Charmed Nights Read online

  Charmed Nights

  The Witches of Hollow Cove, Book three

  Kim Richardson

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Charmed Nights, The Witches of Hollow Cove, Book three

  Copyright © 2020 by Kim Richardson

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in any form.

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  www.kimrichardsonbooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Magical Mojo

  Books By Kim Richardson

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  1

  I stood in the entryway of Davenport House, my eyes tracing the wood grain from the front door. It gave the place a rich, organic glow, and my heart thumped on superspeed. My aunts and Iris stood a few paces behind me, their nervous energy intensifying my nerves until I felt as though I might jump out of my skin and leave it in a pile on the floor like a heap of discarded clothes.

  Today was October 31. It was Samhain, or Halloween as the humans called it, a celebration of the end of summer and the beginning of a new magical year. We prepared a huge feast and honored our dead—witch or animal familiars who’d passed—and took our celebration through the streets of Hollow Cove. The festivities ended with a massive bonfire on Sandy Beach, where we sang and danced until the early morning hours.

  It was by far my favorite witchy celebration, yet my heart was not in the celebrating mood.

  Today was Samhain, but it was also my first day of the Merlin witch trials.

  Oh, goodie.

  Two months had passed since I received my summons, if you will, from the Witch Trials Training Division Director, Greta Trickle. In her short letter, Greta had stated that if I didn’t attend the trials my Merlin license would be revoked.

  How very kind of her.

  According to the lengthy telephone conversation my Aunt Dolores had had with Greta after reading my letter, my Merlin license had been suspended. Greta had written to the North American Board of Merlins, the department that administers the licenses, and had managed—no doubt by exaggerating the circumstances in which I had received mine—to convince the board to suspend my license until I satisfactorily completed the witch trials.

  So here I was, two months later, fully energized and ready to begin my newest adventure. Yeah, not really. Truth was, I was nervous as hell.

  According to my little black book of ley lines, The Ley Lines of North America, I was going to have to transfer lines after the fifth stop and take another ley line west to High Peak Wilderness, New York—wherever that was. Jumping different ley lines wasn’t the reason I was shaking.

  The unknown had my legs doing a little jig—possibly a tap dance.

  For nearly two months my aunts had done their best to coach and prepare me for what I might expect. Like clockwork, they’d been quizzing and testing me: Ruth on potions, Dolores on ley lines and power words, and Beverly on enchantments and glamours. It never stopped. Even Iris chipped it. She tested me on my demon summoning skills and Dark curses and hexes. Though the aunts kept telling her that wasn’t in the trials, she just pretended she didn’t hear them and taught me anyway.

  And I wanted to learn. All of it. Knowledge was power, and the more magical knowledge I had, the better off I would be. Or so I hoped.

  But the truth was, it had been more than thirty years since my aunts had navigated the witch trials, and a lot could change and happen in that amount of time. Which meant, anything they coached me on might not be valid anymore.

  I could have responded to Greta with a nice drawing of my middle finger, but seeing how important it was to my aunts that I become a Merlin like them, I decided to keep that drawing lying on my desk. It might come in handy for someone else… like Gilbert.

  Being a Merlin meant something. It meant respect in our paranormal communities. It meant holding a position that could actually make a difference and help our people. I wanted to be part of that. For the first time in my life, I felt I had a true purpose, like I was meant to become a Merlin.

  So, I’d made a promise to myself. I would pass the witch trials and get my Merlin license back, no matter what.

  “It’s fifteen to nine. You should go,” instructed my Aunt Dolores. She stood with a hand on her hip while she gestured with the other, reminding me of a schoolteacher. At five-ten, her deep frown and cynical eyes would have many men scurrying away. Her long gray hair was loose and fell down her back, giving her a softer edge. But you’d be a fool if you thought her soft, just before she knocked you down with one of her spells. “You don’t want to be late on your first day,” she said. “Being late would be catastrophic.”

  “The only late that’s catastrophic is when you’re pregnant,” said Beverly, swinging her hips and tossing her blonde hair back. “Or when you have to choose between two men. Or three. Or four men. That’s catastrophic. This isn’t.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “I won’t be late,” I answered, wondering if I’d just answered Beverly or Dolores. Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag on my shoulder. I’d stuffed it with only the essentials: my ever-faithful The Witch’s Handbook, Volume Three, my little black book of The Ley Lines of North America, a couple of power bars, one carrot muffin, my wallet, and my phone.

  Speaking of phones, I grabbed it and glanced at it one last time, my heart dancing as I glanced at the screen. No missed calls. No new texts.

