Familiarity Breeds Witchcraft Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  About

  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

  Familiarity Breeds

  Witchcraft

  A Romantic Paranormal Mystery

  The Witches of Secret Hallow

  Book Two

  Nora Lee

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  About Familiarity Breeds Witchcraft

  Gemma Ash is a techno-witch, which means that she gets along way better with computers than people. But who needs people anyway? She has her twin sister, Enid; their familiar, a drooling Saint Bernard named Bronson; and a creaky attic filled with computers that may or may not grow like vines under the loving care of her magic. What else could a girl ask for?

  Well, this particular girl is asking for donations to build a new school in Secret Hallow. Ethernet cables might grow on trees, but money, sadly, does not.

  One of Gemma’s online friends, FeistyFox95, is happy to donate a healthy wad of cash to the ComePayMe fund—in exchange for a favor.

  FeistyFox95 wants Gemma to cast a love spell.

  How in the world can an agoraphobic techno-witch find romance for one of her best online buddies? She’ll need to get help from the coven. She’ll have to collect ingredients that aren’t made out of fiberoptic cable. And—gasp—she’ll have to leave Secret Hallow to get a sample of FeistyFox95’s hair on the full moon. That last bit is scariest of all, because Fox’s profile picture is uncomfortably attractive.

  The only question is what Gemma wants more: to be an eternally lurking hermit in her computer room, or to bring education to the witches of Secret Hallow at the cost of her privacy…and maybe her heart.

  Chapter 1

  BIG MAGIC IN Secret Hallow most often happened at night. The cool cover of darkness allowed the witches to focus their combined powers in ways they weren’t able to manage in the harsh light of day.

  Not that they couldn’t produce spells under brilliant sunlight—it was just that their particular brand of magic used the moon as a powerful source of energy. The combination of moonlight and high tide increased the strength of a spell in an exponential way.

  They’d chosen this particular night to draw power from the glowing super moon rising above the treetops: that rare moon when its orbit drew so near that it looked enlarged a dozen times over so that it smiled down upon Secret Hallow in massive, magical splendor.

  The golden light of the oversized moon brightened the scene Gemma Ash watched from a comfortable spot across the street. She sat far enough back that she couldn’t make out individual words that the coven spoke, but she still heard the general hum of excited conversation and caught the undercurrent of joy with no problem despite her distance from them.

  Everyone looked to be having fun. A lot of fun.

  Now more than ever, Gemma envied them their carefree ways. They made it look so easy to spend time with other human beings in reality, as though it were totally natural to hang out face to face, looking at each other from only inches away, rather than typing responses to someone’s avatar in a text box online.

  Okay, so it was totally natural to hang out face to face. But not for Gemma.

  “LOL,” she muttered mirthlessly, mocking herself as she buried her face behind the tablet propped against her knees.

  If only reality allowed her to use emojis and truncated netspeak. It had always been easier for Gemma to spend time with other people in the digital sense. Sure, she forced herself to spend time with the coven. She often feigned enthusiasm for such gatherings, too. But it made her skin itch, as though she wanted to release her human form and explode into binary that could race along Ethernet cables in blissful anonymity.

  Why couldn’t hanging out with the coven be as easy for Gemma as it was for the coven?

  Her sister, as usual, had found a position right in the thick of things. Enid Ash was helping Adora Glenn set up the rustic tables for a buffet spread.

  The foods had been selected with great deliberation: everything was geared toward replenishing the flagging strength of the coven members as they worked. Magic sucked a lot out of people. There was nothing quite like chocolate to ground the witches and revitalize them with energy.

  They’d just used the tables a short time before for the baby shower of one of their own, Rowan Middlebrook, who’d just returned to the coven after having gone off to school at the University of Oregon.

  Now Enid and Adora set out savory stews baked in pumpkin shells, pails filled with seasoned sunflower seeds, biscuits warm from the oven, fresh-baked apple pies, and home-made cider. They had a fantastic sense of the aesthetics. Their layouts were as satisfying to the eye as the food was to the stomach.

  If nothing else, thought Gemma, the coven knew how to put on a great spread. The Secret Hallow witches were almost as good at food as they were at magic.

  And they were really good at magic.

  The sight of the food caused her stomach to growl and she realized that she’d yet again forgotten to eat.

  As always, Gemma was better at remembering to update her Fleeter account than keeping herself nourished with food. Like, food that had protein and stuff, not just nacho cheese flavored chips, which she had no trouble consuming in abundance at any time of day. There was a permanent orange crust under the fingernails of her left hand. (She had to keep her right hand clean to use a mouse.)

  Her mouth watered as the tantalizing aroma of Nana’s pies tickled her nostrils and she tried to recall her last meal. When working, she tended to become so focused on her task she’d lose all track of time. Missing a meal wasn’t unusual for her.

  As her stomach rumbled, she realized she’d have to make her presence known in order to get some food.

  Then people would want to talk to her.

