Halfway Hexed Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  PRAISE FOR

  Barely Bewitched

  “Frost’s latest Southern Witch novel has all the fun, fast, entertaining action readers have come to expect from her . . . Populated with fairies, goblins, vampires, wizards, rampant plants, and a few nasty-tempered humans thrown in for good measure, there’s no end to the things that can and do go hilariously wrong.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “What an amazing author! Kimberly Frost’s Southern Witch series is fated for great things. Barely Bewitched was full of romance, magical havoc, and goes from one wild scenario to another. I was definitely hooked all throughout the book and couldn’t put it down . . . I am definitely going to read Kimberly Frost’s next novel!”

  —Romance Junkies

  “The author is on a roll with Tammy Jo. Book two has as much action as the first, if not more. Ms. Frost’s sharp wit and interesting characters propel the story to a satisfying end.”

  —A Romance Review

  “Kimberly Frost’s Southern Witch series is destined for great things. Full of action, suspense, romance, and humor, this story had me hooked from the first page until the last.”

  —Huntress Reviews

  Would-Be Witch

  “Delivers a delicious buffet of supernatural creatures, served up Texas-style—hot, spicy, and with a bite!”

  —Kerrelyn Sparks, New York Times bestselling author

  “Would-Be Witch is an utter delight. Wickedly entertaining with a surprise on every page. Keeps you guessing until the end. Kimberly Frost is a talent to watch.”

  —Annette Blair, national bestselling author of Never Been Witched

  “Kimberly Frost makes a delightful debut with Would-Be Witch. It’s witty, sexy, and wildly imaginative. Great fun to read. A terrific new series from a wonderful new author.”

  —Nancy Pickard, Agatha Award—winning author of The Scent of Rain and Lightning

  “More magically delicious than Lucky Charms—Kimberly Frost’s Would-Be Witch is bewitchingly fantastic!”

  —Dakota Cassidy, national bestselling author of You Dropped a Blonde on Me

  “A big, heaping helping of Southern-fried magical fun! If you like a lot of laughter with your paranormal fiction, you’ll love Frost’s series.”

  —Alyssa Day, USA Today bestselling author

  “Hilarious start to the new Southern Witch series that will keep you laughing long into the night! . . . Ms. Frost is an author to watch for in the future.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A wickedly funny romp . . . The story trips along at a perfect pace, keeping the reader guessing at the outcome, dropping clues here and there that might or might not pan out in the end. I highly recommend this debut and look forward with relish to the next installment in the Southern Witch series.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “What a debut! This quirky Southern Witch tale of a magically uncoordinated witch with an appreciation of chocolate is likely to win over readers by the first page.”

  —A Romance Review

  “One heck of a debut from Kimberly Frost . . . This is definitely an excellent read, and for a debut, it’s nothing less than fantastic . . . I sure don’t want to miss what further misadventures Tammy Jo becomes involved in.”

  —ParaNormal Romance

  “Delightful, witty, and full of sass, this new series promises mega action, comedy, and romance. With this first Southern Witch novel, Kimberly Frost has made a fan of me. NOT to be missed!”

  —Huntress Reviews

  Berkley titles by Kimberly Frost

  WOULD-BE WITCH

  BARELY BEWITCHED

  HALFWAY HEXED

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2011 by Kimberly Chambers.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition / February 2011

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Frost, Kimberly.

  Halfway hexed / Kimberly Frost.—Berkley trade paperback ed.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-47852-3

  1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Texas—Fiction. 4. Chick lit. I. Title.

  PS3606. R655H35 2011

  813’.6—dc22

  2010042752

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For my mom, Audrey.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the librarians, reviewers, and booksellers who recommended the Southern Witch series to their readers and customers, especially Karla and Jan from KBB, Anne from Murder by the Book, and Laura from Barnes & Noble on Holcombe. I’d also like to thank the book and readers’ groups who invited me to their event
s. I had a great time visiting with all of you.

  Special thanks to my amazing family and friends, my critique partners David and Bonnie, my agent Elizabeth, and the team at Berkley, especially Leis and Caitlin.

  And, of course, many thanks to my readers/fans. I write for you.

