A Witch In Time: Magic and Mayhem Book Three Read online

  Table of Contents

  A Witch in Time

  Edition License Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  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

  Note From the Author

  Excerpt from Ready To Were

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Excerpt from Ariel:Nano Wolves 1

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Book Lists (in correct reading order)

  About Robyn Peterman

  A WITCH IN TIME

  by

  Robyn Peterman

  EDITION LICENSE NOTES

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  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.

  Copyright 2016 by Robyn Peterman

  Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media

  Edited by Meg Weglarz

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing books is the best job I’ve ever had. Sitting in my sweatpants, t-shirt, sparkly Uggs and no make-up totally works for me! However, as solitary as the writing process may be, putting a book out is a group effort. There are many important and wonderful people involved and I am blessed to have such a brilliant support system.

  Rebecca Poole, your covers are perfect and you imagination delights me. Thank you.

  Meg Weglarz, you save me from myself constantly with your editing. Thank you.

  Donna McDonald, you are my partner in crime, one of my dearest friends and one hell of an author. I’d be in deep doodoo without you. Thank you.

  Donna McDonald and JM Madden, you are the best and most honest critique partners a gal could have. I don’t know what I would do without your eagle eyes and good taste. Thank you.

  My beta readers; Wanda, Melissa, Susan and Karen, you rock so hard. Thank you.

  Wanda, your organization skills keep me from going off the deep end. Thank you.

  And my family… thank you for believing in me and understanding deadlines and my need to discuss fictional characters as if they were real people. None of this would be any fun without your love and support.

  And my readers… I do this for you.

  DEDICATION

  This book is for my mother-in-law, Zelda. I love your name and I love you.

  CHAPTER 1

  “The paw is getting awfully close to the boob,” I stated calmly, without taking my eyes from the TV. Say Yes to The Dress was on and it was a really good one. “If you value that fuzzy little arm, I’d remove it.”

  “Got no idea what you’re bitchin’ about, Dollface,” Fat Bastard, my newly inherited wise-guy cat grumbled as he quickly removed the offending appendage from my chest.

  He resituated himself on the couch, shoving his other two enormous and furry feline buddies over—Jango Fett and Boba Fett. Fat Bastard clearly needed a little more room to go to town on his nads.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the sound of three obese cats slurping on their no-nos, but alas, one didn’t hear with the eyes. However, if I plugged my ears I would miss all the TV bridesmaids screaming in horror at the dress the gal was about to enter the room in. Forget the fact that I’d already seen the episode four times… Messing with my programs was not working for me.

  “Don’t you guys have something to do other than making me want to puke?” I asked as politely as I could considering I was seconds away from zapping their lazy asses off my couch.

  “As your familiars, we wait for your orders,” Boba said as he looked up and gave me a lopsided kitty grin.

  If his back leg wasn’t extended into a contorted position and his balls weren’t flapping in the wind, it would have been cute… but this following orders thing was news to me. All witches had familiars—animals who were supposed to support and help their witch—or thwart in my case. I’d actually inherited the three idiots from my beloved, departed Aunt Hildy. They ate me out of house and home and ran an illegal gambling ring, but were excellent in a battle. Any magic shot at them simply bounced off and went back at the shooter. They’d actually saved my life and the lives of my friends recently so I was trying to deal with their obsessive cleaning habits.

  “Wait. Are you serious? I can boss you around?”

  “Nah,” Jango grunted with a laugh. “He’s just screwing with ya, Zelda.”

  I paused my show, glared at the overweight menagerie on my sofa and sighed. As much as it pained me, I kind of liked them—disgusting tendencies and all. Of course this was top-secret information I would only admit on my deathbed. I’d already admitted far too much to all of the new people in my life.

  “Out,” I snapped at the cats and pointed to the front door. “You fat dorks need some exercise. And if I catch any of you sleeping on the porch, I’ll put you on the treadmill for an hour.”

  “We don’t have no treadmill,” Boba volunteered between licks.

  I waved my hands in the air and a brand spanking new treadmill appeared in the foyer. I was only supposed to use my magic for the good of others, not to garner more TV time for myself. However, the cats were meaty and this was more for their good than mine.

