Jane Davey's Locket Read online

  I was about to run like a coward. Me—a witch almost as powerful as Grandma—afraid of a stupid love spell. Unacceptable. I would confront this and handle it. Because I am witch. I am strong.

  Shoulders pulled back and stiff, I marched, following the tug to a level booming with loud music. A cacophony of sound that involved drums, guitars, a piano, cymbals, and a group of singers.

  It left me cold. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed music, and especially dancing—by the light of the moon—but the rhythm I preferred to follow had a primal beat. It was the song of the Earth and the moon, the sky and the stars. It didn’t have whining guitars or a screeching voice.

  Still, if my locket were somewhere on that dance floor, then I’d have to go in. Because only once I got my hands on it could I stifle the spell.

  Was a part of me worried that I’d succumb? A little. Grandma could cast some doozies. However, I’d inherited that strength. Not to mention, I had a stubborn streak. I wouldn’t allow magic to force me to love someone.

  Determined, I shoved at the door to enter the ballroom, only it pushed me back, and I landed on my butt.

  At the feet of a tall dude.

  I looked up. Way up. Into golden eyes staring from a square face with a hint of stubble and long, wavy, dark hair. A good-looking guy built like a lumberjack from what I could see of his thick arms, tapered waist, and huge hands.

  One of which extended with a gruff, “Fuck me. Sorry. Didn’t mean to knock you on your ass.”

  Flushed cheeks, embarrassed bottom, and a tingle that found him all too attractive led to me wiggling my fingers. “Then why don’t you join me.” Only when he didn’t fall over on his rump, making us even, did I grumble, “Fucking shapeshifter.”

  3

  Oz: And along came a lion.

  Staring down at the woman with her crown of tightly braided hair, I smirked. “Spells don’t work on me, witch.” A strange quirk of nature that their magic broke apart the moment it tried to touch a shapeshifter. At least, on this plane. I’d heard that in other versions of our world, the rules were different. Poor bastards.

  The realization that she couldn’t spell me caused her scowl to deepen. A shame. She’d be cute if she tried smiling. The hair pulled back taut showed an interesting face with a pointed chin. Her eyes, a startling bright green, stared at me. I gazed right back. I was also the first to break away because, being a guy, I checked her out.

  Upon first glance, I noticed that she wasn’t dressed like the other women on board. Mostly because she wore clothes. Her skirt hung down to her knees, her shirt, buttoned to the neck, was tucked in. The ensemble didn’t manage to completely hide the curves underneath, though. My smile widened in appreciation—

  Her legs scissored around my ankles, and she swept my feet out from under me.

  “Ack.” Belying all the claims about cats, I hit the floor on my ass and glared at the woman. “What the fuck?”

  “Tit for tat, Simba.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew that I was a feline shifter. Witches had an affinity for pussies. So did I, once upon a time. But I’d slowed down my skirt chasing because it got old after a while. Who knew? “Name is Oz.”

  “As in the fake wizard of?” She bounced up, petite compared to my six and a half feet.

  I rose more slowly. “Some say I’ve got a magical touch.” And, yes, there was a shit ton of arrogance in that claim, which meant I deserved the eye roll.

  “If I’d known they were letting people bring their pets, I’d have brought my flea circus. They get hungry when I leave them for too long.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Glinda, but in this modern age, we all get the shots to prevent infestations.” Which sure beat those nasty-smelling collars Mom used to put on me when I was young.

  “Glinda?” She snorted. “Do I look like a good witch to you?”

  “Good enough to eat.” Despite her annoying attitude, I couldn’t help but flirt. Mostly because I knew it would irritate her even more.

  “Please don’t tell me that horrible line ever works.”

  “More often than you’d think.” And what did it say about me that those who fell for it usually didn’t get called again?

  “You should try watching where you’re going.”

  “But then how would I meet acerbic-tongued witches?” I had to admit I enjoyed baiting her. The spots of color in her cheeks and her flashing eyes did something to me. Kept me talking rather than running for my room to hide, which was where I’d been heading in such a hurry.

