Pick Your Poison

By Jeanette Lynn

Normal, or not so normal, human Norma Gene is wrangled into attending yet another get-together at her best friend Callie's coven house. This time things are a little bit different for dear old Genie as she arrives to find Callie's decided to shake things up a bit, much to her dismay. With a standoffish, wary telepath, a warlock with a chip on his shoulder, a fire breathing dragoness, a surly vampire with a dour disposition, sultry demoness with a sharp tongue, a grumbling werewolf, and a bubbly witch who doesn't know the meaning of 'butt out' at the helm to round it out, what could possibly go wrong? Everything and anything, and madness ensues.
Warning: this book contains foul language, blood, stamps, a snorkel, a soup spoon, a plucky yet slightly introverted pizza girl, tons of snark, and a crapload of other stuff.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Lynn
• Release date: Jul 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311559302

Jeanette Lynn

Jeanette Lynn lives with her Neanderthal, beyond awesome kiddlens, mini-dino water-ninja (turtle), slightly eccentric terrier mix, and hobbit pup. She enjoys creating quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. And, of course, a good happy ending.Quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. Finding love in unexpected places.Paranormal, contemporary, fantasy, sci fi, shifters, aliens, magic and matchmaking mayhem, there's a little bit of everything.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

All Shook Up

So? We’re all friends here, and we’re all adults. Callie blinked her pretty jade witch eyes innocently, waiting for someone to contradict her.

No one did, though her comment was more than a bit of a stretch.

Tugging at my Daunte’s Inferno apron self-consciously, still decked out in my work uniform, I couldn’t believe I, the only human here, was the only one with the cojones to speak up.

Actually... Pausing to clear my throat, I gave my lifelong chum a long, withering look. "I really don’t know anyone here more than a Hey, how’s it going—pass the chips? kinda thing, despite how long you’ve been putting on these whatchamacallits."

Callie’s lips pursed for all of about two seconds. But, as is typical of her, she turned that frown upside down, her expression smoothing out into that familiar, cat-like, calculating half-smile of hers that had even the most thick-skinned of creature’s hair standing on end.

Lips tipping up into a nauseatingly sweet smile that had me squirming a little in my seat as our gazes clashed—knowing full well it wouldn’t bode well for me—she chuckled.

All the more reason for us to play a game like this, I’d think, the tricky witchling replied with enough sugar to rot a tooth.

Or not, I muttered, slumping down farther into her plushy, navy blue sofa.

Plucking at the fabric on the arm of the sofa sulkily, lips drawn down, eyebrows tugging low as my expression pinched, I glanced up through the corner of my eye, giving the woman a moody look. Seriously don’t know why the hello I’m even here…

If I was going to be dragged to these little soirees of hers every first night of the new moon, then abruptly ignored by all her little otherworldly friends because I’m too ‘normal’—no matter how nice I am or how hard I try to be civil—I didn’t have to like it, darn it.

Why I kept up with appearances to this crap was beyond me, other than for Callie’s sake, but even then I had to question myself.

Am I prolonging the inevitable? Have we grown apart, outgrown each other, so to speak, and neither one of us is willing to let go or come to terms with the fact? These meet up deals were our only hangouts, and even then our interaction was limited, sometimes the bare minimum, at best. Hmm... Maybe I should just stop.

The thought saddened me. I mean, who wants their longest standing friendship to end? And she does get me, for the most part, accepts me as I am, much as I do her.

Meh. Maybe I’m overthinking all this.

We live totally opposite lives, though, we do. Not only do I reside completely across town from Cals, my jobs are a hop, skip, and a jump from my house, as hers is for her. With the exception of her little shindigs, we wouldn’t ever cross paths otherwise.

Hell, she’s a witch and runs her own coven, has her own shop down by The Drift. Me? Well... I work part-time on weekends as a checkout/bag girl at the grocer my parents manage—Hardmen’s—and full-time during the week at a little hole in the wall pizza joint called Daunte’s Inferno, putting up with a crotchety, old, de-horned rage demon for minimum wage and the promise of a migraine. So, really, not much of anything.

