A Witch Axe to Grind

  A Witch Axe to Grind

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2019 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Thanks for Reading

  Catalog of Books

  Chapter 1

  Nancy Ann Szymanski, who went by Nann, hunched over one of the eight computers she hadn’t wanted to purchase for the store, pencil clutched in her teeth. She didn’t know why she clenched a pencil in her teeth. She didn’t have any paper at hand. She was doing this all on the computer. She hunted and pecked: Greenpoint Books welcomes Nicholas O’Broin. She looked it over. Exclamation point? This was for the paper. Who, what, where, when, why. Probably not how. Friday. She typed. Give it some pizazz? Friday, Friday, FRIDAY! Nann was not good at this.

  “Hey, Nann, you wanna get lunch?” Zinnia owned the gallery on the other side of Amity Center. The locals called the building Cemetery Center. It was on Cemetery Street. There used to be a cemetery on the spot. Might still be one, if you listened to people who liked to rename everything. Greenpoint Books, despite the Brooklyn-sounding name, now occupied a large space in the middle of Amity Corners, NY. Or Calamity Corners, if you listened to people who liked to rename everything. The former Brooklyn location was now a nearly-finished condominium high rise with retail on the ground floor. Although Nann had been invited to purchase the new location, she couldn’t afford it. Frankly, no one in retail book sales could afford it. Thus the move to upstate New York.

  “Nah, not today. I gotta finish this thing.”

  Zinnia wore an ill-considered blue dress with white dots that, given her blonde hair, big blue eyes and squat figure, made her look a lot like Mrs. Beasley. “What thing?”

  “Press release,” Nann said around the pencil. She took it from her mouth and stared at it. “I booked my first author event. Nick O’Broin is coming to sign his new book.”

  Zinnia walked over, leafing through the publisher information. “I don’t know who Nick O’Broin—holy smokes!”

  Nann side-eyed her.

  “This guy is smokin’, smoldering—he’s coming here?”

  It took an effort to pull the photo from Zinnia’s fingers. “Yep. Friday.” Friday, Friday! Nann shook her head. “I’m running an ad in the paper, but I’m trying to get some freebie publicity from the paper, maybe the radio stations. Technically, it’s a free event.”

  “Technically?”

  “Un-technically, I expect people to buy his book so that he may sign it and I may make money.”

  Disbelief crossed Zinnia’s visage. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s a really good book. I read the ARC or advanced reader copy. Local history. It’s about Captain Argent trying to establish a major port city in the wilds of Lake Ontario, but there’s another group in Amity Corners out to make him fail. They were part of a secret society, a religious sect, maybe a cult. It’s really awesome.”

  It took Zinnia a moment to catch up. “Oh, Captain Argent, like Port Argent, where you live. A cult? Sounds like home.”

  Indeed, Calamity Corners had more than its share of supernatural events. It made a kind of sense that some crazy cult founded the town. “The history goes back to the French and Indian War. Argent fought on the French side. Then, he returned with Lafayette to fight with the Americans during the Revolution. This book has everything. Horses, even.”

  “I like a book with horses,” Zinnia nodded in appreciation.

  “It’s local history. I figure it’ll pull in some of the locals. You wanna buy a copy?”

  “Is it on Kindle?”

  Nann gave Zinnia a long stare.

  Zinnia cleared her throat and took a step toward the door. “I mean, of course. Sounds good. Let me pop in after lunch. I can put it next to my phone book and my copy of Where the Wild Things Are. Oh, and my mother’s Bible.”

  “Maybe you should buy a copy now and read it so that when Mr. Smokin Smoldering asks if anyone has any questions, you can look intelligent,” Nann said through her teeth.

  With an expression of surrender, Zinnia walked over to the New Books shelf. “As God as my witness, this man has no pores.”

  “In addition to his good skin, he’s a professor of comparative religion at the University of Pittsburgh.” Aha. Nann typed that. Most of that.

