Pick Your Potion Read online

  Pick Your Potion

  Witch’s Brew Cozy Mystery Book One

  CC Dragon

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Pick Your Potion (Witch’s Brew Cozy Mystery 1)

  Copyright © February 2017

  By CC Dragon

  Cover art by Coverkicks.com

  Edited by Mary Yakovets

  Proofed by: Jessica Bimberg

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Blurb

  Gypsies, vamps, and weres…these are just some of the people powerful witch Claudia Crestwood and her friends protect. In the city of Hartford, Connecticut—years before Salem, there were witch trials. Now the paranormal coexist with humans, more or less. With the help of her hippie aunt and cousins, her gypsy uncle, and other paranormal friends, Claudia stands on the line between humans and paras—helping to keep the peace.

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  When a human customer dies after an incident at the coffee shop, Claudia must dig into the case to protect the café and the coven. Threats have been made and what’s worse, she’s harboring a hunter wanted by the police in her basement. A hot and powerful wizard starts showing up in the shop when Claudia needs help and is at her worst. Intriguing and annoying… She isn’t sure she can trust him and his reclusive family but it’s time for her to dig deeper into the magical world.

  Dedication

  For everyone who is hiding their special gifts and talents or just their quirks…Stop it! That’s what makes you uniquely you!

  1

  I fumbled with the grinder that had, of course, locked up right in the middle of the morning rush. Coffee and tea sounded like such a calming business, but people were serious about their coffee and not patient about waiting for it.

  The sighs and mumblings of the backed-up line of customers registered, but I had to focus on the matter at hand or I’d make a mess and it’d only take longer. Magic would help, but there were too many humans watching me far too closely.

  “Claudia,” my cousin Iris whispered from the back.

  I gave her the in-a-minute finger and turned to Brad, one of our new baristas. “Try and get that loose. I’ll be right back.”

  “Right, boss,” he said.

  Vampires. I liked hiring them, mostly because they took the night shift, lived on expired blood from the blood bank, and their handsome faces brought in the lady customers who ordered the pricier drinks. This one seemed as tame as any of those I employed. But vamps liked structure and following a leader. I was so not that leader. I was a twenty-five-year-old witch with a long line of caffeine deficient customers.

  “And make me a green tea with a double shot of calming potion when it gets slow,” I said as I wiped my hands on a towel.

  Potions were what my aunt cleverly named the shots other places used. Some were just flavor, and others had herbal benefits or vitamin mixes. Our PMS potion might get snickers from men, but the female customers swore by it.

  The coffee shop remained a great cover for my coven’s deeper purposes. We helped paranormal creatures who didn’t want to hurt humans. We could all coexist, or so my hippie aunt believed. She was working the counter in one of her flowing printed dresses, no bra and wicker shoes.

  Iris tapped her foot on the floor to get my attention and waved me over faster.

  I picked up the pace and joined her. “What’s up?”

  “Dad has someone in the basement,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  I shrugged and admired the mermaid braid she’d put her honey blonde hair in today. She and her identical twin sister, Violet, were always on trend, even if they were hippies like their mom. Her tank dress flowed in a red paisley today.

  “He needs you,” she added.

  “Why? The cells are free if he needs to lock up anyone,” I replied. Hosting any werewolves who needed a secure place during the full moon was also part of the routine.

  “I don’t think it’s that. Please go check. I’ll cover for you up here. I don’t have a class until ten.” She grabbed the towel from my hand.

  “Good luck, that grinder likes to spit out grounds.” I was sort of happy to be free.

  “Every job helps us to help others.” Iris smiled.

  Her good mood probably had as much to do with cute and eternally youthful Brad as helping people. I wished I could be as cheery and sweet as my cousins about cleaning. I mean, they were like my sisters. My aunt and uncle raised me after my parents died. I was only five when that happened, so I should’ve taken more of their teaching to heart, but I still had my mom’s draw to dark magic and big powers. Strong powers weren’t bad, as long as they were used for good. I had to watch the slippery slope.

  I didn’t have the sweet blonde hair either. I had pure black hair that I jazzed up with a shimmering purple strip to be more like my sisters; they had purplish names, anyway.

  I walked down the stairs. The old brick building was full of spirit energy and history. Hartford, Connecticut attracted paranormal creatures because, decades before Salem, it’d had its own witch trials here. That meant witches and paranormal creatures naturally had a right to be here. It also meant we clashed with the local human population, at times.

  Owning a coffee shop brought the gossip and the news to me organically. This way, our coven had a finger on the pulse of the human world just in case we needed to push the paranormal further underground for our safety. Witches and wizards were the crossover, after all. Mostly human but with the ability to develop some powers. I had more than my share.

