Cookies, Curses, and Kisses (Blue Moon Bay Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Cookies, Curses, and Kisses

  Double, double toil and trouble; | Fire burn and cauldron bubble. | Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, | Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf...

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  List of Books written by Jovee Winters | Kingdom Series

  The Blue Moon Bay Series

  Cookies, Curses, and Kisses

  Welcome to Blue Moon Bay, a little seaside town full of vampires, shifters, witches, and ghouls. A town with a dark secret. A town that was once cursed by a black witch to be forgotten by the rest of the world except for once in a blue moon.

  Zinnia Rose is a hearth witch who has no desire to ever find a mate. See, she's got a little problem—one she's sure no man would ever understand.

  Zane Huntington is running away from his past. Stopping in Blue Moon Bay for dinner may be the biggest mistake of his life, or maybe it's the beginning of a brand new adventure...

  Double, double toil and trouble;

  Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

  Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

  Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf...

  ~Shakespeare’s MacBeth

  Prologue

  Primrose

  I MEAN, THAT’S HOW most everyone thinks it goes for us witches. Beaked nose, warts, a leaky cauldron full of steam—well, that bit there’s partly true, I s’pose. But there are lots of different types of witches in this world.

  Me sisters and I, we’re hearth witches—white witches for those not in the know. Meaning we’re mostly good. ‘Cept for Hyacinth, who gets a wee wild when she’s had a bit too much drink, but it ain’t often, and dinna tell her I said so.

  Truth is, we just like helping others find what makes ‘em happy. Me sisters and I keep mostly to ourselves. But this is a special time for our township of Blue Moon Bay, established in 1717. Three hundred years ago today, we laid the first foundation stone of the little town that we’ve all learned to call home.

  Most of us living here are too young to remember the old days, but me sisters and I do. The burnings. The witch hunts. Things were difficult for magick practitioners and... the others, then. Humans had feared us, but not no more. Thanks to the telly and modern day thinking, witches have gotten... what’s that word again?

  Cool?

  Aye, cool.

  A point Violet, our oldest sister, finds hilarious since we hav’na changed at’all. We’re still the same crotchety ol’ gals who love baking, gardening, and casting the occasional spell. We’re just a wee longer in the tooth now, is all.

  Anyway, the party. That’s what I was getting at when I went off on me tangent. It’s a big deal here. Like a big, big deal.

  Why?

  Weel, our town might be a wee bit cursed. Okay, so we are. We’re cursed. Happened two hundred years ago to the day, in fact. Ol’ Man Tinker had gone out fishing. His boy, Tom, stayed back in the care of the shifter pack. Shifters were good scouts and better watch dogs. You couldn’t trust anyone more than you could a shifter pack to watch your kid. Problem was, the boy got away from ‘em.

  To this day, it’s one of the greatest mysteries of our little town, and one of the most tragic. No matter how much we looked for the wee lad, we never did find him. He simply vanished into the ether, and not even his ghost remained behind. Was he dead, or wasn’t he? Who knew?

  It’s not always the losing of a loved one that breaks yer soul. Sometimes, it’s the simple not knowing that turns a good man bad.

  The entire town grieved the loss of that boy, but none more so than Tinker. Black witch by birth, he lost himself completely to the darkness. Loss’ll do that to a fella, I s’pose. Cursed the whole town, he did.

  For the past two centuries, our little town has not only been completely invisible to the outside world, but our kind is slowly dying out. I dinna ken why. The couples that were together, they stayed together. Thing of it is, though, no babies are born that aren’t girls no more. Kind of hard to grow a place when alls you get is girls.

  More than that, not all our couples could have children. Shifters, known for having litters of bairns, were lucky to have one pup. Vampires, who couldn’t birth children and so made them, weel... they were the hardest hit of all of us. Tis impossible to grow a family when ye canna bring in new bodies to do it.

