Rage and Ruin

By Katie Roman

Bridget O'Malley's temper has always been trouble. It's made her the black sheep of the family, cost her customers at her bar, and ruined relationships, but it has never put her life in danger. That is until she tries to rescue her cousin from a demon summoning cult. In picking a fight with one of Chicago's most powerful witches, Bridget finds her bar being picketed, her witch's license suspended, and demons on her trail. Annoyed and afraid Bridget uses the only weapon at her disposal to get her life back to normal: her temper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katie Roman
• Release date: Jun 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463920060

Katie Roman

Raised in the suburbs of Chicago, Katie Roman has been many things. Student, band geek, dog sitter, history major , and consummate tea drinker, but above all things she's been a writer.

Book preview

Rage and Ruin

A Tale from the Otherside

By Katie Roman

Copyright 2017 by Katie Roman

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Cover Artist: Skylar Faith of Everpage Designs

Editor: Stacy Sanford

Printed in the United States of America

To my siblings, Jennifer and Ben, who didn’t cause too much lasting damage

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

About the Author

More Books by Katie Roman

Author’s Note: Books within the Tales from the Otherside series are meant to read as standalone novellas. While some characters may be mentioned elsewhere you do not need to start with Mere Mortal to enjoy Rage and Ruin. Happy reading!

One

I am not a tall person. I am not a muscular person. I am the most physically unimposing red-head on the planet, next to maybe Little Orphan Annie. However, despite my small stature, I still managed to instill fear into the interlopers who had come into my bar with their crazy propaganda.

As we were, uh, saying, the leggy blonde faltered under my glare. Her short male companion actually backed up, but the blonde soldiered on. I had to give her some credit. As we were saying, there will be a memorial service in two days in Old Town at -

Don't care, I said, cutting her off. I kept eye contact, staring unblinking into the depths of her terrified soul.

Well, we're just letting all of the witches in the area know about it, she said. I was impressed she continued. Usually the stare, plus a few pointed syllables stopped people. John Anker was a servant to all witches -

No one here is interested, my friend Samantha jumped in quickly. My friend was not a follower of Anker's demonology or necromancy reforms.

I broke out the good whiskey when I heard he was dead. I grinned at the blonde, showing all of my teeth in a wolfish display.

Samantha turned on her barstool to silently plead with me to shut up. I could see it in her wide eyes and her creased brow. She shook her head slightly, and then turned back to the blonde and squirrelly short guy.

So please kindly take your memorial pamphlets and leave, she finished.

The ceremony isn't just for witches, Miss. We welcome all Others and humans. This time it was squirrel man who spoke up.

People often found it easier to talk to Samantha. Her office attire, perfectly maintained brunette hair, and soft gray eyes inspired confidence and ease. She could be a pushover at times, but the sad, ‘You kicked my puppy’ face did make people move to her will. I, on the other hand, was working hard to make my heart-shaped face become as menacing as possible. I wanted these idiots to know they were nothing but a bother and an inconvenience; pond scum, really. Though, pond scum actually served a purpose, unlike these two.

I work at the BSB, Samantha said, stopping them in their tracks as she seemingly uttered the magic words.

Anker's followers and the Bureau of Supernatural Beings were not on friendly terms. The BSB wasn’t having any of Anker's crap about legalizing demon magic or necromancy. Blonde and Squirrel quickly turned around, dropped a pamphlet on a table near the door, and scurried out.

Samantha turned back to me, scowling. I really hate those guys.

What’s the BSB’s official stance on Anker and his merry band of fiends?

Unofficially? Dangerous, possibly deadly, verging on cultish, but we have nothing on them except the fact they're a nuisance. It’s mostly the followers we’re worried about. Officially, we, the humble social workers, are supposed to treat them politely and not share our personal feelings, but there was no love lost when Anker was murdered.

I grabbed a rag and began wiping the bar down. The urge to close up for the night suddenly overtook me. I figured those lunatics would drive off anyone who might want to drink on a sweltering Wednesday evening. As it was, the already slow night was made worse by Anker’s followers. Blonde and Squirrel and their kind were like the plague. They cleared whole places out by their mere presences.