  The basement was a maze. Storage was separate. The cages were in the back. There was a small room where vamps or hunters sometimes crashed when they had nowhere else to go. Uncle Vinny had someone on the cot and was grabbing gauze from the first aid kit.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing, he’ll be fine. We just need to hide him here for a while,” Uncle Vinny replied.

  “Sure.” I trusted my uncle but still wanted to talk to my guest and feel him out.

  My uncle’s phone beeped. “I have to take this. Just give him the rundown.”

  Uncle Vinny took
the call and spoke his native language.

  I studied the visitor. Mid-twenties, handsome, beat up and scratched but still smug enough to smile and act like he wasn’t in pain.

  “Ryan Jones,” he said.

  The Jones was a lie, but most hunters used fake names. “Claudia Crestwood. You’re a hunter?” I asked.

  He nodded. “What’s your uncle speaking? I can’t place that language.”

  “Rom,” I said.

  “Like Romanian?” Ryan frowned.

  “No, like Romani. He’s a gypsy. Where are you from?” I asked.

  “South Carolina most recently. I was tracking a werewolf that just refused to be contained during the full moon. He kept killing. He killed his family and just didn’t care, anymore. He went into a mall just before moonrise. A couple of stores were having midnight sales or staying open around the clock before Christmas for shoppers. I had to take him out. But I was on video. I killed the werewolf, but he turned back into human form once he was dead.” He winced and put pressure on his leg.

  “I know how werewolves work. So, you got tagged for murder by the local PD?” I tried to assess his wounds. “You need a hospital to check out internal injuries. At the very least you need stitches.”

  “Nah, just a little rest until things calm down. You’re a gypsy witch?” he asked.

  “I’m not a gypsy. My aunt is my mother’s sister; Vinny married into the family. Sorry, no gypsy blood here. You can stay, but you have to follow the rules.” I propped a hand on my hip.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “No meddling in my uncle’s cases unless he asks you for backup. No upsetting my coven or my family. Stay out of my coffee shop. Don’t upset my customers or the staff.”

  “No problem. Relax.” He grinned.

  He was sexy but used to being in control. No doubt I would be a challenge. His broad shoulders and strong arms were tempting, but you had to be tough to be a hunter. Then again, hunters often died young. My uncle had lots of scars, and he was semi-retired. Now, he acted as advisor to the younger hunters in the area.

  “That’s not all. I have vampires who work here, mostly at night. They have plenty of blood supplied, so they don’t kill people. You don’t bother them or intimidate them. If you stay for a full moon, I house werewolves. You don’t antagonize them.” Some hunters liked to keep the fear in the paranormal creatures so they stayed in line. I’ve found friendship worked better than threats.

  “I only hunt those who’ve killed humans and refuse to take help in containing themselves.” He held up his hands.

  The answer was politically correct, but my instinct said he liked the kill. A little more Faith than Buffy.

  “I never met a gypsy before. Think he’ll take me to stay with them?” Ryan asked.

  “Why would he? With that smirk and the flirty attitude you’re giving me now… Those guys would beat the crap out of you if you even looked at their daughters. Gypsies are the original hunters. They’d teach you a few lessons.” I grabbed the backup first aid kit from the shelf. He’d need it.

  “Original hunters?” he asked.

  “Think about it. Nomads who traveled light with their families. Men went out and did the work; women stayed home—protecting their kids. It looks old-fashioned, but they all are fighters. The groups were rumored to be associated with poverty, crime, and trouble because they were hunting the creatures that lived in the shadows and hurt humans. That’s not an easy life, is it?”

  “No, it’s not. Makes so much sense. How did I not know that?” He chuckled.

  “You do, now. So, respect them and stay away because those guys travel in groups, fight anything bare-handed, and make The Walking Dead look like a vacation when they go after someone. From the looks of you, you’d mess with the wrong daughter.”

  “Then, I’m lucky your dad isn’t a gypsy.” He grinned.

  I shook my head. “You don’t know what my dad is. Could be worse than a gypsy. I’ll send down some food, coffee, and bottles of water. Don’t leave the basement.”

  Uncle Vinny came back. “Got a plan?”

  “He can stay until you patch him up and find another place. I don’t want him around the twins too much. You need to make a plan for as soon as he can travel,” I said.

  “I understand. Think you can heal him?” Uncle Vinny asked.

  “Probably, but he needs to be stronger. He’s faking strength, right now, but I can feel he’s weak. Let Aunt Mandy stitch up the wounds, clean him up, then he can rest. When he’s stronger, we’ll do a healing session or a few.” I texted an order to the sandwich shop next door. Somehow, soup seemed in order, and theirs was the best.

  “Okay, I’ll tell her. You arrange the food and maybe see if the vamps can spare some clean clothes. He’s a mess.” Uncle Vinny shook his head.