Granted, I’m renting out my folks’ basement and I pay for my own food and utilities, but still, I ain’t exactly out in this big bad world making something of myself all on my own, doing my own thing like Callie over there.

It’s my fault, I know. I’m trapped in a perpetual prison of my own doing—a vicious, endless cycle—but I’m content, or at least pretend to be so, in my little cave of not so ho-hum-hip-hip-hurrah greatness.

A huge part of me is thankful for that, because the reluctant adult in me is terrified of pushing myself too far, reaching beyond that point, taking that leap off the ledge, and then what? What’s after that? What about when I fail and it all comes crashing down around me? Where will I be then? Where do I go when I can’t pick up all the pieces?

I’d be a big fat has-been with mud on my face and nothing to show for it, that’s where I’d be, right back to zero anyway. Just the idea had me cringing. Nah. I’m cool with my mundane existence and meager, well, everything... Can’t fail if you don’t try.

To my mind, I’d rather be the loser in the basement, stuck at square one to begin with, thank you very much. Sad, maybe, but there you have it. It’s my life, after all. And I’ll keep telling myself that until the feelings of inadequacy rise within me to the point I feel motivated to, uh... erm... get off my lazy ass, figure out what it is I actually want to do with myself—my life—stop being a chicken shnit, and set forth or some philosophical shnit.

Stefan, the resident necromancing warlock I’d yet to see raise a single dead body—not that we go around trying to do shnitzel like that or anything—lifted one of his oversized-ring covered hands lazily to wave it at me. What Norm said, Callendra, dear.

Duncan, some type of telepath/empath/telekinesis guy or something—I never was good with all this Other terminology—the things with his head guy—paused with a thick sandwich halfway to his lips and blinked.

Norma Gene, Stefanos. I know you know she hates it when you do that. You’re thinking it. It makes her aura all... Face bunching, he grimaced, jerking his chin towards me, then the perpetually disturbed, pasty Necromancer. Purplish and black and inky. The man’s thick, dark eyebrows pulled into a heavy scowl over his bright blue eyes and he made an unhappy sound in his throat. Disturbed and turbulent, messy, like yours, minus that weird smoky-grey hovering over the edges of yours all the time.

Blinking as I tried to keep up with the man and what that meant exactly, Stefan had no problem interpreting the mumbo jumbo and glowered, slinking down into his seat, his thin shoulders hunching in his fancy black dress shirt like a pouty child.

It was too bad I’d never gotten to know Dunc. He wasn’t exactly a bad guy or anything, just kind of weird and really standoffish, but maybe he was also kind of shy, too, like me.

Stefan’s gaze slid to Callie, dismissing Duncan initially. He gave her a dirty look, which she raised an eyebrow at but then promptly chose to ignore.

Muttering something I couldn’t make out under his breath, he snickered, his dark, fathomless black eyes rolling sarcastically.

She’s just trying to help. Duncan leaned close to whisper to the grumbling male.

Oh, shut it and stuff your face. And don’t you worry. His slender finger made to poke at the other man’s softer belly, but Duncan jerked back. I’m sure Callie has plenty of snacks to appease your need to fix all those emotions you’re feeling with food, Stefan put in snidely.

Better to eat your emotions than waste away from avoidance all together, Duncan responded casually, though he set his plate full of food aside on the coffee table, frowning over at it disconcertedly as he leaned back against the loveseat.

Stefan’s already chalky pallor turned ghostly white, his gaunt face pulling tight as his lips thinned. Fat ass, he muttered under his breath, but Duncan wouldn’t rise to the bait.

Pretending he hadn’t heard a thing, Duncan smiled serenely while he plucked at his grey cotton shirt, picking off imaginary lint.

Got a little chilly in here, didn’t it? he asked no one in particular, glancing around the room. The slight tint to his ears hinted at what he seemed to be trying so hard to hide, but I gave him props for handling Stefan the a-hole so well.

