Brimstone and Broomsticks: Accidental Witches Book 1 Page 2

  “Send Russ.”

  Mack gnawed the toothpick. “It’s your turn, Cass. And if he’s really the son of Satan…”

  “Are you joking? Lucifer Junior wouldn’t be cooling his heels in a jail cell waiting for whoever was on rotation for pro-bono work. He’d vanish in a puff of smoke and… I don’t know, be burning a church down in Georgia or something.”

  Mack snickered. “You got wards in Accident. He’s probably a bit surprised and pissed about that right now, since last time I checked y’all didn’t count demons among your town residents.”

  We didn’t. And the only reason Mack knew about Accident and the wards was because the partners of the law firm were sphinx and Mack was a wulver. None of them resided within Accident city limits, but they liked to live, and work, a quick dash away from the town, just in case.

  Not that any of this was my business. Of course, if my bosses thought otherwise…

  “I’m busy. Send Russ.”

  Mack scowled. “Partners say he’s a demon, so he’s your problem.”

  I scowled back. “Well if he’s a demon, then he picked the wrong town for a vacation from hell, didn’t he?” Speaking of hell, where was that Mossburg file? “Actually, I doubt the wards are strong enough to cut the balls off the son of Satan. They’re not as effective on demons as I wished they were. He’s a human, a newb. He’s not a demon, and it’s not my case.”

  “Son of Satan, Cass. You’re the witch in this law firm. You’re supposed to take care of the rogue supes, even if you’ve decided that you don’t give a shit about Accident and what happens there.”

  That was so unfair. Kinda true, but still unfair.

  “He’s not the son of Satan and it’s not my turn. Send a psychiatrist, or a priest.” I spotted a file peeking out from under Mack’s leg. “And get up. You’re sitting on the Mossburg deposition.”

  “Rogue supe. He offered the warden one wish if he set him free.”

  “I hope the warden took him up on that.” I tugged on the file, but two hundred pounds of man-butt held it in place.

  “Cass.” There was a tired pleading note in Mack’s voice that finally got my attention. And his earlier comment had stung. I did care about Accident. I just wasn’t about to become the witch-in-charge. I wanted to be a resident, to live my life without all the heap of responsibility that others wanted to dump on my shoulders.

  Including this stupid case. But if the partners, sphinx or not, decided I needed to handle it, then I better get my ass in gear.

  “If this is just another whack-job, I’m going to be pissed,” I warned him.

  “Here’s the info. He’s in county lockup.” Mack got up to leave, finally freeing the Mossburg file. “Oh, and make sure you take your pointed hat. Just in case he tries to drag you off to hell or something.”

  “I don’t have a pointed hat!” I shouted after his retreating back.

  There was a reason I got these cases and it didn’t have anything to do with gender inequality in the law firm. Well, sometimes it didn’t have to do with gender inequality in the law firm. Since I’d gotten my job here they’d been using my particular gifts as an excuse for dumping all sorts of unsavory cases on my desk. That protective order hadn’t been because some woman was really cursing her boyfriend. The one DWI guy didn’t really cast an illusion spell at the scene of an accident. And last month’s poisoning had just been a normal poisoning, not a potion brewed in a cauldron under a full moon. Sometimes it was a pain being one of the descendants of the greatest witch in the last three hundred years who’d also been one of the few women to escape the Salem Witch Trials. It was my ancestor who’d founded Accident and cast the wards that made it a haven for persecuted supernaturals. Sometimes it was a pain living in one of the few towns where the presence of supernatural creatures and magic was a given.

  But that was why my great, great, great, great, great (five greats) grandmother Temperance Perkins had founded this town. No excommunication. No burning at the stake. Over the centuries Accident had become a town full of werewolves and vampires and harpies and fairies, and most importantly, a town that wouldn’t cast stones at witches practicing the not-so-dark arts.

  Before I headed off to the town detention center, I opened the file and uttered a soft ‘whoa’ at the mug shot. Hot damn. Even with some fresh bruises that had no doubt gotten even more colorful after a night in jail, the guy was smoking. Not that I particularly wanted to get naked with a D and D/assault two, but…damn. Hot damn.

