the water. “You were sliding in.” He handed me my phone.
“Thanks,” I said, “for picking up my phone and grabbing me before I went in. I’m an epileptic.” Not really. I just needed a cover for my habit of hitting the ground. “This is private property, though. You shouldn’t be here.” I shaded my eyes. Oh, my. He had to be six and a half feet tall, a perfect muscular specimen, with dark hair starting to curl around his ears and a full, dark beard. He wore faded jeans, sturdy work boots, and a t-shirt topped with a flannel. I might not be able to touch, but I could look.
“I’m on the construction crew. Phil asked me to stop by to take measurements on the deck.” He stared at me as though he was pretty sure I was insane but was too polite to say it.
Ha, joke’s on him. People have been calling me nuts my whole life. It didn’t even register anymore.
“So you’re okay?” He had a deep growly voice that I liked. “You threw your phone at me and then just flopped over the edge, like dead weight dropping into the ocean.”
I checked my phone. “Seizure. I’m fine now.” No scratches on the screen. Score! “Go ahead,” I said, gesturing to the rotting deck. “Do your thing.” I started back into my studio and stopped. “Why are you working today? It is Sunday, right?” I checked my phone for the date.
“I wasn’t doing anything, so I figured I might as well get started.” He shrugged one beefy shoulder. “Plus, I need the work.” He pulled a measuring tape off his belt. “Do you want the deck any different, or am I replacing this one exactly?” He took an old receipt and a pencil from his shirt pocket, starting to take notes.
“You can do it without dropping planks into the ocean or pounding on the posts so hard you disturb the ecosystem, right?”
“Ecosystem?” He walked to the edge and leaned over, peering down. “Is that what you were looking at?”
“My starfish Charlie got a new friend.” I peered over the edge and saw the guy’s arm move, like he was ready to grab me if it looked like I was about to go in. “The friend kind of looks like a…Herbert.” I slid the phone back in my pocket, brushing the dirt from my gloves. I owned many pairs in a rainbow of colors, all washable.
“Herbert and Charlie, huh? Which one is which?” His balance was amazing. He’d been leaning out past the edge of the deck for a while and not a bobble or tremor in sight.
Wicches can tap a part of our brains that allows us to see a person’s aura, essentially to see what kind of person we’re dealing with. The brighter and shinier the aura, the more trustworthy the person. The smokier the aura, the more we needed to watch our backs. Yes, I was a strong wicche who could take care of myself, but six and a half feet of muscle on a psycho was probably something I should prepare for.
Letting my vision relax, I sized up this guy who wanted to work here while I was alone in my studio. Huh. No aura. Well, hell, that’s why I had the vision. Fingers twitching at my side, I readied a spell, just in case. “Werewolf?”
Poor guy looked like he’d been smacked in the face with a shovel. “What?”
“It’s okay.” I pointed at myself. “Wicche.”
“I know, but how did you?”
“You knew?” I’d never laid eyes on this guy before. How did he know?
He tapped his nose. “You have a scent.”
I felt my face flame. I’d showered this morning, hadn’t I? Shit. When I got involved in a project, I lost track of time and personal hygiene.
Chuckling, he clarified, “Wicches as a group, not you in particular. You smell like plaster and paint. And the ocean.”
“Oh.” Well, that was okay then. Not all werewolves were psycho killers. In fact, very few of them were. Still, I let the spell dance between my fingers in case I’d read the situation wrong.
He wrote something on the paper in his hand. “What kind of railing do you want?”
“None.”
He raised one eyebrow. “You’ll need some pretty good insurance to cover all the lawsuits from people falling off this thing.”
“The plaster and paint you’re smelling are from the tentacles I’m building. They’ll be thirty feet tall and come up from below the water, curving this way and that to keep people from falling in. It’ll look like a sea monster is pulling us into the ocean.”
His eyes flicked from the ocean to the edge of the deck. “Nice.” After pausing a moment, he asked, “What about kids? The curves will leave holes, the perfect size for little heads. Plus, you’re not going to want the tentacles crowding out the view, right? There’ll be gaps.”
I bit off the automatic denial and thought about the design I had in mind. I waved him in the back door of my studio. It took up about a third of the cannery building and was the first section remodeled. I needed a place to work. The gallery could wait. I sold my work in other galleries around the world.
I stopped him before he stepped over the threshold, though, my hand on his chest. “Wait. What’s your name?”
He stared down at my hand until I moved it. “Declan.”
“Declan what?” I’d be texting all the cousins first chance I got to see if anyone knew anything about this guy. Then again, my cousins were assholes. Maybe I’d chance it.
“What’s it to you?”
“Maybe you’re a serial killer.” I doubted it, but it was possible.
He stared at me, his intense brown eyes making my stomach flutter. “You’re the wicche,” he said, leaning in. “Am I a serial killer?”
Damn, he was potent. Instead of answering, I just waved him in. I was pretty sure he was safe. Being a werewolf, I couldn’t read him easily, but I had a spell at the ready if he gave me trouble.
“You know, I’d like to know your last name too?” A second man’s voice made me jump.
Who the hell was that? I ducked my head through the open door and found another muscular guy on my doorstep. Unfortunately, I’d met this one before. He was Logan, the Alpha of the local pack. Six-four, tawny hair, tanned skin, blue eyes, he was the golden child of Monterey. Women flocked to him, and he’d never met one he hadn’t liked.
“Arwyn.” His gaze traveled from my out-of-control curls down to my paint-spattered sneakers. “Good to see you again, although I can’t say much for your company.”
My cousin Serena had dated Logan in high school when he was the star athlete on every team. She was head over heels, but he was working his way through the female student body, so it didn’t last long. She said he wasn’t a jerk about it. He was just a guy who loved women and couldn’t rest until he’d bedded all of them. Everyone needed a hobby, I supposed.
When he turned to Declan, the physical change was extraordinary. Relaxed and flirtatious morphed into clenched jaw, puffed chest, tightened fists. “You know the rules. You can’t come into my territory without meeting with me and getting my approval. I’m Alpha.” Logan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Declan, eyes going wolf gold.
Declan didn’t flinch, didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “I’m not in your territory. Pack grounds are in Big Sur. I live and work in Monterey. Eve is the Master of Monterey.”
