Witches Anonymous by Misty Evans
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, 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.
Too bad I couldn’t cast a spell and enchant them all,
but I’d sworn an oath to stay clean. 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.
Human.
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. 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 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.”
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. “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.”
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?
