Page 4 of Witch Bound and Down

"You got yourself a deal," Bullseye said finally.

"Guess it's time to put the hammer down and see if we can't outrun trouble one more time," Snowman said.

***

HAZEL

Hazel Primm's grandmother always said there were three things a witch should never do: dance with a vampire, trust a fairy with a bargain, or agree to marry someone whose father could literally rip your arms off. As Hazel sprinted through the wedding venue's kitchen in a dress that wasn't made for a marathon, she was really wishing she'd paid more attention to that last one.

She should have listened when Smokie gently suggested she might want to keep her spellcasting more low-key once they were married. She definitely should have listened when Sheriff Lawman mentioned that married witches in his jurisdiction had more traditional magical licenses. But the final straw had been this morning, when she'd overheard this gem:

"Once the ceremony's done, you make sure that the only wand that little witch touches is yours,” Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman, her future father-in-law had said.The 'T' stood for Terrifying, at least according to local legend and the unfortunate deputy who'd sneezed during last year's Fourth of July parade.

“But Daddy,” Smokie had replied. “I don’t have a wand.”

“No shit,” Grizz said. “Or any balls neither.”

It was true. And that begged the real question: Why had she agreed to marry Smokie in the first place?

At the time, it had almost made sense. He was polite, loyal,huge—and she’d thought having a bear for a husband might deter any more ex-boyfriends from showing up at her coven’s doorstep with bouquets and unresolved trauma.

But after realizing he was too dim witted to stand up to his overbearing (pun intended) father, Hazel could admit to herself that she hadn’t fallen for Smokie. She’d fallen for the idea of safe, soft, predictable love with a man that she could manipulate and not feel too guilty about.

Unfortunately, Smokie was a package deal with his father. And Grizz didn’t just want a daughter-in-law. He wanted someone else to boss around. Or more specifically, a magical subordinate with kitchen skills and no opinions.

Hazel had barely gotten through the rehearsal dinner without being lectured on “witch modesty” and the virtues of hexing barefoot. Grizz made warlocks look progressive.

Worse still, Smokie never pushed back. Not once. Every time Grizz growled, Smokie just nodded, hunched his big furry shoulders, and tried to make peace with another bowl of honey pudding.

Hazel could handle weird. She’d dated a kelpie once. But this? This was slow-motion suffocation with matching bath towels. She'd rather be single, hexed, and running for her life than married to a man whose spine had apparently been surgically removed

"Left. No, other left. Great croaking chaos, who taught you to run in a dress? The same person who picked those bridesmaids' dresses? Because that shade of pink was a hate crime against eyeballs," Hopper, her frog familiar, croaked from her shoulder. “Though I guess anything's better than this wedding dress. You looked like a marshmallow that got into a fight with a glitter factory and lost.”

"Not helping." Hazel skidded around a corner, her white satin heels slipping on the polished floor. Behind her came the crash of something large and furry hitting the swinging doors.

"Neither is panicking," Hopper pointed out with the infuriating logic that made him an excellent familiar and a terrible comfort in emergencies.

Behind her, she could hear the enraged roars of her almost-father-in-law. She ducked behind a massive copper cauldron just as the kitchen doors burst open. The smell of beef stew and love potions filled her nose.

"Where is she?" the sheriff's growl rattled the pots hanging overhead. "Nobody stands up my Smokie. Especially not some second-rate witch from a third-rate coven."

Hazel bit back a retort about how her family had been brewing potions since before his great-grandpa was a cub. The Primm family had power—real power—but three generations of increasingly restrictive magical legislation had forced them to downplay their abilities. Better to be underestimated than regulated into uselessness.

She pulled her wand from where she'd strapped it to her thigh. Grandma's second-best piece of advice had been to always have a backup wand at formal events. She whispered a quick transformation spell.

"Finally, some practical magic," Hopper said with approval. "I was wondering when you'd realize that running for your life in a wedding dress is like trying to swim in a parachute. That dress was less blushing bride and more walking wedding cake accident.”

"The dress wasn't that bad," Hazel whispered back, watching her thousand-dollar wedding dress shimmer and transform into jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. The spell pulled more power than she'd expected, leaving her slightly lightheaded.

"Honey, even Smokie's teddy bear called to say it was too fril"Also good thing they left before I sneezed," Hopper added helpfully. "Because I was about to blow that spell sky-high. Dust makes me twitchy."ly. And that bear wears a tutu to bed," Hopper muttered. "Next you'll be telling me you've got a getaway broom parked out back."

"The broom's in the shop. Besides, I've got a better plan."

"Better than the plan where you agreed to marry Smokie I. Lawman?" The I stood for “I have serious Daddy issues.”

"That wasn't a plan. That was a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by too much fairy wine."

A clatter of pots made her jump. Through the steam rising from the cauldrons, she could see Sheriff Lawman's massive form moving between the cooking stations. His deputy werewolves were sniffing the air behind him.

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