Read Online Shake Your Green Thing: Supernatural Witch Cozy Mystery (Harper “Foxxy” Beck Series Book 2) by Raven Snow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Raven Snow
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forehead, not listening to the rest of the woman's speech and cursing myself for thinking she was all right. No one who used the name Cherry Blossom of their own free will could be considered "all right" in my book. I wondered idly, while scuffing my shoe against the ground, if that name was on her birth certificate.
A scream made my head snap up, and my eyes bulged out of my head. On stage, Cherry had stopped giving her speech and dropped to the ground, where she writhed and choked. Her skin went from porcelain to grape to amphibian before my very eyes.
All around me, people were making frantic calls to 911, but I just stood there, staring at the fallen Cherry Blossom. I didn't really see the redheaded witch, though, her bright hair replaced with my brown locks. Her eyes became mine, and I watched in horror as a greener me died in my mind's eye.
Was that what it would look like when this magical poison overwhelmed my body? A shudder ran through me, helplessness threatening to take hold. I shook it off, running to my bug and fleeing the scene before Wyatt and the police could show up. If he looked at me with those eyes I loved, I’d just lose it, and I couldn’t afford to lose it right now.
Other than Melanie, I had no suspects, and at this point, I couldn’t even say she was a good one. Killing people with magic would make big headlines and bring in the tourists she needed to stay afloat. But killing contestants in a festival she was running would ruin Witch Week and, by proxy, her reputation.
If there was one thing Melanie Gross cared about more than money, it was what people thought of her.
Grandma’s car was in the driveway, but none of the house lights were on. When I knocked— a seldom occurrence— no sounds came from inside. Frowning, I slipped inside with the spare key I’d had to bully out of the old witch.
“What do you need it for?” she’d asked, eyes beady and suspicious.
Exasperated, I’d replied, “In case you’re lying on the ground, dying, and I need the door unlocked to save your ungrateful self.”
She’d given me one after a little more prompting, telling me it was highly unlikely she’d ever need anything from me. Still, I’d won the argument and lived to fight another day.
“Grandma?”
No reply.
I went from room to room, looking for any signs of a batty old lady in a red robe. Ancient magical texts and talismans were strewn all over the attic and bedroom floor. The attic, which served as a library—a bloated one, at that— was always littered with books. The bedroom, on the other hand, had never seen a spell book in its long life.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the cell she never used. It rang for seemingly an hour before the automated lady told me to leave a message. I didn’t bother, dialing a second number.
“Is Grandma at the shop with you?” I asked Oliver, without any niceties attached.
“Hold on.” His voice became muffled, probably from pressing the phone against his shirt. “Lady, if you don’t like the service, then just get out.”
I contained my snort. Even without meaning to, Oliver could always make me feel better— even when a cold, hard lump was forming in my belly.
“I’m back, “ he said. “What’s this about Miss Hanes?”
Kicking aside one of the texts in frustration, I said, “I’m at the house right now, and she’s not here. Is she at the magic shop?”
A pause. “I didn’t think she left the house much anymore, but she’s definitely not here.”
“She doesn’t.” I sighed. “At least, I didn’t think she did.”
“Did you try calling her?”
“No, I sent up smoke signals.” My tone was a little sharper than I’d meant it to be. “Hope she gets them because the fire’s dying down, and I’m out of wood.”
“Wow,” he said. “Want me to give you a good smack with all that sass?”
Sinking down into the tiny, purple chair in the corner, I closed my eyes in an attempt to banish the headache that had suddenly
A scream made my head snap up, and my eyes bulged out of my head. On stage, Cherry had stopped giving her speech and dropped to the ground, where she writhed and choked. Her skin went from porcelain to grape to amphibian before my very eyes.
All around me, people were making frantic calls to 911, but I just stood there, staring at the fallen Cherry Blossom. I didn't really see the redheaded witch, though, her bright hair replaced with my brown locks. Her eyes became mine, and I watched in horror as a greener me died in my mind's eye.
Was that what it would look like when this magical poison overwhelmed my body? A shudder ran through me, helplessness threatening to take hold. I shook it off, running to my bug and fleeing the scene before Wyatt and the police could show up. If he looked at me with those eyes I loved, I’d just lose it, and I couldn’t afford to lose it right now.
Other than Melanie, I had no suspects, and at this point, I couldn’t even say she was a good one. Killing people with magic would make big headlines and bring in the tourists she needed to stay afloat. But killing contestants in a festival she was running would ruin Witch Week and, by proxy, her reputation.
If there was one thing Melanie Gross cared about more than money, it was what people thought of her.
Grandma’s car was in the driveway, but none of the house lights were on. When I knocked— a seldom occurrence— no sounds came from inside. Frowning, I slipped inside with the spare key I’d had to bully out of the old witch.
“What do you need it for?” she’d asked, eyes beady and suspicious.
Exasperated, I’d replied, “In case you’re lying on the ground, dying, and I need the door unlocked to save your ungrateful self.”
She’d given me one after a little more prompting, telling me it was highly unlikely she’d ever need anything from me. Still, I’d won the argument and lived to fight another day.
“Grandma?”
No reply.
I went from room to room, looking for any signs of a batty old lady in a red robe. Ancient magical texts and talismans were strewn all over the attic and bedroom floor. The attic, which served as a library—a bloated one, at that— was always littered with books. The bedroom, on the other hand, had never seen a spell book in its long life.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the cell she never used. It rang for seemingly an hour before the automated lady told me to leave a message. I didn’t bother, dialing a second number.
“Is Grandma at the shop with you?” I asked Oliver, without any niceties attached.
“Hold on.” His voice became muffled, probably from pressing the phone against his shirt. “Lady, if you don’t like the service, then just get out.”
I contained my snort. Even without meaning to, Oliver could always make me feel better— even when a cold, hard lump was forming in my belly.
“I’m back, “ he said. “What’s this about Miss Hanes?”
Kicking aside one of the texts in frustration, I said, “I’m at the house right now, and she’s not here. Is she at the magic shop?”
A pause. “I didn’t think she left the house much anymore, but she’s definitely not here.”
“She doesn’t.” I sighed. “At least, I didn’t think she did.”
“Did you try calling her?”
“No, I sent up smoke signals.” My tone was a little sharper than I’d meant it to be. “Hope she gets them because the fire’s dying down, and I’m out of wood.”
“Wow,” he said. “Want me to give you a good smack with all that sass?”
Sinking down into the tiny, purple chair in the corner, I closed my eyes in an attempt to banish the headache that had suddenly
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