Dial Magic: Dial Witch, #3

INTRODUCTION

Dial Magic

The witch, the warlock, and the dreamwalker …

When the enchantress Jane Black attempts to free a local Casanova warlock from the clutches of an evil dreamwalker, trouble brews in Mystic Keep.

Metus stalks the warlock Slade Derringer in his dreams stealing from him cherished memories from his past and hopes for his future. Jane fears that when the dream stalker finishes with Slade, he’ll move on to devour the dreams of everyone else in town. No matter the cost, she must stop the beast.

Jane’s friends and family rally to assist her, each in their unique way. The men in her life keep things hot and spicy. There is Gavin McGee, the white wolf intent on claiming her, Leos, the smoldering dragon enforcer who turns her blood into estrogen jelly, and Alessandro, the blackmailing vampire who makes her do things she doesn’t want to do. Then there’s her loving family of witches and warlocks who swish their brooms and swords in her business whenever they can. Last, but never least, Vixen—her snarky cat familiar—is always by her side.

Jane, true to her personal code, is determined to make things better for everyone—or die trying. Can Jane spin a dream catcher strong enough to entrap the evil night prowler? Will Jane choose to play with the forbidden fire of a dragon, or wrestle with a powerful wolf, or … both? All good questions.

Dial Magic is the final book in the Dial Witch trilogy, set in the Mystic Keep world. It’s an urban fantasy featuring witches, warlocks, werewolves, and vampires, and it’s filled with humorous adventure and heart-warming romance.

PROLOGUE

Gabriel O’Reilly, an eighteen-year-old warlock, stood outside the Surly Wench Saloon, known to be the sleaziest of sleazy taverns in all the realms, and considered his options. Going inside would change his life forever, and quite possibly not for the best.

Maggot, a twenty-something mage well-known for his pirate lifestyle, hovered by the warlock’s side. Don’t worry. The bar owner’s heavy spells will keep us safe. No one will interfere with our business here.

Gabe had paid the mage to bring him here, but Gabe knew little about him. Maggot talked a lot of crap about how important he was in the world of mages.

Gabe winced. Could he trust a bedraggled sorcerer who smelt of vomit, wore a moth-eaten cape, and was named Maggot?

The mage pulled on one of the curled ends of his white handlebar mustache. Seriously, warlock, you’ll love it inside.

Gabe shrugged. What could he expect from a guide he’d found in an ad on the mage’s network?

If your woman has disappeared, there’s a chance she’s here. It’s kind of a last place of hope for … Maggot’s voice trailed off. And his eyes, darker than the night, flashed this way and that, as if he were expecting unwanted visitors at any moment.

Hmm.

Maggot stood straighter. You fear harm has come to her.

Gabe exhaled loudly but said nothing. They had covered all of this by email.

Maggot sniffed the air and shivered. This is the place to find out what happened. If she’s not here, someone will know about her. Especially if she is as rare and beautiful as you say.

Really. Gabe sneered. Here?

The Surly Wench Saloon was a plain, red brick building with a single black door. Oh, he had heard stories about the tavern. Many stories … about how the bar transformed after midnight into a playground for the supernatural, a palace of pleasure beyond any mage’s wildest dreams. It had the type of past no one spoke about in the light of day.

Yeah, it’s the real thing. Maggot’s gaze continued to dart from shadow to shadow. We’re in the third realm, man. The haven for thieves and pirates. And this place … He tilted his head toward the black door. Is where we gather at night.

Gabe might have been young, but he wasn’t stupid. And why is that?

Like I told you, the bar owner keeps us safe.

Hmm. I’ve heard my father say that the old bastard Galen drains your memories when you leave.

Maggot shrugged. Works for me.

Gabe closed his eyes for a moment. No part of him—not one effen part of him—thought entering this den of iniquity was a good idea, and yet he had to do it. There was no other option.

Having doubts, young warlock?

Gabe glared at his guide. Any sane person would. But if there’s a chance I can get information on Drina’s location, I must go in.

A worthy gamble. Maggot opened the door, which squeaked on rusty hinges.

A torrent of magic flowed out and around them, drawing them forward as surely as any surly siren wench could. Gabe smiled. Well, if nothing else, he would have one hell of a story to tell his friends when he got home to Mystic Keep. The magic felt like the warm embrace of a lover, smelled like cheap beer, and tugged on his essence as if it were a magnet.

Gabe crossed the threshold.

Inside, the party had already begun, though it wasn’t quite midnight. In the center of the room, supernaturals of all shapes and sizes danced to the hypnotic beat of the band. A long wooden bar lined the west wall. People sat around tables and lounged on sofas.

They were two steps in, when Galen, the owner of the Surly Wench Saloon, appeared in front of them. The old wizard’s wrinkled face and hard eyes spoke volumes. He was not a man to cross.

Gabriel O’Reilly, son of Donovan, what brings you here? asked Galen.

I’m looking for a lady.

