Hex Me, Baby, One More Time: Magic and Mayhem Universe (Hex Drive)

  Hex Me, Baby, One More Time (Hex Drive Book 1)

  Magic & Mayhem Universe

  Renee George

  Contents

  Foreword

  Acknowledgments

  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

  About the Author

  Also by Renee George

  My Peculiar Road Trip (Peculiar Mysteries Book 6)

  Foreword

  Blast Off with us into the Magic and Mayhem Universe!

  I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.

  What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?

  Well, let me explain…

  It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you…the results are hilarious!

  So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!

  For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com/. Grab your copy today!

  Copyright © 2018 by Renee George

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.

  If your magic is as tragic as your love life, it's time to practice safe hex.

  Brita Davis, a witch with a talent for hexes, has had it up to her frizzy hair with her mom trying to set her up with every Tom, Dick, and Warlock. And the Cauldron Festival celebration has ignited her mother’s passion once again for matchmaking. And when the warlock she’s supposed to hook up with brings an entourage of Shifters as security with him, Brita is certain she wants nothing to do with the self-important jerk.

  However, she can’t seem to get one of the Shifters off her mind.

  Cas, a werewolf on an assignment from the Council, can’t let something like lust, love, and the mating scent get in the way of his job, but Brita makes it hard for him to do the task he was hired for—very, very hard—by her mere presence. Besides, she’s bossy, sometimes she’s a little mean, and her magic has attracted the attention of some very dangerous people.

  Still, protecting Brita is turning out the be the only job he really wants.

  Acknowledgments

  I have to thank my favorite cookie and one of my besties in the universe Robyn Peterman for allowing me, once again, to play in her sandbox. I adore you, darling!

  And I have to thank the other Robbin in my life, my sister for always making time for you. I love you to the moon and back times infinity.

  Next, I want to thank my readers. Without you, I wouldn’t have the same purpose. You rock!

  And lastly, thank you to hot, black coffee. I owe every word to you.

  Chapter One

  "Eight words the Witches Rede fulfill:If it Harms none, Do what Thou Will!" quote from the Wiccan Rede

  "Goddess, oh, Goddess, oh crap." I'd awakened in a dark cellar, my medieval dress ripped and wet, my hair chopped off, and red marks all over my arms. I'd really screwed the pooch ten ways to Samhain. Was this one of the Council's torture chambers? Would I they send me to jail? Or would they simply execute me? I had to escape. I snapped my swollen fingers, willing myself home, but nothing happened. I called upon my magic to manifest to my hands. Again, nothing. Not even a spark. Panic made me shake. I had no magic. It was gone. I looked around the room. Did I know this place? Maybe. I looked at the boxes I was propped against. It was two cases of vodka. My captors like to put it away apparently.

  Wait. No. I wasn't captured. I remembered something... I had been captured, and I'd escaped. But how? I stood up and felt woozy. I touched my head. A huge bump was protruding from my forehead, which went a long way to explaining my muddy memory. I'd escaped, but without magic, I'd had to find a place safe where the warlocks wouldn't find me.

  Okay. I remembered it was warlocks after me. What else could I remember if I rummaged the vacancies in my brain?

  Vodka. Another several cases of beer. Wine coolers. The Trash Bin Bar & Grill. That's right. I'd broken the lock on the cellar doors and crawled in. It was starting to come back to me, but not enough. Was it Baba Yaga's handsome bobble-headed freaks? I'd heard they could be tenacious when tracking down rogue witches. Was that what I was? A rogue witch? I needed to get to my mother. She could help me. Since my magic was gone, she could use hers to get me out of Cauldron. Goddess, she'd been so damned excited about the festival.

  I staggered to a set of stairs leading to the cellar doors and pushed my way out. I was shooting for quiet, after all, my father was a Shifter. I shouldn't need magic to move quickly and without sound. But I did. I was a noisy, totally screwed, powerless witch. At this rate, I might as well be human.

  Unfortunately, warlocks with magic were stealthy bastards, which is why I didn't see the fashion Ken doll waiting for me on the other side when I walked past a large dumpster and was zapped in the ass with a jolt of hot pink magic.

  Before I could do more than shout, "Ow!" he smashed my forehead head into the rough brick wall of the building. I shoved off the wall with all my strength, turned, and caught the blond-haired cretin by the balls and gave them a hardy squeeze.

  “Ah!” the man cried out. “Stupid cow. Let me go, or I'll explode your head off.” Two more warlocks stepped out of the shadows. One with black hair and the other with lavender-blue, which had to be magicked, because no one was born with that hair color.

  “We won't hurt you if you cooperate,” the black-haired one said.

