– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘Fangs and Frenemies’ blogtour, organised by Xpresso Book Tours.
About the Author :
Cherry Andrews loves a good scone, a good book, and curling up with her cats by the fireplace.
You can read FREE CHAPTERS on her website.
Title: Fangs and Frenemies: A Blue Moon Bay Cozy Mystery (Witches with Anxiety, #1)
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery, Paranormal
A socially awkward bobcat shifter.
An ex-cheerleading vampire.
A sweet—but slightly neurotic—cupcake-baking witch.
They fight crime?
When the case of a missing mean girl throws Hazel back into contact with two old classmates, it’s time for these supernatural frenemies to set aside past grudges and help clear each other’s names.
But in the cloudy, romantic beach town of Blue Moon Bay, Oregon, it seems nearly everyone’s guarding a secret.
And they all involve magic of one kind of another.
Will these three women, who normally can’t stand each other, crack the mystery of what really happened to Hazel’s old bully, Ashlee—or is their effort cursed to fail?
Blue Moon Bay’s “antique” cast-iron street lamps were brand spanking new, but you’d never know it to look at the hideous things.
The town’s latest bid to charm tourists, the lamps blazed with an eerie orange glow that only stoked my anxiety as I sped past Ocean Street’s deserted bistros, yarn shops, and taffy stands at dawn.
Come hex or high water, I could not be late for work again.
Not today, when Grandma Sage was counting on me to bake a very special wedding cake. Raspberry crémeux, three tiers of it, draped with glossy fondant. A cake that had to taste like heaven and look pretty enough to grace a magazine cover. Literally, since our bride’s swanky reception would be featured in Oregon Coast Bride.
But the baking was … well, cake, compared with the other task Gran expected of me. Like her own grandmother before her, she imbued each wedding cake with a signature magical marriage blessing. As her apprentice witch, it was my job to assist with the spell.
A tough spell that called for deepest focus.
Bleary-eyed, I guzzled milky coffee from the to-go cup balanced between my knees. No doubt binging Netflix last night, cuddled up with my new boyfriend, was a bad life choice. But Bryson and I had only been dating since summer, and the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me melted my brain every time.
I was still daydreaming about Bryson’s soft, full lips when Trixie, my ancient VW Rabbit, hit a red light at the corner outside Java Kitty Café.
“Check them out, doll,” she exclaimed, speaking telepathically straight to me. “How come their parking lot’s full at 6 AM while I’m sittin’ alone in our dinky lot? What are they putting in that coffee, cocaine?”
“I don’t know, Trix.” Just the sight of Java Kitty’s pink neon sign—a smug cat outline with winking eyes—sizzled my blood. Ever since their grand opening a month ago, the trendy new café had been a real burr in my boot.
I’d made a point of avoiding the place, of course. Wouldn’t want to look like I was spying on the competition. But here we were, stuck at the light, and it was hard not to peek through the window . . . seeing as how the entire wall was window.
Sleek design, I must admit.
Inside, Java Kitty’s modern-looking dining room bustled with Type A early birds. I was stung by the sight of familiar faces—former regulars at Sage’s—leaning across the modern white counters. Happily typing and texting. Morning shows lit up jumbo flat-screens on the wall behind them. A smiling barista, gliding by on a Hoverboard, offered nibbles from a pastry tray.
My stomach sank. No wonder they were picking off our customers. What chance did we have against a Hoverboard?
“Now that’s how it’s done, doll-face.” Trixie sounded way too impressed. “You might want to take a few notes.”
I gritted my teeth. “More driving, less chatting, please.”
Trixie went silent, so silent I could suddenly hear the engine. Her primitive spirit was hardwired into the car, though, so I could still sense her sulking. If experience held, she’d drive passive-aggressively for the next mile and then go right back to yakking.
It was times like this I bemoaned not having a cat for a familiar, or one of those cute owls. But you don’t get to choose your familiars, like you don’t choose your family. In Trixie’s case, when I won a used car in a business card drawing at the Blue Moon Bay Area Green Witch pancake breakfast, I won her into the bargain. A year later we were still struggling to find our groove together.
Trying to calm my nerves, I averted my eyes from the turncoats—er, customers—back to the street. The blasted light was yellow again.
“I’m late,” I begged the car. “I can’t play games with you this morning.”
Trixie hesitated, then floored it.
As her front wheels entered the intersection, a flash of khaki uniform appeared on Java Kitty’s patio. Sheriff Gantry’s hawk eyes clocked me from behind his to-go latté cup. Et tu, sheriff?
Trixie slammed on the brakes. They screeched. I yelped as hot coffee lurched into my lap, scalding my stomach through my knit top. It rivered down my jean skirt and onto the floor mat.
As I drove the rest of the way to work drenched and coffee stained, I silently cursed the Third Vow of a Green Witch, “Thou Shalt Not Use Magicks to Augment Thine Appearance.”
The first two were way more reasonable.
“Thou Shalt Not Use Magicks To Commit Murder.” Well, duh.
And “Thou Shalt Use Magicks to Cause A Person to Fall in Love.” I wasn’t a monster.
I just didn’t see why conjuring a clean, dry outfit should get me bounced from the sisterhood.
But whatever, rules were rules.
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The Magic of Wor(l)ds
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