  They’d ask about the school. They’d ask about her life. Maybe even her love life. That had become an incredibly popular subject for all witches of the coven ever since the Rowan Middlebrook, daughter of the high priestess, had come home with her fiancé with a baby witchling-bun cooking in her oven.

  Nosiness was not in low supply in Secret Hallow, and Gemma, as a single witch, was far from immune.

  The idea of deflecting such questions was overwhelming.

  Nope. Food wasn’t happening. It was way too much effort and required way too much courage.

  Enid laughed as she chased away some of the little ones who’d been getting underfoot. “You stay away from that! You can’t have sugar until you’ve had real food!” They had been trying to sneak an early dessert, but nothing escaped Enid.

  The kids ran circles around each other, shrieking with laughter, showing no sign of being intimated by Enid.

  “I got a cookie!” sang one little redheaded monster.

  Another darted behind a book with his hands cupped around sugary contraband. “Cupcakes! Yum!”

  Warm happiness filled Gemma at the sight of her sister roaring and hunting down the children.

  They both loved children and wanted nothing more than to make sure all the coven’s offspring received a proper education. In fact, that was why they had gathered that night:
they were trying to rebuild the Ash Academy, hopeful of bringing the historic building up to local code.

  Even witches had to deal with petty government bureaucracy once in a while.

  Codes aside, the coven parents feared sending their kids to the rickety, ramshackle school—understandably, Gemma thought—and staff couldn’t be expected to concentrate on teaching when they worried the roof would fall in on them all at any moment. The setting would have suited a horror movie more than a cozy place to raise witchlings at the moment with its tilting walls and sagging roof.

  The school needed to be sturdy and secure enough for everyone’s comfort. They just couldn’t seem to manage to get the structure back together long enough to be able to have lunch, much less educate the witchlings to become productive members of the coven.

  It wasn’t as easy as hammering a few studs together and stuffing walls with insulation, after all.

  Not on enchanted holy ground riddled with so many ancient, powerful spells.

  That much magic had a way of making nails melt into mush, roses grow from the foundations, and the roof sprout mushrooms and faerie circles instants after the tiles were hammered into place.

  It was not a safe space for kiddos.

  A big group was helping Enid rebuild her great-great-and-so-on grandma’s school for the umpteenth time in a two hundred year span.

  Amidst all the controlled chaos, the occasional flash caught Gemma’s eye. Pink and purple sparkles splattered out of magic, gushing across the grass, making the grass ignite. The children laughed as they stomped out the magical fire. Enid fluttered after them, skirts billowing and pointed witch hat blowing off of her head as she laughed.

  “Darn,” Gemma muttered. They had put the fire out awfully fast.

  As much as she loved the old school, she often found herself wishing the whole darn thing would catch fire. Then they could have constructed something newer and more modern.

  Alas, their ancestor, Emilia Ash, had been a powerful witch indeed. She’d protected the structure to such a degree that the apocalypse couldn’t have brought it crumbling down. Anyway, the Academy needed to remain within the confines of the protective wardings Emilia had spun during her lifetime to prevent the untrained youth of the coven from losing control of their powers.

  Pink and purple continued to splatter across the grass.

  Enid’s giggle ruptured the air.

  The coven’s powers intensified as they once again struggled to fight Emilia’s incredible wardings—a mixed blessing and curse.

  Everything in Secret Hallow grew more distinct when the group spun their workings. The autumnal chill grew sharper, the gentle breeze strengthened, and the falling leaves swirled within mini dust devils. The skirt of Gemma’s dress fluttered around her calves as night-cool fingers of air stroked the warm skin underneath. She shivered in the chill and wrapped her long sweater tighter with one hand while grabbing at her hat with the other.

  It was amazing how everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves even though they kept failing to summon the power to hold the house up.

  The whole coven laughed and joked together—their voices growing louder with the passage of time and consumption of hard cider—and often took breaks to play with the kids and eat before going back to the circle to try, try again. Only for everything to collapse moments later.

  No one seemed worried that the Ash Academy wasn’t coming together the way they’d hoped. Nor did any of them seem to care they were fighting a losing battle.

  The Secret Hallow Coven only seemed interested in having a good time while they worked. They enjoyed nothing more than a beautiful evening in nature’s embrace under the glowing silver light of the enormous moon.

  Why couldn’t Gemma join them?

  She could join ongoing conversations on Fleeter, hashtagging this and that, shooting off DMs to her followers.

  Surely socializing in reality should have been much easier.

  Well, if she couldn’t bring herself to laugh with the coven, she could always laugh with her internet friends.

  LOL indeed, she thought to herself wryly.

  Gemma lifted her tablet and snapped a few pictures in rapid succession. The moonlight and lanterns cast enough light to show the ruin of the school, the remnants of the castle on a nearby hill overlooking the village, and the blurred outlines of the people hurrying around. The images gave the impression of an informal party atmosphere and looked like a lot of fun. In fact, the composition of them looked almost good enough to use in a travel brochure promoting Secret Hallow to the outside world—except that they would never go into the supernatural tourism business.