  Only, they'd already hurt me. “Too late, asshole.” My forehead throbbed as blood dripped down into my left eye. The two men stepped toward me. I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my free arm while squeezing Blondie’s balls even hard. I narrowed my gaze on Black and Blue. “Take one step closer, and I will rip your friend’s nuts off.”

  A blur from out of the darkness smashed my side. Blondie screamed like a man whose nuts were being yanked off as I crashed to the ground dragging him down with me. A punch to my head made me let go. I scrambled to my feet and ran in the opposite direction of my house. Damn it. They probably had people waiting at my place and my parent's home as well. I took the first left down Woof Street that let out between the Fox Theatre and Hibernation Hotel. Up ahead sixty feet, I could see the flashing Marquee light at the end of the
proverbial tunnel. The festival. It was still going on. Which meant, I hadn't been gone long enough for anyone to miss me. However, if I didn't want to be secreted away to some witch version of Guantanamo Bay, then I needed witnesses. Lots and lots of witnesses.

  Forty feet. Almost there. Thirty. Just have to get to Howler Street, and I’m home free. The exhilarating thrill of escape excited me more than it should and blinded me to the shadowy figure that reached out from behind the darkness and wrapped me in his arms.

  “Noooo!” I screamed, struggling against my attacker. Only...he wasn’t attacking.

  “Stop kicking me,” the furry beast growled as he lifted me off my feet.

  “Then let me go!”

  “Shhh,” he put his hand over my mouth, his voice low and rough. “I’m trying to help you, but you’re not making it easy.” I bit him hard enough to break the skin. He didn’t even flinch. He yanked me to him tighter. "Normally, I'm not opposed to biting, but this isn't the time or the place. Now, stop struggling."

  I looked up at my captor, unable to keep the tears from my eyes. "I killed him. I hexed him dead." As I said earlier, totally screwed.

  One day earlier...

  "Why are you making me go to the Cauldron Festival with a guy named Montrose Albadose. He sounds like a fungus," I said. I gagged, looked down at the bowl of Mom's witch's hair brew on her dark cherry vanity, and gagged again for a different reason. "Speaking of fungus, what is that? It looks like Simon licked the floor of a locker room and hacked it up in that bowl."

  A twenty-pound orange and white tabby cat perched on the end of my bed picked his head up from the duvet and said, "I would never lick a locker room floor." Simon was my familiar. He'd been by my side for as long as I could remember, and our relationship was more brother and sister than a witch and familiar. "I've seen you lick your balls, so it's nice to know there's a line you won't cross."

  He bared his teeth at me then flopped on his belly. "My balls are cleaner than your kitchen counters."

  "Yeah, because you lick them so much."

  My mother's familiar, a tiny eight-pound gray cat with black rings around her tail, rested next to him, licked her paw, and snickered.

  "Shut up, Ash." He swiped at her with open claws, but she moved before he was able to connect.

  "Nuh-uh-uh," the gray kitty said with elaborate staccato. "You didn't say, Simon Says."

  "All of you hush," my mom said, her southern accent strong with her irritation. She'd grown up in Georgia but met my father when she was in medical school. It's also where she'd met her "old friend" Melba Montrose. They'd been freshman dorm roommates, and the rest was history, according to mom. Sometimes to hear her talk, Melba Montrose was the second coming of Cerridwen, mistress of the cauldron, and the goddess for which our town was named, and in whose honor we threw the fall festival every year.

  Mom pulled the bowl of grossness closer to her. "It's mashed avocados, coconut oil, lavender essential oil, and coal tar that I bespelled. I was told it could tame any hair." She curled her manicured claws into the mixture and scooped another handful.

  "No wonder it smells like someone pooped in lavender." I groaned as she plopped it on top of my head. "You know that stuff isn't going to work. And neither is your matchmaking."

  "Now, Brita," my mom said as she forced the thick dark-green goop and her magic into my tangle of curls, trying to tame the massive tumbleweed of hair. "I'm not asking you to marry, Monty. But his mother is one of my closest friends since college, and I promised her we'd take good care of him while he's in town. Besides, you have to admit." She wiggled her eyebrows. "He's quite a looker. You both will make a striking Cerridwen and her bard for the lead float. If I could just get this hair of yours under control."

  Since all witches and warlocks, thanks to the Goddess, were "lookers" as mom put it, it wasn't like him being attractive was some unusual prize. My mom was no exception. Even though she was fifty, she looked twenty with her baby smooth skin, peaches and cream complexion, straight, perfectly controlled blonde hair, and her large, but not weirdly large, blue eyes. I gave her a pleading look. "Please, don't make me."

  She poked through my hair more and changed the subject. "This hair of yours, Brita! Somedays I want to shave you bald and make you wear a wig."

