A Witch, A Glitch, and A Dog Read online

  A Witch, A Glitch, and

  A Dog

  J.E. LEZAH

  Book Formatting by Derek Murphy @Creativindie

  A Witch, A Glitch, and A Dog

  Copyright © 2018 by J.E.Lezah.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

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

  For information contact :

  fb.me/JELezah

  Book and Cover design by Joan Hazel

  ISBN: 9781730894404

  Second Edition: November 2018

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  1

  A chill rushed across Aldara Hasting’s shoulders. Without conscious thought, she reached behind her to pull her shawl from the back of her chair, and to wrap it around her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a dark shadow as it crossed from one side of her office door to the other.

  She glanced over her shoulder to where her dog, Ismarelda lay curled upon her bed, snoring gently. Surely if anything was amiss, Ismarelda would have noticed. Wouldn’t she?

  The top of Aldara’s head prickled with electrostatic energy, and she battled the urge to pat down her hair. She didn’t want the shadow to know its effect on her. “Head down and keep writing, Aldara,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t look at it.”

  This was not the first time Aldara had seen the shadow skulking about her home and office. She should confront the shadow, but she hoped, if she ignored the thing, it would go away, but it didn’t go away.

  The shadow swooped through the open French doors that lead from her office into the hallway. The figure neared the ceiling before sinking back to the floor and positioning itself inside the doorframe. There it lingered, watching her. Assessing her.

  She didn’t have time to deal with wandering spirits or bad omens right now. There was much left to do for the upcoming Charity Ball she was planning for the city hospital . Her calendar was filled with menu finalizations, band auditions, and a gazillion other minute details.

  Her foot bounced up and down in frustration. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she mumbled as the click, click, click of the computer keys came to a halt beneath her fingers. This was her domain and she wasn’t about to let some coward of a spirit intimidate her. She scrunched her eyes tightly shut, not truly wanting to see a ghost manifest in front of her. Still she called out to the darkened form. “Whoever or whatever you are, I demand you to show yourself.”

  “I beg your pardon?” a masculine voice returned.

  Aldara’s eyes flew open to find her assistant, Giles Baxter, his shoulder resting against the doorframe where moments before the shadow had been. A crease formed between Aldara’s brows. “Were you just… oh, never mind,” she said.

  Maybe she should ask Giles about the shadow figure. Surely she was not the only one to see it hovering nearby. Of course, he would probably shrug off her question by telling her it was merely one of her ancestors popping by to say “Hello”.

  It often amazed her at how easily a mortal, such as he, could accept the unusual occurrences that happen in a witch’s home daily. She thought it only fitting that if she were to work the mortal realm, she should have a mortal assistant.

  But it couldn’t be just any mortal. It had to be one who could handle the unusual without freaking out or passing judgments. The day she interviewed people for the position, Aldara made sure to throw in bits of magic here and there. Not anything too over the top, but enough to gage his reactions.

  The moment she met Giles, Aldara knew he would be the perfect assistant. First and foremost, her familiar, Ismarelda seemed to adore him. Giles was also the first non-witch she interviewed who didn’t flinch at the first sign of the paranormal. No matter what she had thrown at him over the past seven years he took it all in stride.

  Even the day she came out of the broom closet to him as a witch, he just shrugged and said, “So?”

  “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “Yes. I did,” she said, hoping her tone didn’t give away the fact she was lying. “Do you know where I placed the Collins file?”

  “The Collins file?” he asked.

  “Yes. The Collins file,” Aldara did her best not to sound as irritable as she felt.

  Some would consider her a bit obsessive compulsive. Her files were organized by month, date and client’s name, as well as color coded by type of event. She never asked for his help with something as mundane as finding a file when, with a snap of her fingers, it could levitate from the cabinet onto her desk. No wonder Giles looked at her like she had grown two heads. He strolled across the room to the file cabinet behind her desk.

  Aldara spun in her chair, her face coming perfectly in line with the view of Giles’s derriere as he bent at the waist to rummage through the file drawer. For a moment, the contents of her brain flew away as her tongue turned to dust. She didn’t remember his butt being so well defined before.

  From out of nowhere, the image of a shirtless Giles popped into her head. With the plume of her quill pen, she followed the mid-line of his chest and abdomen as he lay tied to her bed. Sucking in a sharp breath, Aldara pushed back from her desk, almost rolling over Ismarelda’s tail.

  “Aldara?”

  At the sound of her name, Aldara’s gaze shot upward. She felt the rush of heat in her cheeks as the word “busted” came to mind. “Huh?” she squeaked.

  “Is this the file you wanted?”

  “Well look at that.” She smiled up at him, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “Yes, look at that,” he repeated dryly.

  She despised his taking that tone with her. It was like he was saying “nanner nanner” without saying it.

