Hell and High Mountains: Southern Fried Sorcery

By A.C. Dawn

A reluctant witch. A missing magical hammer. And a whole heap of trouble!

I got that phone call no one ever wants to get. No, not the one about your car's extended warranty. The one that hits you in the gut and changes everything in a blink.

My grandmother is gone and with her the one constant in my life. Even though I never embraced the witchy lifestyle like she wanted, I'm the next witch in line to inherit the Rigby estate. As I go through her shop of magical oddities, I uncover a world of secrets, magical societies, and mythical gods.

Grandma led a double life and everyone expects me to assume the magical mantel of responsibility. But I've got a perfectly ordinary, nonmagical life to get back to. Except, the Hammer of the Gods has gone missing on my watch and Hephaestus, the God of the Forge and the hammer's sexy as sin owner, wants it back—now.

Before I can even say Bless Your Heart, things go from bad to worse. The hammer finds its way into the wrong hands, fueling a dangerous conspiracy that threatens to stir the world to war.

I'm neck deep in this mess and it's going to take more than Southern charm and sass to fix it, especially with the distraction of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Godly. Let's just say the God of the Forge can stoke my fire any time.

It's a race to prevent a full-scale world war. So, hold my sweet tea. I've got a hammer to find. I just hope I live to tell the tale.

Grab your copy of Hell and High Mountains for a fast paced, paranormal adventure rich with myths, laughs, and Southern sass.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.C. Dawn
• Release date: Aug 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223673019

A.C. Dawn

A.C. Dawn is an active and enthusiastic author and reader of short stories, novellas, and novels. She enjoys bringing her characters to life and strives to stir the imagination of her readers. She believes the best writing touches the reader in ways they hadn’t expected and will never forget! So, that's the official bio... Really, I'm a lover of chocolate, a strong jaw line with a 5 o'clock shadow, and romances that make your heart pound and your middle get all squishy. I love quiet country living on my north Georgia farm with my family and fur babies of all shapes and sizes. I think the scariest thing in life is how fast my daughter is growing and an empty coffee pot. I can't stand slow drivers in the fast lane and wimpy handshakes. I have endless stories rumbling around among the rocks in my head. I can't wait to share them with you!

Book preview

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Chapter 1

T o Hecate Ann Rigby, I bequeath Rigby house and the contents therein and the business known as Hecate’s Hand-Me-Downs and the contents therein.

I closed my eyes, causing fresh tears to run down my cheeks. The lawyer, Luella Miller, leader of the local coven, my grandmother’s dearest friend, and one of the few people I called family, paused, and sniffed. She swiped at her eyes, handing me more tissues before clearing her throat and continuing.

Rowen left a personal message here, Catie. Luella flicked a glance at Selene, who sat like a statue to my right.

No tears glistened in Selene's crystal green eyes as she sat ramrod straight with her lips pressed together in a severe line. Ageless, without a drop of makeup, her smooth skin glowed, and her tightly knotted, glossy black hair didn’t have a single silver strand. Even in her plain black dress, my mother looked like she had just stepped off a catwalk.

I nodded to Luella to continue. I didn’t care if Selene heard the message.

Luella swallowed hard, and it took her a couple of tries to get the words out. Rowen’s death left a gaping hole in many people’s hearts.

Catie, the winds of change swirl and blow. You may do as you please with the shop and house, but remember, fulfilling the promise of your powers and potential brings blessings, and harmony to your life. Luella’s voice faltered, and she paused again, collecting herself. Well said, my friend, she murmured before turning a kind smile on Selene. Your mother has also left a message for you.

Luella raised her brows in question and received a single curt nod in response.

To my moon daughter, Selene. Be kind to yourself and allow your heart to guide you. Try not to fight the waxing and waning that is your nature, for true happiness lives in acceptance.

Selene blinked and sat rigid in the chair. I wanted to shake her. How could she be so stoic? One of the best and brightest people in the world was gone, and she sat there like a rock. I ground my teeth together and reminded myself that she would leave soon. I just had to hang on for a few more minutes.