  Deflated, I dropped my phone back into my bag. Marcus had been MIA for nearly two months. He’d been called on urgent business up in Pennsylvania to help with some crisis the same night we were supposed to have our very first date. He’d texted me that evening before he left.

  Marcus: I’m leaving for Pennsylvania tonight. It’s urgent. Give you the details later. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Sorry about dinner. I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Call you when I get back.

  I’d texted him back.

  You better. And added a smiling emoji.

  That was the last text I’d gotten from him. It was the last anything I’d gotten from him. And that was nearly two months ago.

  I’d remained hopeful as the weeks went by but nothing. I’d resisted the urge to call him the first two weeks. I didn’t want to be that woman who kept her man on a tight leash. Marcus wasn’t my man. We hadn’t even been on a first date. He wasn’t my anything. But after a month of not hearing from him, I decided to call.

  It went straight to his voicemail.

  Marcus never called or texted me back. I’d really wanted that dinner, damn it. But if he was ghosting me, he was going to get an earful the next
time I saw him.

  The fact that he didn’t call back or text to let me know his trip was going to take a little longer than expected… hurt. I’ll admit it. I was falling for the guy, the chief of Hollow Cove. That kiss had been extraordinary, causing my brain cells to explode on impact.

  But the fact the guy didn’t call back spoke volumes about the said guy.

  It said I wasn’t important enough to him to merit one damn phone call.

  My pulse sped faster at the thought, and I hated how it made me feel. I felt stupid for letting my guard down and allowing him in, and I was angry as hell.

  I forced those gloomy thoughts away. I couldn’t lose my cool or get distracted. I had to focus on what was more important and pressing, like passing the witch trials.

  I’d need my whole brain for that—and then some.

  My nerves skyrocketed the longer I stood there staring at the door. I glanced over my shoulder to Iris. She gave me a tight smile with her full lips, her dark eyes round with excitement. The thirty-two-year-old Dark witch had settled amazingly well into Davenport House with the rest of us. One look at her pretty, pixie-like face, silky black hair, and perfect little body, you’d never guess that only two months ago she roamed around Hollow Cove as a goat. That douchebag Adan had put the curse on her to keep her quiet. But with Adan six feet under, the curse had lifted. Iris was a witch again.

  I thought she might have preferred to return home to her family, but she’d decided to stay with us. We’d become quite close, like sisters, really. Being an only child, I’d always wanted a sister, someone I could rely on since my mother and father (mostly my father) had been MIA most of my childhood.

  Ruth handed me a small brown paper bag, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Here. I made you a lunch in case you get hungry. With all that traveling, you might get hungry. And if you’re hungry, all you have to do is eat what’s in the bag.”

  “I think she gets it, Einstein,” grumbled Dolores with a smile.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already packed some snacks. “Thank you, Ruth. That’s very thoughtful.” I snatched up the brown paper bag and dropped it in my messenger bag, not wanting my aunts or Iris to see my shaking hands. It was the only thing I carried. Hauling luggage around would have been awkward. Since I was able to use the ley lines, I could come home after the trials. Thank the cauldron for that. I did not want to stay in a hotel with a bunch of strangers as my blood pressure was already hitting a record high.

  Ruth took my hand and squeezed it in hers. “You’ll do fine. Just be yourself,” she encouraged, seemingly having noticed my unease and nervousness no matter how hard I tried to hide it. She smiled, the corners of her blue eyes wrinkling and holding a mixture of wonder and excitement. Her white hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun held by two pencils.

  “That’s the problem,” I mumbled. “Whenever I’m myself, crap happens.”

  Ruth laughed. “Me too. It’s part of being a Davenport witch. It’s our charm.”

  “Like hell it is. Crap is not my charm,” huffed Beverly, her usual sultry tone high with nerves. She winked at me and added, “My curves are.”

  “You ready?” asked Dolores, the tension carrying through in her voice.

  “No.” But what choice did I have? Either jump the ley line or lose my Merlin license. I let out a shaky breath. “Well. Guess I’ll be going now.”

  “Knock ’em dead,” said Dolores, inclining her head by way of dismissal.

  I beamed. “If you say so.”

  Dolores rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Though I wouldn’t mind picking out a casket for Greta. A black one… with little red worms would do marvelous.”

  Iris stepped forward. “I wish I could come with you,” said the Dark witch, her black hair swaying against her chin.

  “Me too.” I’ll admit, having Iris with me might have helped some of my jitters. But I was a grown woman. I could do this. I had to do this on my own.

  I dipped my head. “See you in a bit.”

