Brewing Trouble Read online

  Brewing Trouble

  Christine Gael

  Contents

  Introduction

  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

  Introduction

  After barely escaping the business end of the hangman’s noose, Cricket Hawthorne wants nothing more than to forget it all...Maude the magical typewriter, Zoe’s stolen cauldron, Patrick the betrayer, and definitely the witch-hating, robe-wearing cult who tried to end her. Unfortunately, pressing the reboot button isn’t an option. Bringing The Crow’s Feet Coven back to their former glory is her destiny, whether she likes it or not. Too bad the powers that be will do whatever it takes to stop them.

  It’s fight or flight, and she’s never been a quitter. Now, it’s up to her and her ragtag team to bring down the organization hell-bent on ridding the world of witches. But at what price?

  Chapter 1

  I don’t know how long I slept. If there were dreams, they were gone before I could commit them to memory, and the thick, inky blackness of unconsciousness was punctuated only by the aches and pains in my body and the muted sounds of voices somewhere around me. It was like I was drifting deep in a pool of water, clawing my way up for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Eventually, though, a thread of light began to trickle in, and I began swimming to the surface.

  When I finally awoke, it was with a start, my eyelids as heavy as a pair of anvils as I squinted against the light, trying to make some kind of sense of my jumbled thoughts.

  It wasn’t until I tried to sit up that the pain shattered the fog in my head, shooting through my torso like a lightning bolt, forcing me to suck in a raspy breath. I let out a whimper and realized that my throat was on fire. Had I gotten run over by a train or something?

  Still struggling to piece together where I was, I looked around, moving gingerly so as not to upset either my stomach or my neck, and realized that I was in a bed. It wasn’t my room at Mee-maw’s house, but my surroundings looked eerily familiar… I tried to prop my elbows under me, but another shaft of pain shot through my stomach, and suddenly, it all came back to me in a rush.

  The kidnapping.

  The cult.

  The ceremony.

  It felt like a bad dream, and if it weren’t for the evidence of it on my body, I might have been able to convince myself that it was. But memories continued to flood my mind, and the intensity of what I had gone through over the past days was nearly enough to send me plunging back into blessed darkness.

  I closed my eyes, trying to quell the panic threatening to swallow me whole as I reached down and ran my fingers over the thin line of stitches along my belly.

  It had all started with that dang typewriter. Up until that day at the flea market just weeks before, my life had been that of your average middle-aged divorcee—if you didn’t factor in that I was living with my grandmother and desperate to find my footing in a world where I was, once again, single, without any relevant, marketable skills to speak of. But that typewriter had given me a purpose…had awoken something inside me in the most literal sense.

  Memories continued to come in bursts, and I conjured up how it felt that first time I’d sat in front of those keys. How naturally it had come to me—almost like magic.

  No.

  Not like magic.

  It had been magic. The “stories” I’d churned out while clacking away on that old typewriter—Maude, I’d named her—which came in wild bursts of inspiration so strong that they couldn’t be avoided, had all come true. Down to the smallest details, I had somehow managed to divine the future… and that was just the tip of the iceberg. What happened next had been a rollercoaster ride of research, conspiracies, break-ins, and betrayals, all culminating in the discovery that I was not only a witch, but part of a coven that likely also included my cousin, Zoe.

  By the time we had finally started figuring it all out, though, our efforts had been derailed when I was taken hostage by a sect of witch hunters that had apparently existed since the colonial era—and possibly before. They had cut me open as part of some horrendous ritual, wanting to imbue Maude with my magic so that they, as non-witches, could then use her powers.

  And once they’d completed their task?

  They were going to hang me.

  They’d nearly managed it, too. In fact, I’d been on death’s door, but Zoe and Mee-maw had come to my rescue as I dangled from the noose. Only they hadn’t been alone…

  I froze, fresh fury washing over me in a wave as the last piece of the story clicked into place.

  Patrick.

  Handsome, uncannily charming, lean-hipped, hunky freaking Patrick Byrne. The Scottish handyman who had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, ready to inject some joy back into my life when it had felt like my world was coming apart at the seams. I never bothered to question his sudden appearance, or why he was so keen on spending time with me, until he was speeding down the highway with me in his car, ready to hand me over to the nutters in the cloaks with the knives. In spite of my pain and exhaustion, I could feel the anger bubbling up inside of me as I thought about his absurdly handsome face, about how close I had come to dying because of his betrayal.

  And yet…

  He had helped Mee-maw and Zoe find me, apparently. If it weren’t for the bomb he’d rigged in the building, they wouldn’t have gotten me out in time. That was saying something, considering that the guy’s own father was the one who had tried to kill me.

  My mind shot back to the very last prediction my bond with Maude had produced. Just a few short words, but they’d been chilling.

  Trust only three.