Yes, downright frigid, Divit, the usually quiet vampire, piped in drolly from his spot on the ugly chaise he lounged on. Situated towards the back and off to the side, he was far enough away from everyone else to be considered separate, yet close enough to take everything in and comment.

The vampire’s dark brown eyes fairly glittered as they settled on the back of Stefan’s head, as if to stare a hole right through. Stiff as a board, rigor mortis setting in, and all that. Stone cold dead, as it were.

Stefan’s jaw clenched and I could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

Enough, Div. Callie strode over to sit on the arm of Stefan’s chair, nudging his shoulder. Smiling down at him, she wiggled what was in her hand carefully. Winking sweetly, she held out the steaming mug.

Without glancing up, Stefan grimaced but took it, chugging down the contents of the black coffee cup in one long gulp.

Thanks. The words indicated anything but as he coughed and choked, though he did offer Callie one of his rare half smiles.

Making a disgusted face as his expression twisted, he swallowed convulsively a few times, as if Callie’s concoction might come back up, but managed to keep it all down, dutifully handing her back the cup.

Smiling, Callie gave his back a quick pat, then went to set the cup on her tray. Thatta boy, get some color back in those cheeks. You don’t eat enough.

I eat just fine. Stefan flashed her a smile more teeth and grimace than sincerity. Don’t concern yourself with me, Callendra. You have your own things to worry about.

Good little death walker, I heard Divit hiss under his breath. Doing what mummy witch tells us now, are we? What’s wrong? Got to be too much? Can’t handle being special? Or, his voice lowered to the point I almost couldn’t make him out, "did little Stevie piss someone off, again?"

A low, evil chuckle followed, but there was an edge to it that struck me odd. These two definitely had a history. Whatever that may be, I didn’t want to know.

Seeing as to how this was the first time we’d all been gathered here in a non-party-like fashion for such an extended period of time—hence, no room for me to slip off to and barricade myself in with Callie’s impressive movie collection for the night once things got hopping—we were all stuck here.

This is going to be a long night, I thought miserably.

Shut it, corpse, Stefan shot back, lifting his skeletal wrist to flick it dismissively in Divit’s direction. If it weren’t for the pink tint dusting his cheeks, I wouldn’t have thought he cared what the old vamp thought.

Duncan, face hidden, was smiling to himself, his thick lips tipping up as he tried to hold his smile back, and failing miserably. I didn’t blame him, I’d smile, too. And those dimples in his cheeks were actually kind of adorable.

From what I could tell, based on our minimal interactions, poor Dunc was usually the target of Stefan’s wrath. Maybe because he was the most normal out of them, more human-ish? Heck if I knew. Either way, the sight of the Necromancer being put in his place by the old vamp pleased me immensely as well—Stefan’s second favorite easy target.

Stifling my own snicker, Duncan coughed to cover it up after I realized too late it was kind of loud. Feeling a little sheepish, I threw him a grateful look.

He wasn’t meant to see it but he did, his eyes already fixed on me, studying something around my head.

Glancing up, trying to follow his gaze, I ran my fingers through my hair self-consciously, wondering at it, but nary a hair on my head was out of place.

Huh.

The man was kind of funny like that, but in a way it was all part of his offbeat charm.

Duncan was like an oversized teddy bear: big and tall but soft around the middle; and he appears friendly and approachable, despite his massive height, at first glance. When he smiles you want to smile back, and if he frowns you want to walk right over and make it better, no real idea why or how.

The only thing holding me back from doing just that was how loopy he’d think me to approach him and start groping him like a crazy woman, trying to hug it out with him or some crap. I couldn’t explain it, but Duncan both repelled and attracted me—it was a strange dichotomy.

I could see myself crushing on him, maybe, if we ever got around to actually talking.

