Everybody Wants to Rune the World: A Happily Everlasting World Novel (Bewitchingly Ever After Book 2) Read online

She bit at her inner cheek to keep from laughing. “Not at all.”

  He reached into his bag and withdrew several envelopes and a small package. He handed them to her, relief showing on his face. “The mail is for Luc. The package is for Betty. And thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said before holding the package out a bit. “This smells a little off. What is it?”

  “I learned not to asked,” replied Barnebas. “I’m just thankful it’s not live snakes—again.”

  Virginia stiffened. “Are you sure it’s not?”

  Barnebas took a small step away from her, eyeing the package. “No. But the snakes didn’t smell bad last time. We’re probably safe.”

  She didn’t miss the emphasis on the word “probably.”

  Chapter Two

  “Look, there’s Missi,” Barnebas said, pointing down the road. He then appeared nervous again, which was amusing all unto itself, seeing as Missi was the least scary person Virginia knew, except when it came to the family magic shop that she ran. For the shop, her sister was fierce.

  She gave Barnebas a side-eyed stare. “Are you still trying to force the sale of the lot behind the magic shop so the post office can be expanded?”

  He bit his lower lip. “If I say yes, will you still take Luc his mail?”

  She thought on it. “Yes.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Hedgewitch Cove is expandin’ all the time. Our population went up by six this year alone.”

  “Didn’t seven people vanish during the month leading up to the spring solstice celebrations this year?” asked Virginia. “And didn’t they find parts of an eighth person?”

  Barnebas cringed. “Yes, so I realize we’re down by two now, but still, we’re well on our way to becomin’ a sprawlin’ metropolis. How can we make it a reality if we don’t expand our post office? I’m pretty sure the information superhighway is a fad. People will go back to wantin’ to handwrite letters. I can feel it in my bones. My momma agrees. Says the internet is the work of the devil. Do we know if Luc had a hand in it?”

  She merely stared at the man. Hedgewitch Cove was about as far from a sprawling metropolis as one could get. It clung tightly to its small Southern-town charm, feeling like a miniature New Orleans, with its own version of a French Quarter and architecture that was also heavily influenced by the French and Spanish.

  And while New Orleans certainly had a lot of supernaturals who lived among the humans, hiding in plain sight, Hedgewitch Cove was different. It was a haven for the supernatural. A place where they were free to be themselves without fear of humans seeing them. Free from humans’ fear and hysteria.

  The town was so committed to being a safe haven for supernaturals that a spell protected it from humans wandering in inadvertently. The spell had been put in place when the town was formed by the Caillats, which was her line of witches, and three other lines. Powerful magic was used and still protected Hedgewitch Cove to this very day.

  The spell kept most humans out. Every now and again one would wander in, but unlike New Orleans, they weren’t bursting at the seams with humans. No. The magic protecting the town compelled humans to just keep on going right past, like it wasn’t even there. They’d overlook it on a map. And if they happened to wander in, they’d forget all about it once they left.

  Exceptions were made, like for delivery people, but those humans were spelled to not see anything out of the ordinary while in town. Normally, the delivery persons had about an hour that they could be in town before they’d take note of the oddities, and there was no shortage of them in Hedgewitch Cove.

  Arnold was tame compared to a lot of what went on.

  “Barnebas, there is a perfectly good spot out near the woods at the edge of town that wouldn’t cause any issues with Missi or anyone else. Town council offered to donate the lot to be used for a post office. Lots of room to have an entirely new one built. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “It would be state of the art then. You know, more than you, a rotary phone, and two wooden bins, one for mail coming in and one for it going out?”

  His chin jutted out insolently. “The spot it’s in now is perfect. Been there for so long the first mode of transport was a horse. It just needs some space to grow.”

  “Missi might box your ears if she gets too close to you. You know how protective she is of the shop and the lot behind it,” said Virginia with a snort.

