Something wicked this way comes…
You’d think being the descendant of powerful witches would grant me the power to sort out my life, right? But you’d be wrong. I’m stuck in a rut, disdained by my family, and my romantic life is a disaster. Oh, and did I forget to mention that I have no magic?
When a cursed heirloom is stolen, I should stay out of it and leave the retrieval to those better equipped but everything seems to lead back to me…
With the help of an enigmatic bounty hunter, I may be able to clear my name and retrieve the artefact before death and chaos are unleashed upon my beloved city but doing so could cost me everything — including my life.
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It feels like I have just fallen asleep when I’m awoken by someone obnoxiously ringing my doorbell, over and over and over again.
Blinking sticky eyes open, I roll over and check the time on my phone screen. Seven o clock! Who in their right bloody mind goes knocking on someone’s door at that time on a Saturday? It is cruel! It is unnatural! But whomever it is they are not buggering off like I hoped they would, leaving me no choice but to get out of bed and answer the door.
“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” I yell, stomping down the hall. I flick on a light switch and peek through the peephole. “Bitch!” I shout through the door as I start releasing the locks.
There are quite a few, so it’s a bit of a slow process, but when you live in a basement apartment, I feel you can’t be too careful.
“Stop your whining Lockhart! I’ve got to be at work in an hour and details can’t wait!”
Pulling the door open, I am faced with the happy smiling face of my BFF Sarah. I have a strong dislike for morning people but at least this pre-dawn menace has the decency to come bearing gifts.
“Do I smell bacon?” I ask, as she marches past me with a brown bag of goodness and a cup holder with two coffees.
“Hell yes, it’s bacon. You think I’d be stupid enough to wake the bear without bringing a sacrifice?” She calls as she makes her way to the front room. “Bring plates in won’t you!”
“Yes dear,” I mumble, more to myself than to her as I yawn and do exactly as I’m told.
About the Author
Emery Nicolson is a wife, mother and mad cat-lady living in the South West of England. When she’s not writing, she’s probably reading, baking or out walking through a forest.
Emmy (or Nics, as she’s more often referred to) loves hearing from readers and you can find her online via Twitter (@EmmyNicolson), Facebook (@EmeryNicolsonAuthor) or her website (emerynicolson.co.uk).