  As if aware of our troubles, the curse lifts occasionally, and our town awakens to the outside world. The first time, we only had ten days. The second, we had six months. We’d all been ecstatic then, believing the curse had been broken. ‘Til we woke up one morning to find the lime-green fog had descended, cutting us off once again.

  Just recently, the first ripple of a new awakening moved through our sleepy little town like the gentle roll of a wave. For only the third time since the curse was placed on us, our town was coming alive again.

  I reckon my sisters and I will be pretty busy this time of century. We’ve only got a short time to pair up our townsfolk with mates before the curse comes back again, cutting us off from the wider world. I am desperately hoping that, this time, we’ll get many months, but one must always plan for not.

  SETTING DOWN ME TEPID cup of tea, I stood in the midst of a garden full of blooming flowers that would make us the envy of Wonderland’s madcap realm. The sky was a brilliant azure, the clouds big, fat, fluffy, and a tad gray at the bottom. There would be a light sprinkle later for sure.

  Crows and ravens flew overhead, gracefully circling our thatched-roof hut. Our familiars merely awaited our order.

  Cinth was the first to walk out the door, hanging on to her broomstick. She was dressed in a fashionable gown the color of her namesake, a fetching shade of purple. With its lovely bodice and bell-shaped bustle, it had been trendy in the eighteen hundreds, anyhow. Her silvery hair lay long and wavy down her back. Her eyes were a pale shade of lavender, and her skin was a pastel hue of green—Mother had drunk one too many cups of mint tea when she’d been carrying Cinth, and it had stained Cinth’s skin permanently, poor dear.

  She gave me a crisp smile before moving into place around our rather ancient cast-iron cauldron.

  “Violet!” Hyacinth snapped when she looked at the door where our ever tardy sister had not yet appeared. It was said Vi had even been late to her birth. I did not doubt it. Where Cinth was a paragon of Victorian poise, Vi was... well, Violet was Violet.

  “Coming! Coming!” Vi waddled out the door, dressed in a blue-violet gown a size too small for her, causing her ample cleavage to tremble as she hurried at a fast trot toward us. Her skin was a flushed shade of dewy rose, and her glasses were askew as always. She finally arrived on a rosemary-scented breeze, huffing and puffing and shoving her spectacles up her tiny bridge of a nose.

  Tipping her chin up, Hyacinth unfurled her fingers, revealing a wee black pouch. “Are we ready, then, sisters?” she asked, sparing us each a minute glance before turning her attention to the bubbling brew of neon green before us. Hyacinth was the baby of the family, and yet there was no doubt in our minds she was the boss.

  “Ready!” we both chortled at once.

  “Then on my mark.” Hyacinth undid the string of her pouch, tipped it over, and spilled its contents onto her palm.

  Tooth of wolf.

  Violet did likewise. Her charm was scale of dragon.

 
Finally, I poured mine out. Tail of newt. Milady, me little darling, had finally dropped her tail this morning, thank the heavens, or we would never have been able to work our mating spell. I touched the tip of my finger to the still twitching thing.

  Milady was a grumpy little newt who hated being without her bright-red tail. But she was awfully cute with her little nub of a stump, and I’d told her so. Milady was off doing whatever it was little lizards did during the day, no doubt foraging for food or licking her wee toes. I wasn’t rightly certain. But she would return on the morrow. She always did.

  “One.” Hyacinth started the countdown by dropping the tooth into the brew. It steamed rapidly.

  “Two,” Vi cried a second later, sliding the scale in. The brew began to froth and churn.

  With a kiss to Milady’s perfect wee tail, I plopped it in. “Three.”

  A blast of golden light suddenly shot into the heavens like a beacon in the night. Our ravens and crows cried out, flying off to their assigned destinations.

  Soon, there would be men for our girls. Very, very soon.

  And that was when the fun really started.

  I sighed contentedly.

  A witch’s work was never done...