  “Maybe, but then she’d feel bad an’ get me a pie from Elixir Coffee & Cakes. I love the ones they make up there. Chocolate chess is my favorite. All homemade tastin’ and such. Momma’s good with cookin’ up gator, but she can’t make a pie to save her life.” He gave a wide smile before walking off in the direction of the bookstore, and far from Missi.

  Virginia turned and spotted Missi on her bicycle, pedaling up the street. The bike, named Shirley by her sister, had a basket in front and served as Missi’s only means of transportation.

  Missi always looked as if she were headed to Woodstock for a week of fun in the rain and mud—clothing optional. She was something of a flower child, born too late. Today was no exception. She had on a long peasant skirt and a pale yellow, oversized sweater. She was wearing shoes, which was saying something, as she was known to forget to put them on. Sure, they were clogs, but to each her own.

  Somehow, she had perfected the art of riding her bike in long skirts and dresses.

  They were about as opposite as sisters could come. That worked well for them.

  Missi pulled her bike to a stop next to Virginia, got off, and propped it against the iron fence in front of the inn. “Barnebas has been avoiding me. Must mean he’s petitioning town council to expand the post office again.”

  Virginia grinned. “Yep.”

  “Did he give you the song and dance about it being there since mailmen rode horses?”

  “He did,” said Virginia with a wide grin. “And we’re not going to curse him.”

  Missi pouted. “Why not? You cursed me with pigeon pox when you were like seven. Can’t you just give him a case of it?”

  “That was almost twenty years ago. Let it go.” Virginia laughed. “And I didn’t mean to curse you with a disease that shouldn’t exist. I got chicken and pigeon confused.”

  “Gee, that makes it better,” said Missi, smiling as she stared off in the direction Barnebas had gone. “I’m normally against cursing anyone anyways, especially with how much Mémé Marie-Claire is always going on about watching what we say when we’re angry, but really, that man has been a fly in the ointment for years over that plot of land.”

  Virginia couldn’t stop the giggles that escaped. “I know, but if you cursed him, you’d have guilt later.”

  She stuck out her lower lip. “You’re right. I’d end up getting him a chocolate chess pie from Elixir’s. He likes those.”

  Virginia grinned again. “I heard.”

  Missi eyed the mail and package in Virginia’s hand. “Moonlighting from the restaurant and delivering post? And what is that smell?”

  “I think it’s the package for Betty. I offered to take Luc his mail. Bob has been giving Barnebas a hard time of it lately. I saw Howie on the roof getting the mail off it the other day. Bob and Howie stole Barnebas’s mailbag and went for the roof, and apparently Barnebas was still hooked to it.”

  “Is it wrong that I’m sorry I missed seeing that?” asked Missi before she glanced at the vehicles parked on the street. “York and Louis are here too?”

  New York (York) and Louisiana (Louis) were two of their older brothers, identical twins who were vastly different personality wise. York tended to hide behind sarcasm and humor, never really showing his trues emotions. Louis was more serious, and fine with appearing vulnerable at times. They really were night and day.

  York also drove a gas-guzzling diesel truck, and Louis drove a hybrid to be more fuel efficient. Both vehicles were there. So was their father’s work car. There were other vehicles as well, but she didn’t know who they belonged to.

&nb
sp; “Momma didn’t say what she wanted us here for?” asked Virginia.

  Missi shook her head. “She called the magic shop and said she tried you at the restaurant, but you weren’t answering. Then she just told me to get in touch with you and come on out here as soon as I could. Took me a minute to close up the shop.”

  Virginia nodded. “I wasn’t at the restaurant. I was on my way back from checking on a chef I’m interested in hiring, who’s working down in the French Quarter. Long story short, he’s not for Runes. I wish Momma would call my cell phone.”

  Missi’s cheeks tinged with pink. “Erm, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t bother with our cells because I can never find mine, Louis doesn’t turn his on, and York’s ends up all over town. You know, the marina, the bar, random women’s bedrooms.”

  Virginia snorted. “And somehow he’s proud of that fact. Men.”