  Chapter 1

  The reason I don’t normally bother to plan my schedule is that something unexpected always seems to come up and throw it off. That Friday when I got kidnapped was a prime example.

  It was only four days after I’d almost been incinerated and drowned, but I was hopeful that I could balance my new life as a witch with my old life as a pastry chef. I’d accepted a commission—my first ever—from an accountant who donates her time to the Texas Friends of Fish and Fowl. As a celebration of their third anniversary, they were holding a regional fund-raiser in Duvall, and the centerpiece was to be a chocolate sculpture designed by yours truly. They wanted it to involve birds and fish, which was a bit of a challenge to my creativity because although fish are tasty—as anything but dessert—I just don’t see them as art.

  I was hard at work on a woodland scene with fish popping out of a brook when the bells chimed, announcing that someone had opened the front door to Cookie’s Bakery. I glanced at the clock. It was twelve twenty, so Cookie hadn’t returned from her lunch break yet. In the bargain we’d struck, Cookie would let me use the bakery, if I covered her lunch hour and one Saturday.

  I wiped my hands on a rag and walked out to the glass counter to find my mailman, George. Technically he’s not mine. He belongs to the town, but he’s delivered the mail to our house since I was five, and his route always seems to be expanding. Truth be told, George would like to be the only mailman in town. He considers postal work a calling.

  “Hey, George. Are you in the mood for a cinnamon roll or a caramel pecan one?” I asked with a smile.

  His bushy silver eyebrows rose. If a hedgehog ever mated with a hobbit, George could’ve had a twin. “I’m not on a break, Tammy Jo. I’m here on official postal business.”

  I smiled a little wider. “Okay, then. I’ll take the bakery mail,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “No need,” he said, rounding the counter to set the mail into Cookie’s straw mail basket. That was George. Mail delivery with military precision.

  “All right, have a good day on your route,” I said, moving toward the back.

  “Just a moment, young lady.”

  “Yes?” I said, turning to face him again.

  “We’ve got to discuss the situation at your house.”

  I frowned, thinking about our family home, which had sustained fire damage and was under repair. I was staying at my ex-husband Zach Sutton’s house while he was out of town. I’d had my mail forwarded there. “Well, the situation at my house is being handled. Between TJ’s construction crew and Stucky’s brother-in-law, Chuy Vargas, who’s the best carpenter in a hundred miles, they’ll put it to rights. Chuy did the built-in bookshelves at Bryn Lyons’s house, and I can tell you firsthand, he does the most beautiful work you’ve ever seen.”

  “That may be the case, but that still doesn’t address the situation I’m talking about.”

  “I had my mail forwarded, George. Filled out all the paperwork two days ago, and the mail already came yesterday. You guys are a top-notch operation.”

  George rattled off Zach’s address with a frown.

  “Right, that’s where I’m staying.”

  “It’s not on my route.”

  My jaw dropped a little. “Right, but I’m not moving off your route permanently. It’s just until my house is fixed.”

  “Shoreside is on my route. Highest tax bracket in Duvall, and I’m on that route by request. I believe you could stay there if you wanted to.”

  “I can’t move in with Bryn Lyons just so you can deliver my mail!”

  “You’ve got a package all the way from London, England. Airmail. Express with insurance attached. You going to trust something of that nature to the likes of Jeffrey Fritz?”

  “I’ve got a package from England?” I asked, half amused that George couldn’t stand for a high-priority package to be delivered by his rival. “I haven’t ordered anything. And I don’t know anyone there.”

  “International mail,” George said with a solemn nod.

  “Sounds important. Do you happen to have it on your truck?”

  “In my bag,” George said in a grave whisper, as if the package contained state secrets that spies in foreign countries had lost their lives to bringus.

  “Well, that sure is convenient. Do I need to sign for it?”

  “No. I’ve got my computer. I’ll take care of everything,” he said. He took out the small package and scanned its label, then handed it over. “Zach Sutton’s mailbox isn’t large enough to hold that.”

  “George, how did you know I’d be here today? I didn’t arrange with Miss Cookie to use the bakery until last night. I can’t imagine who even knew I’d be here.”

  “You’re part of my route,” George said crisply.

  I laughed and couldn’t help wondering whether George might have one of the town ghosts as some sort of spirit guide. No one was better informed than the Duvall ghost network.