  Tearing my eyes from the picture, I scanned the arrest notes. Huh. Looked like he’d had the upper hand with Clinton Dickskin before a few of Clinton’s buddies stepped in to help out. That wasn’t easy to do given that Clinton was one of the town’s more beefy and belligerent werewolves and wasn’t known for holding back on his punches. Even with four against one, Hottie McHotpants had made an impressive showing before the sheriff got there and magic-bombed the whole lot of them. Out of the four, one had gone to the hospital for stitches and a compound fracture, one probably should have gone to the hospital for stitches but refused treatment, and Clinton had gone downtown to press charges—which made me wonder about the human who was handy enough with his fists to make one of the baddest werewolves in town cry assault.

  It wasn’t the first time Clinton Dickskin had gotten into a fight. Probably wouldn’t be the last time, although I can’t recall him ever getting the crap beat out of him to the point that he whined to the law. Who the hell was this guy, Chuck Norris? Whoever he was, half the town would want to buy him a beer once this was over. If he stayed in town, that was.

  Back to my client, Infernal Hottie. Oh no. I stood corrected, he actually had a name according to the police report, although no ID and, of course, no money. Lucien. No last name. He told the cop he didn’t need a last name because he was the son of Lucifer. Great. I rolled my eyes. Figures I’d get the whack-job. I was probably going to have to call in psych after all.

  I read on.

  No ID. Bit of a dust up with Clinton in Pistol Pete’s around midnight according to the bartender. Bouncer threw the werewolf out. Clinton’s buddies protested, so Lucifer got shown the door as well, just to keep peace and be fair and all. Someone called in the fight in the parking lot. When the sheriff arrived, he found Clinton looking like he’d been driven over by a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Human arrested. Bus called in for two werewolves. Paramedics found one with bruises and cuts, another with a rather interesting compound fracture as well as cuts and bruises. The human had cuts and bruises. Clinton had cuts and bruises, including a rather deep one on the head from being shoved head-first rather forcefully into the window of a nearby truck. All except for the wolf with the broken arm refused transport, and Clinton insisted that charges be pressed.

  Hellboy, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly unharmed for having been in a fight with four werewolves. There were a few claw wounds about two inches long on his forearm, side, and chest, judged by the paramedics as not deep enough to require stitches. Hellboy had refused medical treatment as well.

  Huh. The guy was a smoking specimen of male physique and he fought like some ninja dude. I was impressed. And I completely understood why our local sheriff had decided he needed to haul this alleged “human” off to the pen for the night, and why my bosses had decided to lob this case my way.

  Didn’t mean the guy was actually a demon or anything, but it was best to be safe in a town where all sorts of supernatural creatures wandered the streets.

  I picked up the phone and called my sister, Bronwyn. “Hey. Human guy gets into a fight with four werewolves, injures three and walks away with minor injuries. What do you think?”

  I heard the slurp of her drinking her coffee. Bronwyn wasn’t an early riser. She’d probably just rolled out of bed five minutes ago. “Are you smoking crack?”

  I looked heavenward and shook my head. “That’s what the police report says. They arrested him. Clinton is pressing charges for assault.”

  She choked o
n her coffee then began to laugh. I waited patiently until she’d finished and managed to catch her breath.

  “Who the hell is this guy, Chuck Norris?”

  “I know, right?” I replied. “What are the odds?”

  “Slim to none, that’s what they are.” She took another sip. “You get tagged to pull the guy’s ass out of jail?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Well, be careful. Could be some Navy SEAL, ninja, badass. Or could be someone you might not want to mess with without your amulet and a staff of power.”

  “Or could be a human who didn’t have the smarts to back down.”

  “Then he’d be a dead human,” Bronwyn countered.

  I bit my lip in thought. “The werewolves wouldn’t kill a newb. They might beat the shit out of him and toss him across the wards, but they wouldn’t kill him.”