  Chapter Three

  Sigmund Bails sat on a Chippendale camel-back sofa that was done in black in the living room of Hells Gate Inn, trying to wrap his mind around how his life had come to this. How it had come to him being over a thousand miles from home, in Louisiana, sitting in a bed-and-breakfast owned by the devil himself, surrounded by people who wanted to help but were basically strangers to him.

  A month ago, everything had been right in his life.

  He had the job he’d always wanted as the principal of the high school in Everlasting, Maine, he was close to his childhood best friends, Hugh Lupine and Curt Warrick, and had started hanging out more with Jake Majoy. Basically, he’d been surrounded by friends and family, and things had been good.

  His life had been drama-free for years, since his parents had passed when he was younger. His aunt Jolene had seen to raising him, and he loved her and saw her more as a mother than an aunt.

  And he’d hurt her.

  He hadn’t meant to, or even realized he’d done so, but he had.

  All of it had come about because of his stupid allergies. The doctor had given him new meds to help counter the nonstop sneezing and general unpleasantness associated with seasonal allergies in Maine. All had seemed to be well in hand, until he became aware of a side effect no one could have ever seen coming.

  The meds triggered Sigmund’s latent shifter side. Something he’d thought he’d escaped since he’d made it all the way to the age of thirty without showing any signs of inheriting his family’s curse. Most went through their shifter awakenings during puberty.

  Not Sigmund.

  He’d come out of the other side of puberty just shy of six and a half feet tall, with a deeper voice and the start of facial hair, but he’d not turned into a were-octopus or anything of the sort. No. His change hadn’t come until recently, when he’d suddenly found himself changing shapes during his sleeping hours, with no knowledge or memory of it when awake.

  Not only had his shifter side taken its good old sweet time manifesting, it had gone the extra mile by revealing he was actually a were-kraken. Something many assumed were merely myths and legends. He was living proof to the contrary. He was also a prime example of what happened to a shifter male when he didn’t learn to control his beast side at an early age.

  And the absolute last thing anyone with control issues needed to be was a kraken. There was a reason there were sayings like “release the kraken” and not “release the fluffy bunnies.” The last member in his family who had been a were-kraken had lived over a hundred years ago, and had needed to be hunted and killed because he’d been evil to the very core. A cold-blooded killer.

  Sigmund was holding true to history. He was what his ancestor had been.

  A murderer.

  Sigmund hadn’t known he was shifting forms at night while he slept. Or that, while shifted, he was trolling the waters off the coast of Everlasting. And he certainly never knew he’d killed two men while doing so, or that he’d hurt his aunt’s ankle, nearly drowned Hugh, and scared Penelope—Hugh’s new wife.

  The two men Sigmund had killed were not good men. In fact, they were card-carrying members of the Collective—an organization that was downright nefarious. None of that mattered. A life was a life, and he’d ended two.

  I’m a monster.

  He sneezed again, for what felt like the ten-millionth time. Leaving Maine had done nothing to stop his allergies. He’d only found new things on the road trip down that triggered sneezing fits.

  A box of tissues that were sitting on an end table lifted all on their own and floated over to him. Then a tissue pulled free from the box and thrust itself at him.

  His eyes widened.

  He was used to weird. Everlasting was full of things that were difficult to explain to anyone who didn’t live there. Floating boxes of tissues was a new one, even for him.

  Deputy Jake Majoy, who had taken time out of his life to drop everything and drive Sigmund all the way from Maine to the southern part of Louisiana, grinned from his position near the archway to the hall. Dark blue striped wallpaper covered the walls of the foyer behind him, matching the color of the wallpaper in the sitting room. It had fleurs-de-lis and roses on it, all done in dark blues. If one looked close enough, they’d see the insides of the roses were actually skulls.

  Apparently, the devil really was in the details.

  Jake had on a long-sleeved black T-shirt that had a sheriff’s badge logo on the pocket in yellow. Back in Everlasting, he was referred to as Deputy March, since all the deputies had posed shirtless in a calendar for charity. Jake’s month had been March. Hence the nickname.