  With his sworn duty fulfilled, George marched out of the bakery, head held high.

  I took a pair of scissors and carefully opened the box. There was a double layer of bubble plastic, which I unfolded to find a disc-shaped object, heavily wrapped in white foam packing sheets, making it about three inches in diameter. I raised it. Concealed underneath was a folded piece of thick stationery. I lifted the corner to read the note.

  Never let it be taken from you. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

  A chill ran down my spine. I turned the paper over. No signature. Nothing written on it besides the three sentences in fancy black script.

  I flipped up the box flap to look at the label. No return address. I set the note down carefully and returned to the mystery object. I pulled off the tape and slowly unrolled it. Peeling away layer after layer, I finally uncovered a beautiful antique cameo brooch. It was about two inches tall. The carved white image of a young woman’s profile stood out from the pinkish-red background. There were flowers tucked into her upswept hair, and she had delicate features, angelic and pretty. The oval rim of the brooch was laced in gold and dotted with the tiniest pearls I’d ever seen. So many precious details. It made me feel like factory-manufactured jewelry ought to be outlawed.

  Could Momma or Aunt Melanie have sent it? If so, why hadn’t they written a longer message? And why would they be in England? Or, if it wasn’t from them, who else in the world would have sent it to me?

  I reached down to touch it, and a jolt of electricity shot up my arm. My brain seemed to rattle in my skull for a moment and then my vision blurred, the bakery receding.

  I staggered, blindly catching myself on the counter just as she appeared. A woman with thick chestnut hair and high cheekbones. Her disheveled clothes, a blouse and skirt, flared out as she ran. I heard her panting breath, the clicking of her heels, and I smelled damp, rain-soaked streets. The haunted look in her wide eyes made my heart contract, and her fear consumed me. I reached out to her, to rescue her, but she went past me and disappeared.

  I stood, staring at the spot where she’d been, but there was only black. Trying to catch my breath, I sank shakily to the floor.

  Who is she?

  The darkness faded, and the bakery reappeared around me. The smell of melted chocolate and baking bread. The ticking of the wall clock that was shaped like a country apron. I shook myself. I was safe at home in Duvall. The girl had been part of a premonition—my first ever. Were they always like that? Yikes. I hoped not.

  And who or what had been chasing her? She’d been terrified, running as if her life depended on it. I’d felt what she was feeling. I wasn’t sure if that was normal with psychic visions or not, but it didn’t really matter. Only one thing was important; I had to find out who she was
so I could save her from whoever or whatever was chasing her.

  Chapter 2

  I shook the brooch gently, trying to get the vision to play again, but nothing happened. Turns out, magical brooches aren’t as reliable as DVD players. I was just getting up and dusting myself off when Cookie returned from her lunch. She’s as tough as gristle but has a good heart. At work she wears crisp white shirts with cotton pants under one of her twenty different aprons, and today was no exception. She looked me over with a questioning expression as she grabbed the top apron from the hook and slipped it over her head.

  “Good lunch?” I asked, closing the box’s lid on the brooch.

  She nodded. “What have you got there?”

  “Nothing much. I’m going to step out, but I’ll be back for my meeting with the Fish-and-Fowlladies,” I said, grabbing my tote from the back and hurrying outside. I glanced up at the overcast sky. It looked and smelled like rain. Just like in my vision. Except there was something that made me think that the woman in the premonition wasn’t going to be chased through the streets of Duvall. Although, if she did come to town, it would be a lot easier for me to help her. But what if she didn’t? What then?

  I paused for a moment. Why did I feel so strongly that I had to help her? She was a stranger. Presumably wherever she was, she had family, friends, and a local police force. Her problems didn’t have to become my problems . . . but I couldn’t shake the feeling of a bone-deep connection to her. Could she be a distant relative? Some second cousin that I’d never met or heard of?

  I drove to Zach’s house and tucked the box under his bed. I could’ve left it in the car, but I didn’t think that was a good idea since I was headed to Bryn Lyons’s mansion for advice. When the note said to keep the brooch secret, I assumed it meant keeping it hidden from Bryn, because he and I were the only magical people in town at the moment.