Duncan blinked, as if snapping out of a strange trance, and smiled suddenly. Thank you. I mean, you’re welcome. A befuddled look beetled his brows. I, uh, I mean, I find you approachable and repelling, too, he said jovially. I could crush on you, as well. Nodding, his face lit up like I’d just given him a present.

As if I’d been sitting too close to a roaring fire, my whole face flushed beet red as my jaw dropped, while Spira, having just taken a hearty swig of her drink, sprayed everyone with ginger ale.

Oh, tellie-path... the dragoness got out between choking gasps, offering me a sympathetic look as her gaze darted my way. You are not supposed to be saying the things like that.

Duncan’s lips drew down and he squirmed in place, a man-sized child just given a gentle reprimand he didn’t understand, his eyes shifting as he frowned.

Looking as if about to reply, lips parting slightly, his brow lifted along with his hand—as if to beg a moment of her attention. Anyone with a set of eyes could tell Spira had more to say, though, so Dunc sat back, his hand slumping as his mouth slowly slid shut, and he politely let her finish.

Steam wafting out her delicate nose as it crinkled softly, Spira’s lips curled up ever so slightly as her nostrils flared. Tiny white puffs clouding around her, her lizard-like eyes glittering thoughtfully, she canted her head. You may have just killed my friend here from embarrassment.

I didn’t mean to embarrass her. The telepath’s big hand lifted and he jabbed a finger in my direction. She thinks I’m cute. I think she’s cute and weird, too. Licking his lips nervously, eyes darting back and forth between us, he shrugged. I’m just saying... she thinks I’m quiet and shy, and, uh... uhm... Snapping his fingers, he looked to the ceiling, lips screwed up, expression tight as he searched for the word. Oh! His index finger shot up, a triumphant smile shooting across his face as his baby blues widened. And standoffish! That’s what it was.

At Spira’s look and my desperate groan, he explained quickly, I don’t read her mind normally, because Callie put a binder on her so I couldn’t, but tonight I can. There went that smile again, followed by more exuberant hand gesturing. I’m just letting her know before I can’t get back in her head.

He said this so defensively as he tapped his skull, his large eyes hopeful as his head bobbed along encouragingly. The man was a giant, walking disaster with the looks of a puppy dog.

That will not be to happening. Change the mind, tellie-path. Spira snorted, incredulous, but her words lacked their typical bite. She was careful with Dunc, much as she was me, softening just enough of that hard outer shell of hers in our favor. A dragon soft on humans was almost unheard of.

Deep lines creasing his forehead as his gaze met mine, his wide blue eyes fogging uncertainly, I spluttered in the face of it. What do I say to that? But the fart noises my face was making, lips pursing and pouting, gaping unattractively—plus a side of saliva to spray myself with as the sound effects I produced created unintentional mad raspberries—said it all.

Enthusiasm dimming, Dunc’s shoulders slumped and he tried to smile. It fell flat two attempts in and he gave up, taking those deep dimpled divots in his cheeks along with him.

Mumbling an apology under his breath, he could no longer meet my eyes. Yeah, okay. I can take a hint.

He looked so hurt—wounded, even—as if I was the one who’d somehow committed an offense, while I gaped at him like he’s a crazy man.

Why do I suddenly feel so freaking guilty?!! The insta-guilt was faster than just add water as it immediately began to gnaw at me.

Mm. Yes, well, think on it, Dunc, darling. Did you have to try all that hard to get into her head in the first place? Mary asked curiously, her voice on par with a purr. Red lips tipping up maliciously, she set her glass down on an end table and flung her thick, shoulder-length, auburn and orangey-red streaked hair over her shoulder, reaching out with the opposite hand to twirl the little umbrella in her fruity drink.

Brown eyes dancing as her lips pulled back into a mean smile, her white teeth flashed, exposing two slightly crooked and sharp canines.