  Steeling myself, I focused my will and reached out to tap the ley line. A vast, roaring current of magical energy radiated out and hit me. I felt the ley line’s magic in my mind, flowing by with a power that vibrated up through the soles of my boots. It charged by like an enormous rushing, crushing river.

  I took a deep breath and then thrust my thoughts down into that power. Into the ley line.

  And then I reached out, grabbed the door handle, pulled open the door—and jumped.

  2

  High Peak Wilderness was exactly how it sounded—a giant wilderness of pine, oak, ash, maple, fir, and spruce trees with rolling hills, vast lakes, and glimmering ponds.

  After transferring ley lines west, I’d jumped out on the tenth stop (the closest to High Peak Wilderness, New York, that I could find) and found myself deep in a forest.

  I stood on a hill, where red and orange leaves carpeted the ground at my feet, getting a view of my surroundings. A gentle, cool breeze lifted the hair from my face and set the leaves in the trees rustling. The remaining leaves on the trees were an explosion of color in deep reds, oranges, and yellows. But they wouldn’t stay. With a strong wind, they’d all fall to the ground.

  In the summer, this place was probably tick central, not to mention the swarm of mosquitoes and horseflies just waiting to make a meal out of you. However, the cold weather took care of that—thank the cauldron.

  The rich smells of wet earth, leaves, and the balsam firs’ spicy scent was intoxicating. I loved the fall, but I wasn’t here for sightseeing, even if it was beautiful. A weekend here with Marcus would have been great, and my heart squeezed at the thought of me and him in a cozy hot tub in some log cabin, away from everyone. Just the two of us… naked in the steaming hot tub…

  I shook my head, not wanting the chief to invade my mind, not while I was in an unknown territory. Hot flashes simply would not do. Though they were keeping me warm.

  My gaze fell on a packed dirt road that wound down through the evergreen trees and reached a giant, log-like castle. The four-story mountain house rested on the edges of the lower mountain. I thought Davenport House was huge, but this place was ten times bigger.

  The crunch of tires on gravel reached me and I looked over my shoulder to see three Greyhound buses, two dark SUVs, and a black sedan driving along the dirt road toward the log castle.

  I checked my phone. “I’ve got five minutes to reach that castle or my ass is toast.” I looked around one last time, expecting to see some other witches stepping out of the ley line, but it was just me standing there with a couple of angry squirrels giving me hell for stepping into their territory.

  Seeing as no other witch used the ley lines as a means of transport, I decided to keep it to myself for now. The less they knew about me, the better.

  My heart skipping with both dread and excitement, I followed the line of vehicles down the dirt road at a fast pace. When I reached the front courtyard, everyone was already out of the buses and cars and milling about. No one looked my way as I neared the group.

  I slowed my pace so I could get a better look at who I was facing, the witches who were here to get their Merlin license like me.

  At first, I’d expected to see young adults, just fresh out of their teens, and feared I’d be the oldest one here. I wasn’t. The throng of faces ranged from fresh out of high school to those who looked like they could have been my aunts. Some witches had a confused, dear-in-the-headlights kind of look. Yeah, like looking at a mirror.

  Okay, not so nervous anymore, but it was clear these witches probably grew up with magic all around them. Unlike me. I’d gotten glimpses over the years, but still, I had a lot of catching up to do.

  The witches—an assortment of about a hundred with mixed ages, sexes, and ethnicities—all marched up to the front doors that swung open on their own to let them in, just like Davenport House. Maybe this place was just as magical.

  The witches were all as different as they came
, but they shared that same, wide-eyed, nervous, first-day-on-the-job kind of expression. I probably looked just as freaked out as they did. Nah. Probably more.

  I hunkered near a parked car, pretending to look for something in my bag, as I peeked over to the witches moving through the massive entryway. I didn’t want to be among the first idiots to walk into the massive mountain house, not knowing where to go or what to do. I’d look like a big ole fool. So, I stayed behind until the last witch, a short, older male with thick glasses and mousy brown hair surrounding a balding spot on the top of his head, climbed up the wide steps and hurried through the giant, wooden double doors.

  I rushed forward and sneaked in behind him.

  Just as I crossed the threshold, I felt it.

  Magic.

  And yet, it wasn’t like the soft, warm ripples of energy that washed through me whenever I stepped into Davenport House, the kind of energy that sent tingling jolts over my skin. No. This was way more sinister.

  A cold, hard pulse started from the top of my head and jerked all the way to my toes, hammering its way into every cell of my body. It did not feel good at all.

  The best way I could describe it was like going through a customs full-body x-ray machine at the airport. I felt as though some invisible force was scanning me to see if I carried anything illegal or dangerous on my person.

  “That was interesting,” I said, making the older witch in front of me turn around.