  “I just wanna chew on that beard.” Zinnia gazed at the same photo on the back flap of the dust jacket.

  “Really, Zinn?”

  For most people, this would be an awkward phrasing of lust. In Zinnia’s case, it could mean something completely different. Zinnia was many things, an artist, a teacher, a gallery owner by day, but on the night of the full moon, the plump, sunny woman transformed into a large reptile, most likely an alligator. “I mean, I would like to purchase this book please.”

  “Atta girl.”

  “Can I have that picture when you’re done with it?”

  Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t pull in some of the locals. Nann had to make sure Nick’s picture made it into her newspaper ad. Smokin Smoldering good skin sells. She rang up the purchase. “You want it on your tab?”

  “I don’t have a tab.”

  “Might be good to start one. You know. Buy books. Read them. Pay for them later. Books.” Nann gestured around. “Bookstore.”

  “Oh, right, like you buy so much art from me.”

  Nann reached over the counter and gave Zinnia a light slap on the shoulder. “Whattaya talking about? I got a whole Pizza Landscape series hanging over the cookbooks.”

  As far as Nann knew, Zinnia only painted pictures of pizza or alligators. Not being an artist, Nann didn’t know if this was normal or not. There was no alligator section in the bookstore. Zinnia would have to find another place to exhibit those.

  “I’ll pay for it now. And I promise to try and be more supportive of your business.”

  Nann pursed her lips. “I understand, on some factual level, that most people don’t enjoy reading. On a personal level—I just don’t believe it. How could curling up with a good mystery, romance, fascinating biography, a cup of tea, rain on the windows, quilt on your lap, fire in the fireplace, not be appealing?”

  “You do make it sound pretty good. Although I do most of that while watching TV.” Zinnia shrugged. “But I’ll try.”

  “I can’t ask for—for—” Nann sneezed. And sneezed again. And again. Blindly, she patted around the check-out counter for the tissue box. She felt Zinnia shove it into her hand. With a groan, she blew her nose. “Argh.”

  “You sick?”

  When Nann looked up, Zinn
ia had taken a few steps back. “No. Allergies. Food pollen syndrome. I actually did some gardening this year. The town is surrounded by farms. I’m allergic to apple, celery, melon pollen.”

  “I wouldn’t think that Druids get allergies,” Zinnia eyed her suspiciously.

  She tossed the tissue. “It wasn’t a big problem when I lived in Brooklyn.”

  Nann took her conjure bag from beneath the counter and dug in. Although the bag looked only big enough to hold a wallet, keys, lipstick, loose change and escaped breath mints, she went up to the armpit searching. Finally, she came up with a bottle of generic diphenhydramine tablets. She took two and chased them with luke-warm thermos coffee.

  “That’s the biggest bottle of allergy pills I’ve ever seen.” Zinnia frowned, impressed.

  Nann shrugged. “When you need it, you need it.”

  “I guess I’ll let you get back to it,” Zinnia said.

  “What are you doing Sunday?”

  “I got a class. Why?”

  Nann stowed the bag. “I need to go to the adoption event at the shelter and get a cat.”

  “Oh, a little friend for your delicious pig?” Zinnia put a hand over her mouth. “I mean your adorable pig.”

  Although she suppressed it, Zinnia’s inner alligator wanted to eat Pokey, Nann’s potbellied familiar. “You know, maybe I’ll go by myself,” Nann said.

  “Animals don’t like me,” Zinnia confessed.

  “Huh.” Nann said. “I wonder why.”

  Chapter 2

  “What am I even doing here? Animals hate Pretes.” Vadoma Tinker drove Nann to the shelter in her big truck. The owner of Tinker Automotive called herself Tink. She was one of those rare Fae creatures that worked on machines. Usually, she wore coveralls and a bandana over her head to cover her large, pointy ears. Today she wore a flower print sun dress that showed off her long legs, and a floppy, wide-brimmed denim hat pulled low.

