Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
That is until a handsome, brooding vampire tricks his way into her life.
Kidnapped, then offered a deal she can’t refuse, she finds herself dragged into a dangerous labyrinth filled with ancient challenges and deadly traps meant to keep her from reaching the center. Where she can find the cure to Nathaniel’s curse.
As they venture deeper into the spelled maze, they start to wonder if the biggest challenge isn’t the labyrinth itself, but the growing connection between them that threatens to make Roxy second-guess everything she thought she knew about herself, and Nathaniel reconsider everything he thought he wanted…
+ A cozy (not too dark) paranormal romance with fun magic, a slow burn but with steam, and a HEA.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Roxy
The glass spell jars clanked together ominously as the box jostled on the trip down the stairs.
This wasn’t the first—or twentieth—time, I entertained the idea of doing a little hex against my sleazy slumlord who still hadn’t fixed the elevator.
But that would mean I’d have to not only take his name out of the freezer—where I’d tossed it so he would no longer darken my doorstep with some insane comments about how witches must be better in bed because we could cast spells to intensify pleasure—but I’d actually have to collect some of his hair, blood, or spit. Not to mention procure more mustard seeds, peppercorns, vinegar, and graveyard dirt.
It sounded like a lot of work for a hex just because I had to use the stairs instead of the elevator a time or two a week. Since the only time I really left my apartment anymore was to fill the spell box that was situated directly out front of my building.
Sure, most witches did one-on-one spell work. But, to be honest, that just sounded exhausting.
It was much easier just to make a few generic spells—for love, career, beauty, etc.—bottle them up and set them inside a cabinet full of little boxes whose doors would unlock once you made your selection and paid.
No, it was no get-rich-quick scheme. But it kept my fridge and cabinets full and paid for my many video streaming subscriptions as well as my borderline problematic online shopping addiction.
The jars knocked together as I set the box on the ground. I winced, remembering the one time I’d been a little too careless, making the glass jars break, and combining a love spell and a hex spell with hilariously disastrous consequences.
A trio of dogs had stepped in the puddles with their bare paws, leading to them barking and snarling at one another whilst simultaneously trying to start a K9 orgy as their harried dog walker tried to separate them while still keeping control of their increasingly tangled leashes.
Then there was the time when I’d decided to try plastic spell jars. And I didn’t realize the ingredients in the jars were volatile enough to actually melt the plastic, which made all of the spells leak, combine, and seep all over the box.
The local mailman had gotten a triple dose of a confidence spell. It led to all the mail on his route being hopelessly late as he fell in love with his reflection in every shop window, making kissy faces, turning around to check out his own rear end, and asking people passing by to take his picture as he put himself in increasingly amusing poses. Including one where he’d hauled himself up on a stone wall on his belly, legs up, ankles crossed, finger touching his pouted lips in a full-on coquette pose.
The worst part of both incidents, of course, being that I had to clean up said messes as well as make more batches of the spells.
This was definitely one of those ‘an ounce of prevention’ sort of situations.
“Hey, Roxy,” a voice called as I stuck a communication spell in its box.
Turning, I saw another witch, this one much more ambitious than I was, opening up her small spell shop right next to my building.
Sora was well known in the area for her scarily accurate tarot readings and her incredibly potent, but overall harmless, heartbreak hexes.
Some of my favorites were a hex on a cheater whose ex hexed him with perpetual bedhead, another that cursed him with never being able to wear a sweater that wasn’t itchy, and one that made it so that the guy could never find a set of matching socks, no matter how many new sets he bought.
Sora was tall and lithe with gleaming black hair that I felt must have been magicked because it seemed unnaturally perfect. Though, judging by her unfairly beautiful face, maybe she was just one of those women who won the looks lottery.
“Hey Sora. Curse anyone with squeaky shoes lately?” I asked.
“Hey, I like that one,” she said, smiling as she set out her chalkboard that listed her services and prices. “Sold out already?”
“It seems like it was a smart business move on my part to bank on people being lazy and cheap,” I said, waving toward my prices.
Sure, you got what you paid for. And if you really wanted strong or lasting results, you spent the time and money to go to someone like Sora.
But my spells worked in a pinch.
“And you get to sit on your couch and order takeout,” she said, turning to smile at a trio of young women who stepped into her shop.
They would likely walk out an hour from now sporting new gemstones in rope necklace holders and excitedly chatting about trying out their new tarot cards. You didn’t have to be a witch to get signs from the universe through the cards. And store owners like Sora stocked cases upon cases of all the different decks to appeal to different tastes. Then made sure to slip a flyer into their bags, informing them of tarot reading classes available at the store.