Witch Out of Water: Magic and Mayhem Universe: Kracken's Hole, #1

By J. Thompson

Maeve Hummingbird Moonchild is the worst witch in her coven and struggles with even the smallest spell. With no friends but a pigeon, her life in London goes from bad to rock bottom when she is kicked out of her coven and forced to get a job.

When a Help Wanted ad leads her to a new life, she heads off with nothing but her sass and her winged friend.

What else can she do?

And Kracken's Hole can't be that bad—right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Thompson
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393718734

J. Thompson

J. Thompson is a USA Today Bestselling Author of Paranormal and Sci-Fi romance and a major fan of procrastination. Jenn has always loved history, so using her wild imagination and tying in her love of history and fantasy, she began a new adventure into the world of words. Weaving romance into old worlds and giving life to her mythical inspired novels is what Jenn does best, and she has a lot more planned in the future, including some hard assed demons. When she isn't bent over her laptop with the crazy writer eyes, you will find Jenn making jewellery, cross stitching and it doing paper crafts. Jenn is also an avid lover old skool skills like archery and sword fighting. Maybe a touch nuts Jenn is an author who believes wholeheartedly that people are good and that everyone deserves romance - even Hades. Keep up to date by checking out https://jthompsonauthor.com/

Book preview

Chapter One

London, UK. Within the shadows of London Bridge

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Y ou open it, Marjory, the old, croaky voice of Edith ordered.

Hell no! What if it explodes? I know full well you want my Neil Diamond collection, Edith. I am not that stupid, Marjory answered, her voice equal in its huskiness.

Fine, you open it then, Babs, Edith barked out again.

How about you kiss my tight tushy, Edith. You want to read it, then you open it, Babs answered. The third sister’s croaky whisper was filled with defiance.

The Knox sisters sounded as bad as they looked and smelled even worse. All three were gathered around a small table in the centre of their coven’s meeting room. That morning, an envelope had appeared. No one had seen who delivered it and no one had questioned its appearance. No one needed to.

They knew who it had come from.

The sinister three looked down at the cream envelope edged with gold. The missive hovered in the middle of the coffee table and vibrated with magic. It looked out of place within the dirty, dusty setting. Most witch hovels appeared dirty in an attempt to keep prying eyes out, but the Knox sisters actually enjoyed the dirt and revelled in the clutter.

At over 200 years old, they ran the London Bridge coven with an iron fist. Most feared them and their archaic ways. With their love of torture and all things gory, they scared the crap out of anything paranormal, and most mortals only knew them in their nightmares.

Nothing scared the Knox sisters. Well, except for one thing—or rather, one person.

A person who sends cream-coloured envelopes…

Well, it needs to be opened. We can’t leave it any longer, Edith, the self-made leader of the three proclaimed. If we don’t, you know she may just turn up. I heard she does that. Just turns up unannounced.

I heard she bewitches people with her eyes, makes them do her bidding, and has men under her spell for orgies, Babs added, her voice filled with awe.

I heard she has a magic va-jay-jay, Marjory whispered as she peered at the envelope, getting down onto her knees so she was eye-level with the suspicious paper.

‘She’, as they referred to her, was the infamous Baba Yaga. A witch of supreme power that ran the council and kept all the witches and warlocks of the world in check. Mad as a box of frogs with a dress sense to match, she took no shit and dealt justice with a firm slap to the backside.

Why is she even contacting us? We’ve been behaving—haven’t we? Marjory asked, genuinely confused as to whether their actions of late would be considered behaving. The older the sisters got, the shorter their memory spans became.

I think so, Edith answered, though she didn’t sound too sure.

The envelope held them in such rapt fascination that they missed the cloaked, hooded figure that had slipped into the room. The slight frame belonging to none other than the ward of the Knox sisters.

Maeve Hummingbird Moonchild had been left on the doorstep of the London Bridge coven at the tender age of three weeks old with only a note to say who she was and that she was to be protected as she was a witch.

While being brought up by the sisters, Maeve had always wondered why they had done it, seeing as not one of them had a generous bone in their body. Compared to her upbringing, Cinderella had it good. At nearly twenty-five, she was a lesser witch, with skills that barely ranked on a power meter. It had never bothered her as she had never known what it was like to have power, but the continuous ribbing from the other members of the coven had, over the years, started to grind her gears.

