Bewitching Belle Read online

  Contents

  Other works by Debra Kristi:

  Dedication

  Quote

  Gifted Girls Series

  Introduction

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  From The Author

  Meet The Author

  Acknowledgments

  Bewitching Belle (The Gifted Girl Series, Book Two)

  Copyright © 2020 by Debra Kristi

  All rights reserved. Published by Ghost Girl Publishing, LLC. www.GhostGirlPublishing.com

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

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900967

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942191-29-2 / eBook ISBN: 978-1-942191-28-5

  Cover design by Fantasy Book Design

  Professional editing by Eden Plantz

  Bewitching Belle, 1st ed.

  Visit the author: http://www.debrakristi.com/

  Created with Vellum

  Other works by Debra Kristi:

  THE BALANCE BRINGER CHRONICLES

  Becoming: The Balance Bringer

  Awakening: The Balance Bringer

  Empowering: The Balance Bringer

  The First Balance Bringer

  MOORIGAD DRAGON COLLECTION

  Moorigad

  CURSED ANGEL COLLECTION

  Blood Promise: Watchtower 7

  THE GIFTED GIRL SERIES

  Magical Miri: Gifted Girls Book One

  Bewitching Belle: Gifted Girls Book Two

  Nowhere Nara: Gifted Girls Book Three

  Clever Chloe: Gifted Girls Book Four

  Fatal Freya: Gifted Girls Book Five

  For Alana and Ryelee, and their ever bright futures

  .

  “Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself.”

  — Charlie Chaplin

  This series was inspired by my crazy life and/or the wonderful, magickal influences upon my life (friends and family). I suspect there’s something in each individual story that needs to be read, or I wouldn't have been pushed to write them the way that I have. I hope you enjoy the adventure!

  I invite you to visit The Gifted Girls Series on Facebook, where they share witchy humor, spell tips, and more.

  https://www.facebook.com/GiftedGirlsBookSeries/

  Introduction

  By Belle

  It’s the start of 1997, and square pizza is a thing. So are body and face glitter, fuzzy keychains, troll pencil toppers, and butterfly hair clips. Cell phones no longer look like bricks, but I have yet to get one. Mom says my personal pager will suffice. I told her, the day will come when pay phones will be difficult to find. She doesn’t believe me, but give it time; she’ll see.

  I want to rock the “Rachel” hairstyle like Tyra Banks, but no matter what I do, my hair tends to resemble an untamed Diana-Ross do. So… I decided to stop fighting the inevitable, and I now own the look. When it comes to fashion, I’m generally not at the front edge of the trends, but I do enjoy my chunky hush puppies. They are rather comfy.

  My current favorite television shows are now Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and 3rd Rock from the Sun. Both are fun and rather magical. Last year hosted one of the best movies with Will Smith in Independence Day. I have high hopes for him in his upcoming flick, Men in Black.

  Globally, there are a few things worthy of note. Prince Charles and Princess Diana are getting a divorce. Clinton has been re-elected as president. OJ Simpson is on trial again. This time in civil court. NASA launched the Mars Pathfinder, intended for the planet for which it is named. Some sort of mad cow disease has England scrambling. And scientists claim to have cloned their first sheep. Personally, I’m not so sure that last one is a good thing.

  Good or bad, this is definitely going to be a year for the history books.

  Chapter One

  Spices and herbs swirl through the air, around my head, and slam into the paper. The tangy scent of pepper tickles my nose, and sentences magickly scribble across the once blank page.

  “Did I just catch you cheating on your homework?” Mom limps into the room and makes a beeline for the coffeemaker, her cane thumping against the linoleum floor.

  “Um, no?” Open herb jars set upon the kitchen wall shelves rattle and wiggle, settling into place, and any remaining spices drop into the containers. I shove my homework paper into my open science book and slam it shut. “Is it really cheating if the magick pulled the information from my own subconscious?”

  “Is that what was happening?” Mom asks.

  Since we moved from the French Quarter to Algiers two years ago, I’ve been allowed to explore my kitchen magick and grow my own witch’s garden without complaint from Mom. I’m not sure if my magickal exploration freedom is because of her guilt, her depression, or a change in attitude spurred by all that happened to force the move. Prior to Algiers, we lived with Mom’s boyfriend, Caleb, until he tried to kill us. Trapped us in the house and set it ablaze. His goal was to burn us alive. Evil. The place, his place, was destroyed, and the man, arrested. Made quite the headline, but he didn’t get us. Oh no. We overcame.

  “Yes,” I say, insisting the answers written are my own and not given freely of the universe.

