Same Town, Same Witch: Magic and Mayhem Universe: Starting Over Series, #2

By Amy Gregory

In a quaint corner of my existence, nestled amidst nature's embrace in West Virginia, I found my solitude, a serene escape from the icy shackles of my parent's castle in Connecticut and the chaos my eccentric sister so loved to brew. My only companions were the timeless tales nestled in my modest library and the comforting cluck of Frosty, my 3-foot rooster. Our days followed a tranquil tune until the winds of destiny blew a mesmerizing Warlock named Lincoln Sands into my whimsical world during an unexpected layover in my peaceful town.

There was something about Lincoln – a magnetic allure that seemed to pull at the tethers of my soul. Though my mind busied itself with the past battles and future quests, his piercing gaze seemed to unveil the mysteries of my guarded heart, stirring unbidden desires beneath the cloak of mundane. Despite the electric spark that crackled through the fleeting glances and unspoken words, my haunting past and the unknown stories dancing in his eyes promised a forbidden dance I wasn't sure I was ready for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Gregory
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223175742

Amy Gregory

When asked ‘when do you have time to write’, Amy Gregory simply laughs.  The real answer is, “in bits and pieces”.  She and her husband live in Kansas City with their three fantastic kids that keep them running in three very different directions.  Because she sits so much, she always carries a notebook with her at all times. She has an off the wall, snarky, off the cuff sense of humor that often shocks even those who’ve known her for years.  And she loves that her children have all been blessed that ability to make others laugh as well.  At least she’s grateful most of the time!  Her husband often teases her about how she “makes this stuff up” when he’s reading a piece of her work. … The answer—“it just comes to me when I’m typing”. Scary thought, huh!

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LINCOLN

As a warlock living and working amongst mortals, I'm used to concealing my true nature. It requires a certain vigilance, being constantly on guard so as not to reveal the existence of magic and supernatural forces. But it also makes staying at hotels and time spent in my New York City loft feel mundane and, if I'm being honest, lonely.

I forgot. Pardon my manners, I must introduce myself. I’m Lincoln Sands. I call a blank, cold, expensive loft in New York City home. It’s full of the current style, so lots of glass, high end appliances and open eye lines per the real estate agent. I simply needed a place to crash at night. Having been my grandfather’s favorite, and only grandchild I was entrusted with his estate. I visit his lavish home on a piece of land that developers would--well you get the idea. But from time to time to make sure the staff’s needs and the home’s needs as well are taken care of. But it’s too far from the publishing house I work at in case of quick meetings or fires to put out, such as a bitchy author who didn’t like their last round of edits. Shh, I didn’t say that out loud, so don't repeat me.

Anyway, I thrive on adventure, never knowing what each day might bring. Though to mortal eyes I appear an ordinary businessman, my life is far from the regimented nine-to-five existence many of them follow. I have to regularly remind myself to react with appropriate surprise when their technology fails to work or some everyday mishap occurs that I could easily remedy with a subtle spell. It's not an easy balancing act, but a necessary one to blend in.

As I navigated the crowded airport, grumpy travelers milling about after cancelled flights and lengthy delays I couldn’t help but feel the relief to be traveling alone.

I’d had a long flight with many delays and issues. So, when the airline said we were stuck for the night, I immediately booked a transport. Within minutes a compact car whizzed by dozens of others waiting on rides or busses to the hotels the airline had provided vouchers for and stopped at the curb right by me.

Mr. Sands? Mr. Lincoln Sands? the eager young man asked. Before I could respond, he barreled on. Hop in Mr. Sands. I’m Mike. I’ll take you where you need to go.

Well, the hotel— I started to reply.

I think you’ll find yourself much more comfortable at Carpe Diem Bed and Breakfast in Assjacket sir and it’s not far from here. Trust me.

One senses when he’s among mortals and when he’s among his own people. I immediately relaxed and we pulled up in front of a mansion on expansive grounds within two shakes.