  Chapter 1

  Zinnia Rose

  THE TOWN WAS ABUZZ with gossip as I unlocked the front door of my darkened diner. We opened at the witching hour since most of the town’s residents were nocturnal. And, well... there was another reason.

  Not that it mattered to anyone but me.

  “Did you hear such and such does this now?” I heard Tilly whisper from just down the sidewalk as I jiggled my key in the knob.

  “Did you know such and such does that now?” I heard Nell—Tilly’s gossipy neighbor-in-crime—respond right back.

  Ugh, keeping up with all the gossip once the veil lifted was exhausting.

  Unlike the professions of most of Blue Moon’s townsfolk, my profession rarely, if ever, changed. Of course, I matriculated, as did everyone else. The magick holding our town together was a thing of master craftsmanship, though I would never say so out loud. The curse was a point of sorrow and contention in our sleepy little coastal village. But from a purely magical standpoint, it was indeed impressive.

  The curse was constantly evolving so that, even as we were trapped away from the rapid rise and growth of the outside world, we still managed to stay up to date on current trends and happenings. My favorite era had been the boom and rise of steel and, with it, things like freezers, fridges, stoves, and trucks that helped me haul food from my garden to my diner every night.

  The magick was extremely sophisticated, every couple of years or so we’d suddenly find new appliances, cars, and even phones just randomly appear at our homes or place of business as though from thin air. But the strangest part about all of it was the moment it would we’d already know how to use whatever it was that appeared. Well, except for my friend, Meri. Poor dear. Water and technology didn’t mix well. Not that she’d minded over much. Meri had never really been all that interested in the modern world.

  Yes, Tinker had cursed us, but he’d shown mercy in the cursing too. Blue Moon was a wonderful mix of both old and new, which I didn’t mind if I were being honest. I much preferred the architecture of days gone by to the more modern trappings we saw on our television screens, but I definitely preferred the conveniences of today versus what we’d had even a hundred years ago.

  I did not miss the days of hauling foodstuffs around on the back of Betsy, my stubborn mule, who would have much rather munched on oats than lugged around fifty-pound baskets of food. Not that I blamed the old girl.

  You know that old saying, “the world is your oyster”? Well, here in Blue Moon Bay, that was a total lie. For most, living the same life day in and day out was a constant source of vexation. Many residents of Blue Moon wanted nothing more than to get out and see the world.

  Call me old-fashioned—I was a hundred and fifty, still very young by Blue Moon standards yet ancient to the human world—but I rather enjoyed the life I’d carved out for myself here. I was doing what I loved in a town I never wanted to leave anyway, surrounded by the people I called family and friends.

  I was in no rush to find love—a sticking point between me and my three adorable yet slightly quirky aunties. But for most other residents of Blue Moon, this night was a big, big deal.

  Not because they could actually leave, but because the magick would bring in fresh blood and new faces. I’d seen the last time the veil had been lifted. Men, women, and children had poured into our little town like ants at a picnic. We would hear stories from around the world, and maybe, if the magick chose us, we would even fall in love.

  The possibility made everyone but me squeal with delight.

  Everyone in town adored my aunts. In fact, I would even go so far as to say there had been some serious brownnosing that went on between awakenings in the hopes that, the next time my aunties called in the crowds, the magick might think kindly on them, and they too might be one of the lucky ones to be chosen.

  All I knew was I needed to start making my desserts and getting the coffee brewing. Hungry mouths would be arriving soon. And hidden away in the kitchens, the magick would miss me completely. Any good hearth witch kept a few safe spaces for themselves where magick of no kind could interfere with their own. My kitchens were my safe space, both here and at home. A place where my meddling Aunties could not reach me unless I gave the go ahead, and in this case, I would not. I did not want a mate, end of story.

  On my drive to the diner, I’d seen no less than fifteen women—a few vampires, some witches, a shifter, and even an undine on legs—dancing and swaying naked in the streets, looking toward the heavens with hope gleaming in their eyes that this would be their time.

