Page 1 of Toadstools and Vampire Kisses

ChapterOne

FRAN

There is something to be said about living on the edge of the woods relatively far from civilization. No annoying neighbors, spectacular scenery, fewer chances of dealing with vampires who can talk the panties off a woman for a bit of a nibble. Ever since the hidden paranormal world revealed itself, the vampires have become quite a bold bunch. I’ve been treated to more than one unexpected eyeful of vampires and their willing prey, so much that it ceased to be erotic and nosedived straight into annoying.

I mean, really, as if it were too much to ask that they not block entrances.

Out here, I have all the beauty of the Pacific Northwest woodlands, as well as plenty of peace and quiet that allow me to carry out my work and settle down with a good novel in my off hours without interruption. My weekly trips to town to mail packages to my clients give me just enough social interaction to keep me sane. That and the satellite internet service, which not only helps me keep in touch with my clients but staves off boredom with streaming. A witch living deep in the woods never had it so good.

I lift the potted mandrake to inspect the plant and hum with satisfaction. My plants are definitely growing healthier out here than they ever did under the grow lights in my cramped condo in the city. I even have a greenhouse hooked to a generator to overwinter my more tender plants and those few that I need access to year-round.

Setting the mandrake down, I glance over at the assembled potted plants and frown at the belladonna. I wasn’t expecting it to require repotting already, but there is little I can do about it since I keep my poison plants separate from the rest of my babies in the greenhouse. Shifting it ahead of the others, I grab an empty pot considerably larger than the one it’s in and fill it with a bit of soil.

The worst I must deal with is the ever-annoying battle against mosquitos as the sun goes down. At least I can deal with those bloodsucking creatures with some strategic planting of citronella, marigolds, lavender, and rosemary around my cottage. Well, really, it’s a cabin—a cabin with all the upgrades and luxuries possible—but still a cabin even if calling it a witch’s cottage makes me feel better. Regardless, the anti-mosquito barrier of plants surrounds my house completely, giving me some respite.

If only vampires were so easy to ward off. Sadly, the whole garlic myth is exactly that, and religious iconography doesn’t do squat other than offend the deeply religious ones. Vampire culture is surprisingly nuanced. It also tends to differ among the shocking variety of vampires and the regions they inhabit. All in all, trading off vampires for mosquitos is a no-brainer since no respectable vampire would live in the middle of the forest cut off from easy prey.

Not that I’m entirely alone out here. Though there isn’t another home for a great many miles from my cottage, I’m aware of other presences. Some I’ve run into while going into town, others I’ve met in less conventional ways. The recluses I rarely see hide or hair of, but the werewolves are another matter. They are charming when they go into town in human guises, but most of my encounters have been with the occasional werewolf.

“And those are only the ones who get close enough to fall into one of my pit traps,” I murmur aloud.

My Min Pin Beast sneezes with perfect timing, his entire head jerking as if in chastisement, and I laugh.

“It’s not all that bad for them. They are tough enough to take the fall with barely a bruise to show for it. Besides, I’m not cruel. It’s not like there are any spikes waiting for them at the bottom. Just several professionally installed, extremely deep holes in the ground that would put high-dive pools to shame.” I smile over at the pup. “One can’t be too careful when it comes to being ambushed by a werewolf going into rut and looking for a mate.”

I shudder at the thought as I busy myself with the repotting and move the plants back to where they belong. As erotic as being claimed by a werewolf in the midst of their rut sounds… No thanks. If I’m going to be shackled to someone for the rest of my life, I want some input on the decision. Thankfully, a pit too deep for them to jump out of is effective enough. It forces them to sleep off the effects of their hormones gone haywire, and leaves me to escort a sheepish werewolf back to his alpha waiting at the edges of my territory the next morning.

A minor inconvenience, but it is worth all of this.

