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Excerpt:Witches Anonymous

Witches Anonymous Series

In a room full of witches, you’d think I wouldn’t stand out. You’d be wrong.

My name is Amy Atwood and I’m a witch. Not one of those goodie-two-shoes Wiccans. No, I’m a Satan-worshipping, Devil-made-me-do-it witch.

However, after catching Lucifer performing a particularly wicked hex act with Emilia, my sister—a tried and true Wiccan—I turned my back on the Devil. I didn’t exactly expect him to be faithful, but bewitching it with my sister? High ick factor. So, no more casting spells to entertain him. No more curses to carry out his desires. No more witchery of any kind.

That’s why I was attending my first Witches Anonymous meeting. Glancing around at the faces staring back at me, with their raised eyebrows and thinned lips, I suddenly realized the last part of my introduction, about the Wiccans, I said out loud. In a room full of the goodie-two-shoes sisters.

Way to go, Amy. Stepping on broomsticks in less than thirty seconds. A new record, even for me.

Too bad I couldn’t cast a spell and enchant them all, but I’d sworn an oath to stay clean. Because magic is a slippery slope. Even one small curse or spell could put me on the downhill slide back to Lucifer. So far, I was sticking to my oath. I was good now. Normal.


Yeesh. The thought made me shudder.

Anxiously caressing the square of Dove chocolate stowed in the pocket of my jacket, I gave the witches in the room my most charming smile, full of ear-to-ear goodness. I’d promised myself if I got through the meeting, I could have the chocolate.

And there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for a Dove.

The door behind me opened, saving me from making a false apology. A tall, good-looking guy with a determined look on his face pulled up short as he took in the circle of women. His T-shirt was a bit too tight and his jeans a bit too loose, but his boots were high-quality leather with snappy silver toes peeking out from beneath the frayed hems of his pant legs.

That’s what I call goodness.

His intense brown eyes looked intelligent when his gaze locked with mine. “Uh, hi,” he stammered, his focus dropping to my mouth. It stayed there a second too long before returning to meet my eyes. Thank the devil I’d worn my plum lip gloss. “Is this room 12A? I was looking for the Harley Brothers meeting.”

Men and Harleys? Now that was my kind of group. “I’m Amy.” I stepped forward to extend my hand. “I was looking for that meeting, too. It must be down the hall.”

The grin that passed over his face showed me one perfect dimple. He took my hand with confidence, his warm skin kissing mine like a lover as he pulled me toward him. I noticed an apple with an arrow piercing the core tattooed on his right arm.

“Let’s get out of here, then,” he said, “and let these fine women get back to their…whatever meeting.”

Out in the hall, I put my hand over my mouth and giggled. “Your timing is perfect. You just saved me from being burned at the stake.”

Up close, his brown eyes looked like the color of the Dove in my pocket. The dimple reappeared. “Rescuing damsels in distress is one of my specialties.”

I’d never considered myself a damsel in distress. However, the dimple won me over, saving him from a sharp rebuke. I found myself wondering if his eyes got darker, like melted chocolate, when he got mad.

Or horny.

He took my hand again. Soft warmth enveloped it. “I’m Adam Foster.”

Instantly, I thought of Bananas Foster. Yummy. My mind was already casting a circle of lust around us when I caught myself.

No spells. No charms.

No fun.

“Nice to meet you, Adam Foster.” I took my hand back, wishing I could curse Lucifer and Emilia for forcing me to embrace goodness and normalcy. “I better let you get to your meeting.”

“You’re not coming?”

“No.” I glanced at the door to Room 13C and shuffled my feet. “I swore an oath to be good. I have to go back to this one.”

“Back to the stake, huh?”

“You could say that.”

He gave me a nod. “Maybe after our meetings, we could grab an ice cream?”

A Harley-riding, tattooed man who wanted to go for ice cream? Normalcy wasn’t all that bad.

And revenge on Lucifer, whether by stake or by mortal torment, was extremely satisfying. “I’d love to.”

“Meet you outside later?”

“I’ll be there.”

As he walked away, I watched the back of his dark brown hair brush his neck and thought about touching that same spot with my fingers. When Lucifer discovered I’d taken a new boyfriend—a human one, no less—he’d be mad as hell.

Who says being a good witch isn’t fun?

About the author

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Misty Evans has published 50 novels and writes romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal romance.