  Mom pushes the button on the coffee machine, setting it to brew. A chorus of hisses and plops rolls into action, and she turns to face me. “Why wasn’t your work completed over the weekend?”

  “You know why,” I blurt. “I was busy helping the school finish their float entry.”

  “Mardi Gras?” Mom leans her cane against the counter and pulls a coffee cup from the cabinet.

  “Duh.”

  “You don’t need to be so rude.”

  “Sorry,” I say, lowering my head.

  On the table, beside my science book, lies a fancy five-by-eight wedding invitation. My sister’s wedding invitation. A lifetime commitment, spending the rest of your days with one person, the same one person. It’s a forever sentence. One I doubt I’ll ever be able to make.

  I tap the edge of the card with my fingernail and send it scooting across the table.

  My sister Miri has been dating the same guy, Phillip, for several years now, but they’re still young and there is much life to be experienced. It’s her first year out of high school, for gosh sakes! Why would she want to rush to the altar?

  Unless… I chew on my nail and stare at the invite. Unless she’s pregnant. I suck back a breath.

  Ohmygosh! That’s exactly it!

  Miri is racing her blooming baby bump to the altar because
she’s prego. Holy burping black cat! A vision of her holding a baby and standing at Phillip’s side spreads across my inner eye. My chest warms, as does the desire to help her bless her soon-to-be family. Auntie Belle, my inner voice sings. A tiny smile creeps across my face.

  “I see you’re staring at the invitation again,” Mom says, pulling me back to the now, but the thought of babies continues to bounce around my mind.

  “What?” I jerk and snap to my mom, then glance between her and the invite. “Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about what I should get her. Maybe some birthing beads.”

  “Birthing beads.” Mom’s voice pitches and she startles, sloshing coffee from her mug.

  “Did I say birthing? I meant blessing. Blessing beads.” I attempt to cover. “Total brain fart. Sorry. How’s the leg doing?” I ask as a diversion attempt. She merely huffs in response, be it to my question, my attempt, or my slip—I can’t say.

  But I honestly want to know about my mom’s leg. Some days, it bothers her more than others. The issue is in her foot, and it started shortly after our escape from Caleb’s burning home. She landed on it wrong, and now she experiences severe arthritis in the morning and at night when it gets cold. Sometimes, like this morning, she requires the assistance of a cane.

  Using two hands, Mom holds her mug of coffee at her breast, leans back against the counter, and closes her eyes. Her shoulders are drooped. Her entire demeanor appears defeated or depressed. She takes a sip of her coffee and snaps her gaze on me. “Learn from your sister’s mistakes, Belle, and make better decisions.”

  “Stop it, Mom.” My inner muscles are fighting between walking away or defending my sister. I cross my arms and heave a sigh. “Miri doesn’t make any more mistakes than the rest of us. You need to stop blaming her for Caleb and the fire. She was not the mastermind behind any of that. She was a victim just like us.”

  Mom drops her head. Falls silent. I press my fingers to my lips and internally cuss.

  Why did I do that? Why did I say his name?

  Ever since the night of the fire, the mere mention of Caleb has been some sort of a trigger for Mom. Although she won’t admit it. I suspect she blames herself, and that guilt drops her into an unresponsive state of depression.

  “Mom?” She doesn’t respond. I push to a stand and cross the kitchen, shake her shoulder. “Mom?”

  No change.

  The phone rings. Abandoning my mom reactivation attempt, I answer the phone.

  “Hey, Belle,” Miri says. “I want to make sure you’ll be on time this Saturday. We have a set appointment and it would be rude to show up late.”

  “You can count on me,” I reply.

  “Oh good.” There’s a hint of relief in her words. “I don’t want to decide on a cake flavor without your input.” She pauses. “Mike will be joining us, by the way.”

  “Of course he will.” My chest hiccups with a silent giggle. “Who’s going to turn down free cake?” My voice chirps with genuine pleasure at the prospect of seeing Michael. Our family Christmas celebration was only a week and a half ago, but I don’t get enough sibling time to fill my cravings.

  “Not Mike, apparently,” she responds with a giggle.

  “Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten about our date,” I tell her. “I’m actually looking forward to it. See you then.” We say our goodbyes, and I hang the phone back on the wall.

  “I suppose you’re planning some magickal spell to bless her latest mistake? Hence the birthing beads.” She pronounces “birthing” with a bite of irritation. She limps toward the hallway, coffee mug in her free hand. I’m not sure if her mention of a mistake refers to Miri’s marriage or the thought of a baby on the way. Possibly both.

  I sigh and resign to drop any attempt at a comeback. Instead, I focus on my collection of herbs and spices lining the wall.