  Mee-maw, Zoe, and I had batted around many theories about what that meant. I knew I could trust Mee-maw and Zoe. But should that circle of trust include my high school friend Ethan, who had just come back into my life? What of Connie? And we’d also wondered if handyman Patrick was too good to be true. As much as it hurt to face now, deep down, I’d never honestly believed that he would be the one to betray me.

  I’d been so wrong.

  But did going back on a betrayal make up for it? I wondered as I hauled myself into a sitting position, moving agonizingly slowly so as not to upset my injuries. The last thing I could remember was the look on his face as he had climbed into the back of the car when we made our escape: worry, guilt, regret… but also a glimmer of uncertainty.

  What was he to me—to us? Was he friend, foe, or something in between?

  And on that note, where the hell was he, anyway? Where were Zoe and Mee-maw?

  Heck…where was I?

  I glanced around the cluttered bedroom, taking a moment to process the eggshell paint on the walls, the stained glass lamp on the bedside table, the dresser covered in knick-knacks that looked like they hadn’t been dusted in years and then let out a low groan.

  No. No freaking way.

  As if on cue, a familiar voice boomed from the doorway, making me start.

  “Hey there, Cricket. How you feeling?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed for a long moment, praying for patience. If I had thought my life couldn’t get any stranger, I had been wrong. Letting out a long breath, I opened my eyes and forced a tight smile.

  “Not
one hundred percent, if I’m being honest, Greg. How about yourself?” I croaked.

  My ex-husband clomped across the floor, moving closer to stare down at me as he dumped the last of a bag of potato chips into his mouth. “Pretty a-okay, I guess,” he replied around a mouthful of food, his expression unchanging.

  I was sure Mee-maw and Zoe had their reasons, but in the moment, I couldn’t fathom why on earth would they have brought me to the house I’d once shared with my ex-husband instead of somewhere else to recuperate like, I don’t know…say, a hospital?

  And what had they told him about my condition? There was no way they could’ve risked sharing the truth with him. Deciding to wait him out, hoping he gave me a clue, I just stared up at him expectantly.

  “You’ve been asleep for almost sixteen hours,” Greg continued, seemingly oblivious to my distress. “I was starting to get worried. That’s so crazy about your stomach. I mean, you’re clumsy and all, but I still don’t quite understand how you managed that one.” He gave a little chuckle, but his expression went serious again when he realized that I wasn’t exactly seeing the levity. “How did it happen, again? I heard it from Mee-maw, but it still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  Clearly, my family had concocted some tall tale to explain my injuries, but I still didn’t have enough to go on to even fake it. My face flushed as I wracked my brain for a way out of replying. I was on the verge of pretending to faint just to avoid answering him when Zoe swept into the room.

  “Ah, excellent!” she chirped, her wide eyes full of apology as she met my gaze. “You’re awake. Sorry, I just left for a few minutes to take a quick shower.” She reached down to gingerly touch my foot before turning to look at Greg. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t remember, Greg,” she hastened to add. “Cricket, remember we went for a hike and you slowed down to cut up an apple to snack on, but then you tripped on a root and fell onto your own knife?” she asked, her voice shrill as her eyes bored into mine.

  Dear God, how clumsy did these people think I was that anyone would believe that? I glared at her before nodding slowly.

  “Er… right,” I said, glancing back up at Greg. “You know I’ve always been a klutz.” I cleared my throat, suddenly desperate for a cold drink. “But why am I here?” I asked, looking between the two of them.

  “Greg’s place was way closer to where the four of us had all gone hiking. Remember, over by Bear Lake?” Zoe replied, and I could tell that she had been practicing. “We figured we could patch you up here and let you rest for a while before we made the long drive back to Mee-maw’s.”

  Greg’s brow furrowed. “Not that I mind helping you guys out, but are you sure she shouldn’t go to the hospital? If you barely remember what happened, sounds like you might’ve hit your head, Cricket. You could have a concussion...”

  Zoe opened her mouth to reply but I cut in quickly, glad to finally be able to pipe in with something useful. “You do recall that I’m only working part time right now, right, Greg? And you took me off your medical insurance plan last week, even though you agreed to keep me on. A hospital bill would’ve been thousands of dollars that I don’t have, because we still haven’t been able to sell this house yet.”

  Apparently, I didn’t need to remind him that was also his fault as he went beet red, looking down at the floor and shuffling his feet.

  “Right,” he muttered, “well, to be fair, you never go to the doctor so the insurance thing seemed like a waste. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t even notice. I’ll call about the insurance thing and see if I can get you back on for the next few months, though. And, um, since you’re laid up, I’ll contact the real estate agent and see what we can do to get that rolling again, too.” Zoe shot him a raised brow and he looked away, crumpling his empty chip bag in his hand. “In the meantime, you guys can stay as long as you need to, Cricket. Don’t even worry about it…” Without another word, he scurried out of the room, leaving me and Zoe alone.

  “Thank you, Greg,” I called after him. Greg and his inability to manage life in general was a big part of the reason I had left, but that might actually benefit me for a change. At least if I kept him on the defensive, he was less likely to start thinking too hard about our extremely thin excuse for being camped out at his house right now.