  “What’s a Prete?”

  Tink gave her the hairy eyeball. “You know, Pretes. Preternaturals. I’m Fae, a shop goblin. It makes animals edgy.”

  Nann thought about it. “Am I a Prete?”

  “No, you’re a regular human, even if you are a Druid and you do magic.”

  “Is Zinnia a Prete?”

  “Most definitely.”

  The animal shelter stood in the kind of municipal area of Amity Corners, a block from the town hall and sheriff substation. Next door stood the veterinary hospital where Nann took Pokey the pig for checkups. To her surprise, there was no parking anywhere near the shelter. Families ran back and forth with leashed dogs or caged cats.

  “I didn’t even know this many people lived in Calamity Corners,” Nann said.

  Tink found street parking near the cemetery. “We’re in a boom phase. The mill’s up and running. People have money again. Don’t worry, the damned place will shut down soon enough, and things will get quiet. Why are you adopting an animal? You have that crazy pig already.”

  “Oh, this isn’t for me.”

  Tink drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m not being judge-y here. Obviously, you know every Druid on the East Coast. But other than me and Zinnia, who do you hang out with?” Her brows lowered. “Is it a love offering for Deputy Keith?”

  “Keith and I are just friends.” Nann switched to offense. “How are things with you and your friend, Manuel?”

  Tink cracked a rare smile. “We are certainly more than just friends. In fact, I’ll say we’re well beyond the snuggle-bunny phase. Shall I elaborate?”

  “Nope.” Nann got out of the truck. “But this cat isn’t for Keith.”

  They walked toward the crowd around the shelter. Hand-lettered signs proclaimed “KITTENS!” Nann tried to fall in step with Tink, but as the mechanic was over six feet tall, she had to half-jog to keep up. Until Tink stopped short. The shop goblin gasped. She whispered, “Is it for the vampire?”

  Nann almost gasped in response. “You know about Marquise Charlotte? Not even Zinnia knows about Charlotte, and the vampire lives upstairs from her.”

  “You know Zinn. She prefers to live in denial. Hey, most people wouldn’t want a vampire neighbor. Even if Zinnia is a Prete, and vampires don’t like magic in their blood.”

  Charlotte had been trapped in the third-floor apartment at Cemetery Center for decades. But she seemed content enough with the internet and cable TV. While there had been churches built on the sight of the current shopping center, they had all burned down. The building site had been deconsecrated, but apparently not the grounds, so Charlotte was in for the long haul. The vampire made the most of her current situation. Of course, vampires were immortal. Thus, they were patient.

  “What would a vampire want with a cat?” Tink started walking again.

  “She’s got a lot of antique gowns, a lot of wigs. Charlotte doesn’t want mice getting into her stuff. Oh, no. Hang on.” Her breath hitched and caught. Nann groped in her conjure bag. She yanked free a handful of tissues. And then a lot of things happened at once. Nann fell victim to a sneezing fit. A howl rose from the shelter, as if all the dogs, even the puppies, sensed a threat at the same time.

  Tink winced. “See? Dogs hate Pretes. Seems like you’re allergic to pets.”

  Nann got a few words in before the next sneeze. “Food pollen syndrome.”

  She had to shout this, as a group of people outside the shelter started shouting as well. The crowd on the sidewalk suddenly parted. A young mom was knocked to her butt. Something approached her and Tink at high speed. Nann could do nothing but sneeze. Over her tissue, Nann saw huge paws rise up as Tink whirled in horror.

  TINK NEARLY COLLAPSED under the assault. The biggest dog Nann had ever seen leapt up, paws on Tink’s collar bones. The huge spotted animal gave Tink’s face a big, sloppy lick. Tink staggered back a step, holding her hat in place. With quick sniffs all over, the animal gave Tink a series of tongue laps.