  “We do now,” I informed them with a wicked little smile.

  Their groans made me giggle.

  “But I only have one section left,” Fat Bastard complained, referring to his crotch.

  “Move it or lose it,” I said in a brook no catshit tone.

  Slowly and apathetically they moseyed their bulbous butts off the couch and out the front door, whining all the way. Goddess, they were annoying.

  “Damn.” I moaned as I plopped back down on the now cat-free couch and realized I’d pressed the off button instead of the pause button on the remote. Whatever. I’d seen the episode before and knew the bride picked a heinous lacy dress because her grandma put her foot down. I didn’t need to watch all that crap anyway. Furthermore, I was supposed to do thirty minutes a day of insightful meditation according to my new therapist, Roger the porno loving rabbit Shifter.

  “What the hell does insightful meditation even mean?” I muttered to no one since I was blessedly alone for the first time in what felt like a week.

  Closing my eyes and following the recommendation of the questionably skilled head- shrinker, I gave it a try. Of course the King of Shifters was the first image that crossed my mind. The gorgeous wolf shifter, Mac—all six foot four of sexy, dark haired, perfectly muscled, sapphire eyed, beautiful man. The very same one who was con
vinced I was his mate invaded my thoughts. I didn’t believe the mate bullshit for a minute. I was a witch and he was a werewolf. A very good looking, hotter than hell werewolf who made me question my self-professed loner status. Constantly.

  I closed my eyes and tried again. Not working.

  “Hell, I’ll just pretend I’m talking to someone about my pathetic, out of control existence,” I announced to the empty room.

  Still didn’t work. I’d just save my meditation for therapy. A silent hour with Roger would drive him nuts.

  “My dearest daughter,” my dad called out as he walked in the front door and tripped over our new piece of furniture. “Your decorating skills leave a bit to be desired. Is there a reason we have a treadmill in the foyer?”

  “The cats are fat,” I explained logically.

  “Yes, well, speaking of… I thought they were all having heart attacks. They’re in an appalling pile just off the front porch panting like they’ve run a marathon.”

  “Good Goddess,” I muttered with a giggle. “At least they made it off the porch. Where have you been?”

  I was still getting used to having a parental unit and living with him. Fabio slash Naked Dude slash my dad was very new to my world. He hadn’t known about me for most of my thirty years and had to pay a steep price to be back in my life once he found out I existed. It was complicated, but what in my life wasn’t?

  I stared at the beautiful man from whom I’d inherited my red hair and green eyes and grinned. I’d only recently started calling him Dad after he’d almost bitten the dust for the third time since we’d met. Near death experiences had a way with making me do things that were not in my normal repertoire—like caring for people.

  My mom, who was cray-cray and didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, had turned my Dad into a cat to punish him. He then, very sneakily, became my pain-in-the-ass familiar. And as the story goes… I accidentally ran over him with my car. Of course he came back from the dead since he was a freakin’ cat with nine lives. However, he didn’t rise from the dead until I’d served my nine months in the magical pokey for accidentally mowing his ass down.

  The kicker was that I realized I loved him on his second kitty near-death catastrophe and apparently my love was the magic he needed to become a human again. Well, human was pushing it. He was a warlock with an unhealthy penchant for gambling. My dad was also an outstanding cook, procurer of designer clothes and he loved me. It was win-win-win.

  In the beginning, I was sure he was using bad credit cards and stealing the outlandishly expensive duds for me. However, it turned out the old man was loaded. His fortune was questionably gained, but it made me feel much better about keeping all my dubious booty.

  “I’ve joined the Town Council,” Dad announced grandly as he waved his hand and made the treadmill disappear.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked getting up off the couch and slapping my hands on my hips.

  “Because if I’m going to live here, I need to have a say in the local politics. I’m fighting to have gambling legalized.”

  “Of course you are,” I told him with an eye roll. “But I was talking about the treadmill. It was fine in the foyer.”

  “Zelda, those cats can barely make it to the front yard without passing out. You think they’ll survive a round on a human walking machine?”

  “Point,” I agreed with a giggle. “However it was a good blackmail device.”

