Page 52 of Strike It Witch

Fennel’s tail snapped to one side. Annoyed agreement.

“So, only use them if we’re desperate.”

Another tail snap.

I moved a couple of the hex bags to the front pockets of my jeans and fastened one to Fennel’s breakaway collar. He had several collars and liked to change them up often. Today’s was tie-dyed purple, green, and gold. Mardi Gras colors.

That done, I slung my bag over my shoulder like a normal purse, which was essentially what it was—a black nylon Kate Spade classic with extra pockets sewn in and the shorter handles replaced with a shoulder strap. I’d found the 90’s bag beaten and abused in a thrift store and taken it to a human tailor shop that probably had no idea why I needed so many small pockets sewn in but didn’t ask questions.

My boots clicked on the gritty cement walkway leading up to the house. It was small, unkempt, and unassuming—one story, flat roof, aged white stucco, dead-grass-and-dirt patched front lawn—in an unkempt, unassuming section of La Paloma. I knew a few paranormals in the area, but none on this empty street, and the houses next to this one appeared abandoned.

Fennel shot around the side of the house to explore on his own. I went to the door and looked for a doorbell. Found a knocker instead. It was in the shape of the disk of Mictlantecuhtli.

“What are the odds?” I muttered and used the knocker.

No one answered.

Fennel was still exploring, so I smacked the knocker against the resting plate again, a little harder this time. The crack echoed down the deserted street.

I waited another five minutes then made the universalpspspscat noise to summon Fennel. When he didn’t return, I set off in the direction he’d gone, listening for any sounds of life.

There weren’t any. It was as if a dome of silence covered the entire street. But that didn’t make sense. If there was a dome, I wouldn’t have been able to enter the street at all.

Unless it wasn’t a dome, but an entrapment spell—or a distraction.

Light danced before my eyes even before the pain hit me. I dropped to my knees and reached for my bag. Whoever it was struck the back of my head again, and I was out.

“I’ve disabledyour spell and cast one of my own. Get away from her or you will regret it in a way that you rarely, if ever, have regretted anything in your pathetic existence.”

Consciousness returned with the vengeance of a wronged cop in a seventies vigilante movie, and my eyes flew open. Sunlight pierced my brain like a knife. I pinched them shut.

“Damn, lady,” a male voice said. “That’s cold as hell. She was trespassing. We have every right to defend our home.”

“Back away from her or get the claws. I won’t tell you again.” The woman sounded familiar, but I couldn’t seem to make my brain work hard enough to place her.

“Claws, right,” a second male voice said. “You’re kind of small to be threatening us.”

“I’m not the one threatening you.”

“Rrrr.” Fennel’s growl was followed by high male shrieks and whispered pleading.

“Betty? Betty, are you all right?”

A shadow moved over my face, and I opened my eyes. Bronwyn bent down beside me, one of my charms in her hands. “Is this for healing? I was afraid to power it up without knowing for sure.”

“For pain,” I whispered.

She squeezed it in her hand. A flash of pink peeked through the spaces between her fingers, the color matching the glow ofher eyes. It winked out, and her eyes went back to their lovely brown again.

Of course her magic was pink.

“My god, is everything about you like a princess?” I rasped.

“Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She giggled and put the charm around my neck. The pain in my head and eyes disappeared and my nausea drained away.

I thanked her and dug into my bag for thehealcharm I kept in a hard-to-reach pocket near the bottom, which thinking about it now, seemed a huge oversight on my part.

“Please, someone do something about this cat,” one of the men yelled. There appeared to be two of them, and Fennel seemed to have both under control.

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