  She smiled at the idea as she texted a couple shots along to her most frequent contact: FeistyFox95. What do you think? Look like fun?

  Lots! came the immediate response. How about this?

  Fox sent a picture of her desktop in return. The screenshot showed an open graphics program with a half-done sketch.

  The picture looked great, of course. Fox was a wonderful artist.

  Gemma got to her feet, wandering away from the coven as she admired the screenshot on her tablet. Pink sparkles occasionally reflected on the glossy screen. It was like there were fireworks behind her.

  That’s amazing! Have you been working on it long? Gemma asked, typing the message with her thumbs as she walked away from the group, the boisterous sounds fading into the distance behind her.

  She was about to put her tablet away when her friend responded. Fox was great for that: her job and life was just as oriented around the internet as Gemma’s, so she was never more than a quick message away from chatting.

  Only a couple hours. I just got home, Fox had responded.

  She wondered what Fox might have been up to that day. Another photoshoot? Fox was an alternative model, very popular on those crafty websites where she posted pictures of the Halloween cupcakes she made along with her latest piercings and tattoos.

  Do you envy me my glamorous life? LOL. Imagined laughter accompanied the message.

  Gemma chuckled in reality as she responded. Yeah, guess so. Your life’s so much more interesting than mine.

  Magic splattered over Gemma’s feet. She leaped away, swinging around to see Enid smiling angelically at her. She had deliberately lobbed a mischievous hex at her sister.

  Okay, Fox’s life wasn’t that much more interesting than Gemma’s.

  FeistyFox95 was a solitary practitioner, which meant that she performed magic without a coven. Solitary practitioners weren’t capable of casting magic as strong as witches among a coven could, but there were other advantages—such as being able to spend a lot of uninterrupted time with computers.

  “Bug off! Go fly with the bats!” Gemma shouted to her sister, cheeks burning.

  “Aw, come on, sis,” Enid called back. “Help us raise the school!”

  It didn’t look like they were anywhere near being able to raise the school. Worse, Nana Winterblossom had arrived—and Nana, more than anyone else, had gotten awfully pushy about Gemma’s love life lately.

  Nope, no way. She was not going to allow herself to be subjected to that kind of scrutiny.

  The breeze came up again, lifting her skirts enough to show her undergarments, and she patted them back down in an absent-minded way.

  She watched the small screen she held as FeistyFox95 sent another message. Don’t worry, I’ll send along the links when I have them. You’ll just have to go through the old material in the meantime.

  I’ll find a way to survive. Gemma stopped under one of the lanterns hanging from a pole on the street corner and took a picture of own face, making an exaggerated pout she felt sure would amuse her friend. She looked a pale shadow of herself in the evening light.

  She tagged the picture with “#witchselfie.”

  Fox sent a return shot of herself, lips pursed in a kissing gesture that accentuated her snakebite piercings, the corners of her bright eyes crinkling with amusement. The crest of her long mohawk trailed strai
ght down the back of her head and left the shaved sides of her scalp visible.

  Gemma laughed, warmed enough to no longer notice the chill, and turned toward home.

  Who needed to hang out with people in reality when some of the best people were a safe distance away on the internet?

  Chapter 2

  AFTER SHE ESCAPED the coven, Gemma curled up in her attic: safe haven, witch cave, home of all the blinky lights and servers a girl could ask for.

  It was an airy space that looked more like a new building than a Victorian-era house, though the craftsmanship of the hand-carved door frames and hardwood floors indicated the true age of the structure. The modernity of it was 100% Gemma’s work, both physical and magical. The rest of the house looked like it should probably have been condemned for decades, just like every other building in Secret Hallow.

  Computer cables coiled around the legs of her work tables and fell into a tangled heap beneath the lowest slope of the roofline. She thought they seemed to multiply when she wasn’t looking, but the mess fit in with the older feel of the house somehow since the place looked the way Gemma felt inside: a confusing mixture of historic and modern co-existing in one space.

  She wasn’t alone in her special space that night.

  “Thanks for letting me come up here,” Rowan Middlebrook said, settling onto a nest of soft pillows with an aching groan. “Getting away from all the hovering mother hens is relaxing. I like the peace and quiet.”

  Gemma knew exactly how she felt.

  Bronson, the Saint Bernard familiar Gemma shared with her sister, cuddled up beside Rowan and drooled on her tummy. The oversized dog adored kids and seemed to have sensed the one that hadn’t yet made an appearance in the greater world. Whenever Rowan visited, he could be found at her side, doing his very best to saturate the baby bump with all the drool he possessed in his salivary glands.

  Rowan was due to give birth soon. Actually, she’d probably been due to give birth like a million years ago, from the looks of it. She was so big that she probably could no longer fit in Nana Winterblossom’s ancient truck and would have rolled down the hills of Secret Hallow if she fell over.