Oh, yes, a mind-reader jumping into the unsuspecting normal’s mind to try and get in her pants. How original. How positively unique. Why, haven’t I heard that somewhere before...? Mary? Stefan sat up a little straighter, gasping dramatically as his fingers brushed across his chest suggestively, earning himself a few hard stares. The Necromancer didn’t seem to care. Hmmm, Duncan? However did Mommy and Daddy meet, I wonder?

Callie kicked Stefan’s foot, shaking her head as her eyes flashed with a shot of electric blue and her full lips tightened. With another well-aimed, pointy-toed kick when it looked like she was about to be ignored, she gave him a warning look.

Stefan subdued, but the noises he made in his throat, combined with the dour, sour look on his face, let it be known he’d only done so out of respect for our hostess, and most reluctantly at that.

Don’t talk about my parents. Duncan lost his cool then, hopping up jerkily, his shoulders tensing as his spine stiffened.

He was a big man, by height and sheer width alone—a gentle giant who’d just been pushed past his limit.

I had to question the Necromancer’s sanity as he picked at the much larger male.

All grumbling and gruff with his big, burly body locked up tight, his short beard and that hard look on his face, Dunc’s big blue eyes flashing as they darkened beneath full brows, scowling heavily, the image of an angry bear came to mind.

Someone had just poked the bear.

A glaring match ensued, the two men glowering at one another, Duncan looming over Stefan, body tense, both of them refusing to back down, and that’s when things started to get really weird.

The china set in the cabinet along the wall started clinking as Duncan’s blue eyes darkened, his thick, meaty hands fisting, clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Stefan’s chin lifted stubbornly, black eyes flashing, a mulish tilt to his lips. For a second I thought I might have caught a flash of trepidation in his gaze, but it was gone in a second—a trick of the light, more than likely.

What was...? Earthquake? Earthquake! It’s the big one! We’re all gonna die! I’m going to bite the big one with these jerk offs! I thought, in a panic.

Jumpy, I yelped as the house started to shake, the glass in the coffee table rattling along with the windows as I gripped the arm of my seat. Oh, my god, what the fu-

Tellie-path, do not rise to the player of dead thing’s bait. It is exactly what the leech wants. Spira’s voice came out low but sharp, her accent thickening as she too looked worried. Following her words, she let out a long, angry hiss.

Stefan! Duncan! Callie snapped sharply, and just as fast as it all happened, it stopped.

Hazel eyes wide, my black painted fingernails dug into the arm of the sofa. I’d only just arrived fifteen minutes prior, but after this shnit I was done.

You know... I think I just shat myself. So, yeah... Hands shaking as I pried them off the couch, much like pulling a cat’s claws out, I slowly let go. I’m gonna just... go. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder at the door, I barked out an ineffective laugh. A donkey’s braying cough is what it sounded like, but I shrugged it off, shrugged it all off. Yep, just gonna collect my shnit and go, I thought, reaching around blindly for my purse. Screw it. I’ll be outta here in a sec anyway.

Hooking two fingers onto my fat, black bag’s long shoulder strap, I scooped it up and slid from the couch, sliding slickly across the plushy material as if someone had buttered the comfy blue cushions.

Turning as I rolled to my feet—with all the grace and agility of a dying porpoise, but who’s judging?—I tossed everyone a quick salute—congratulating them on... their conjoined weirdness? Otherness? Inability to gather in a peaceful, friendly-like manner? The fact they haven’t killed each other yet, or me? I didn’t know—and went to make a run for it.

And I would have made it, too.

Don’t even think about leaving yet, Callie warned, her words snapping like the crack of a whip at my back. Her eyes narrowed—I could feel it, those beady eyes burning into the back of my head—and I froze as I glanced over my shoulder, spotting her right as she pointed a long, lime green fingernail in my direction.

I felt sort of zapped in place as I slowly turned to face her, my feet like lead weights, knees jittery as they threatened to buckle under my weight. The tricky witch’s chin jutted, her lips pulling into a tight, thin line, her eyes turning to squinty little slits as I caught my first glimpse.