  “Two nights from the full moon?” Bronwyn scoffed. “Please. Someone insults them this time of the month, and there’s gonna be blood.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “So why isn’t this guy in the hospital, and why is Clinton whining about being assaulted?” I mused.

  “Because maybe he’s not really human?” Bronwyn replied. “Cass, be careful. I enchant objects. All we’ve got in Accident is a bunch of wards surrounding the town that haven’t been updated in decades. Those things do their job, but if someone’s carrying around an enchanted object, or if they’re not really a human, the wards aren’t going to negate that.”

  “You thinking a VanHelsing?” I asked.

  “I fucking hope not. But be careful, just in case.”

  I thanked her and promised to make that coconut cream pie she liked for Sunday dinner, then hung up, digging the amulet out of my purse and draping it over my neck before getting my jacket, and heading out to the door to the county lockup, to see someone who might be the son of the devil, and hopefully get him out on bail.

  Chapter 3

  Cassandra

  I stood outside the cell and gave my client a quick look-over. His mug shot hadn’t done him justice. Even with the black eye and a cut along his jaw, the guy was panty-dropping hot. He had blood all over his torn shirt, and crumpled, mud-stained gray trousers, all of which somehow made him even more attractive. The guy had bad boy written all over him, from the wavy lock of dark brown hair that fell across his forehead to the emerald green eyes that were busy appraising me as I appraised him.

  Yep. Hot guy. I doubted he was a demon, though, or he wouldn’t be bruised and cut. If a werewolf could heal those kinds of wounds within hours, I’d assume a demon could do the same. Actually, I’d assume a demon wouldn’t even get bruised or cut to begin with. But then again, I’d locked all those books up in the attic when my grandmother had died and not bothered to read them since the funeral. What I remembered about demons wasn’t enough to fill a thimble.

  “Witch.”

  I blinked, wondering if I’d imagined the whispered word or his look of astonishment.

  “What?”

  “Are you my breakfast?” He gave me a lazy grin. “If so, I hope they remove these handcuffs.”

  I glanced down, surprised that they’d left the cuffs on him. Huh. Sheriff Oakes wasn’t usually so paranoid. There must have been something that made him think a jail cell alone couldn’t hold this guy, or that he might be a danger to the magical beings that ran the detention center.

  Demon. He had beaten the shit out of one, actually two, werewolves. But he looked so human here in this jail cell, with the handcuffs and the bloody shirt, and that rakish, sexy smile on his oh-so-handsome face.

  The man got to his feet and prowled over toward me. My blood quickened and I swallowed hard. Shit. This was so unprofessional. How long had it been since I’d gotten laid? Too long, evidently.

  “Mr….” I looked down at the folder in my hand, even though I’d pretty much memorized the contents. “Mr. Doe. I’m Cassandra Perkins, the lawyer that’s been assigned to you. To…help you.”

  “Can you get these cuffs off me, Cassandra?” he purred. “I’m not exactly sure what sort of help you’re going to provide to me, but let’s start with these handcuffs.”

  He might be human, but I got the impression this guy was still dangerous, so just in case I touched the amulet under my shirt, and straightened to my full five foot, eight inches. Wards. Laws. And if the guy tried anything, Bronwyn’s birthday gift would ensure it would be the last thing the fucker tried.

  “Put your hands though the bars so I can reach the cuffs,” I told him.

  He did so and I eyed my sister’s handiwork. I might have refused to do magic, but my siblings didn’t have the same reticence. And Bronwyn was a damned skilled witch.

  I took a breath and muttered a word, reaching between the bars to touch the handcuffs. They fell free into my hand, and I slid them through to my side of the cell. It was a simple spell, but I’d felt something quicken inside me the moment I’d said the words. The man on the other side of the bars must have felt it as well because he caught his breath.

  He still seemed human, even without the magical handcuffs. Human, but with the magnetic sexual attraction I’d never felt for humans. I blamed it on growing up in a town where over ninety percent of the residents were “other” beings. That attraction made me wary, made me wonder if he really was human, or something else.