Your mother left you these.

Luella pushed a stack of letters tied with a ribbon toward the ice queen at my side. Selene didn’t move to pick them up, but her breath hitched when she saw the antique moonstone ring in the middle of the bow.

Luella waited, but when Selene said nothing, she continued, You also have a bank account to use at your discretion. Your mother hoped it would give you the freedom to follow your own path. The account details are with the letters.

With a heavy sigh, Luella pressed on with the last few paragraphs of legalese. I tuned it out, wishing I could wake up from this nightmare.

Three days ago, when I saw Luella's number come up on my phone, I knew something wasn't right. Unease had gnawed at me the entire day and I'd thought about calling Rowen a dozen times, but never followed through.

Catie? Oh Gods, Luella's voice, cracked with hiccupping sobs. Rowen's gone. She's…

Dead, I breathed the word as my stomach clenched and a tear spilled over. I knew it before I'd answered the phone. After sitting in stunned silence, my thoughts circled around my lost opportunity to call my grandma. Why hadn't I just picked up the phone?

Eventually, I'd lurched to my feet and shoved a few things in a bag. It wasn’t hard to leave on short notice. I didn’t have a family, or pets, or even a houseplant. I preferred no ties. It made it easy to be spur of the moment, live by the seat of my pants.

Yeah right.

Truth was, I didn’t do anything on the spur of the moment other than shop a flash sale online. I rarely left my apartment. Why leave when I had the entire world at my fingertips? Rowen asked me repeatedly to come back to Ravensdale since I could work from anywhere that had internet. I could help her with the shop and take my place in the coven.

I always put her off, finding excuses about why I needed to stay in Nashville, hiding behind distance. If I moved to Ravensdale, I’d have to face my empty life and my grandma’s disappointment. Now, thanks to my cowardice, I’d lost my chance. Bitterness rose in my chest as I bit my lip to keep from screaming or sobbing or both.

Catie? Luella had finished reading and looked at me with expectation.

I'm sorry. What? I jerked my thoughts back to the present.

Do you have any questions? Luella asked with a kind smile.

I shook my head, and she stood to come around the desk with a stack of papers in her hand.

You need to sign some things. She squeezed my shoulder and put the forms in front of me.

I scrawled my signature mindlessly wherever she pointed. Selene stood and slipped out of the office without a word. I clenched my jaw.

Typical Selene, leaving at the first whiff of responsibility.

There are more details to see to, but that takes care of the immediate things.

Luella's voice lacked its usual melodic tones, sounding dry and flat, like every word cost her dearly. Dark circles showed through her smudged makeup. She scooped up the papers and tapped them into a neat stack on the edge of the desk as I got to my feet.

I mumbled something close to thank you and bolted for the door.

Catie, wait, Luella called after me before I got two steps away.

For the love of the Goddess. Couldn’t she see I had to get out of there?

I paused and looked back at the older woman. The pain on her face caused a fresh wave of guilt to wash over me. She and Rowen grew up as close as sisters. An aunt in everything but name, Luella attended every one of my recitals, birthdays, and graduations.

Selfish much, Cate?

I hurried back to hug Luella.

Oh, honey. I’m here if you need me. Luella’s thick southern accent drawled even more through her tears. She held me close for a moment and whispered, Rowan added that message to you just last week. She knew something was going to happen. Be careful, Catie-bug.

She kissed me on my cheek, and I waited until she wiped away the lipstick she always left behind. My mind spun with the implications as I nodded and gave her hand a final squeeze before I escaped into the sultry afternoon heat. Selene waited for me on the sidewalk.

Great. Why was she still here?

I’m going to the shop, I mumbled, not having enough bandwidth left to be civil.

Luella’s cryptic remarks, my crushing grief, and my overwhelming guilt took up every available space in my mind. I pushed past my silent mother, who clutched the bundle of envelopes in her hand, and marched toward my grandma’s shop.