I felt extremely salty about the whole thing. The surge of business I experienced after my bar's renovations were completed had been tapering off for a while, but now it was dead. I may as well take it out with the garbage.

I'm sorry. Samantha lifted her bottle off the bar, letting me wash under it. Things will pick up this weekend. I'll come in and moonlight. That'll bring the Weres and other witches out.

A few months ago we were the victims of vampire violence, and when one of the vampires wound up dead, we became pretty popular with Weres and witches. They were always happy to hear of the misfortune of vampires. Others were like that. We were never more united than when we were hating on each other.

My bar had been trashed in the incident, though. Once it had been repaired and reopened and Samantha was on a forced sabbatical from the BSB, she came in to help me and my co-owner David. Her presence was popular because it was her blood that did the vampire in. I was popular because I cooked up the potion that poisoned the vampire. If she moonlighted this weekend, we'd have a packed house. That cheered me up considerably.

I think I'm going to close up. I don't want to hang around and see if anyone comes by.

Are you sure? Samantha looked around the bar. It was quiet; I didn't even have music playing. It was clean. No one had vomited, gotten into a fight, or spilled beer all over the floor. That made me sad. I loved the loud, messy, smelly atmosphere. The clean quiet was too depressing for words.

I'll see you Friday? I asked as Samantha grabbed her purse off the stool next to her.

Yeah. I bet you can get a lot of celebrating witches who want to toast to the demise of Anker. A sort of anti-memorial this weekend.

I hadn't thought of that. I tapped my nose and came out from behind the bar to walk her out, locking the door behind her.

~*~*~

It was eleven when I finally got home. I sat out on the stoop of my townhouse, smoking and watching fireflies dance around, doing their firefly thing. It was stifling outside. I wanted to go inside and plop down in front of the TV in my wonderfully air conditioned living room. I also really wanted to enjoy my cigarette. Nicotine usually won out.

A car zoomed down the street and a dog in one of my neighbor's houses barked. A firefly flew in front of my face. It was all so normal, so quiet, so God forsakenly dull. I snuffed out the rest of my cigarette and dropped the butt into the coffee cup I used as an ashtray.

As I stood to go inside, a car pulled up to the curb. A woman got out and scanned up the street.

Excuse me, ma’am? she called out from the curb.

I hated being called ma’am. It made me feel like I was thirty, going on ninety-five. I curled my lips and put my hands on my hips. Yes?

Are you… she looked down at her phone, Bridget O’Malley?

That depends on why you want to know.

I represent John Anker’s followers, and am reaching out to the witches in the area to –

Nope, I cut her off. I am in no way interested in anything you are about to say, so get back in your car and drive on.

But –

I flicked my wrist and made a shooing motion. It was bad enough these leeches came into my bar, but to bother me at home was too much. Weren’t there laws about this sort of thing? Laws to protect me from nuisances? Laws that said it was OK for me to throw empty beer bottles at people who annoyed me? If there weren’t, there should be.

The woman didn’t move. I would think a witch would care that one of the foremost witches in the city was heartlessly murdered.

I certainly do not. Now, move on. As I turned to go inside, I heard her say something; however, the exact words were lost on me. Likely she didn’t want me to hear. I turned around to face her. You got something to say? I challenged.

She didn’t say anything immediately, she just stared at me from the sidewalk, her expression masked in the darkness. I tapped my foot, waiting. I wasn’t going in until she repeated herself or drove off.

I said, have a nice night. She hopped in her car and drove off.

Menaces. The whole lot of them. I should have chased her away with a broom, screaming "Get off my lawn!" I usually found that I was pretty tolerant of people’s beliefs, because what people put their faith in didn’t affect me, but Anker’s followers had always rubbed me the wrong way. They gave witches a bad name and advocated for practices that had cost plenty of foolish witches their lives. I watched the tail lights on the woman’s car hit the end of the block and hang a left. I shook my head. Idiots. All