Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

rasp of air, but a gasp of surprise nonetheless. “I can hear him! Pick me up and face me north, Stevie. Do it now!”
    “Belfry—”
    “Now!”
    His tone was so urgent, I decided there was no reason to upset him if there was no one to witness his shenanigans. I scooped him into my palm and held him facing north when he suddenly stiffened.
    “Do you hear him?”
    Was that some kind of joke? “No, I don’t hear him. I can’t hear anyone from that plane anymore and you know it, Bel. Stop being cruel.”
    “Sorrysorrysorry. It was just instinct to ask. Forget that. He’s here, Stevie. He’s here!”
    “Yay.” I wanted to be excited for Belfry, because his excitement was infectious. Yet, I couldn’t help but instead feel a pang of jealousy, and I didn’t like admitting it.
    Belfry burst out in a fit of giggles, making me feel incredibly left out.
    “Hey, I wanna hear the joke, too.”
    “Oh, so now you wanna play, Mopey Gus?”
    I shook my head, knocking off my raincoat hood. “No. I don’t want to play. I want to eat lunch. Finish up with British Guy and let’s get out of here before Madame Zoltar comes back from her lunch break and we get caught.”
    “I was laughing at his name.”
    My ears perked. “Which is?”
    “Winterbottom.” And then Belfry laughed again, his munchkin-like chuckle spurring my own laughter.
    A giggle escaped my lips. “Winterbottom? Was he a butler?”
    “Mate? Give me one second. My mean friend is making fun of your name.”
    I seesawed my hand, giving him a little shake. “Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.
    “Shhhhhh! I’m trying to hear what the fudge he’s saying and he keeps fading in and out.”
    I let my eyes fall to the floor, a cold slab of concrete painted gray. “Sorry.”
    “Argh! Hold your palm up, Stevie, and your right leg. The signal’s weakening.”
    “I will not.”
    “Do it!”
    I reluctantly held up my right leg, noting my galoshes had seen better days.
    “Say that again?” Belfry requested, his tiny body rigid with the effort to hear British Guy. “Oh boy.”
    Belfry’s tone sounded ominous. “What’s happening?”
    “Just one more sec…” he trailed off as he strained forward, his wings at full mast.
    My right leg began to wobble and cramp. “Can’t hold on much longer, Belfry!” I gritted out.
    “Just a little longer, Stevie!”
    The moment Belfry begged for reprieve was the moment I tipped backward, the burning in my calf finally getting the better of me. As I toppled, I tried to hold my hand up to keep Belfry from harm.
    Which was when I completely lost it and crashed into the spinny rack, knocking it over and falling against the sharply pronged wire postcard holders. “Ow!”
    Postcards exploded in every direction as I rolled away from the prongs poking into my skin, but in the process somehow managed to catch the unstable metal shelf full of candles.
    There was a small rumble like distant thunder before everything just collapsed in a screech of metal. One candle after the other dropped in a domino effect, some knocking me in the head, others splitting into chunky fragments.
    I howled a word I can’t use in polite company as the candle meant to bring your true love back to you whacked me on the noggin. Stumbling blindly from the sharp sting, I attempted to scramble upward, only to stand on a cylinder-shaped candle and, like some demented log roller, lose my footing once more.
    “Stevie! Lookout!” Belfry shouted from somewhere above me.
    The problem being, he shouted too late.
    Head over heels, I plowed face first toward the rack housing crystals near the back room with a yelp of dismay. I managed to cover myself only in time to keep my face from smacking the edge of the shelving unit.
    I lay in the pile of my rubble, a bit dazed as the dust settled, and Belfry swooped downward to land on my chest.
    “Twinkle Toes?”
    I began to sit up with a groan, my head aching. “Yes, Belfry?”
    “If you can manage to do it