Jinxed_Toxic Bitchcraft Book One Page 2

  I picked my book up and smacked Turk on his head with it. "Go back to your mushroom, ya pervy pixie."

  He rubbed his head where I hit, then held up his finger. "One more question!"

  I watched him, not fully trusting this would be a serious one.

  "Does it count as a booty call when you summon him with it?"

  I tossed my book at him this time. "That's not how it works, and you know it!"

  He stuck his tongue out at me and walked to the back room. He was barely there for five seconds before he came back. “Oh! Forgot to tell you, but we’re almost out of a few of the bath bombs. I think some of the Spills are running kind of low too.”

  I sighed, realizing I wasn’t going to be able to get back into my book. I grabbed it grudgingly and settled it under the counter. “Fine. Guess I’ll actually work today,” I replied to him. “What’s the fun in owning my own shop if I don’t get any down time?”

  Turk scoffed as I passed him into the back room. “You have plenty of down time. You just try to convince yourself it’s work.”

  I gave him an affronted look, slipping on gloves to protect my hands from the dye used to color the bombs. “Everything I do witchy wise is for work. Goddess forbid, I stop using magic for a day. I may end up losing my power completely.”

  I loved the back room. It’s a sort of storage area, but doubled as the room I made all my products in. It looked like any other storage room you may find in a shop that made bath products; metal racks lined three of the walls from floor to ceiling, all filled with everything from jars and bottles of the basic ingredients for bath bombs like Sodium Bicarbonate, Citric Acid, oils of all kinds for fragrance and luxury, and herbs and spices. But the shelves also contained things of the more magical variety that helped me to create my Spills; fae blood, aconite, and basilisk venom. Basically, things not found easily by humans. I made a majority of my oils fresh from the many herbs and flowers in the greenhouse on the roof of my building.

  Contrary to popular belief, witches didn’t have massive cauldrons that boiled and glowed when making potion type spells. In fact, mine’s so small it would be considered nothing more than a Halloween decoration. It actually may be for all I knew. It was made of iron; that’s all I cared about. There was a large sink, counter, and a cabinet of bowls anchored against the last wall in the small room. The best part though was I had an area that I entered through a door in the back room that led to where the magic happens. Like, literally. I kept it locked and warded when I wasn’t using it to avoid nosey humans from entering uninvited. Actually, no one uninvited could enter. Even Turk wasn’t allowed in there. With how shitty my magic was, it was better that way.

  Turk’s teasing smile faded, leaving behind a sympathetic glow in his eyes. I hated it when he made that face. “You’re not some powerless witch, Chris. Sure, shit blows up or someone grows an extra finger, but you have more in you than you realize. You’re the daughter of Emma fucking Craft. There’s no way you could carry her blood and not be just as powerful.”

  For once, I dropped my sarcastic attitude. I knew he meant well, but I still had a hard time swallowing that belief. So what if my mother was one of the most powerful witches of this century. And last. Having her blood didn’t mean I’d have her talents as well.

  “Thanks for the faith, Turk, but I think we both know I’ll never be my mother.”

  Turk chuckled and wrapped a shimmering arm around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly to his side. “That’s a good thing. This world doesn’t need another of her.” He kissed my temple and walked out of the room, giving me space to work.

  We may have had our sour moments with each other, where I was a raving bitch and he was a nosey asshole, but at the end of the day, I loved the guy. Except when he brought home his new flavor of the week without warning me first.

  I really needed to find a sound proof spell I could actually do for his room.

  Two

  “Shakes and Shivers”

  I’d managed to finish at least a dozen bath bombs of each of this week’s shape and scent when Turk came rushing into the back room.

  “You may want to get out here. Milo is here looking rather hot and bothered,” he said.

  I looked up from my work with a brow raised, wondering if he actually meant what I thought he did.

  “Not the kind of hot and bothered we both wish he was,” he added with a coy smirk when he saw my face.

  I scoffed. “Never gonna happen, Turk. Let it go.” I rinsed my rubber gloves in the sink and snapped them off to hang and dry. When he stepped out of the doorway, I quickly looked myself over in the small mirror hanging over the sink. I may not have wanted to get down and dirty with the guy, but there was no use in not looking good. Okay. I totally wanted to jump his bones. But that was beside the point.