  I cleared my throat. “As I mentioned, I’m here to represent you. You’re being charged with two accounts of second-degree assault, drunk and disorderly, and vandalism.” I flipped through the file. “Drunk and disorderly I can probably get dropped. Pete’s no stranger to that at his place. Vandalism…the owner of the truck isn’t thrilled about their windshield, but they’re also not a fan of werewolves. If you’re willing to shell out a few hundred to replace the windshield, she’ll probably let it go.”

  “I don’t have a few hundred.” He was continuing to stare at me, his gaze intense. I felt hot, flushed. And I was really wishing there wasn’t a row of enchanted metal bars between us.

  It was probably a good thing there was a row of enchanted metal bars between us.

  “What can I offer her?” I asked, trying to concentrate on my lawyerly duties. “The two assault charges…well, that’s going to be more problematic. But I think I can play the werewolf-two-nights-from-the-full-moon card if the other charges get dropped.”

  “I don’t have any money. And why are those werewolves pressing charges? It’s not like they didn’t hit me back.”

  “Says here you started the fight. Do you deny that? Mr….Doe?” For fuck’s sake. That wasn’t the guy’s name. He needed to start being straight with me if I was going to defend him.

  “I did start the fight. He was being an ass. The guy deserved to be taken down a notch. It was good for his soul. Humility might save him from an eternity in hell.”

  Here we go. Here comes the psycho shit. “We’ve got a couple of choices here. You can plead guilty and embarrass the werewolves, thus pressuring the prosecutor into a lesser charge on a plea. Stanley, the guy with the broken arm, will do whatever Clinton tells him to do. I make the werewolves out to be a bunch of pansies, losing a fight to a newbie, I mean a human, and they’ll fold.”

  He nodded, gripping the cell bars with his hands and leaning close to me. “And the other choice?”

  I leaned close as well, fully cognizant that what I was about to propose would cost me my license in any town but Accident. “You post bail. You leave town. You never come back.”

  He blinked, that slow, sexy grin creasing his cheeks. “Isn’t that against the law? A warrant for failure to appear? Bail bondsmen and the police hunting me down? I like how you think, Cassandra, I’m just a bit surprised that my lawyer is advising such a thing.”

  I clenched my teeth. “I’m advising scenario one. Scenario two means I need to get the charges dropped before you have to appear.”

  “And if you don’t get the charges dropped?”

  I couldn’t exactly tell this guy that the moment
he crossed the wards, he’d forget everything he ever saw or did here in Accident, that our police wouldn’t cross county, or state, lines to hunt down a human for something so minor as getting the upper hand in a fight with a group of werewolves. I couldn’t tell him that although we based our laws on the neighboring human ones, we bent those rules a lot—a whole lot.

  “Let’s get you out of here on bail, and worry about all that later, after I talk to the prosecutor.” I grimaced, not exactly looking forward to talking to the prosecutor. I hadn’t seen Marcus…well, I hadn’t seen him since The Incident.

  “Sounds good to me.” He stepped back from the bars and eyed the lock.

  I went to call the officer and hesitated. “So you don’t have any identification, and you don’t have any money?”

  “Just this.” He reached into his pocket showed me something that looked like a brass slug. “Think this will pay my bail?”

  I frowned. How did he have that? The police should have taken all his personal belongings away. Someone in a holding cell, especially someone deemed dangerous enough to still have handcuffs on, shouldn’t have a coin in his pocket. Or anything else in his pocket.

  “I doubt the court will take Chuck E. Cheese tokens for your bail payment,” I told him.

  “Well, this is all I’ve got. And I kind of need it to get home. Charon doesn’t take credit cards, you know.”

  “Charon?”

  “The ferryman?”

  Ah yes. “The ferryman”. His limo-driver to hell. He was still sticking with the whole I’m a demon thing. Not that I was completely convinced he was human. I was reserving judgement on the whole thing. So far all he’d done was get drunk and beat up a bunch of werewolves. Not exactly demon behavior—or what I imagined demon behavior to be.

  “So Charon, your Uber driver, takes Chuck E. Cheese tokens. Good to know. And he’s coming back to pick you up when?”