Witch Out of Luck Read online

  Witch Out Of Luck

  Krackens Hole Book 3

  J Thompson

  USA Today Best Selling Author

  Copyright © 2021 by J Thompson

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

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  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

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  The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.

  Created with Vellum

  Foreword

  Blast Off with us into the Magic and Mayhem Universe!

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  I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.

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  What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?

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  Well, let me explain…

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  It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you…the results are hilarious!

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  So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!

  * * *

  For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com/. Grab your copy today!

  And if you would like to read the book that started all the madness, Switching Hour is FREE!

  https://robynpeterman.com/switching-hour/

  Contents

  About the Book

  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

  22. Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by J Thompson

  About the Book

  Isabeau Dragonsong Moonchild craved adventure, it was her job, what she did for the Ambustio Coven. She buried herself in to forget how lonely she felt inside.

  Even her smart-mouthed familiar Bas couldn’t fill the void that was slowly eating her up. Only Isabeau never counted on being sent to Kracken’s Hole and finding the only thing she had always longed for…..Family.

  Can Isabeau help prevent a new threat to Kracken’s Hole and with it save her newfound family. Or will she go down in a blaze of glitter and cursing.

  1

  Isabeau let rip the sigh that had been wanting out for the past half an hour. The sound echoed across the dark tomb, making it twice as loud as the original noise. Here she was, trapped in the bowels of an Incan ruin, yet she felt no fear, no hurry to get out. In fact, she liked the quiet of what being trapped beneath tonnes of stone offered.

  No one to ask stupid questions. No one to second guess her decisions or make her feel like she didn’t know what she was doing. No one to make her feel less than the kick-arse witch she was.

  As the world’s leading relic hunter, Isabeau was also a member of the Ambustio Coven. She prided herself on her skills to locate and collect ancient relics that, if left in a human's hand, could and would cause apocalyptic repercussions.

  Humans couldn't handle anything different. Aliens: they wanted to dissect them. Witches: they hanged them. And anything that had a button that read, Do Not Press... well, they pressed it.

  It was a miracle they had made it this far without blowing the world to pieces.

  So, her job was to locate and collect anything that was classed as ‘high risk’ to the humans and even the paranormal population. Isabeau enjoyed it. It’s what she was good at. She loved skulking about in old ruins and tunnels, getting her hands dirty and setting off a few booby traps along the way.

  Yet, she’d never had a partner— well, other than Bas. That furry git was more like an extra limb than a partner. Where she went, he went. Only this time, she had made a mistake.

  The bloke she had trusted— as Bas put it, “to go into her Cave of Wonders”— had, at the opportune moment, shown what a world class Twatwaffle he really was.

  It was funny really; all that lying and bullshitting over a diamond. Isabeau snorted, lifted her arm, and placed it behind her head, getting comfy on the stone sarcophagus. She watched as the ceiling twinkled, the gemstones placed perfectly to represent the night sky as it had been over two thousand years before.

  The diamond wasn't what she had been sent to retrieve. Only she and Bas had known their true purpose. The diamond was supposed to be the bonus prize.

  Their mission to the ancient temple had been relatively simple: locate the diamond, which would tell them they were in the correct set of ruins to collect an old Inca calendar. Unlike a modern-day calendar, this one marked the times of sacrifice needed to ward off the end of days. The Mayans did this too. Only, the humans had found that one and luckily rendered it useless with their fanny-arsing about.

  This Incan calendar was different. After all, the Incas themselves were scary sons of bitches. Somehow, they had mastered the ancient magics and created a tool that, if turned on, could wipe out millions. An ancient bomb, to put it bluntly.

  Isabeau had been sent to retrieve it and get it back to the coven, so it could be destroyed.

  She sighed again and continued to watch the twinkling of the gems. That was why being trapped in the tomb didn't bother her. She still had a job to do and being trapped beneath stone was nothing. She was a witch, after all.

  Hell, she had been trapped in a cave, under the ocean, with the water slowly seeping in, and still she had just sat, chilled out, and had a snack, before she vamooshed out of there.

  “If you keep sodding sighing, I’m going to poke you in the eyeball,” Bas’s accented voice called over from the corner of the tomb, the Dorset tones rebounding off the walls.