  I smoothed out the stray hairs in my braid and wrinkled my nose. There was a small spot of purple dye on my chin. I licked my thumb and scrubbed at it, but it was useless. I huffed out in aggravation and shook my head. Whatever. I don’t even know why I care.

  I exited the back room and saw the man in question leaning casually against the counter. His chocolate eyes scanned the shop with interest, as if he hadn’t seen it a million times already. I tried my best to avoid checking him out while walking to the counter. I failed. Hard.

  Milo James was and had always been, a sexy fucking warlock. His dark, short hair was stylishly cut, giving him an authoritative look. His slim face was gentle, yet masculine all at once. I’d always been fascinated with the way his thick brows managed to make his expression eternally calm. He didn’t look pissed or happy. Just thoughtful all the time. He had a slim build underneath the dark grey button-up, black slacks, and black pea coat that fell down to his calves, the collar popped up to graze his rounded, dimpled chin. However, it was all a mask of deceit. I’d seen those toned arms and abs once or twice throughout my years knowing him. He was much more than he presented. His full lips turned up at the corners when he saw me; his eyes locked straight onto mine as he followed my trek.

  In a way, we kinda grew up together. Bonding over the mutual disgust of my mother and his father having a rather loud and intense affair together. My mom was continuously plowing through men, well, they plowed through her. She had a rather sufficient appetite when it came to sex. Don't get me wrong, it impressed me that even at her age, men still fell at her feet ready to worship her. I couldn’t remember a time where she didn’t have at least two or three lovers at a time. I never knew my father and mother refused to tell me anything about him. Only that he’d left before I was even born. I had a feeling that was what started my mother’s behavior. Poor Milo's father was just another notch in Mother's broom. At least he lasted several years before she kicked him to the curb like all the others. She enjoyed men almost as much as she enjoyed magic, and that was a hell of a lot. Since his father lasted longer than the others, Milo and I were around each other practically every day from the time I was five, until I was about eight years old. Then we just drifted apart after everything was over with our parents.

  “Hey, Warden. What’d I do this time?” I asked with a bit of sass when I stopped behind the other side of the counter across from him.

  “One of these days, you’ll realize we’re friends and you don’t have to call me that. Whether its business or pleasure I’m here for.” His raspy, deep voice washed over me with amusement.

  Pleasure. I like the sound of that.

  “Oh, come on. You love it,” I teased him.

  I honestly didn’t know why I still used his official title. You’d think because I’d known him I’d drop it. But then he’d realize he had way more of an effect on me than he should. That was not about to happen.

  A Warden was basically a witch or warlock who delegated and enforced the use of magic amongst all the magical community. Think of them like police, except they only tended to cases where witches and warlocks had broken a law using magic that was either forbidden, or in violation of the l
aw protecting us from human knowledge. If someone gave away to humans what we were, a Warden came to punish or arrest them. If we used black magic that hurt or killed a human, it was an immediate death sentence. Actually, if we used black magic period, it was a death sentence.

  It’d been a long time since the age of dark magic, and the Wardens wanted to ensure that age never came around again. We didn’t talk about those days anymore, in hopes that we could move on from the horrors that transpired. Plagues. Wars. Natural disasters with cataclysmic consequences. Yeah, those were the fault of black magic use. I didn’t touch the stuff. I just skirted the line of the law about humans finding out about us.

  Luckily for me, Milo had my back and had never reported me for my…slips. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sell the more harmless cursed objects, just so he’d have an excuse to drop by.

  Milo grabbed a strap hanging from his shoulder and dropped a bag with a heavy thud on the counter, then laid his arm over it and stared at me incredulously. Though, I did see a slight smile turn up at the corner of his mouth.

  Even though I had no idea what was in the bag, I couldn’t help but look at him innocently. Obviously, I’d done something wrong. Better start acting surprised now rather than later. "What’s that?"

  He sighed. "Christi, what have I told you about selling your cursed objects to humans? You know it's against the law. I’ve never reported you to the Wardens anytime I get called for something I know comes from your shop. But I can’t protect you forever."

