Castles & Cauldrons - A Castle Point Witch Series - Book 2

Alexandra Heale's life is turning into a B-movie horror fest, complete with demonic nuns trashing her personal belongings like they're on an unholy spring break. Under the thumb of a demon that's old as dirt and twice as nasty, these nuns are skipping the Hail Marys and going straight for vandalism.

Meanwhile, Alexandra's BFF, Penny, seems to have snagged herself an extended stay in Castle Dagon's least inviting dungeon, courtesy of the Witch Hunters' VIP kidnapping service.

As if her plate isn't piled high enough, Alexandra, who moonlights as the High Priestess of the local coven (because who doesn't need a side hustle?), finds herself in a pickle with Blake Sheraton, the hunky Deputy Sheriff with a badge to squash any witchy fun under the guise of enforcing Earl Dagon's archaic no-witchcraft-allowed policy.

Her to-do list? Just a small task of dealing with the supernatural Sister Act, rescuing Penny from a fate worse than wearing last season's witch hat, and not getting caught in the process. No pressure.

In a desperate move, Alexandra teams up with Theodora Cunningham, a Master Herbalist whose herb game is so strong, she could probably turn a basil leaf into a weapon. Together, they're plotting to whip up a potion to evict the demon from the nuns and restore peace to Castle Point. The plan is foolproof... as long as they can keep their witchy wiles under wraps and avoid turning themselves into the town's next biggest bonfire attraction.

Fingers crossed, wands ready—let the supernatural shenanigans begin!

AELEXANDRA

Earl Dagon was chasing me.

I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear him. His

heavy footsteps were closing in on me. My breath
quickened as I slipped in and out of the dark corners of Castle
Dagon, desperately trying to !nd a place to hide. I could almost
feel his breath, hot and putrid, as he huffed and puffed with the
pace of his footsteps. His voice, a fleeting thought..

“You can’t hide from me, Evelyn. I know you’re here. I will
find you, my darling. You will be mine again.”

I opened my mouth to scream “No!” but nothing came.
Chilly spikes of fear stabbed every part of me. I lunged forward,
into another dark corner, heading toward the castle door. The
Earl, hearing me, quickly shifted and closed in on me once
again.

Every step I took felt like running through sludge. My feet,
heavy with fear and tired from running, threatened to fail me
before reaching the door. With all my energy, I took the last
lunge towards the door. Pulling back, like a cat about to pounce,
with heavy legs leaped forward, willing the voluminous sludge to
release my feet. I lunged for the door.

Earl Dagon snarled, his footsteps right behind me. A large,
clammy hand clasped around my neck, forcing me back, then
spinning me around, toppling me to the ground...

I woke up when I hit the floor.

Relief flooded my body as I looked around, recognizing
my bedroom. I was wrapped in a burrito of blankets and
sheets, laying on the !oor. Sticky sweat dampened the
sheets and my hair, now clinging to my face and wrapped
around my neck...like a large hand, choking me.

It was a dream. A really terrible, terrible dream.

They were coming more frequently now, since my
daring jaunt to Castle Dragon to get a peek at an ancient
book sequestered under lock and key in the library. Black‐
jack and I had taken a wee nap in an off-tour bedroom,
waiting for everyone to skedaddle. I had my first dream of
the Earl then. He seemed to mistake me for his Evelyn of
Cumbria - the witch he professed to love, who broke his
heart and ended up burning on the castle pyre.

The Earl Dagon wasn’t after me. He wasn’t even alive.
He was a piece of my history, my ancestry long since dead.

Thank the Goddess.

Blackjack sauntered into the room as I attempted to free
my arms from their tangled position. He jumped up on my
chest and sat.

“Havin’ some troubles, woman?” His silky voice floated
through my mind.

“A bad dream, Blackjack.”

Blackjack lay where he sat, curling his paws under his
chest. “I heard a thump. Did you fall off the bed? Or have you
taken to sleeping on the floor?”

I peered at him, my arms still trapped in the blankets, gobs of hair masking my face. “I fell off the bed, you
goober.”

“Oh, what fun.” Blackjack’s emerald green eyes, a match
to my own, glistened. “You should probably get off the dusty
floor. You’re not the best housekeeper, you know. Your dust
bunnies have dust bunnies,” he pulled out a paw and licked it.

“Ever so helpful, as always, you mangy brat.” He was far
from mangy, but I knew what piss-him-off buttons to push.
His fur, also a match to my hair, a luxurious jet-black from
hours of incessant cleaning, shone in the sun now beating
through my bedroom window.

I rolled, tossing a surprised cat onto the floor. His legs
splayed out, momentarily gripping the blankets before he
recovered and sat, casually licking the same paw he’d been
busy with a moment earlier.

Blackjack stopped licking long enough to stare up at me
as I shook the sheets from my body and stood. “You’re pre-
caffeine personality leaves much to be desired.”

“Back at-ya you little demon.” I gathered the blankets,
tore the fitted sheet from the bed, and piled them on the
floor in the hall to put in the laundry after my shower.
Blackjack strutted from the room, tail high in the air. For a
twenty-something cat with attitude, I couldn’t imagine
living a day without him. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to. He
was a gift from my mentor, Waldo Cress, before ‘Cressy’
continued his mentoring from the other side. Blackjack was
a kitten when Cressy gave him to me. A magical familiar
that was bound to be mine until the day we both crossed
over and joined Cressy on the other side.

In the meantime, I had to put up with his snobbery and
blasphemous back end.

I mean, the farts that cat could conjure...

A giggle-snort escaped my lips just thinking about it.