  “Your mind somewhere else today?” he asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then I’m sure this won’t help.” He thrust an envelope toward her.

  She would recognize the eggplant colored sealing wax from ten feet away. Aldara swallowed down the lump growing in the back of her throat at the sight of the aged parchment. “Father,” she whispered, unable to stop ogling the missive in Giles’s hand. If she was receiving a letter from her father, it couldn’t be good.

  “You open it,” she ordered.

  “Me? You can’t be serious.” His voice squeaked a bit.

  Ah-ha! She thought. I knew my father scared him. “I’m very serious. It’s your job to open my mail.”

  “No. It’s my job to open the mail for Enchanted Events, Incorporated, not your personal mail, and especially not letters from your parents.” He placed the letter carefully on her desk.

  “Chicken.”

  “I shan’t dignify that with a rebuttal.” He pushed the letter closer.

  “You’re my assistant. So, assist me.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms politely in front of her.

  Giles took the seat opposite her. “You know, you only use that title when it’s something you don’t want to do.”

  With a snort of derision, she decided now would be an appropriate time to take a closer look at the Collins file. It was the best way to keep from staring at Giles as he read the letter.

  “Oh, very well.” Giles swiped the letter from her desk.

  Uneasiness churned in the pit of Aldara’s stomach with the “pop” of the wax seal. Her father always hated her decision to live
and work in the world of mortals, but Aldara wanted to be her own witch. She wanted a life that wasn’t tied to being the daughter of the Regent Supreme of the Witches Grand Conclave.

  She despised the way other members doted and fawned over her and her siblings solely to win favor with her father. She would much rather deal with temperamental hosts and bridezillas any day than she had two-faced witches, which made her decision to work in the world of mortals an easy one.

  When most mortal children were pretending to be witches, Aldara was a witch pretending to be a party planner. She didn’t understand why she wanted to be one, she just did. Her desire flummoxed her father, and he would give her exhaustingly long lectures on why her chosen career wasn’t the best use of a witch’s gifts.

  Aldara’s mother assured her husband their daughter was going through a phase, and that one day she would grow out of it. Oh, how naïve her mother had been, it was kind of sad since that was the one and only time Aldara could remember her mother being wrong.

  “Eh hem.”

  Oops. She had almost forgotten about Giles. “Well? What does it say?”

  “Your presence is being requested at the 500th Celebration of the Gathering of the Clans of the Central Confederation of Witches.”

  Aldara breathed a sigh of relief. “Is that all? You know what to do. I’ll send the standard thanks, but Aldara’s busy response.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me say your presence is demanded.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Actually, I don’t. In fact, I believe this is the first time I have used those words. Here,” Giles said, shoving the parchment across her desk. “See for yourself.”

  She mumbled through the top of the invitation. “Looks pretty standard to me.” She pushed the letter back to Giles.

  “Read the bottom.” He pushed the letter back.

  “The bottom,” she sighed and drew the paper closer. “Aldara my darling daughter,” she began aloud. “This is not a request, you will be in attendance. Love, Mom.”

  Aldara dropped her head into her hands. “Clan celebrations last a whole week. I have deadlines to meet. It’s not like I can whip up a kick-ass party out of thin air.”

  She more felt than saw Giles raise a single dark eyebrow at her statement. “Okay,” she conceded. “Maybe I can, but that’s not the point. The point is…. Wait, what was the point?” She looked to Giles who shrugged at her question. “My point. My point…oh yes. These things take time and patience. It’s not easy dealing with egotistical chefs or irate elephants. I don’t have time to attend a party…gathering…whatever.”

  “Maybe you should check your calendar first,” Giles suggested. “You might not be free that week.”

  “You’re right.” With a snap of her fingers, Aldara’s day planner appeared on her desk, flipping open to the week in question. “Ah… see.” She pointed a well-manicured nail at the page. “I have an event that week. Can’t go. Enough said.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  Aldara noticed the way his eyebrows quirked upwards in the center. “Is something the matter?”

  “I would have sworn you were free that week.”

  Acid churned in the pit of Aldara’s stomach as she flipped the pages of her planner back and forth. The words ‘Gathering of the Clans’ were emblazoned across the days.

  “Problem?”

  “How is that possible? Someone already put the gathering in my planner. Rat feathers!”

  “Rat feathers, indeed.”

  Aldara’s lips pinched together. Giles’s tone was a wee too haughty for her liking. It would serve him right to make him go with her. She tapped the tip of her quill on the desk pad. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump helped her think. Of course, the only thing she could think of was the sheer look of terror that would cross Giles’s face if she told him he would have to attend the Conclave with her.

  A wicked grin curved her lips as she searched for the best way to break the news to him, unfortunately, the phone rang before she had her chance. Dang it, she thought, jerking her hand back as Giles snatched the phone from her.

