kate storm 04 - witches dont back down Read Online Free
Author: meredith allen conner
them. I thought the proprietors would be more excited about the business than the fire codes.
"Yep. Chapter four, section eight of the something something or other." Morgan huffed. "I didn't stick around to listen. They unplugged the karaoke machine."
I was surprised Morgan hadn't attacked. A good pair of fangs beats a water hose any day.
"The fire chief was posing with Phil when I left."
I stifled a sigh. Really, what was it about karaoke? I just didn't see the appeal.
"And now Phil is banned?" I had to repeat the question. It didn't make sense.
Morgan made a sort of growling sound. "Yep. The sheriff waited until after the fire chief got his autograph to tell Phil he was banned. And then he wrote him a ticket."
What? Morgan had to be making this up.
"He wrote him a ticket for what exactly?"
"Phil was charged with disturbing the peace. His fans got tickets for aiding and abetting."
I was tempted to laugh.
Now it made a weird sort of sense. There had been an article in the newspaper about a feud between the mayor and the sheriff and either a need for an increase in tickets–and the resulting revenue–or a decrease in tickets–along with a friendly social media campaign–depending upon whose side you were on. I couldn't remember the details, but it looked like Phil and his groupies had just become a point made.
"I'm not kidding, Kate." Morgan scolded me. "This is serious."
It was. I couldn't argue with her there. A friend in trouble with the law was serious business. But karaoke tickets still made me laugh.
Morgan lowered her voice to her super confidential tone. "I can't find anyone to go sing karaoke with me on Friday night at all."
I sighed. Heavily. "I'll think about it. I'm not promising anything, but I will think about it."
Maybe I could cast a spell to ensure the "no videotaping" policy actually worked.
UDBFs. The things we will consider doing for them.
3. A Nymph Walked In.
I was still trying to decipher the appeal of karaoke when the bell rang over the front door.
Désirée hadn't made it in yet, so I got up and hurried out of my HC office and into the waiting room. I reached it at the same time Al did.
We both stopped dead in our tracks.
She was breathtakingly gorgeous. Literally. I forgot to breathe for a moment as I stared at her.
She stood maybe five feet tall. And tiny. I'm an average height witch, but I felt like Bigfoot's cousin next to her. It wasn't just her height–or lack thereof–or her size zero waist. I'm used to being the heavy witch around both Désirée and Morgan.
But there was something else about her. An air of almost fragility. Which seemed somewhat odd. She didn't appear sickly or in ill health. In fact, she sort of radiated vibrancy and sexiness. And she wasn't injured. She strode forward on two small but perfectly healthy legs. I couldn't even see a bruise anywhere on her body at all.
Yet, at the same time, there was something about her that made me want to put my arm around her and protect her. From everything. Ex-boyfriends. Scam artists. Rain.
When my aunt had first given Al to me as a puppy, all my protective instincts had rushed to the front. He'd weighed less than a pound. An itty-bitty ball of fur. I'd carried him around for the first few months until the hitman had appeared and demanded I put him down.
I felt like that now. I wanted to pick her up and tuck her into my pocket and keep her cuddled and safe. And warm.
Definitely warm. It might be almost hot outside, but her dress was more suited to the tropics than Idaho in the fall.
Made of turquoise chiffon with spaghetti straps and a handkerchief hemline, it fluttered and twirled and swayed around her as she walked, which made it appear as if she floated in the air rather than walked on the ground.
And there wasn't a lot of material to flutter and twirl, so I was extra impressed that what little there was could create such an impact.
"Heya, Doll."
I snatched Al up, shocked and horrified and
"Yep. Chapter four, section eight of the something something or other." Morgan huffed. "I didn't stick around to listen. They unplugged the karaoke machine."
I was surprised Morgan hadn't attacked. A good pair of fangs beats a water hose any day.
"The fire chief was posing with Phil when I left."
I stifled a sigh. Really, what was it about karaoke? I just didn't see the appeal.
"And now Phil is banned?" I had to repeat the question. It didn't make sense.
Morgan made a sort of growling sound. "Yep. The sheriff waited until after the fire chief got his autograph to tell Phil he was banned. And then he wrote him a ticket."
What? Morgan had to be making this up.
"He wrote him a ticket for what exactly?"
"Phil was charged with disturbing the peace. His fans got tickets for aiding and abetting."
I was tempted to laugh.
Now it made a weird sort of sense. There had been an article in the newspaper about a feud between the mayor and the sheriff and either a need for an increase in tickets–and the resulting revenue–or a decrease in tickets–along with a friendly social media campaign–depending upon whose side you were on. I couldn't remember the details, but it looked like Phil and his groupies had just become a point made.
"I'm not kidding, Kate." Morgan scolded me. "This is serious."
It was. I couldn't argue with her there. A friend in trouble with the law was serious business. But karaoke tickets still made me laugh.
Morgan lowered her voice to her super confidential tone. "I can't find anyone to go sing karaoke with me on Friday night at all."
I sighed. Heavily. "I'll think about it. I'm not promising anything, but I will think about it."
Maybe I could cast a spell to ensure the "no videotaping" policy actually worked.
UDBFs. The things we will consider doing for them.
3. A Nymph Walked In.
I was still trying to decipher the appeal of karaoke when the bell rang over the front door.
Désirée hadn't made it in yet, so I got up and hurried out of my HC office and into the waiting room. I reached it at the same time Al did.
We both stopped dead in our tracks.
She was breathtakingly gorgeous. Literally. I forgot to breathe for a moment as I stared at her.
She stood maybe five feet tall. And tiny. I'm an average height witch, but I felt like Bigfoot's cousin next to her. It wasn't just her height–or lack thereof–or her size zero waist. I'm used to being the heavy witch around both Désirée and Morgan.
But there was something else about her. An air of almost fragility. Which seemed somewhat odd. She didn't appear sickly or in ill health. In fact, she sort of radiated vibrancy and sexiness. And she wasn't injured. She strode forward on two small but perfectly healthy legs. I couldn't even see a bruise anywhere on her body at all.
Yet, at the same time, there was something about her that made me want to put my arm around her and protect her. From everything. Ex-boyfriends. Scam artists. Rain.
When my aunt had first given Al to me as a puppy, all my protective instincts had rushed to the front. He'd weighed less than a pound. An itty-bitty ball of fur. I'd carried him around for the first few months until the hitman had appeared and demanded I put him down.
I felt like that now. I wanted to pick her up and tuck her into my pocket and keep her cuddled and safe. And warm.
Definitely warm. It might be almost hot outside, but her dress was more suited to the tropics than Idaho in the fall.
Made of turquoise chiffon with spaghetti straps and a handkerchief hemline, it fluttered and twirled and swayed around her as she walked, which made it appear as if she floated in the air rather than walked on the ground.
And there wasn't a lot of material to flutter and twirl, so I was extra impressed that what little there was could create such an impact.
"Heya, Doll."
I snatched Al up, shocked and horrified and
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