  “I have almost two weeks until January’s full moon.” I trace my finger along the glass jars filled with natural goodness. “Should be plenty of time to collect and bless some beads, as well as find the ideal gift for a new mini Miri or mini Phillip.”

  Mom stops in her tracks and spins back to me. “A baby?” Her voice pitches. “Are you certain?”

  My mouth pops open, and I suck back my breath. The oxygen lodges in my throat. My hand flattens against my chest. Why did I say that in front of my mom? Why did I give my suspicions away regarding a possible baby?

  The mug tumbles free from my mom’s hold. Her favorite coffee cup crashes to the kitchen floor, smashing into pieces and splashing hot liquid in all directions.

  Once more, she falls into a reactionless void.

  Stepping around the coffee-splattered mess on the floor, I guide Mom down the hall to her room and to a seated position on the bed. My lips remain sealed through the entire process, holding back any further unnecessary slips.

  “Baby or no baby, things will work out fine for Miri,” I say in an attempt to smooth over the damage I’ve dealt. I tap Mom’s hand, remove the cane from her hold, and lower her to her pillow. “Why don’t you rest this morning.” I kiss her forehead. “I need to get to school, and I don’t want you doing anything strenuous while I’m gone.

  Mom’s eyes are half closed and her muscles are limp, giving me no resistance.

  “I should have set a better example.” Her voice sounds a state away.

  “Stop fretting over a past that can’t be changed. We all make mistakes. The important thing is that we don’t let those mistakes define us.” I stand and squeeze her hand. “Remember, I’m meeting up with my friends after school today, so I’ll be home a bit later than usual.” We usually get together on Mondays, but today is a special gathering for the new moon.

  Mom shows no signs of having heard a word I’ve spoken. My heart sinks.

  “Okay, Mom.” With a frown permeating my soul, I kiss her cheek. “Love you,” I whisper and turn to leave for school. Brave the cold and fog.

  The school day passes with the speed of a never-ending, snooze-fest-worthy commercial. The rain does nothing to lift my spirits. The life within me reignites when I dash from campus and head towards James’s house for group discussion. The discussion group is actually a small, three-person coven, but since I have spread my roots in Algiers, making the place my home, that small coven has become my extended family. It’s me, Jeanna, and James, and we are stumbling through our magickal learning process together. We share do’s and don’ts we’ve each learned within the craft. Without a proper mentor, it’s the best thing we’ve got. If we run into a serious craft crisis—which has yet to happen—my grandma will step in and help.

  Moving up to the front of James’s house, I raise my hand to knock, and the door flies open before my skin can connect with the wood.

  “Saw you through the window.” Jeanna points to the large front window. She has her hair pulled back, emphasizing her darker roots. Blonde threads streak the length of the ponytail springing from the tight knot at the top of her head.

  “You got here fast.” I tug on my backpack strap. I came straight from school and didn’t run into either James or Jeanna on my walk. On Mondays, I usually find them waiting for me by the school parking lot. After not finding them there today, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Of course, it’s Wednesday, and not Monday.

  She grabs my arm and yanks me inside. Closes the door. “For no given reason, we got let out of P.E. early. Guess coach had better things to do. Not that I’m complaining.” She drags me toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” James says from someplace unseen in the kitchen. Jeanna and I round the corner, bringing him into view. He’s setting out three black mugs for our new-moon tea. “Since we got out early, Jeanna and I had time to discuss the results from our last spell. Are we correct in assuming the results haven’t been all that splendid?”

  My body rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “It would appear that an emotional unbinding is not what my mom needs.”

  “So, we’ll try something else,” Jeanna says.

  “Tot
ally will,” James blurts. “We are not giving up. We shall be relentless in our determination.” He pours the water from the teapot into each of the awaiting mugs. Pushes two across the counter toward Jeanna and me. “Made the tea myself,” he says. “Used all ingredients from my own garden.”

  “I would expect nothing less.” Jeanna raises her mug, blows across the surface, and takes a sip. Closes her eyes and sighs.

  I take a sip from my own mug. “Is that honey I taste?”

  “Yeah. I added a touch of raw honey after allowing all the ingredients to steep for about fifteen minutes.” He raises his mug to his lips and sips.

  “It’s delish.” I motion toward the back door. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” James leads the way, and we all head outside. Take a seat on the back porch. Sit in silence with our tea and our thoughts, contemplating our wishes for the current new moon. This is our time of reflection and introspection. Each new moon, I focus my intentions for the coming month of moon phases. Center my thoughts around my mom’s physical and emotional state. So far, nothing has improved her state.

  I sip my tea, close my eyes, and listen to the drome of the earth. The pitter-patter of the barely-there rain. It’s a hypnotic, soothing rhythm.