The wizard snickered. Here? We don’t stock ladies.

Scanning the room, Gabe had to agree. The crowd was rough around the edges, as his grandmother would say. I mean no harm to anyone, Gabe said. A gentle warlock’s words of entry he had learned from his father.

The wizard narrowed his eyes. What’s the name of the lady you seek?

Alexadrina Anders.

Ahh, Drina of the Keep. A slow, ugly smile crossed the bar owner’s face. Feisty, that one.

Gabe forced himself to show little emotion while his insides broiled with anger. The Drina he knew was an innocent fourteen-year-old fae, a kid who liked to play video games. How had she become known to the likes of this asshole? And what the hell did he mean by feisty? Yes, she comes from the haven of Mystic Keep.

The wizard sneered and pointed to a far corner of the bar. See the men lined up in that corner?

Gabe nodded.

They’re waiting for Drina’s debut.

Debut?

Maggot edged away and slid out the front door into the night. The music rocked on. The smell of liquor and drugs swirled in the air already heavy with spells.

Gabe set his jaw. What sort of debut do you mean?

As a young crossbreed—part warlock, part siren, and part fae—Drina’s enchanting in so many ways. You must agree?

Gabe grunted.

And she has just ripened.

Holy hell. Ripened was a crude term used to describe a woman who had just had her first bleed. Why is she here?

To please us. The wizard crossed his arms. I’ll offer you first dibs for the right price.

Cold sweat slid down Gabe’s back. There is no price for her. There cannot be. She is a living being.

Oh, but there is a price. The wizard chuckled again. You see, she sold herself to me.

What the—? Why did she—?

To pay her father’s gambling debts. I made my offer fair and square. For three hours work at my bar, I will forgive all the gold her sire owes me.

Or?

Or I will kill him. Slowly, by a dragon’s blade.

Gabriel wanted to say something. He wanted to freeze time, stop it all from happening. But no words would come out of his mouth. The music. The magic spells. The patrons. Their combined forces locked his strength inside his body like a straitjacket.

I won’t ask much for your spot at the front of the line. I’m sure Drina would prefer to see you first, and I have some compassion for young love.

Gabe struggled to slow his breathing. He needed to concentrate all his power, all his training, all that he possessed to save Drina. And himself? He’d worry about that later.

How about …? The wizard leaned closer. I give you first place for an hour of your time, here in my bar. He inhaled a raspy breath. Say, later tonight?

Gabe drew his invisible dagger. When the blade hit the dim lighting in the bar, it shone with the golden light of his grandmother’s clan. He would not have Drina sullied. He would save her. It was the least he could do to fix a world so badly corrupted.

Nine supernatural warriors surrounded him. The crowd moved back, gawking.

Take him down, cried one man. We need no white knights here. Make an example of him.

Somewhere a clock struck midnight, and the intensity of the bar’s magic tripled. Could he catch no luck?

Last chance Gabriel Max O’Reilly. Take my offer or take my consequences.

The bastard even knew his middle name. Gabe sniffed. Never.

Alrighty then. Galen looked at the fighters circling Gabe. Teach the lad a lesson. Make him bleed. Then toss what’s left of him out onto the street. He turned to move away then stopped. Mind you, do nothing so bad as to make his father start a war with us. Do just enough to break him.

With his dagger pulled Gabe lunged at the old sorcerer, but the man’s corporeal body had vanished.

A warrior’s blade—dipped in an alchemy Gabe did not recognize—sheared the air above his head. He lunged to the right just in time to miss its edge—and caught a punch to the gut delivered by a bald guy dressed in combat gear.

The punch, hard and powerful, was followed by a second.

Nothing like a one, two.

Gabe gritted his teeth and lurched back to gather his balance. Chanting, Teda tedi tedium, as he lifted his arms. Magic coiled inside him and slid along his arms in licks of orange flames. He would end this fight. Now. But the fire died at his fingertips. All that remained was smoke. Gabe roared.

Galen, now standing behind him, chuckled. Your warlock magic won’t work here.

Gabe pulled Sinister, his father’s blade, from the inside of his vest, the deadliest warlock dagger in the multiverse. He had stolen it earlier that evening just in case things went sideways. He wasn’t stupid. Things generally did when they involved dark wizards. Six inches of pure Erringdale steel, it gleamed with a mixture of first realm magic.

He felt—more than saw—three men and one woman, circle behind him, as if they were wolves moving in for the kill.

Today he could not die. At least not until he rescued Drina. Or so he told himself.

The bald guy flew, connecting a fist to Gabe’s chin. As the punch turned the young warlock’s face, the woman ran her claws down his cheek. Blood dripped from Gabe’s chin as he once more tried to regain his balance.

The other seven warriors watched, waiting for their opportunity.

When Baldy moved in again, Gabe was ready, with a deadly punch of his own aimed square at the center of the bastard’s forehead. Baldy flew back and hit the wall seven feet away. Next Claw Lady came at him, but he stopped her hand and flung her to the opposite wall.

