Motherducking Magic

By Michelle Fox

I'm the worst. Seriously. Ask anyone and they'll tell you, "Sylvie Orion is the world's worst witch." But being a supernatural bounty hunter requires more smarts than magic. So put that on your wand and suck it, beyotches.

When my latest client—a kleptomaniac werewolf—disappears, I'm on the hunt to drag him to justice. It should be a simple track ‘em and cuff ‘em operation, something I've done a hundred times before.

Instead, I somehow acquire an unwanted vampire sidekick, wake up in a ditch, and piss off half of shifter nation. It's not fun, but it's all survivable right up until I'm accused of being in cahoots with my skip trace to steal witchdom's most wanted magical relic.

Everyone thinks I have it. And the bad guys are on me like a bad cameltoe hex. If they get this relic? Hell will look like paradise.

Forget the werewolf, I've got to find that relic and clear my name, or die trying.

Stephanie Plum meets Twilight...all the fun, twice the fangs. Full length novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Apr 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094468532

Michelle Fox

USA Today and NY Times bestselling author Michelle Fox lives in the Midwest with her husband, tween, the occasional exchange student, and two labs who steal her socks and all the space on the couch. She loves fantasy and romance, which makes writing paranormal romance and urban fantasy a natural fit. Aside from writing, she runs the Wolf Pack Reads group on Facebook, a large, active community for readers (you should join!). In her spare time, she helps remodel her 1860 farmhouse, drives her tween everywhere and sits in the car, and drinks too much tea.

Book preview

1

Summer in Cleveland had all the charm of Satan's butthole, but I liked to eat, and my mom charged me rent, so I showed up for work. Even though the temp had hit ninety by eight a.m. Even though the heat was on schedule to top a hundred before noon. Even though I had to wear jeans and a jacket for my job.

Any other witch would've called off and gone swimming or magicked a deep freeze on their nakey bits.

But not me. I was Sylvie Orion, witch worker bee.

(Also, the deep freeze magic thing didn't work for me.)

Of course, if I'd known there was blast-from-the-past mean girls on the menu, I might've reconsidered. Plug-in a/c worked fine, and I'd rather be chilling with some witch wine than dodging spells from the one person I'd hoped to never see again.

What were the odds of Lydia Pettie showing up on the wanted list, anyway? I frowned. Well, now that I thought back to our high school days, I had to admit the odds were probably higher than average. Today was proof of that.

Lydia, just come down. I held up my hands in a 'we're all adults here, let's be reasonable' gesture.

We were in her brand-new warehouse full of illegal magic. I'd been pleased that finding her had been fairly simple. She'd posted her own bail, so I didn't have the usual tracking charm that made my job easy. But with a little Google-fu, I'd discovered she'd set up the company with her mother's name, proving once again that most criminals aren't that smart. It'd taken me five minutes to zero in on her location, but now she was making this hard.

Not happening, you worm of a witch. Lydia swung her stiletto clad feet and smiled down at me from her perch atop ten-foot metal shelving. The shelves ran along the far wall of the warehouse, and once she'd caught sight of me, she'd scrambled up the nearest one. I wasn't about to go up there and wrestle with her. I didn't mind a little tussle, but not at that height.

I wiped sweat off my face and attempted a pleasant smile. It's hotter than dragon balls in the desert. Come down and we'll grab a milkshake and catch up. We haven't seen each other since, what? High school graduation? I didn't say anything about the police station or court. Those words made people run or fight.

Pro tip: Use positive language and incentives when hauling people to jail. Also, I'd probably buy us milkshakes for real. This heat was insane.

Make me, worm.

I sighed and stared at her, pondering the best way to gain her cooperation.

She looked just as I remembered; oval face with sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and dark eyes that sparked with malice. Even the fancy business suit couldn't hide her mean, but it did show a trim, fit physique. She could probably still fit into her dress from the high school Witch's Ball.

I thought about pushing over the shelving to wipe the smirk off her face, but that might kill her, and she wasn't classified as 'dead or alive.' Yet.

"I said, make me." Lydia picked up a cardboard box and lobbed it in my direction. The box landed with a dull thud on the floor in front of me.

I met her gaze and raised my eyebrows. Really?

Lydia gave a muffled shriek, furious that she'd missed.

Assault of a bounty hunter carries a hefty penalty from the Triad, you know. Curious, I lifted the cardboard flap of the box with the toe of my boot revealing neon blue charms inside. By my estimate, there were hundreds of them. A matching blue logo on the side of the box labeled the contents as Monster-O.

Yes, that O. The O every woman fakes at least once. Lydia had set up a supply chain for the real deal.

And she was attacking me with what had to be a lethal dose.

Should I call the Witch's Council? The question came from the receptionist. She'd tried to stop me at the door and then had trotted after me as I barreled into the warehouse. Now she hovered, her brow furrowed with concern.

Go ahead, I said at the same time Lydia screeched, No!

The receptionist looked confused.