Being brought up in the London Bridge coven had been an eye-opening experience, mainly due to the fact that the Knox sisters were two sandwiches short of a picnic and were seriously lacking in maternal instincts. Yet here she was, twenty-five years later; still alive, much to the frustration and confusion of all.

If Maeve was honest, there were days when she was convinced they all had designs on killing her, yet when she questioned their motives, she was told she was being paranoid.

Feeling more than a little confused about her aunties’ current actions, Maeve lowered the hood on her cloak, revealing her pale skin, bright amber eyes and violet hair. She stepped forward.

Auntie Edith. Auntie Marj. Auntie Babs, she called out and stepped into the light of the sconces that dotted the walls. Not wanting to embrace the modern times, the sisters had refused electric lighting and preferred flamed sconces. Though they did like their fridge and TV.

Absolutely batshit cray, cray those three were.

Her appearance made the three screech in surprise and jump away from the table.

What in the name of the goddess are you doing and why are you dressed as Fate—again? Maeve questioned and moved towards the table, instantly noticing the cream and gold envelope hovering over the surface. None of the witches answered her. Instead, they all stared blankly at her as if they were unable to process what she was saying. She’d gotten that look from them before. A lot.

"You do remember the last time you impersonated Fate, don’t you? You were sued for copyright. You know she doesn’t like people taking the piss." Still there was no answer. Fate was a friend of Baba Yaga and was not someone you messed with. Although the sisters seemed to thrive on causing drama.

You had to sell your entire joint collection of Elvis’s used underwear to pay them off. Maeve shuddered. It still boggled her mind why anyone would want to own used boxers, especially ones owned by Elvis.

Slowly, as if they were just waking up, all three blinked.

Maeve darling, Marjory squealed, faking her delight.

Little witch, Babs croaked.

What are you doing here? Edith growled.

Maeve sighed. And people wondered why she was convinced no one liked her. I’m here because I was told you actually wanted to see me. Trust me, it took me by surprise too.

All three once again went quiet before they looked at one another. Maeve had always found it creepy when they did that. Almost like they could read each other’s minds. The sisters gave a unanimous nod, and Maeve watched as Edith stepped forward.

Yes. You can open this for us. Maeve watched as Edith swept her hand towards the envelope, yet all three kept a healthy distance away from it. The magic it emitted was almost palpable. Maeve could feel it pulse through her blood. Yet it didn’t make her as nervous as it obviously made the sisters. It made her feel safe almost, if that was possible. A warm, fuzzy feeling she enjoyed.

Err, why me? Maeve asked. You never ask me to do anything. Maeve paused and eyed the envelope. I think you said, and I quote, ‘You are shit, Maeve. Completely useless. I’ve seen turds do magic better’.

We didn’t say that, did we, girls, Edith cooed, yet it wasn’t convincing.

Right, Maeve answered, her bullshit meter spiking. But in a way, they were right. She was shit. She always had been. She had never been able to get to grips with magic. The sisters blamed it on her parentage, or rather, her lack of knowledge of said parentage.

Basic spells caused her no end of problems. Maeve found magic hard, really hard. Even lighting a candle would give her a migraine. This had caused delight to the sisters and the coven. Being labelled London’s worst witch, possibly the worst witch in the entire UK, was something they all took great joy in reminding her of on a daily basis.

Maeve had one friend, just one, and it was of the feathered variety. Most witches gained a familiar when they gained their powers: cats, dogs… some even got eagles or owls. These were creatures sent to help the witch on their magical journey. With skills of their own and the ability to talk, they, in turn, were given a companion for life.

Not Maeve.

Nope, as she didn’t really have any powers, she had been told she didn’t warrant a familiar, which again pushed her pecking order right down to rock bottom. So, Maeve had settled for the next best thing. A pet of sorts.

And growing up in the bowels of London, under the shadow of the bridge, you were kind of limited. That, and the sisters didn’t like pets.

They ate them.

So, Maeve had adapted, as she had her whole life, and as fate would have it, her companion had fallen into her lap. Literally.

A baby pigeon had been thrown out of its nest due to an injury, and Maeve had seen that as a sign and took the little bird in. Maeve had hidden Binky from the sisters until he was able to fly. He wasn’t a talker, but it was good to have someone there to listen to her.

Being the UK’s worst witch and the butt end of a joke for the coven was a lonely job.

"Come on, Mae dear, come open this for