  Zoe and I just stared at each other, motionless and silent until his footsteps had faded completely. She moved to perch on the side of the bed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out three aspirin. She handed them to me, followed by the glass of water on the bedside table. I took the pills and washed them down as she leaned closer.

  “Well, that was a close one,” she whispered. “I swear, I was by your side the whole dang time to make sure that didn’t happen, and you were knocked out like a light. Then, I walk away for a bit to cook and shower, in he comes to—”

  “What the hell is going on?” I hissed. “Greg’s right! Why didn’t you guys take me to the hospital? And who the hell stitched me up?”

  The sound of a throat clearing had us both swinging our gazes to the doorway, where Mee-maw and Patrick were now standing. Patrick’s eyes found mine for a moment, and another muddled memory hit me like a freight train. The Scotsman convincing me, through blood, deliriousness, and agony, to let him stitch me up.

  And I’d agreed.

  It was weird how I didn’t remember the actual process hurting, in spite of the pain I had been in. He must have been very gentle, but I shoved the thought away before I could dwell any further. Mee-maw and Patrick exchanged a glance as he took a tentative step closer to the bed.

  “We thought about it, Cricket, we really did,” he said in a low voice. “But if we’d taken you to a hospital, they would have called the cops due to the knife wound. I know you’re pissed at me, and you have every reason to be, but I think we can all agree having the police involved is not a complication we can afford right now.”

  “As the person who was kidnapped, stabbed and strung up, I think I should’ve had a say in that,” I muttered miserably.

  “What would we have told them?” Mee-maw asked, crossing her arms. “That the witch Illuminati stole your magical typewriter?”

  Well, when she put it that way…

  “Patrick’s right, Cricket,” Zoe chimed in with a grim nod. “We needed to stay under the radar and bring you somewhere safe—no hotels with a paper trail leading the enemy to us, no plane tickets. Whatever we do next, we’re going to have to lay low and strategize. The last thing any of us want is for those guys to make another play for you. Not until you’re feeling better, and we’re armed with more knowledge about how this all works and how deep this web of evil goes.”

  “We didn’t have a lot of time or a lot of options,” Mee-maw added defensively.

  There was a long moment of silence before I let out a sigh and tipped my head in a curt nod. “I get that,” I said as I shot a glance toward the door. “But we can’t stay long. What if my kids show up? They visit Greg at least once a week. I don’t want them involved in this—ever. It’s bad enough that I dragged the two of you into it.” I glanced between Zoe and Mee-maw, deliberately avoiding Patrick’s gaze. “We need to figure out another plan, ASAP.”

  Zoe blew out a pent-up breath. “Crap. I didn’t even think of the kids. I didn’t realize they saw Greg so often since they hardly even call y--” She caught herself and cleared her throat. “Um, since I know how busy they are with their own lives right now. But I’m with you. We can’t put them at risk. I know this is going to sound crazy, but what about finding some kind of a safehouse in Rocky Knoll?”

  Patrick opened his mouth to protest but Zoe pushed on.

  “Running isn’t going to cut it. They will go to the ends of the earth to find us, so until we figure out how to use the magical items and take a stand, we’ll be in constant danger. If we hide in or near Rocky Knoll we can do surveillance on Connie and spend our time researching the Crow’s Feet Coven history, where it apparently originated,” Zoe suggested.
“We just need a base of operations, somewhere with no ties to any of us that we can rent for cash. I have some hidden in one of the freezers at the bakery for emergencies, and this definitely qualifies.”

  “We are good for cash,” Patrick interjected. “I have some stashed, as well.”

  “I can start looking on the apocalypse prepper message boards for bunkers and the like in our area,” Mee-maw volunteered. “It might not be pretty, but I think I can find something within the next day or two that will work well enough.”

  “Okay,” I said, still ignoring Patrick as I directed my attention to Mee-maw, a new question suddenly at the front of my mind as my fingertips began to tingle. “What about Maude…where is my typewriter?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Fine,” Mee-maw assured me. “It’s in the car. I put it in the back seat, with a blanket over it. Door’s locked and the alarm is on.”

  I nodded, relief washing over me. It had become so much more than a conduit for magic since I had bought it, practically coming to take on a life of its own. The thought of it falling into the wrong hands again made my stomach turn.

  I finally met Patrick’s gaze, my expression hardening as I stared him down. I wished the others were gone so I could lay into him about everything—why he had turned me in, why he had changed his mind, what his endgame was… but one look at Mee-maw was enough to tell me that now wasn’t the time. My grandmother’s face already looked drawn and pale, and considering her recent heart attack and the past few days, she hardly needed any additional pressure.

  Just then, my stomach gave a rumble loud enough to make everyone turn and stare at me. If what Greg had said was right, it had been more than a day since I had last eaten. Food suddenly felt like the only thing that mattered right now.