Sweat trickled down my back, and I hugged the shadows cast by the old buildings lining Ravensdale’s main street. Nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, the little town sat at a crossroads where a mountain pass intersected the French Broad River. Founded by the Rigby’s a century before the Civil War, a member of the family had lived here ever since.

Until now.

Selene said nothing as she kept pace with me, seemingly oblivious to the oppressive blanket of humidity that we waded through. Her eyes stayed fixed dead ahead, and her heels clicked rhythmically on the sidewalk.

I stomped along, feeling frumpy and resentful. My mousy brown curls frizzed more with each passing second outside. My button-down white shirt and plain black slacks constituted dressy for my wardrobe. I popped another button open on my blouse, hoping to catch a breeze, and pushed my out-of-control curls off my forehead.

Mercifully, the historic downtown of Ravensdale only stretched a handful of blocks. The wide streets bore testament to the town's early days of horse-drawn carriages and brick buildings towered on either side. Awnings stretched over shop entrances, providing temporary relief from the sun.

Hecate’s Hand-Me-Downs sat at the north end of Main Street. A two-century-old brick building, it leaked like a sieve without constant spell work to keep the roof together. Upgrades of indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and wiring modernized the building a few decades ago, but it was basically held together by duct tape and magic and required constant upkeep.

The original wood structure began as a general store for the town and expanded to serve many other purposes, including a brothel, a church, and a bank. In the 1960s, when my grandmother inherited it, it became a secondhand shop for all things occult and arcane. In the last ten years, new-age tourist paraphernalia like books called The Wonders of Wicca and Tarot Reading for Dummies found their way onto the shelves. Tourists visiting the Smoky Mountains National Park or following the Witches of Appalachia tour could buy crystals, herbs, candles, and faux magic wands. But the tourist shop served as a front to shield the magical business that thrived behind the scenes.

The business of buying and selling second-hand magical artifacts kept Rowen more than busy. Her unique shop drew magical creatures from far and wide. The three-story cavern behind the shop took up most of the building and held some of the world's rarest and most dangerous magical oddities. Rowen always said the best part of her business was connecting a buyer with the perfect thing they never knew they needed.

I sighed as we reached the shop, wrestling with memories, guilt, and sweat. The faded gold paint peeled around the doorjamb, and golden letters proclaimed Cat and Down over the entrance. A storm had knocked off the rest of the words a few months back.

I grinned despite my melting skin and hurting heart as I remembered Rowen said she liked how Cat and Down sounded like a pet store for felines and fowls. I had promised to come down to help her rehang the letters but had never made the time. When I realized that three months had slipped by since we had that conversation, the memory turned bitter. I had hardly spoken to her since.

Why are you still here? I demanded of my mother, venting my anger at the convenient target.

I wanted her and everyone else to leave me alone, so I could properly chastise myself for being the worst, most ungrateful granddaughter ever.

Selene gave me a sad smile. Hecate, she started, and I grimaced at the use of my full name. She struggled to find the words that she wanted and just sighed. I’m sorry I’m not much of a mother. I just wanted to tell you I am here. You’re not alone, and I do love you.

Where had that come from?

Selene left me with Rowen when I was a week old. Rowen raised me. When I was kid and we drew pictures of our family, I drew me and Rowen. She never let me call her mom. Rowen insisted that we use the names the goddess gave us.

I remembered when Rowen introduced me to Selene. I’d been so confused when she said Selene my mother. I was almost eight, and Selene left again two weeks later. Since then, she’d popped in and out of my life more times than I could count. Never staying, never connecting, never acknowledging that I was anything more than a passing thought in her head.

Selene held my gaze, and it surprised me with its intensity. Another pound of guilt hopped on my shoulders when I remembered she was grieving, just like I was. I nodded, sniffing, and blinking back a fresh round of tears.