  “That’s Morgan. She’s lending a hand.”

  “Morgan?” asked Sigmund, staring at the floating tissue. There was no one there holding it, but the tissue certainly looked as if it was being held. Then again, there could be someone there and his mind could have simply snapped. The stress of everything could have finally broken him.

  “Spirit,” said Jake, nodding his head at the floating tissue, like it was no big deal.

  Sigmund cleared his throat before taking the offered floating tissue and nodding his head. “Thank you, Morgan. It’s, um, nice to meet you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said a voice that sounded like it belonged to a young woman who lacked a Southern accent. In addition to that, the voice sounded very close to him.

  He stiffened.

  Jake laughed. “She’s one of the spirits who live here at Hells Gate. Luc has a soft spot for her. She showed herself to me once before, too, which still has York’s dander up, since she’s never shown herself to him, and he’s known her all twenty-eight years of his life. Ink-black hair, big green eyes, a lip ring, an eyebrow ring, lots of black clothing choices. Seemed happy.”

  “Jerk,” said the spirit.

  Jake snickered. “Did I say happy? I meant to say she looked tortured and tormented. As if the agony of the afterlife was simply too much and at any moment, she might break out into bad poetry.”

  “That’s better,” said Morgan.

  “You get used to her,” said Jake to Sigmund. “Bob is around here somewhere. Best of luck with him. A few of the other spirits are regulars, but they get a lot of them just passing through.”

  A small woman who looked to be in her late eighties entered the room carrying a silver tray with cups of tea and finger foods on it. She couldn’t have been more than four foot ten inches tall, and had on a pale pink two-piece dress suit with matching pink flat shoes. Her white hair was cut short and curled. Her light blue gaze moved to him, and she smiled sweetly. “Oh, look at you, dear. Here is some tea and some cookies to help warm your soul.”

  “Let me help with dat, Betty,” said an exceptionally tall man as he moved quickly to take the tray from the small woman. He was wearing a sheriff’s uniform and claimed to be the father of two of the men in the room. York and Louis. A set of twins who seemed easy enough to tell apart, if you went with the fact one looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed and the other looked like he and Sigmund shopped at the same stores.

  If Sigmund remembered correctly, th
e tall man’s name was Walden Peugeot. But he’d had a lot of names thrown at him since his arrival. What he had noticed was Walden’s height, mostly because none of the men in the room were considered short, but next to Walden, they looked it.

  The sofa dipped slightly next to Sigmund, and he realized Morgan was sitting next to him. She held the box of tissues out to him. “Need more? I think you might be allergic to your shadow.”

  “Um, I’m good. Thank you. And you’re right. My shadow is probably one more thing in a never-ending list that I’m allergic to. I’m allergic to everything.”

  Walden set the tray on the coffee table and stepped back, letting Betty take over. She lifted an English creamware teapot depicting a devil near a well, with a woman who was fetching water. There were matching cups and saucers on the tray as well. The woman poured a number of cups of tea. She handed a cup to Morgan, and Sigmund had to tear his gaze away from the sight of a floating cup of tea. He wasn’t entirely sure what proper dead people etiquette might be but if he had to guess, he’d say staring wasn’t part of it.

  Betty then gave Sigmund a cup. “Here you go, dear.”

  She made her rounds, and then came for the plate of cookies. A slight smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she held the tray out to Sigmund. “Ladyfinger?”

  He went to take one, and something swatted his hand.

  He realized that something was Morgan.

  “Listen, you seem like you’re already having a not great day. You do not want to eat that,” said Morgan, putting a lot of emphasis behind the statement. “I watched her making them.”

  Betty seemed confused. “This is my special recipe. Been in my family for generations. It’s delicious. It’s always a favorite at family reunions.”

  Jake and Walden shared a look before they both shot forward.

  Walden took Betty by the shoulders gently and turned her to face him. “Betty, what exactly does the recipe call for?”

  Jake lifted the plate of cookies and examined one. “Tell me these ladyfingers aren’t aptly named.”