  “I’m thinking,” she answered, and fought the need to sigh again, because she didn’t need a poke in the eye. When Bas made threats, he always delivered.

  “Be bloody careful with that shit. You know it’s dangerous,” Bas cracked, then snorted.

  “Ha, ha, you’re fucking hilarious,” Isabeau snapped back and pushed up from the stone. She could see his tail, but that was it. Bas took pride in his tail. The little twat even used her conditioner on it, saying the jobs they did made it too dry. His tail had a better care routine than her whole body did, and didn't that just make her feel all womanly— the fact a squirrel took better care of itself than she did.

  But that was beside the point.r />
  His head bobbed up from beyond that bulk of a tail to eyeball her. “You finished sighing?”

  “Shut up, Bas. You found anything?” she asked, as she hopped down from the sarcophagus. It stood at a good six feet from ground to top and probably weighed more than a Boeing 747.

  “I’m still digging, but my nose is telling me it's here,” he admitted, excitement tinging his tone.

  “The fact you can smell artifacts is more than a little creepy, Bas.” She moved to sit next to where he was digging on the floor.

  “I smell the power, not the thing,” he corrected, his voice muffled as his small head vanished into the hole he had started. Inside, Isabeau winced. Because he was almost arse deep in dirt, he would demand a bath. She almost groaned. A dirty squirrel was not what a girl needed to take home.

  “Ooooh, ya little ripper,” Bas called out, and then shouted, “Got it,” before he started to shuffle back, his arse leading the way in a magnificent display of brown tail and fur. When he appeared, in his tiny hands was a box, only about a foot long and half a foot wide.

  “I expected bigger,” she stated as she took the box from Bas.

  “You say that to all the boys.” Bas snorted before he started to rub himself free of dirt, then complained, “Oh, my poor fur. See, this is not on, Izzy. We do these jobs and I’m the one who gets dirty.”

  Ignoring his rant— which was the norm for him— Isabeau stared at the box. Simple in design, it had only one symbol on the lid. One she didn't recognise. She wanted to open it; the relic hunter within was desperate to see what was inside. Even she could feel the power that pulsed from within.

  She would have to wait, take it back to the coven, and let them help with whatever cataclysmic bomb lay inside.

  “We need to get this home, Bas,” she stated, and stood. Moving over to her gear, she found her backpack and slid the box inside. “Let’s get this home and let the coven deal with it. The power it's emitting gives me the willies.”

  “Willies… hahaha,” Bas answered, making her roll her eyes.

  “Childish much?”

  “Bitchy much?” was the squirrel’s retort, as he hopped closer and back up onto the stone wall, where their gear was stored. Growling, he kicked at another box. More importantly, the one that had dropped on them from out of nowhere earlier. The one that had an obscene amount of glitter come from it and whatever dimension it had appeared from.

  “What about this?”

  “What about it?” Instead of making eye contact, she focused on packing and figuring out how to grab some of the gems from the ceiling. She wanted the sparklies.

  “You need to address it.” Bas’s voice had grown soft. “You need to—”

  “Go to a town I've never heard of all because my mother is mentioned?” she snapped. Her mother was a delicate subject. A very delicate subject, considering she had never known the witch and had been left with the Ambustio Coven at a young age, never to hear from her again. She didn't even know if the woman was alive. She had been told she had no other family.

  That she was completely alone in the world.

  And boy had she felt it. If it hadn't been for Bas, she would have struggled. But the little shit had helped her come out of her shell, master her skills, and be the stonking witch everyone saw.

  “You need answers, Izzy, and this place, Kracken’s Hole, may have them.”

  Isabeau sighed again, only this time, instead of the poke in the eye she expected, she found herself with an armful of squirrel.

  “We have to deal with the calendar first.” She snuggled the furry git. “That’s priority. Once that’s done, we take some holiday time and visit this Kracken place.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Yes, I am, and don't you forget it. Now, let's get packed up and out of this place.” Isabeau smiled as Bas hopped out of her arms and started to pack. Once free of the tomb, they would travel home to the only family she had ever known. Maybe they could then shed some light on the mysterious box that fell on them.

  Pausing, Isabeau had the strangest feeling they were being watched, like the prickle on the back of your neck. Shivering, she stood and looked around. They were the only creatures alive within the tomb.

  “Come on, Bas, let's go home.”