Holy crow, I didn’t know I had that many tears. I’d be the first person to dehydrate from crying. Digging deep, I found a bit of strength somewhere just left of my spleen. I seized it and gave the woman who had brought me into this world a little smile.

Thanks. I’ll be in touch, okay? I need some time.

There. Daughterly duty satisfied.

Selene gave me one last long look and a sad smile in reply. She raised her hand and pushed a few errant curls off my sweating brow.

Be careful, Hecate, she said as she turned and left me standing on the scorching sidewalk, wondering why everyone was so worried about my safety.

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Chapter 2

Irested my hand on the doorknob and picked at the flaking gold paint with my thumbnail. Goddess, help me, but I didn't want to face what awaited inside. If I didn't go in there, if I didn't actually see the place without her, then maybe… It was a child's hope, but part of me clung to it.

I didn’t have a key. I didn’t even know if there was one. The door would open or not as it chose. I almost hoped it would refuse to open. Another childish impulse.

Before I could chicken out and go hide in my hotel, the door swung open, groaning on its rusty hinges like an old man with a bad back. The smell of incense, old leather, and musty paper met me as I lingered on the threshold, and the familiar caress of magic slid over my skin as the shop recognized me. I stepped inside my grandmother's domain.

With another creaking complaint, the door shut behind me and I looked around the dim room as my heart broke in the face of reality.

A layer of dust covered the tarot card display in the front window. A stack of books had toppled over and spilled across the floor. When was the last time Rowen had cleaned the place? Probably not since I'd been home to help her, almost a year ago. Shame and grief, my constant companions, mocked me as I took in the cluttered shelves along the walls.

Tables scattered around the room overflowed with chaotically stacked merchandise. Towers of boxes leaned precariously in the corners, and I dreaded to think what they had in them. I lingered over unimportant details like the glitter of the crystals next to the tarot cards and the purple tassels on the bookmarks. All the while, the massive cuckoo clock with its missing cuckoo ticked away, reminding me of all the seconds I could never get back.

Finally, my gaze tracked to my grandma’s empty rocking chair next to the rickety table. Her laptop sat beside an antique cash register. I could see her sitting there squinting at the laptop screen as she scoured the internet for deals, steals, and rare gems. She embraced technology and loved computers, particularly the internet. She said it was almost as good as magic.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, pulling my thoughts to the present, and pushed my curls off my forehead again. Sweeping my gaze around the room again, I searched with a purpose as I waited just inside the door. I counted myself lucky I'd been allowed a moment to absorb the shock, but he would show himself soon, the impatient beast that he was. Tension coiled between my shoulders and a prickle of magic rose to my fingertips. I shoved it away, automatically shutting it down as I tried to look in all directions at once.

I counted silently. When I reached seventeen, a storm of black feathers dove from above the door like a possessed feather duster. I threw my hands over my head and dropped to my knees. The wood floor bit into my skin through the thin fabric of my slacks.

Wind buffeted my wild curls as I tucked my face toward my chest. The massive raven beat his wings above my head once, twice, and on the third time lifted away from me with a loud, indignant caw. I raised my head to watch the bird circle around the shop before coming to rest on his favorite perch, the back of Rowen’s rocking chair. The chair wobbled beneath him, but he matched the movement with practiced ease and regarded me steadily with his black eyes.

I stood and swiped at the dust on my pants. Hello, Rook. Did you get it out of your system?

I waited, but the bird didn’t respond. I wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t spoken to me since I arrived home two days ago, though I'd caught glimpses of him shadowing me. He'd perched in the giant oak during the service that morning, but still hadn't broken his silence.

Irritated at myself as much as the raven, I asked, How long am I going to get the silent treatment?

Rook glared imperiously at me as I crossed to Rowen's workstation. I knew better than to sit in her chair. Rook would pull my hair or peck me until I vacated it. Only Rowen sat in her chair. I cleared a stack of papers off a stool and pulled it over, so I sat across the table, facing the disapproving