  I crossed my arms and stared at him offended. "I'll have you know, I've not sold any cursed objects in weeks!"

  Turk leaned over and muttered quietly, "Days."

  "Days!” I corrected, then quickly back tracked to what he’d just said. “Wait, what?" I turned to my pixie friend, brow raised in confusion. "No. Weeks."

  Turk tightened his lips together; a guilty look passed over him as he suddenly found interest in the ceiling.

  "I'd say days is probably more accurate,” Milo said, a slight accusatory tone in his cool voice. “Otherwise, how do you explain this?" He lifted his arm from the bag and pulled out something wrapped in some ragged, brown fabric. He steadily began unwrapping the fabric, which apparently was wound tight. When he pulled the excess away, I saw something nestled ever so comfortably and very much gagged inside. It was Shakes; my cursed skull. His lower jaw chomped angrily at the rag tied around his head, getting absolutely nowhere.

  Shakes wasn't your ordinary cursed object. I mean, obviously most cursed objects weren't exactly ordinary. Shakes, however, was way past the line of extraordinary. At least, to me he was.

  I wasn’t entirely sure whose skull he was, but he obviously had a mouth on him when he was alive. What was his interesting quality, you may ask? You know; besides the fact he was gagged and able to chew at the rag. Well, he hurled obscene insults at pretty much anyone who walked past him in the shop. My mother gave him to me as a sort of 'shop warming' gift to celebrate my opening of Allure. She named him Shakespeare, because he reminded her of the skull William Shakespeare was depicted holding in various works of art. I'd always called him Shakes and prized him over anything else in here. I mean, come on. He’s fucking hilarious!

  "Hm. That explains why it's been unusually pleasant in the shop," I replied, bobbing my head in understanding. It’d been driving me crazy trying to figure out what was different about this place the last few days. I almost felt bad I hadn’t noticed the little asshole was gone.

  "So, if it's been weeks, then how come when I picked him up from a nice, elderly Russian woman, she claimed her brother had gotten him for her only a few days ago?" Milo leaned his hip against the counter; arms crossed, and a knowing smile played across his lips.

  I held back a giggle, really wanting to meet this woman’s brother. He had a funny sense of humor if he wanted to buy this asshole for his sister. There’s no way Shakes wouldn’t have cursed up a storm the second he got picked up by someone other than me. However, I pushed down the desire to ask who the buyer was.

  Since I got an absolute kick out of Shakes and would never give him up, and only one person knew before Milo that it’d only been days, I turned to Turk; my expression accusatory.

  Turk finally lowered his gaze to me and his shoulders sagged. "Alright. It was me. He drives me crazy! I figured if he went home with someone who couldn't speak English, they'd only think he was loud and annoying."

  I rolled my eyes at him and laughed. "Do I teach you nothing? There is no language barrier with magic, Turk. The curse allows him to change his language to match those who walk by. He's been basically hurling insults at that woman in Russian."

  Turk groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. "Shit. Well, can't blame me for trying. I'm sorry, Chris." His eyes shined apologetically.

  I shook my head and reached over, untying Shakes gag.

  "Your mother was a lizard!" He immediately shouted.

  I smiled at him. "Aww. He was watching Willow with me, and I didn't even know it! If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

  “That’s a warped sense of love,” Turk remarked dryly.

  “I’m pretty sure warped love is about the only love I understand, Turk. You’ve seen the lot I’ve taken to my bed.” I immediately snapped my mouth shut when I took in the surprised expression on Milo’s face. I hadn’t even been thinking when I said it. Oh well. Not like I’d ever get Milo in my bed. He was a nice guy. Nice guys didn’t last with me. Not to say I was attracted to assholes, but Milo’s flavor of sweetness wouldn’t be able to handle the depravity of what went on behind my closed bedroom door. Gentle lovers stood no chance with my toxicity.

  “Well,” Milo said awkwardly after the silence stretched. “I think I’d better get back to work. I just wanted to drop this guy back off to you before another Warden got the call. And, Christi?”

  Before I could pull my hand from the counter, he gently grasped my wrist. It sent shivers down my spine, not unlike the ones I felt with Orrin. I couldn’t remember the last time Milo and I ever had any kind of skin-to-skin contact. The sensation confused me. I was pretty sure he’d touched me before. Hadn’t he?