I pulled the paperwork out of my back pocket. "I have a warrant. If the Council comes, they're working for me. Not you."

No council. They'll shut me down. Lydia glared at her receptionist.

I nodded my agreement and considered calling them myself. They'd hustle her right down off her perch, drag her sorry ass to the police, and done and done, but then I'd lose money. The miserable summer heat made the idea really tempting, though.

Sweat pooled at the small of my back and my socks felt wet in my steel-toe boots. My working clothes were a sauna made of torture in the summer, but I bruised less when I covered up.

Okay. The receptionist looked at me wide-eyed, totally out of her league. Sweat gleamed on her face. She was the type that glowed, whereas I looked like I'd been slavered on by a horny bear shifter. (Which...actually happened. Once. I'd rather not discuss it. Thanks.)

You should leave. I swiped a hand across my forehead, keeping the sweat from trickling into my eyes, and gestured to the door. Before you get caught up in this.'

Don't you dare listen to her. I sign your paycheck, Rosa, and you stay right there. You're a witness to a crime.

What crime? I rolled my eyes.

Harassment. Assault. Battery.

Ah. We'd reached the projection part of the takedown. I ignored it like I always did, otherwise it devolved into circular arguing that just took up more of my time.

You know, you can't stay up there forever. I crossed my arms. When was the last time you peed? I checked the time on my phone. Ten a.m. You probably had a lot of coffee this morning, right? Or are you a tea person? Maybe a little witchy kombucha? They made that vinegar piss for everything now. Skin, weight, luck, love. You had to drink a lot for the magic to work, though.

Lydia squirmed, realized I'd noticed, then gave a feral screech that put banshees to shame. She ripped open another box of Monster O and hurled the contents at me by the handful. The individual charms were smaller, lighter, and came closer than the box she'd thrown before. I had to duck just as a surreal déjà vu full of bad memories hit me.

This wasn't the first time Lydia Pettie had thrown things at me. Senior year, her sleaze of a boyfriend had kissed me, and she'd blamed me, much like she was doing now. Back then—mind-your-business years ago—she'd nailed me with an acne hex and a drooling narcolepsy curse followed by a black eye, courtesy of her fist.

Attacking me with orgasms was a new one, though.

The big-O was usually an intangible thing. Magic had not changed human physiology. At least not yet. No one laid golden eggs while getting plowed. (I wished because that would then be my new job.) However, magic could pack orgasms into black market sexual pleasure charms.

That was Lydia's specialty, but selling magic to humans, even if it was full of pleasure, was a no-no on both sides. Supes didn't want humans to have any magic, and human law expressly forbade trafficking our powers among that population.

Why was that my problem? Why was I sweating myself into heat stroke?

Oh, right. She'd been caught and then failed to show up for court.

My job was to take her back in for another attempt to get the court thing right.

Bounty hunting for the Triad—the inter-supernatural council that oversaw all things magic—hadn't been my first, or last, choice of careers. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'd fallen into it the way a sinkhole swallows cars. The pay was shifter shit, but at least it was never boring.

Case in point...I had this high school mean girl reunion with a side of sexual assault going for me today.

When I said the job was never boring, I actually meant it was way too interesting. Supernaturals were an inventive bunch. It was exhausting. Although, maybe I'd get some satisfaction from cuffing the woman who'd single-handedly made my last year of high school a living hell.

I brightened, suddenly feeling optimistic even as summer sweat trickled down my jeans and pooled in the back of my knees.

Oooo. Now that was an idea I could get on board with.

Grimoire Daily, the online hub of witchery, did say how you felt about life all depended on your perspective.

They also said you should grow up and let things go.

Huh. Decisions. Decisions. Guess which one I went with?

"I am not going to jail." Lydia picked up another box of Monster O charms and threw them at me by the handful.

I jumped back and narrowly missed being beaned in the forehead. The round charms clattered to the floor like hail. I tap danced around them, not wanting to step on one and activate it. These were made for the human market, which meant they discharged on contact, no magic required.

I couldn't afford the distraction of mind-numbing pleasure.

Her receptionist wasn't so lucky, though. Several charms nailed her in the face and hands, audibly popping as they went off.

"Oh. Oh. Ooooooh." She dropped to her knees, eyes wide with horror as her body spun out of control.

I tried to feel sorry for her and failed. She worked for a criminal mean girl. She'd chosen her fate. Also, that had to feel pretty good. Multiple Os like that could really rock someone's world, and I'd heard Lydia made quality stuff. Too bad it was illegal.

Lydia, I kept my voice calm and measured, hoping to bring down her witch bitch energy. Call your lawyer. Come with me and we can wrap this up in a couple of hours. This doesn't have to be a big deal.

Another pro tip: The more they freaked out, the calmer you needed to be. It's a neurological thing I never quite understood, but it worked. Sometimes.