  “Thank you for calling Enchanted Events, where we make the impossible possible. This is Giles, how may I help you? Yes, Ms. Storm. I am acquainted with your show. One moment, please. I’ll see if she is available.” Placing the phone on hold, he handed the receiver to Aldara.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Tempest Storm.”

  “Tempest Storm? The reporter?”

  Giles nodded.

  Tempest Storm was the witching realm’s version of Oprah Winfrey. Any witch who was anyone had been interviewed by her. She was known as a take no prisoners and leave everyone crying kind of gal, and that included the wizards.

  “What does she want?”

  “One would assume to interview you.”

  “Me? Why me? I’m not her style.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Right. Where are you going?” She asked taking the offered phone.

  “To fix lunch. You’re a big girl. You don’t need me for this.” He said over his shoulder as he walked from the room.

  Aldara watched as Ismarelda trotted after him. Sometimes she wondered if the dog liked him more.

  Releasing a deep breath, she deactivated the hold button. “This is Aldara Hastings. How may I help you?”

  2

  With swan-like grace, Keene Hastings descended the staircase of Hastings Hall. Gliding on air was an impressive gift to have, at least, he thought so. But as Regent Supreme of the High Council of the Confederation of Witches, it was his job to inspire awe, and let’s face it, in a world where everyone could perform magic, dazzling an audience was a rather difficult task.

  “There you are, darling,” Magnie, his wife called up to him.

  Stopping before her, he took Magnie’s hands, kissing the tops of her fingers. “I’m on my way to meet with Delano.”

  “You work too hard, my love. Is it something that might possibly wait until later?”

  “A gathering this important requires a great deal of planning. All will be over soon, and life shall go back to normal.”

  “You shouldn’t be taking all of this on by yourself,” she said.

  “And how would you suggest I do that?”

  “You could hire an event organizer.”

  Keene smiled at his wife’s suggestion. Once again she was trying to find a common ground between he and his daughter. “No, Magnie. I’m not asking Aldara to help with the Gathering.”

  “And why not? She’s your daughter and the perfect one to call.”

  “It would smack of nepotism.” Keene regretted his argument almost before he said it.

  “Excuse me, but how did you become Regent Supreme? Was it not by nepotism?”

  “That’s different. Regents are chosen by familial ascension.”

  Magnie squared her jaw. “I’m not seeing the difference.”

  Keen sighed. This was not a discussion he wanted to have now. Not with a council member in his office.

  “I need to go, my love. Delano waits.” He took the last step, making a sharp right turn into the hallway. He could feel the daggers of his wife’s gaze upon his back.

  “Magnie,” he turned to his wife. “After this is over, we should take a vacation. It would be nice to get away for a bit.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  Keene thought for a moment. The destination mattered little to him, as long as he was away from the Council.

  “I shall leave the details in your lovely hands, my sweet. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Magnie crinkled her nose in displeasure. “You shouldn’t trust him.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of what is best for the council and our people.”

  She went to him, hugging him tight about the waist. “You are what’s best for our people.”

  No matter how many years they had been married, Magnie’s love and devotion sti
ll humbled and amazed him.

  “Delano is a good witch even though his focus may be a bit skewed.”

  “Ha!”

  Keene pressed his lips to the center of her forehead. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  Ancestral portraits looked down their noses at him as he walked through the Hall of Ancestors toward his office. That included his father, the last Regent Supreme. In a few years, it would be Keene’s turn to step down, allowing his oldest child to take his place. Unfortunately, his oldest child preferred to further parlor tricks for diamages, the witching realms name for mortals, over serious magic to help her own kind.

  It wasn’t as if her own kind didn’t need someone to plan events, as Magnie had reminded him. After all, hand fastings occurred in the Witching Realm just as weddings took place in that of the mortals.

  “That’s what I get for listening to my mother-in-law," he mumbled under his breath as he opened the door. Keene stifled the urge to moan. Delano Fewahl was already waiting.

  Dressed in shades of cream and white, Delano looked as if he would be more at home on the sands of the Sahara than living in the mountains of Hungary.

  Half the time, Keene expected to see the wizard parading through the streets of Hexestadt on a camel. So far, that hadn’t happened, but there’s always tomorrow. Then again, Delano had a good seventy years on him, and there was no telling what the wizard had done in his youth.

  “Regent Supreme, so good of you to see me on such short notice.” Delano bowed. “I know your time is precious with the gathering so near.”

  Keene waved his hand as if Delano’s words were a physical thing to be pushed aside. “I always have time for dear friends such as yourself.” He took a seat, motioning for Delano to join. “Care for something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

  “No. Thank you,” Delano said. “My call today is purely business. Another time perhaps.”

  Delano never came to Shadowfield for anything other than business.