  2

  Baba Yaga smiled at the waitress who placed a tankard of beer down on the table. She loved this place. Ever since she sent Maeve to guard the Gate, she had been unable to leave the amazing little town for long. There was so much to enjoy, so many things to do. People to spy upon. Only now, she was annoyed. The other guardian had yet to show up, even after she sent her the box.

  “The little witch should be here by now,” she mumbled, and reached for her tankard. Instead of sitting on the swings overlooking the town, she was now in the corner of the pub. The Ferret’s Mott was a little, quirky pub with equally little and quirky patrons. The previous pirate celebration, The Battle of the Codpiece, had finished weeks ago, yet the pirates had not left. Instead, they had become a welcome fixture, providing entertainment constantly. How Baba loved them, and she might have a small pirate crush on Blackbeard.

  Damn, that man could pull off a beard. And a wooden leg.

  “Well, this is different.” The soft sound reached her ears before her friend, Fate, sat down next to her. “Don’t like the swings anymore?”

  “I prefer the view from here now,” Baba admitted. “So much more… tasty.” She almost purred as Blackbeard walked in, limping slightly from the wooden leg but somehow making it look like a strut.

  “Oh, man. Seriously?”

  “Shush, woman, I'm ogling. It needs my full attention.”

  “Bloody hell,” Fate groaned, but smiled up at the small waitress who placed another tankard on the table at the wave of Baba’s hand.

  “Go on, take a swig,” Baba encouraged, as she lifted her own tankard, all the while keeping a steady eye locked on the pirate.

  She couldn't help it. He had all the things she currently found attractive— minus the ghost issue. But hey, she could look. She just couldn’t fondle, grab or lick. But she had learned her lesson. Sometimes the odd fondle or grab could end up in a century-long relationship needing a magical restraining order to end it.

  Oh, those were the days, she thought.

  “Why are you still here?” Fate asked, taking a gulp of her beer— before she spat it out and started to cough. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Ale,” Baba answered with a grin. “It puts hairs on your chest.”

  “I don’t want fucking hairs on my chest,” Fate snapped, and placed the tankard back onto the table and pushed it further away from her.

  “We are here because my little Lara Croft wannabe hasn't shown up yet,” Baba stated, and tilted her head— just as Blackbeard bent over to adjust the strap on his wooden leg. “Damn, that arse.”

  “Focus,” Fate snapped, and clicked her fingers in front of Baba's face.

  “She received the box and, as yet, has not appeared.”

  “Did the box say, come straight away?”

  “No.”

  “Did it say, come quick before disaster strikes?”

  “No.”

  “Then what did it say?”

  “Baba took a breath and then recited the small poem that had been placed within the box. Using her poshest voice, she intoned,

  “Isabeau Dragonsong Moonchild,

  Daughter of Blossom, witch of the three,

  A new task for you, a mission to be.

  A guardian you are, it's there in your blood,

  Follow your heart, don't worry all will be good.

  Kracken’s Hole is the home you forgot,

  A stranger you are not.

  Make haste, dear witch, you will see,

  As I have said, blessed be.”

  “Was that it?”

  “Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “How is she supposed to know to come straight away with that Shakespearean shite?”
/>   “It's got haste in it, and it's not Shakespeare.”

  “It rhymes, and haste means jack shit.” Fate rubbed a hand down her face. “You need to leave this town more, woman.”

  “But I like it here.”

  “I know you do, but you have responsibilities.”

  Baba Yaga sighed. And there lay the crux of things. There were times, every now and then, when she wanted to just be a woman ogling a man's arse and not some supreme being with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  “So, big girl panties up. No more dicking about.”

  Nodding, Baba stood and walked around the table. Before leaving the pub, she glanced back at Blackbeard, a sigh leaving her lips.

  “Oh, but what an arse.”

  The weather once outside the tomb was not what Isabeau would call nice. Sticky, moist, clammy— all were apt words to describe the Amazonian climate and then some. A deluge of rain had only just stopped, leaving the ground a mud-caked assault course. Bas had it fine. If he didn’t ride on her shoulder, he was in the trees— although the possibility of snakes had him hugging her neck like he was an anaconda.

  “Bas, let up a bit.”

  “I do not want to get eaten, Izzy. Those long, slimy murder worms better not come near me.”