  “It happens. With all the video cameras out there, your job gets harder and harder,” I said.

  “People see what they want to see on them.” Uncle Vinny sighed and headed upstairs.

  I shot the young hunter a look. He didn’t appear nervous, at all.

  “So, what are your powers? Breaking hearts?” he teased.

  I shook my head. “Healing, potions, spells, a touch of empathic vibrations—among others.”

  “Loaded witch. Most of the Wiccans or pagans I meet are all talk,” he said.

  He wanted a demonstration. “I’m not a magician here to entertain you.”

  “Impress me. Scare me into obeying all your rules.” He winced and grinned too fast to cover his weakness.

  The flirtation was a distraction for him. He was trying to forget his pain.

  I stared at a dusty bottle of Jack Daniels on the top shelf. There was a ton of coffee and tea stock in the storeroom area, but in here, there were other essentials. I focused and felt the bottle vibrate. I mentally yanked it from the shelf and countered gravity to keep it from freefalling. It floated lower and lower.

  Ryan grabbed it and opened it fast. “You’re an angel of mercy.”

  “No, that’s my aunt. Be warned, if you make fun of her hippie ways or eccentric style, my uncle will feed you to the werewolves himself. He left the gypsies for her, and they may be different, but they’ve got the most stable marriage I’ve ever seen.”

  “Opposites do attract. Like a hunter and a no-harm doing but powerful witch.” He took a slug of whisky.

  I tried not to blush. He was hot, even if he was full of himself. “If I have to do harm, I do it. Don’t drink too much. Auntie has all natural painkillers that will knock you out and keep you loopy.”

  “All natural?” he scoffed.

  “Cannabis, opium—hell, cocaine is all natural—it’s how you distill and use it. She won’t get you high, but your pain will be over soon,” I said.

  “Send her in. But promise you won’t take advantage of me while I’m out of it. I want to remember.” Ryan blew me a kiss.

  I glanced at the bottle in his hand, and it slipped and landed on his very bruised ribs.

  “Damn it! Witch!” he shouted.

  I walked up as Aunt Mandy was coming down. “He’s really in pain, poor dear,” she said.

  “Don’t ‘poor dear’ him. He’s a handful. Thinks he’s hotter than hell and twice as tempting.”

  She shook her head, her blonde hair swinging with her. “I’m sure it’s the pain. He’s acting tough and covering. The man is being hunted for doing his job and the human world just doesn’t understand. I’ll take care of him, for now. You get back up there.”

  “Sure you don’t need help? He’s strong.” I didn’t want to help, but seeing Hot Hunter Guy stripped naked wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “The twins will fall for his flirting crap.”

  “They’re in college—plenty of normal guys full of crap to flirt with there. If I need someone, Esmerelda can help. You don’t need to be around a hunter like him.” Aunt Mandy nodded.

  “What do mean like him? He’s just a human. I lock up werewolves and work with vampires every da
y,” I said.

  “This is a stranger. He could take advantage of younger women.” She waved at Esme.

  Esmerelda, in her black cat form, darted down the stairs and sat in the entryway to the concealed rooms. The powerful witch would keep my aunt safe. Esme was deeply connected to the witch world and even taught private lessons to some in the coven. I somehow ended up in between humans and paranormal people.

  “You two don’t have too much fun.” I smiled and let the older ladies get to work with the young fresh meat. My aunt was lying about the stranger, but I didn’t push it. We all took turns handling whatever crisis came in the back door.

  Esmerelda was the perfect one to keep an eye on him. At one hundred and twenty-five years old, she’d lived most of her life as a cat. In human form, she looked about thirty, but as long as she lived more than half of her life as a cat—she could have all nine lives. She was also a powerful witch—the only one I knew that was stronger than me. I’d wanted to be her since I was a little girl. I loved cats and her power level.

  “You okay?” Aunt Mandy asked.

  “Yeah, I just don’t want him hanging around too long. He likes what he does a little too much. I think.” I had no proof, only instinct and years of living with a hunter and meeting tons of them through my uncle.

  “Well, if he makes a false move, Esmerelda will turn him into a frog.” Aunt Mandy smiled.

  “Frog’s legs for dinner?” I teased.

  “Too far. You so got your mother’s sense of humor.” Aunt Mandy smacked my shoulder and headed down. “Go upstairs and don’t let this hunter play with your mind. Men like this are players, and they look for any opening.”

  I went up. My aunt often warned me off of bad boy types. My dad probably had that streak, and Aunt Mandy was worried I had my mom’s taste in men. The only thing I knew for sure that I got from my father was my hair. My mom had been a dark blonde, but still a blonde. What else did I have from my mysterious dad? It didn’t really matter, now. I pushed the tragic history out of my mind, like usual.