  “It’s a good thing your kind is immune to my magic.”

  “Threats? Already? And here we’ve only just met. Things are moving so fast. Next thing you know, we’ll be throwing cutting insults. Then maybe snarling toe-to-toe.” Face-to-face. Lip to… My gaze dropped to her mouth.

  It moved and mouthed, “You are arrogant.”

  “Trait of the species.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’m pretty sure you have some wolf in your bloodline given you have the manners of an ill-behaved dog.”

  “Glinda, I’m hurt.” I clutched my chest. “As if a canine would have such a luxurious mane.”

  “I assumed you were reliving your youth as an eighties rocker.”

  “I’m not that old.” But I was getting there. On the latter side of my thirties. Still in my prime, but definitely looking to make some lifestyle changes.

  “Are you sure about the age thing? Because you seem to be hard of hearing. Move.” She sidestepped to go around me.

  Much too entertained and intrigued, I stayed in her path. “Don’t leave, Glinda. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  “I know enough. Leave me alone.”

  Apparently, I craved abuse. “Why would I do that when we’re so obviously meant to spend time together? I mean, I’m a cat. You’re a witch. Shouldn’t you be asking to pet my fur instead?”

  As expected, she snarled. “I hope you fall in a pool of hair removal cream.” She then stalked past me into the giant ballroom currently offering seventies disco and too many polyester lounge suits.

  Being a jeans kind of guy who loved rock and roll, I had made my appearance to please my family members, gritted my teeth and lied about loving it, and now readied to leave. I had no interest in dancing, flirting, or drinking. At least not with strangers. I did have an expensive bottle of tequila in my room, so why the fuck was I heading back into that cesspool of noise?

  Curiosity. It’d killed my uncle Bert—because someone did let the dog out. It’d maimed Aunt Gertrude—but spared her last life. As for me, I couldn’t picture the witch as the partying type. So what had brought her here?

  A straying boyfriend or husband? I’d not noticed a ring on her hand, but these days, that didn’t mean shit. Glinda sure seemed pissed as she stalked through the swaying bodies, ignoring the woman dancing on a table. Not easy given she’d obviously cut the hem on her shorts herself. One side was at least three jagged inches longer. Wearing a t-shirt that read, Best Imp Evah!, little miss lopsided Daisy dukes swayed to the beat.

  The imp flung her hands and beckoned a massive dude, who regarded her with a scowl and grumbled, “Get down from there. We don’t have time for this.”

  “There is always time to dance to Staying Alive.” Said with a wink.

  Passing the arguing couple, I kept my gaze on the witch. She ignored the trays of booze circling around. Didn’t twitch one hip in response to the gyrating beat. Ignored the interested stares that undressed her and raised the hairs on my body.

  As if I cared who ogled Glinda. I should warn them to stay away from the prickly witch. Everyone knew they were bad news, and yet, I still followed. She seemed to have a destination in mind. She marched right into a corner where a drunken pirate, who was channeling his inner Johnny Depp, sat slumped, waving around a pitcher of ale while singing off-key.

  “Oye, she had a nice pair of titties, a nice pair of titties indeed. And when I put my face between them,”—the word rose in
pitch—“I suffocated nice as you pleeeeeeasee.” The ditty ended with a sip.

  The witch stopped in front of the drunken pirate and held out an imperious hand. “Give it back.”

  I had to strain to hear.

  The pirate leered, a gold tooth gleaming. “I’ll give you wherever you like, me beauty.”

  “Must you be so disgusting?”

  “You say that now, yet once you get a ride on my peg leg, you’ll be begging for more.” The pirate gyrated on the floor, no doubt thinking he was sexy. He failed.

  It made me ashamed for men everywhere.

  “Doubtful.” The witch wasn’t seduced either. She waggled her fingers and turned the jug of ale into a celery stick, which caused the pirate to stand and bluster as he waved it in her face and yelled at her.

  “Bloody hell, woman. Give me back my grog.”