"But it is a big deal, worm. This is a feminist issue, you know. Lydia was elbow deep in another box, this one unmarked. She produced what looked to be a long, but floppy stick of something. I did nothing other than provide a much needed service to all of humanity." She brandished her stick in my general direction and it wobbled to and fro like a dowsing rod.

I should have stayed on topic, but I had to ask, What is that?

This is a dildo charmed to provide toe-curling orgasms. She smiled and whipped it at me. I jumped back again as it hit the cement floor with a loud thwap.

By the First Witch's tit, Lydia, you're selling charmed sex toys too? I shouldn't have been surprised. If she'd cared about rules, she wouldn't have hexed me before she even had her magic license.

The other kids had called me 'Wet Pizza Face' and drew on me with markers every time I nodded off. My mom eventually neutralized the charms when she realized I couldn't hack it, but the name had stuck...until I'd failed my magic licensing exam when they'd switched to a different, just as awful, nickname.

It's a new line. Hasn't even launched yet. She winged more dildos my way and suddenly it was raining big floppy dicks.

Furthermore, she kept talking. "I didn't let you bail me out and I am not going to let you, the worst witch to ever witch, be the one who takes me in." Her face twisted into a sneer of disgust, revealing what she really thought of me. Big surprise there. Someone alert the media. Maybe they could find someone who would be shocked.

More dildos flew, but her words hurt more. In the yearbook, under my picture, it read Sylvie Orion, World's Worst Witch. Guess who'd been yearbook editor? I thought I'd let all that go, but Lydia was stirring it back up like bitter coffee grounds.

"They say what I'm doing is a misuse of magic. She made a gagging sound of disgust. But they let you walk around like you belong here. You're still a huge pile of steaming nothing, aren't you?"

I retreated, swallowing my emotions. At the end of the day, this was business. Old feelings needed to stay locked up like good little gremlins, or only come up when I drank too much witch wine.

Scanning the warehouse, I considered my options. With all the boxes on the top shelf, Lydia had a nuclear arsenal of sex. It would be a while before she ran out of ammunition.

She had to come down sooner or later, but how did I finagle sooner without having a lot of—no doubt great—orgasms? I fingered my charm bracelet, looking at what I had left. Unlike other witches, I had to buy my magic, which limited my options.

Lydia hadn't been wrong with that worst witch line. If she'd asked her no-good boyfriend about it in high school, she would've found out he'd only sweet-talked me on a dare. A dud witch was never a hot commodity in my world, no matter how curvalicious her curves, but for teen boys obsessed with boobies, she sure was fun to hassle.

I bit my lip. Focus, Sylvie. The past is past.

My bracelet held a couple power boosters, a sneeze affliction, and a time freeze. The last one I only used when I was desperate. Boosters were cheap—pranks like sneezes even cheaper—but time freezes were strictly regulated which drove up the price. The only reason I could even enter the monthly lottery for them was because of my bounty hunting license.

Now the test for my bounty hunting license, that one I'd passed.

Look at you. You can't even arrest me. You're so lame.

I looked up to see Lydia holding a phone. "Are you...are you filming this?" I resisted the urge to pat my hair. It was too sweat soaked to fix anyway.

She smiled and nodded. Live streaming, beyotch.

Put the phone down. You are not filming this. I don't consent.

She ignored me and talked to the phone, Hey everyone, remember Sylvie Orion? She sucks just as much as ever. Let's teach her not to cross her betters. She pulled a wand out of her cleavage, and still holding the phone in one hand, she began an incantation.

She was going to curse me. Again.

Ah hell, no. I wasn't the pushover, low self-esteem lost cause I'd been in high school. Back then, having bad magic had been new and terrible, but I'd since adjusted. My magic might be made of nothing, but I was a decent bounty hunter. I'd brought in dragons, warlocks, vampires...you named it, I'd cuffed it.

The wheel had spun. The law of karma was coming in hot.

Lydia Pettie was going down, and I would be the one yelling timber.

I activated the time freeze, saying the incantation faster than an auctioneer. It hit and cut off whatever Lydia had been about to do to me. In less than a second, she was a statue. So was the receptionist. Everything just stopped except for me. Perfect. I'd hit the easy button on my day, and it was working just as I'd planned.

But...

Now I had a new problem. She'd frozen like rigor mortis ten plus feet higher than me, and I only had twenty minutes to get her down and slap on cuffs before she hit the timeline again.

I knew I should've bought a levitation charm. That would've worked. There was no way I could carry her; I was a witch, not a fireman. I set the timer on my phone to give me a two-minute warning and scouted the warehouse for something I could use.

Out on the shipping dock, I found a tow motor with a couple of pallets already loaded. I had no idea how to drive one, but hoped I could learn in sixty seconds or less.

Praise the First Witch and any Goddesses up there listening, the engine started okay, and it drove similar to a car. The hard part was keeping track of the fork prongs in front of the thing—or whatever they called them. I was not a professional tow motor operator.

I knocked over a stack of pallets sitting on the shipping dock trying to master it.