  "You chose to marry dad. Don't blame me if I ended up with his hair." My mother was a witch, but my father was a wolf Shifter with curly brown hair. He kept it short for obvious reasons, and it was the only part about me that wasn't perfectly "witch." My mousy-brown mop constantly rebelled against magic and all man-made products. "I'll just put it in a ponytail or something."

  "I want you looking your best when company arrives."

  "I will run away," I threatened, and not for the first time. It had been a running joke between us over the years, but now was the first time I was seriously considering the option. Mom had tried to get me to go to Salem with her over the years in hopes that I would find myself a nice warlock to settle down with. She'd even gone as far as making me a profile on a dating site called Witchmates. Their slogan had been, "Stop Witching Around. Make a Date With Your Magical Soulmate." I gagged again just thinking about it. "Mom, what's this really about?"

  "Did I tell you that Monty's mother is one of my closest friends and she knows Baba Yaga personally?"

  "Only a million times," I muttered. "Ouch," I said louder when she gave my hair a little yank.

  I gave my mom a heated stare, and she responded with a thin-lipped smile.

  "Why don't you meet Monty before making up your mind? Give him a chance." She ran her fingers over my scalp again, and I heard the crackle before I smelled singed hair.

  I jumped up from the seat in front of Mom's vanity and checked to make sure I still had hair on my head. "I swear, Mother--"

  She raised a sparking fingertip. "No cursing," she said.

  I clamped my mouth shut and flushed. "I wasn't..."

  "Weren't you?"

  "No." I'd learned at a young age that I had to watch what I say and how I say it. Most people can say things like screw off, go to hell, drop dead, or even a simple, what goes around comes around without any consequence. After all, they're just words, satisfying in the moment, but no more harmful than pelting someone with a marshmallow. The difference between me and what everyone else is that when I cursed someone, it actually happens. According to my mom, most witches tend to have a natural talent for two types of powerful magic, creation or healing. Only red-heads were healers, like my mom, while creator witches had a variety of hair colors, except red. Unfortunately, I was neither a healer or a creator, unless you count my talent for creating chaos in the form of hexes.

  For instance, I once told a boy who'd called me Scary-crow and equated my hair to straw, to go jump off a bridge. That night he walked to Tailwag Bridge and jumped. Luckily, he hadn't died, but the ten kids, including my older brother, who'd heard me say it to the kid, gave me a wide berth after that. And there were a few other episodes, a boy I liked kissed another girl, and I wished a boil on his butt, a girl who shoved me in the locker room lost all her hair. A bald fox Shifter is nobody's idea of cute. The hair grew back eventually, but my hex on her had cemented my status as a weird, loner frizzy-haired witch. If my father, Rosco Davis, hadn't been the town alpha, I'm sure they would have come after me with pitchforks and torches to run me out of Cauldron.

  "I wasn't going to curse," I said. Every once in a while, my mouth still got me in trouble, but I tried to keep my curses as non-lethal and to myself as possible. I grabbed a hair tie from mom's dresser. I pulled my slimy hair into a ponytail and raised my hands in triumph. "Voila! Hair problem solved."

  She raised a perfectly manicured brow. "Uh huh."

  A knock at the door had us both turning to look. My dad stuck his head in the room and addressed my mom. "Joanie, your guests are here." He didn't look happy. At all.

  "Guests?" I asked. "As in more than one?" I glared at my mom. "How many warlocks did you invite for me?"


  She pressed her hand to her chest. "Only one." She held up a finger. "On the Goddess's light. But you know how the town fills up for the festivities. Cauldron knows how to throw a party." What she really meant was that she knew how to throw a party, but she was affecting modesty. Personally, I hated all the strangers in town. I meant more work and, for whatever reason, more fires. Witches and warlocks sure liked to blow stuff up, and I wasn't too proud to admit I was one of the culprits. I worked at the fire station for my brother, and we'd had to put out two fires while I was training that I'd accidentally started because I was nervous.

  "They aren't all warlocks," my dad said. "The majority are Shifters." He scowled. "They have entered our town without even asking for my permission. It sets a bad precedent." He said this every year.

  "Oh, Rosco," my mom said. "I am sorry. Monty said he was bringing along security. I just assumed it would be witches and warlocks."

  I snorted a laugh as I scraped some of the mashed avocado mixture from my ponytail and flung the excess in Mom's small trash can. "I think now's the perfect time to meet this guy." I pranced back on forth on my toes. "Don't you agree?"

  "You are not meeting Monty like this, young lady. Just sit that butt down on the stool before I zap it."

  I made a circle with my fingers gesturing around my face, hair, and body. "This is as good as it gets."

  "You're a beautiful girl, Brit," my father said. "Just the way you are."

  "You go on downstairs and make our guests feel welcome, darling," my mom said. "We'll be there in a hot minute."