As the car hummed along the road to the Carpe Diem Bed and Breakfast, I found myself unable to peel my eyes away from the peculiar spectacle unfolding outside the window.

Assjacket’s town square was a sight to behold, an intricate ballet of time’s harsh hand and resilient nature conducting a silent dance in the afternoon sun. It was past lunchtime, but the square bore no evidence of recent foot traffic. The buildings had that sort of stubborn resilience to them, with boarded-up windows standing guard like shields protecting ancient warriors. I could almost hear the whispered stories emanating from every crevice, narrating tales of days gone by, of vibrant memories now nestled behind faded and torn awnings hanging lifelessly above storefronts, offering a semblance of shelter, remnants of brighter, livelier days.

And then there was the cement statue in the square's heart, an embodiment of the town itself — a bear with a side of its head missing, perhaps a relic from an age long past, a testimony to the town's vibrant history. The broken figure bore a strange kind of solemnity, overseeing its domain with an asymmetric, stoic vigilance. It almost seemed like a metaphor for the town itself; broken yet standing, silent yet with a story humming in the air around it, waiting to be told to anyone willing to listen.

The car's movement offered a fleeting tableau of the square, the unswept sidewalks telling tales of neglect, yet holding an eerie promise of secrets buried beneath layers of dust and time. There was a certain charm to the chaotic disarray, an unspoken testimony to a rich history tinged with whimsy and a sprinkle of the arcane. I found myself captivated by the sight, my warlock’s intuition tingling, sensing the undercurrents of magic weaving silently through the fabric of the town, breathing in the hidden crevices, lying dormant yet perceptible to those tuned to its frequency.

As we moved further away, I felt an inexplicable connection to the bear statue, as if it held secrets pivotal to my own journey. Even in its damaged state, it carried a kind of dignified beauty, a beacon of resilience in the face of time's inexorable march. It was as if it silently beckoned, promising to share the town’s hidden stories with those who dared to listen, a silent guardian bearing witness to the tales woven in the very air of Assjacket.

Though it was but a fleeting glimpse, the sight of that square struck a chord within me, a symphony of mystery and time playing in harmony, stirring a curiosity that hadn’t awoken in a long time. In that moment, Assjacket was no longer just a stopover; it became a canvas of peculiar tales, inviting me to delve deeper, to be the seeker of the stories that lay in the open yet hidden, whispering secrets through the cracks of the boarded windows and the silent, resilient guardian in the square. It was a brief passage through town, yet the scene engraved itself in my mind, an unfolding story waiting to be explored, a tapestry of mystery, magic, and perhaps, a touch of destiny yet to be unraveled in the heart of Assjacket.

Wow. So, the um, vintage look— I began.

Again, Mike interrupted. Part of Assjacket’s charm, part of it’s to keep mortals from venturing off the highway. Awesome, huh?

Definitely seems like a great plan. Here you go, thank you so much for the ride. I handed the young driver some bills.

Really? It’s not this much. He protested.

Keep it. I remembered being young and not having a lot of spare green around.

Wow. Thanks, Mr. Sands. And you have my number when you’re ready to go back to the airport. I’ll take you for free. You paid enough already.

I’ll call you but pay you too. I appreciate your kindness though. I insisted.

When you get through the doors, there’s a counter. If no one is there, I’m sure there will be a little ragdoll kitten to call someone for you.

I grabbed my laptop and suitcase and climbed the stairs to the wraparound porch. As the breeze blew across my skin, I wished I was able to stay for more than one night. Unfortunately, my meetings in New York were already stacked. Now everything I’d planned on was going to have me frazzled by the end of the trip.

Working remotely was what I loved. But meeting with new authors at the publishing house that were chomping at the bit for their shot wore me out. I never like to squash anyone’s dreams, but I was hired as the hatchet man.

The breeze was welcoming as I stepped onto the expansive wraparound porch of the Carpe Diem Bed and Breakfast. After the stale air of the plane and airport, the fresh mountain air revived my senses. I took