  The town was almost entirely female at this point, though we did have a few males scattered around here and there. But they were already mated, or not interested, the lot of them.

  I wasn’t at the point yet where my single status bothered me much. True, some nights I was lonely, and maybe a time or two, I’d even considered what it might be like to have a partner, but the thoughts were fleeting and never lingered long.

  I really didn’t want to be tied down. Really.

  Really, really.

  I ignored the little voice in my head that called me a liar.

  I opened the door to my seaside-inspired diner—with the cutest little red-and-white-striped awning over top, and frosted glass with the words The Golden Goose stenciled on the front—and flicked on the lights. From within the golden nest she called home, Gwendolyn, my literal-gold-egg-laying goose, honked angrily back at me for daring to disturb her slumber. Her wings flapped hard enough to create a small wind tunnel, knocking shakers off tabletops and pushing me back on my heels. Then, an egg popped out from beneath her, perfectly formed and gleaming like freshly-poured metal.

  Gwendolyn hated to be startled.

  “Nighting to you too, Gwenny ol’ girl,” I said with cheerful exuberance as I gently slid the egg out of her nest and cradled it beneath my arm. She huffed a breath of air at me, but she didn’t resist my taking her egg. I walked down the aisle, now strewn with napkins, menus, and half empty condiment bottles.

  Gwendolyn’s eggs were magick themselves. Fluffy and impossibly golden, they tasted like heaven and made everything rise better.

  The rather dull brown bird fluffed the feathers of her wings, ignoring me completely. She was a waspish thing when woken, but I was used to her now, and she to me, whether she liked it or not.

  Lapis and Malachite—Malachite was the Bombay and Lapiz the Ojos Azules breed of black cat—meowed back at me from their perches on the edge of the polished-silver countertop. They’d adopted me as their witch nearly a century ago. It was the oddest thing, but cats could cross the curse with no problem. They were the only thing allowed in or out any time of the year.

  Personally, I thought it was because, being a witch himself, Old Man Tinker was as bon
ded to cats as they were to us. Cats weren’t just our friends. They were so much more to a witch. Cats were mystical by nature. Any good witch always had a few furry beasties to call upon on when we needed help amplifying a spell, and they in turn were treated like the kings and queens they naturally were.

  Lapis, who had always liked me more than her grumpy brother, Malachite, trotted dutifully over to me as I made my way to the prepping station. She meowed and purred and rubbed her long, silky body between my legs, tripping me up every step of the way, which I secretly loved, but I would never tell the rotten thing so.

  “Yes, yes, Lady L. I know you want food. Give me a second to settle in. And hello to you too, Malachite.”

  His answer was a sharp hiss. I rolled my eyes with fond exasperation. I really did think that, someplace deep inside his cold, shriveled heart, Malachite might actually care for me. But then, he spent most of his days chasing me around and trying to take a bite out of me, so I honestly couldn’t be certain.

  Taking a moment to just breathe, I closed my eyes and smiled.

  This place was home for me, not the four walls and roof I slept under for two hours each night before it was time to get up and start my day anew. The familiar smells of coffee grounds, cinnamon, powdered sugar, vanilla, butter, and nutmeg. The unchanging décor that, to others, might appear vintage, but was in actuality authentic Gibson-era. It all grounded me and made me happy.

  My fashion choices tended to reflect the 1920s through the 40s. I’d fallen in love with that era in history. There was just something timeless about it for me, something I never wanted to lose no matter how fast time marched on. Hair worn up instead of down. Smart, puffy dresses that came to just above the knee. Heels that elongated the gams. Those sexy black stockings with the seam running up the calf. Elegant pearls. The very reddest red on nails and lips.

  Classic.

  Humming under my breath as I rolled up my sleeves and got to work prepping, I shut out all distractions except for the repetitive and soothing rhythm of slapping dough on a floured surface, rolling, kneading, and whipping up creations that no one else in town could mimic no matter how hard they tried.