Witch on Parole, 1
When a woman tries to leave her dark world behind, she learns there is no escape from her past as it bleeds into her future. Can a Witch on Parole break free and forge a new path that includes a new famiiy...and love?
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All Bryn ever wanted was to fit in, to be one of the respected professional thieves and never practice the magic that destroyed her mother. But her dreams crashed and cremated when she was captured on her first thieving mission. Incarcerated and paroled two months later, Bryn snatches at the chance of a new life.
But her corrupt parole officer won’t let her. He has every intention of using her magic to suit his own dark plans. She finds herself wedged between a rock and a jail cell. Doing what he wants will cost her freedom and her newfound family. If she tells on him—no one will believe her. He’s a respected supernatural corrections officer and she’s—just a WITCH ON PAROLE.
A bubble the size of a baseball rose out of the brownish red cream and popped, emitting a loud belch.
Did my potion burp? I was sure it wasn’t supposed to burp either.
A pair of copper eyes attached to a russet-colored head pushed themselves out of the goo. The creature locked eyes with me. I blinked. It blinked back.
A split second later it let out a small roar. It flew out of the bowl, jumped up and latched onto me. Shocked, I didn’t move. Didn’t do anything. It rubbed my face with its flat paws.
“Ouch!” Damn. That hurts.
It’s like it was sanding the skin right off my cheeks. I grabbed its small arms and forced it to stop. It was covered in gritty rust-colored sand. The whole time I was staring at it, it kept struggling to rub my face with its grainy paws. Sharp prickles of pain pulsed on my palms and fingers as its coarse dry skin wiggled under my grip. He was a strong little guy. He kept up his squirming and then managed to slip a sandy little paw past me and scratch my cheek again.
Without thinking, I whipped him away from me. He soared through the air and landed on one of the loveseats in the sitting area of the kitchen. I watched, dumbfounded, as he picked himself up and rubbed the arm of the loveseat. He was going to town on it. He began shredding the upholstery. Bits and pieces of brown fabric sprinkled onto the wooden floor.
My heart pounded. I touched my throbbing cheek and came away with blood on my fingertips. It took me a moment to register what this meant, and it dawned on me. I created a sandpaper monster.
What am I going to do? What am I supposed to do? I stared at the blood on my hand. Not only was this little guy destructive, but he was also dangerous. Think, Bryn. Think.
The banishing spell.
That’s it.I needed to banish his little sandpaper butt. I crept up on him slowly. I didn’t want him to run away before I had the chance to say the spell. When I was about two feet away, I said, “Pello pepulli pulsum.”
The sandpaper dude kept on sanding. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink. By now he’d made a hole in the arm of the chair. The white stuffing and structural wood peeked through. Crap. Galeron’s couch was wrecked, and it was my fault because I created this little guy. He shifted to the inside arm of the loveseat. His copper gaze darted between me and the part of the loveseat he was working on. Why hadn’t he disappeared? I said the right spell words.
Running my hand over my ponytailed hair, I spotted the bowl of salt water. Oh man. I forgot to sprinkle him. I grabbed a cup from the right-hand side cupboard and dunked it into the salty water. I tiptoed toward him and flung the liquid.
But he was on to me now. He squeaked and dashed to the other end of the loveseat. The water rained onto the shredded arm of the couch. Nowhere near him. Wary of my intent, he kept his gaze on me as he continued to sand the other arm. If he was smart, he would have hidden. But I guess his need to scrub overpowered his need for safety. He stayed there. Sanding. Arms rotating in circular motions.
I grabbed another cup of salty water. He saw me coming, let out another squeak and scurried around the room. His need to survive kicked in. He shot under the round coffee table, skittered behind the other loveseat, and sailed around the triangle counter. I made tracks after him, sloshing some of the precious liquid onto the wooden floor as I ran.
He hightailed it toward the archway leading out of the kitchen. Panic stabbed at my heart as I bolted after him. I had to stop him before he escaped and sandpapered everything in town.
I caught a huge break when the sandpaper dude ran smack into Galeron’s jean covered leg. The irresistible urge to sand those jeans took over and the sandpaper dude paused to scratch the material in front of him. Big mistake for him.