  “Only once you hand it over.”

  The pirate thrust his hips. “You want it, grab it.”

  She crossed her arms and remained unimpressed. “Don’t test me, pirate.”

  “The name is Gaston. You’ve probably heard of me. Scourge of the seas. Marauder extraordinaire.”

  “No, you’re not.” Glinda snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the pirate was clean-shaven, hair close-cut, and wearing a suit.

  “What did you do?” the pirate screeched, slapping at his body, his expression twisted in horror.

  “You don’t deserve the title the scourge of the seas, yuppy.” Uttered with pure disdain.

  “You bitch!” The pirate-turned-businessman lunged for the witch, and that’s when my inner kitty nudged and rumbled, Can we play?

  Hell yeah, we can.

  4

  Jane: I will not marry my father.

  Irritation threatened to erupt in me. The damned buccaneer wouldn’t hand over my locket. And yet, I knew he had it. I could feel the magic tingling in me. Drawing me to this…this…disgusting excuse of a man.

  Don’t get me wrong. I liked pirates. My dad was an excellent swashbuckler. And I’m sure the one ranting at me to give him back his ale and clothes was the terror of some sea or other.

  However, it was the fact that Gaston reminded me of my dad that made the idea of being with him revolting. I’d spent many hours with a therapist discovering that I loved my father and would have to be careful that I didn’t try and find a replacement for him.

  Now to convince the locket. I caught a glimpse of it glinting against the pirate’s chest under the linen of his shirt. Before I could grab for it, the pirate-turned-yuppy lunged.

  Totally prepared to handle it, I suddenly didn’t have to. A giant kitty pounced between us and growled. A lion, as a matter of fact, with a dark mane and a powerful body.

  Want to bet it was the same one I’d recently bumped into?

  More surprising? The fact that he snarled at the pirate instead of me. What happened to bros before hos?

  The pirate took offense and swung a fist.

  Against a lion. Just went to show his level of intoxication.

  Oz batted at it, and the pirate screamed before taking off running—with my locket. The lion took chase, which meant I had to follow.

  “Stupid, meddling pussycat.” Why had he jumped in? Chivalry, especially after what had happened between us, didn’t seem likely.

  Perhaps Oz already had a hate-on for the pirate. Lots of people didn’t like them, and not just because of the whole marauding aspect. Women found them sexy, which led to more than a few husbands and boyfriends getting jealous.

  I should note, the jealousy thing went two ways. My mom had killed her fair share of wenches who dared to bat their eyes at her man. Anyone who ever wondered where I got my attitude from had obviously never met my blood-thirsty parents.

  The chase took us from the crowded room, where that woman dancing on the table had just taken a swan dive onto a man who sprouted wings. A beautiful male who glowed and almost managed to distract me with his granite face and the tight curls on his head.

  A tug at my chest kept me going. The giant lion chased the pirate onto a deck lit with fancy lanterns providing illumination for those who’d chosen to go for a late-night dip. Sans clothes. Not as sexy as you’d think since that included ogres with back hair long and thick enough to form the bristles on a hairbrush. For reference, I preferred synthetic.

  The pirate ended up tripping over a mooning vampire—because that super white glow didn’t come naturally—and landed with a splash in the pool.

  But the yodeling from the guests in the water didn’t arise because of that. Someone screamed, “There’s a floater!” As in a turd bobbing along in the shallow end, resulting in a mass exodus, with everyone exclaiming over the grossness. Except for the goblins, who remained behind, expressions smug.

  As for the drowning pirate? He’d flipped to his back and slept.

  The kitty sat down on the edge of the pool, whiskers twitching.

  “Pussy afraid to get his paws wet?” I mocked. I shouldn’t tease too hard, given I wasn’t about to enter the shit-infested waters. I waggled my fingers—rather than my ass as Mother had advised me—and brought Mr. Pirate to the deck.

  He snored. Loudly. I knelt by his side and began rummaging for the necklace.

  “What are you doing?” asked Oz, who’d obviously traded his lion shape for man.