  “I’m sure it was,” he agreed. “But I think a padlock on the refrigerator would suffice.”

  “Wrong,” I countered with a shudder. “They have food stashed all over the house so they won’t starve.”

  “Are they planning on eliminating all the mice we’re going to attract by turning our home into a two story grocery store?” Dad inquired as he dropped a few high-end shopping bags on the coffee table.

  “They’re keeping them as pets.” I sidled closer to the bags. “Are those for me?”

  Nordstrom, Neiman and Fleur of England—my dad had taste far superior to any woman I knew.

  “That depends,” he answered coyly as he stepped between my hands and the treasures on the table.

  “Depends on what?” I asked with narrowed eyes. He had ways of getting me to do things that I had no intention of doing. Cashmere was his evil weapon… and Prada… and Gucci and the list went on and on.

  Yes, I was materialistic, but I was getting a grip on it. Part of my maturity or more accurately, my parole, was that I could only use my magic for the good of others. Therefore, I was now unable conjure up shoes that cost more than most people made in six months. It was difficult, but doable thus far. Dad’s excessive shopping habits helped tremendously.

  If I was being honest, I felt better about using my power for others—not that I would let it be known. My reputation as an uncaring, selfish, irresponsible witch was getting seriously tarnished here. The Shifters in Assjacket, West Virginia thought I was a good and compassionate witch. Being thought of kindly was taking some getting used to and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop—it always did.

  But back to the matter at hand.

  “Depends on what?” I repeated, not liking the smirk on my father’s face.

  My dad, Fabio was a crafty sucker. How did I know? I was cut from the same cloth.

  “Well, it’s a funny story,” he started as he got comfortable on the couch next to me.

  “Funny as in ha-ha or funny as in oh my Goddess are you freakin’ serious?” I asked, trying to peek inside the bags.

  Dad paused and scratched his head as he considered his answer. This did not bode well. If he had to come up with a story I would find palatable, we were in trouble before we began and I sooooooo wanted what was inside the bags. Damn.

  “I suppose a bit of both,” he conceded as he pushed the bags farther away, but not without revealing some of the contents first.

  My breath caught in my throat as I spied a very expensive purse I’d been eyeing and of course some cashmere. He was a total butthole.

  “Out with it,” I snapped wanting to find out if I had to deny the bribe on the table. I really didn’t want to, but my dad’s hemming and hawing was making me uneasy.

  “So I applied for a position and they don’t want me to have it,” he huffed and threw his hands in the air. “It’s just not fair.”

  “Was it Town Treasurer?” I asked with a snicker.

  My dad’s finessing of finances made the good folks of Assjacket a little wary—and with good reason. He was the BIG winner at my cat’s illegal gambling ring and from what I’d heard everyone in town owed him money.

  “No, although that would have been a smart move on their part. I could raise millions for this area. All we need is a casino and a few well heeled out of town guests,” he pondered aloud with an evil gleam in his eye. “Maybe a horse track… ”

  “Bad idea,” I said redirecting my flighty father. “Let’s get back to the story that involves me tearing into the packages on the table.”

  “Right,” he agreed and clapped his hands together twice. “I’ve applied to be the artistic director of the community theatre.”

  “Whoa, there are so many weird things about that statement I’m not sure where to start.”

  He gave me an I’m going to ground you stare and pressed his fingers to his temples. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he pointed out.

  “I am,” I insisted, “especially when there are bags involved. But what kind of place puts the artistic director of a dinky ass community theatre on the Town Council?”

  “Assjacket,” he shot back with a grin.

  My newly adopted town wasn’t really called Assjacket, but it was how I referred to it. The new name was catching on, much to the displeasure of the older Shifters in our community. I also referred to my job as the Shifter Wanker, formerly known as the Shifter Whisperer. Wanker fit me better. I was a healer who could talk with the Shifters in their animal form. Not my first choice of vocation, but since I hadn’t come up wit
h anything better or less life threatening, I took the post.

  I was good at it even though it hurt like a mother humper to heal the clumsy idiots. I secretly loved my job—not the pain—the job.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why won’t they let you be the artistic director?”

  “They consider me high risk since I’m not a Shifter,” he pouted.