  “Please be careful,” he finished; his dark eyes stared intensely into me, warning me. He wasn’t trying to instill fear with the glance but caution. “I can’t protect you forever.”

  “I will. I promise,” I responded, though my tone must not have convinced him. His brows lowered with disbelief, telling me he thought I was full of shit. “I will! Goddess!” I picked up Shakes and waved him around. “Not my fault for once, remember?”

  “Throw the wench into the fucking fire!” Shakes shouted, clearly not happy about being shook. Ha! Shake hates being shook. How ironic.

  Milo stepped away from the counter. “You should’ve just left the gag on,” he said with a chuckle as he started to walk out; a smile played across his lips.

  Turk threw his arms up in victory. “Thank you! It’s what I’ve been telling her to do for years!” Milo shook his head at Turk with a grin and exited the shop.

  I smacked Turk’s arms down. “Not happening. Shakes is free to speak his mind.”

  “What mind?” Turk scoffed.

  “Release the air out of your head, you fucking fairy!” Shakes shouted angrily at Turk.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Now you’ve upset him.”

  “He calls me a fairy, but I’ve upset him? That’s the worst insult you can give a pixie! We’re not anything even close to fae!”

  I strolled around the counter and set Shakes back up on the wall-mounted shelf next to his candle, carefully arranging him into a position that made him happiest and just slightly more docile. Which was about as docile as a snapping turtle with a taste for blood.

  “You’re the one insulting a skull who’s cursed to be the master of insults. Thought you would’ve learned to be the bigger person by now. After all, he is just a head. It shouldn’t be that difficult,” I snickered.

  “And here I thought you wer
e on my side,” Turk glowered. “My how the tides turn. I’m being replaced for a talking head.”

  I finished adjusting Shakes and turned to Turk, placing my hands on my hips with an idea forming in my brain. “Will you forgive me if I asked Orrin if he had any friends looking for a dash of pixie dust to lighten their day?”

  Turk’s eyes brightened for a moment, but he quickly masked the excited expression with one more offended, then sighed dramatically, “I guess.”

  I smiled. I knew the way to my pixie’s heart. Or, well, you know…

  Three

  “Cinnamon Rolls”

  I threw on a baggy, long sleeve shirt the color of blood over my black lace underwear, then settled into bed for the night. I made my usual cup of tea in the tiny kitchen and grabbed my book I didn’t get to finish reading, ready to just relax the rest of the night.

  The day had been slow and would probably be tomorrow, but I was still on edge after Milo’s touch. We’d been around each other so many times over the years, yet never once had I felt that spark lighting my skin on fire like I had today. Not since that first night with Orrin. What the hell did that mean? Sure, I thought the guy was sexy as all get out, but I knew we weren’t compatible. I wasn’t even sure he felt that way about me. I’d ask Turk what he thought, but then I’d never hear the end of it. I so wasn’t about to call my mother. Goddess knows, that women would only begin lecturing me on the importance of following base desires like she did. I didn’t know how she managed to have a harem at her beck and call at all hours. While the thought of so many gorgeous men worshipping me and giving into my every need sounded appealing, I wasn’t sure that was something that’d work with me.

  I was a natural introvert. I preferred my space and kept my social circle small. Besides Turk and the occasional visit from Milo for my nefarious deeds, I really didn’t talk to anyone else. I had the occasional conversation with repeat customers. Then there was Rose, another witch who runs a botany shop down the street. Our relationship bordered on frenemy, though. We both pretty much could only handle small doses of each other. She was girly, outgoing, and extremely competitive, while I was her opposite in every way. I actually think she coined the term ‘Bitchcraft’ when referring to me in the witching community. Though, the jury was still out on the truth behind that rumor. Not to mention, she belonged to a coven. If there was one thing my mother and I had in common, it was the desire to never be in one. The leaders of the covens would claim it was all about family, coming together to practice their magic and giving a helping hand to each other. We knew better. It was all about power. Mother had plenty of it, and I was still figuring out how to even get to mine. I didn’t need a bunch of other witches and warlocks sticking their nose into my business.