That’s when the other seven jumped him. From every angle, a supernatural warrior attacked. Gabe didn’t have a chance, even with the deadliest of warlock daggers in his hand. And he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to his father. Or save the girl.

The girl.

Centering all his energy, Gabe steeled himself to the fight for Drina.

A cracking sound split the air and a rift the color of an orange peel appeared in the room. His aunt—the enchantress Jane Black from the earthen realm—jumped through. With her arms extended, her magic flames shot forward.

Gabe sliced the torso of the man who had knocked him to the floor, and his other attackers scattered. Many had escaped out the door.

Gabriel! Drina yelled his name as she ran to his side and gathered his bleeding head in her arms.

1

A re you out of your mind? asked Vix, her snarky cat familiar.

Jane shrugged.

A whiteboard? Vix’s whiskers twitched. You have crystals, tarot cards, and dusty books in your store window. That says it all. You’re a practicing witch. You don’t need to add a written message as well.

Jane grunted. What’s got your tail in a knot?

Vix rolled her eyes. She meowed loudly. I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. She pointed her paw at the floor of the display window directly below where Jane intended to hang her whiteboard. "That’s the spot."

"The spot?"

My spot. The one that gets more sun than any other spot in the front window.

Jane pursed her lips as she adjusted the whiteboard. She wanted it to the catch the attention of potential customers passing by. She hadn’t thought about consulting Vix on its location. I had no idea.

You should always consult me. The chubby orange feline lifted her fluffy chin in the air. You know that.

Jane shot her a hairy eyeball. I’ll suspend the board in the air with a spell.

If that flies your broom, do it. But not over my spot.

Jane flicked her wrist, and the board rose three feet in the air before stopping a couple of inches away from its original placement. How’s that?

The cat glanced at it for barely a second. Better. What are you planning to write on it?

Magic is for everyone.

Vix’s eyelids sank to half-mast. "Seriously?

Yeah.

You know that will mess with the mages.

And the town witches. Jane smiled. And my family. Yes, I know. But it’s time I made my position crystal clear.

Vix fell over dramatically. You’ve got crystals in your brain.

"Listen, Vix. The whole purpose of Dial Witch is to share magic with supernatural and normal folk."

Shall I cue the sappy feel-good music?

Jane laughed. Tease me all you want. My sorcery store is—

Boring? Boring, boring, boring. Did I say boring?

Vix.

Well, it is. Dusty and boring.

It’s not a bad thing that we haven’t had a crisis for six months. Healing should be a peaceful art.

"Peaceful shmeashful. You Jane Black are in the prime of your life, the roll in the hay time of your life, the party till your broom catches on fire time, the cauldron-smokin’-hot time. Do you get the idea? This is your time. And all you’re doing is corking potion bottles for other people who have zits, sore throats, and sex lives as lackluster as yours."

My time will come, Vix.

The cat groaned. You need sex.

Jane arched a brow. She couldn’t argue with that, but she also couldn’t help saying, For everything there is a season.

Vixen gave Jane a mischievous glance, then leaped high into the air.

The earsplitting screech of her claws on the whiteboard made Jane flinch. Vixen!

Dial Witch’s door squeaked open, saving Vix from her witch’s wrath. A gust of salty spring air flooded the room. A second later, Slade Derringer’s larger-than-life presence darkened the store’s threshold. The little sunlight that slid in around him gave him a haloed look. But this guy was anything but an angel. The town’s Casanova warlock delivered Jane his signature bad-boy smile.

Slade Derringer, she said.

Jane Black. His nod was respectful, but the way he said her name heated her from the top of her head right down to her freshly polished toenails. Most warlocks had low, gravelly voices, but not Slade. His voice was edged with a seductive charm that raked Jane’s female parts.

Come in. Come in. She waved him toward her client chair, which sat in front of her desk at the back of her store.

Vix rolled her eyes and headed for her cushion in the middle of the room.

Slade folded his tall frame onto the chair. He sniffed the air filled with spells and dust as he surveyed the room, taking in the wall of books, the worktable with a bubbling cauldron, and the shelves of potions.

While he studied her shop, Jane gave him an equally thorough once-over.

Slade Derringer had the classic features of a movie star: a square jaw with just the right amount of stubble to make her libido purr; silver-grey eyes that darkened toward the edges as if an artist had painted them; and the kind of thick black hair she would happily run her fingers through for hours. Over six feet tall, he had the broad shoulders and rock-hard muscles of a warlock warrior. She’d heard that in battle, he also had the stealth of a panther.

But Slade wasn’t just magazine-cover handsome and soldier strong. The stories of his prowess in bed were legendary. Just last week, her friend Jenny had called him a gymnast with the stamina of a beast. A beast! Well, he was a pretty, pretty beast—and now he was in her lair messing with her pheromones.

As if unaware her panties were melting, he said, Why is it I never run into you?