Dragon's Got Hex Appeal: Magic and Mayhem Universe

By Sharon Saracino

When my parents confessed they'd sold me in service to Satan, I expected the Prince of Darkness to walk through the door when the clock struck twelve. Instead I got a hexed Dragon Shifter with a grudge against my mother and my newly purchased contract in hand. That sexy as sin Dragon might own me for the next twelve months, but I'm not falling for him no matter how many Twinkies he buys me. Throw in the Motherhumper of all Demons who wants me dead, a skunk Shifter with a loose stink trigger, a glorified outhouse to call Home Sweet Home--and I'm beginning to think I might as well be in Hell!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Saracino
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393764533

Sharon Saracino

Sharon Saracino, an award winning author of paranormal romance, resides in beautiful Northeastern Pennsylvania. She plans to win the lottery just as soon as she remembers to buy a ticket, fantasizes about moving to Italy, brews limoncello, and believes there's always magic to be found if you take the time to look for it!

Book preview

Chapter 1

It’s not every day you discover your parents bound you in service to Satan. Granted, they intended to figure out a way to void the contract before the deadline rolled around. Funny how dealing with the devil never turns out exactly as planned. Perhaps they misinterpreted a clause. Possibly they overlooked some incomprehensible terminology in the fine print. My folks’ apparent incompetence in legalese aside, I sat down to dinner last Tuesday expecting a twenty-fifth birthday dinner of Chicken Cacciatore. I received a dog-eared copy of The Dark Side for Dummies and the news I owed the Lord of the Underworld twelve months of my life, instead. Sure, I got the chicken too, but even given my un-holy adoration of Italian food, after my parents’ big announcement, I hadn’t had much of an appetite. Go figure.

This costume makes me look fat, doesn’t it?

I glanced over to where my mother twirled in front of the full length mirror mounted on the back of my closet door. I abandoned my meticulous examination of the bedroom ceiling, turned my head, and gave my mom’s clingy mummy costume the hairy eyeball. Long and lean, and blessed with a witch’s magical metabolism, my mother couldn’t look fat even if she strapped a Buick to her ass. And she knew it.

"Yes. And don’t you have a mirror in your room?"

Sure, I know a girl is supposed to honor her father and mother. However, mine bartered the next year of my life to the Prince of Darkness. It had been challenging enough growing up in a world that required me to hide my magical abilities, without this new wrinkle in the fabric of my reality. The revelation elevated my life’s level of insanity to orange, and much like the Homeland Security's advisory system, I had no idea what it meant, or how to deal with it. I think that excuses the occasional less than respectful remark.

Aren’t you ever going to forgive us? My mummy-like Mommy spun to face me and planted her hands on her linen wrapped hips. How many times must I tell you, we were young and desperate and—

Stupid, I interjected. Let’s not forget totally, completely, and irrevocably stupid.

Fine. She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. "And stupid. But, at the time, I thought it was the only way for your father and me to be together. Someday, Goddess willing, you’ll fall in love yourself and then you’ll understand. Don’t shake your head at me, young lady. The witches in our family have a history of falling fast and hard, just like I did for your father, so anything’s possible. Anyway, since I never intended having children, promising my first born didn’t really seem like such a big deal at the time, you know?"

Should I be comforted by the fact my current situation is a simple snafu because you never wanted me in the first place? Honestly, Mother, if you’re trying to make me feel better, your approach could use some work.

"Stop twisting my words, Theodora. I said I never intended having children. I never said I didn’t want you. Please note the difference."

Your mother and I adore you, sweetheart, my father chimed in from the doorway. Whatever else you think of us at the moment, at least believe that.

Dad’s bushy brows drew together, and creases pleated his high forehead in the distressed expression I’d become so familiar with over the last week. Unlike my mother, who’d taken to wearing a cool, defensive mask—which, truth be known, kind of worked with the upscale mummy costume she’d chosen for the country club Halloween bash—my father simply appeared exhausted. My heart ached a little. Sure, I was angry, but except for that one tiny error in judgment—okay, one huge, honking screw up—they’d always been great parents.