Stripping off my gardening gloves, I slap them together to knock the loose dirt free as I rise. Beast’s head snaps up from his paws, his dark eyes following my movement. He hops to his feet, his little stumpy tail wiggling behind him as he prances over to me.

“Come on, you tiny terror. That chore is done. We’re almost ready for winter, I think. I believe we’ve earned our treat for the day. A chewy for you and a cup of cocoa for me.”

I rub my arm through the knit sweater wrapped around me as a breeze stirs the leaves, blowing them onto my porch. Sighing at the mess, my booted feet crunch over them as I head inside, holding the door open for my monster to proceed.

Beast scurries off to his bed with his treat and as the kettle rattles on the stove. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare out the kitchen window into the woods. The wind blows hard enough that the bright splashes of autumn leaves vibrate and dance on the trees. It’s their last hurrah of the season before they too will fall. Gusts of leaves are rolling in, covering the cleared ground that doesn’t come close to resembling anything like a yard around my cabin.

Nothing else is out there, though I can’t help but feel a niggle of premonition. I don’t get them often, but it tells me that something is coming.

“Might want to get to it before I get the annual summons to the Witch’s Ball,” I mutter as the pot whistles angrily from the stove. “Even a three-hour drive from the city can’t get me out of going.”

That’s what happens when your mother is the coven’s head witch. One way or another I will find myself going, even if she has to fetch me personally or send one of her newest lackeys to do the job. Last I heard from her, she’d taken up with a cantankerous dragon. I should be surprised, but I’m really not. I’m more curious how, after twenty years of being a free, single woman, she ended up having a fling with a dragon of all things.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I carry my cocoa—dressed for the occasion with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles—to the sofa and take a seat, curling my legs under me. I drag the crocheted throw down over my shoulders with my free hand and sigh gratefully into my mug. This is pure bliss. I am entirely looking forward to a winter of similar pleasures. I just have to get through Halloween and its cursed ball, first. Never mind that I’m so awkward that I barely speak a word to anyone and can’t dance to save my life, my presence is expected. So I’ll be there with bells on. The last thing I want is an irate dragon sent to fetch me.

“Gods forbid,” I mutter around the mouth of my mug.

I barely take another sip before I’m jumping, nearly spilling my cocoa in the process, as a letter in a gold envelope pops with flourish up from the flames in the fireplaces and zips toward me unerringly.

Sighing, I lower my mug and snatch the letter out of the air with my free hand to hold it out in front of me. The elegant scrawl of my name in glowing red ink written in my mother’s distinctively perfect penmanship leaves little doubt as to who it’s from. Though carrying sparks from the fire that it passed through, it still bears a trace of mother’s distinctive perfume.

“Looks like mother learned a new trick. I wonder if we have a dragon to thank for that.”

It was a shame he didn’t teach her something more useful and less likely to terrorize me and everyone else in the coven. The last thing anyone in the world needed was Katherine Durmont having access to someone when their phone was turned off. Taking a fortifying sip of cocoa, I tear the top of the envelope open and remove the expensive folded cream paper from within it.“You’re Cordially Invited”is formally engraved with a deep burnt orange ink, and I nearly roll my eyes at the scent of spiced pumpkin coming from it now that it’s free from its envelope.How original.

Opening the invitation, I squint down at the script written among the swirling pattern of autumnal leaves and the bold images of candles lit for the witch’s supper that proceeds the night before the ball. My nose twitches at the overly perfume paper as I lift my reading glasses from where they hang on a beaded cord around my neck and slip them on. Taking a larger gulp of my cocoa, I read the invitation—not that I need to read to know exactly what it says. I can recite it from memory at this point. I’ve received the same missive every year since I moved out of my mother’s residence despite her objections.

I groan, dropping the invitation drop onto the small coffee table in front of me. The entire week. She’s taking the entire week leading up to the ball on Halloween night. That means she has something extravagant planned. A week of frolic and festivities, she calls it. Complete and utter hell is what it sounds like.

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