Callie’s jade eyes shot with blue, her nostrils flaring like Spira’s as my eyes strayed to the door for a split second. The look on her face indicated she’d have no problem whatsoever waiting me out, or tackling me, should I give in to the impulse riding me to run.

The witch felled me with that dragon lady look, forcing me to do her bidding; though I couldn’t, technically, say she’d actually really made me do anything.

Wouldn’t dream of it, I mumbled awkwardly, like a coward, my gaze darting towards the front door longingly one last time as I tromped back to the sofa.

Plopping my purse down, I grumbled a few choice words under my breath and slumped back into my seat.

Bright smile returning, which just made me think she was either practicing the dark arts too much or mentally unstable, Callie’s laugh tinkled, the sound melodious and soft like the chimes of a bell, as her lips curled so sweetly.

Blinking her long lashes slowly, dark brown eyebrows arching ever so slightly as she stared down the length of her little button tipped nose at me, she grinned outright, another bell tinkling laugh chiming away. I wondered for a moment if she farts glitter when she gets on one of these kicks—a fairy on crack.

She must be messing with her glamour spells again. That has to be it.

Ah... good old Callie. One of these days I’m going to get fed up with all this fairy farting, coquettish eyelash batting, bell chimin’ laughing to disguise her piggy snort-giggling, and squash her butt like a-

Good! Callie interrupted my unfriendly thoughts—but we’re messed up besties, (mesties?) sort of, so it’s okay. Our love-hate relationship just keeps things fresh. Slap a biatch for bein’ so fake it’s getting on my last ever loving nerve, fresh.

Clapping her hands, my jailer- I mean, friend, cleared her throat. That’s wonderful because the fun has only just begun.

What fun? Spira asked cattily, tapping the toe of her clunky steel toed boot impatiently on the end of Callie’s fancy looking rug. I have yet to see this fun, and I grow restless.

The fun I’m getting to, you dried up old hag of a dragoness, if you’ll just give me a minute, hmm? Cheeky as ever, Callie didn’t miss a beat.

Spira could have feigned offense, but smirked and chuckled. Picking up a water bottle off the tray full of soft drinks, punch, and other various offerings, she shrugged and twisted the top.

Fine. I am game, but you will hurry. Waggling a claw-tipped finger, she clucked her forked tongue, her slender nostrils flaring, and motioned for her to get on with it.

Lips pursing like he had dog crap smeared across his thick upper lip, his wide mouth twisting into a moue of distaste, Stefan gave an indelicate sniff.

The girl says she can’t handle it, she can’t handle it. The Necromancer’s hand flapped in my direction, his fat emerald ring sliding around on his bony finger. Don’t force the normal to do something she’s uncomfortable with. I say let her go.

Flashing me a patently false, sympathetic smile with those cheap beaver teeth of his I just know are crap veneers, I grinned savagely back.

Never said I couldn’t handle it, Steffie-kins. I was just sayin’ earlier, we aren’t kids anymore, and I don’t see why we can’t do something else. Then lower, I mumbled, Or end the night now.

Pulling his hands together to form a little steeple in front of him, peering up at me through his ridiculously thick, blond lashes, Stefan rested his chin on his fingertips, leaning forward on bent elbows as he rested the knobby ends on his knees. Mmm. Condescension dripped from that one sound. So you’ve said.

Rolling my eyes, I just let it go. The has-been wasn’t even worth it.

What is dis spinning of bottles and truth of daring normals speak of? Byron the Werewolf rumbled out in his deep bass voice. Have you done dis, Norman?

They are children’s games, doggie breath, and her name is Norma, not Normal, Norm, or Norman. Come now, rejects, Norma has been chumming with the likes of us for how long? Be getting your shnit right. Spira looked to Byron when she answered, a hissing noise issuing from her throat, her inhuman, lizard-like green-gold gaze slowly drifting to Stefan as her voice slipped into its familiar, throaty growl.

Gotta love a feisty dragon. Spira, hard shell and all, was my girl.

Flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, her gold and silver