  “Bad boy! Bad!” A woman huffed after the dog, yelling over the howls, the sneezes, the outraged crowd. “Down, boy! Down! Stop it! Down! Bad dog! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he just got away from me.”

  Tink grabbed the dog’s head with both hands, trying to escape the tongue, to get a breath. “You!” Her fingers impulsively scratched behind the pointy, floppy ears. “Are adorable!”

  “Are you hurt? I’m so sorry. He’s just so wild, so unmanageable,” the woman said.

  “No he’s not!” Tink continued her scratch. The dog’s tongue lolled to the side as the eyes rolled up in his head. “He’s a good doggie! Yes he is! Aren’t you a good boy?”

  Nann felt alarm rising. “Tink, don’t even think about it. We’re here for a cat.”

  “No dog has ever liked me before,” Tink said, eyes on the dog. “You go get a cat.”

  “Um, I don’t think this dog can be adopted out without some training, and—” the shelter employee started.

  Tink pointed her index finger down. Her voice raised the hairs on the back of Nann’s neck. When Tink commanded: “Sit!” Nann nearly did.

  But the dog did first. The animal gazed up at Tink with unconditional canine devotion.

  “Shut. The truck. Off.” Nann said under her breath as Tink gathered the leash. “That’s a Great Dane, Tink. A puppy. He’s only gonna get bigger. And maybe sloppier.”

  The enormous animal rolled over on his back, oversized paws dangling. Nann sighed. She knew it was all over for Tink. Nann shook her head. She fished allergy pills out of her purse and dry swallowed a couple. “Fine. I’ll go look at the cats.”

  Howls died down as Nann reached the building, thank goodness. A reception desk stood in front, the shelter divided into dogs on the right and cats on the left. The receptionist wore a smock like the kind a pediatric nurse would wear, her badge read Christa, with a smiley face.

  “I need a cat.”

  Christa smiled. “Our kitties are in that area over there. Would you like to check them out? If you find one you like, I’ll set up a socializing room for
you. Unless you want a kitten. The playroom is directly behind me. Let me tell you up front that it costs a lot more to adopt a kitten than a cat.”

  Nann, being a bookstore owner, was constantly on a budget. Over her shoulder, she took in the stacked cages of adult felines. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for a friend. A shut-in. I need a good mouser.”

  “You don’t want to visit with the cats?” Christa seemed confused. “A lot of our pet parents like the cat to pick them out, instead of the other way around.”

  “I’m not a big fan of cats,” Nann said. “I don’t dislike cats, mind you. Really, I’m more of a... a pig-person. If you could just put the best mouser in a box, that would be super. Oh. Maybe you have an ugly cat that you haven’t been able to adopt out. It will go to a good home. The best. I swear.”

  Nann babbled under the scrutiny. She guessed most people didn’t order a cat like you would fast food. But then, the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her mother in Brooklyn didn’t have room for pets. She felt out of her element.

  After a few rapid blinks, Christa sat back. She turned and called out, “Annette! Get Toast ready to go.”

  It was now Nann’s turn to blink. “Someone named a cat Toast?”

  “It’s not like it matters that much. Cats don’t come when you call,” Christa said. “You can name him whatever you want. Or, your friend the shut-in can.”

  At that moment, Tink dragged the Great Dane into the lobby, his big-ass feet dragging on the linoleum. “C’mon, boy, there’s paperwork involved here,” Tink coaxed. Sort of.

  The dog tugged on his leash, whining. Christa’s features turned grave. “I think you’d better take the dog outside.”

  “Why is everyone so prejudiced against this fine beast?” Tink said.

  Christa stood up. “No, it’s not that. But obviously, he has to—”

  Before the shelter employee could finish, the dog let out a sigh. And a puddle of urine that would make Lake Ontario jealous. Nann gagged. What were they giving these animals to drink? Did they feed them asparagus?

  Tink’s features widened in surprise. “Oh. Dang it. Sorry, I’m new to dogs.”