  “Looking for something.” Which I wasn’t finding. Tearing open the shirt showed only the pirate’s bare chest.

  “A witch and a thief?” Oz said. “No wonder he attacked you. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have interfered.”

  “I wish you had stayed out of it. He has something of mine,” I grumbled. My irritation grew as I realized that the locket was gone. No longer around the neck of the pirate, and not in any of his pockets.

  Standing, I took a peek at the pool, already turning into a rancid green miasma. Despite the scum spreading over the top, I could tell my necklace hadn’t sunk into its depths either.

  The tug in my chest was gone, along with my jewelry. Probably looking for a new victim since the pirate hadn’t worked out.

  I turned away from the pool, ready to leave, only to come face-to-chest with a very naked Oz. He was ridiculously muscled and impressive.

  Oh, my. Forget the good witch Glinda, I suddenly became the scarecrow without a brain.

  5

  Oz: Lions don’t purr. But you can still pet me. Lower.

  The moment the witch took note of my current state of undress, her eyes widened, her lips parted, and her temperature spiked. Yet, I was sure she would have protested if I’d called her on the fact that she liked what she saw. It didn’t take an educated guess to know she’d probably lie, yet my nose clearly scented arousal. Sweet, sweet arousal.

  For me.

  Being a man, I liked it. Wanted to explore exactly what kind of passion lurked under that prickly exterior. But I did have a sense of self-preservation, and a big chunk of curiosity that was still intrigued by her actions.

  “What did the pirate steal?” I asked.

  “Something personal of mine.”

  “Are you sure he took it?”

  She cast me a glance that rebuked me for even questioning the fact.

  “Had to ask.” I shrugged, which drew her gaze to my body. The scent of her arousal intensified. Was it any wonder a certain part of my anatomy reacted?

  Given she’d returned to stare me in the face, she might not have realized it if someone hadn’t whisper-shouted, “Fuck me, he’s hung almost as good as a centaur.”

  Followed by, “No, let him fuck me. I like a man with girth.”

  Which led to the witch dropping her gaze. Her cheeks turned red and, despite her sweet interest, she straightened, and her expression turned stony. “You should see someone about getting that fixed.”

  “Are you offering?”

  Her lips parted. “Why, I never!”

  “Obviously, or it wouldn’t be so hard.” I winked.

  She couldn’t handle it. Without another word
, she left.

  I couldn’t help but turn around to watch her go, the ass on her as fine as the front. Off she stomped, obviously angry. I couldn’t care less. Let her assault another passenger. My bottle of tequila beckoned.

  Once more, my feet betrayed me. Me, who never chased a woman, who let them come to me for petting, followed the grouchy witch.

  Or I would have if a bevy of nymphs didn’t block my path. By the time I’d extricated myself, saving my virtue from their greedy hands, the witch was gone.

  And I still didn’t have a name. Didn’t need one though since I had a scent to track her. What I also didn’t have was an answer to why I even wanted to. She’d made it clear that she didn’t like me. Her attitude bordered on mean-sarcastic with a hint of acerbic. Going for her? Good looks. However, pretty women weren’t uncommon, so why my interest?

  Because she smells good.

  My inner feline had a simple answer. At the same time, it was the only one.

  A shifter tended to make many decisions based on scent alone. Hot, fresh chocolate chip cookies? The smell of them meant automatic, justified theft.

  And Glinda smelled even better than dessert. My gut said to stick close to her. My dick thought we should get even closer.

  Since my nudity distracted, mostly in the form of people who kept thinking I was looking for fun, I shifted, which caused another sort of distraction.

  “Look at the size of that lion’s penis!”

  “Imagine how much those furry balls would fetch on the black market,” said another.

  Everyone wanted to bag the trophy. If it wouldn’t look dumb, I would have tucked my assets into some underpants; however, a mighty feline didn’t wear clothes in his majestic state.

  I did snarl as people kept trying to touch, though. I also almost chewed off the face of the guy who muttered, “Someone forgot to neuter their cat.”