I know you do, Dad. Only a complete dimwit could have missed my ever so slight emphasis on the word you. Not that I needed reassurance my mom really did love me or anything—well, okay maybe a little reassurance at this point would not be unwelcome—but at least my father had the good sense to look as though he’d spent a few sleepless nights over the whole mess. Still, it was hard not to admire my mom’s uncanny ability to ignore the three-headed dog in the room. I slid from my bed and crossed my arms over my chest as she continued applying mascara as though neither my father nor I had spoken.

You should get dressed, dear. It’s getting late. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and darted quickly back to her own reflection as she licked a cotton swab and swiped it beneath her lower lashes to capture a smear. A smear? My mother could apply eyeliner flawlessly with one hand tied behind her back while going ninety on the freeway. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as blasé about my predicament as she pretended.

Been there, done that, wearing the tee-shirt. I took pity on her unusual incompetence, and wiggled my fingers. The smears vanished, leaving a face that looked as though she’d spent hours under the talented hand of a Hollywood make-up artist. Magical cosmetic application I had down. Everything else? Not so much.

I could have managed. Mom glanced in the mirror and sighed. Then she turned from her intense contemplation of her now perfectly applied face and zeroed in on my appearance. One professionally manicured brow quirked into an artful half-moon as she surveyed my jeans and scuffed ballet flats. But not half so well. Thank you, dear. Now, where’s the costume I picked out for you? If you’re going to mingle with the dark side, you need to start dressing the part. Scant and sexy.

You would know, my father grumbled under his breath.

Did you say something, Earl? Her second brow jumped up to join the first, and her lips compressed in a thin, tight line as she re-directed her attention to the man hovering in the doorway.

I said Teddy is sexy enough already. Let her wear whatever she wants. She deserves to be comfortable.

Um, thanks Dad, but for the ten thousand, seven hundred and thirty second time, I’m not going. While I appreciated his support, I couldn’t help thinking there was nothing even remotely comfortable about any of this. Not my mother’s strange remoteness. Not the prospect of potentially getting up close and personal with unknown dark entities. And most especially not my father remarking on my sex appeal. That’s just uncomfortable on any level.

You know how important this is, Earl! Or maybe it simply doesn’t matter to you anymore?

You know better than that, Millicent. But, if you’ll recall, I told you not to sign the damned contract in the first place. Maybe it’s time to ask for help. It isn’t right to put this all on Theodora. She had nothing to do with any of it.

Help from whom? My mother cried, slamming her make-up bag on my vanity table and sending tubes and jars skittering in every direction. My stomach cramped. This could not be good. As a rule, my mother was not a cosmetic abuser. No one on earth has the power to void a contract with Lucifer.

"Perhaps not void. But, there is someone who might have enough clout, and enough cash, to renegotiate the terms."

No, my mother ground out through tightly clenched teeth. Have you forgotten her very vocal opposition to our union? And my equally vocal defiance? It’s pointless to ask.

You’ll never know unless you try, my father suggested.

She will never agree. My mother replied, planting her hands on her hips. I pushed her too far.

She? I looked from my mother’s glare to my father’s and back again. "M’kay, you know what? Color me crazy, but you two have been bantering cryptic remarks back and forth for days. So, you’re a witch and you married a mortal. So what? It hardly qualifies as a crime, does it? I can’t help thinking there’s more to the story. And who, exactly, is this she person?"

"She is the BabaYaga. Obviously, you’ve never met her due to our, um, unique situation. She and I have not been on the best of terms since I married your father."

The Baba Yaga? The most beautiful, powerful, and horrendously attired witch in the entire world? Our fearless leader? The head witch? According to my mom, the witch was perpetually stuck in the 80s and her fashion sense was atrocious. Not that most were foolish enough to remark on it. She also reputedly, and single-handedly, decimated the ozone with her obsessive use of hairspray. No, I’d never met her. But, even a witch living a sheltered magical life hears things.

And, you’re right, Mom continued. A witch marrying a mortal, while frowned upon, isn’t a crime. Our situation is a bit more complicated.

More complicated, how? I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes.

Don’t you think you already have enough to contend with? My mother sighed and bent to gather the scattered make-up containers and stuff them back in her bag.

Ya think? My life experience thus far consists of a relatively ordinary, barely magical life, moving every few years to hide the fact that though you’re one hundred and seventy-five, you look thirty. I paused to blink back the tears stubbornly welling in my eyes. "I may be a witch, but I haven’t had a whole lot of opportunity to hone my skills, and