A Witch's Harem Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  A Witch’s Harem

  Reverse Harem Fantasy

  Savannah Skye

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Introduction

  Sadie Matheson is a bad witch. Not like a cool bad witch, who kicks ass and takes names while being evil in the process. But like a crummy, stinky, inept witch who will never live up to the Matheson family name or the greatness of her mother or grandmother. When another great spell goes awry and she turns her dachshund into a parrot who still thinks he’s a dog, she decides maybe it’s better to leave Salem and give up witching altogether…until the O’Sullivan boys come along and turn her life upside down.

  An ancient prophecy? Check.

  Four, sexy warlock heroes with giant…egos and even bigger hearts? Check.

  A book you won’t want to put down? Ohhh yeah…

  Chapter 1

  “Cinnamon and taro root. Yes,” I said to myself. “Wait…no.” I paused, self-doubt creeping in.

  Stop it, Sadie. Just think, for crying out loud.

  “Yes. At least I’m pretty sure…” With a sigh, I stooped over the open book on my workroom table. Both ingredients were indeed on the list, yet a lingering sense of doubt remained.

  And so, I checked it three more times.

  Once I was perfectly certain, I dragged over a stepladder to the tidy shelves along the back wall. Hundreds of glass jars gleamed in the merry firelight. Each one a different size, shape and color, they were all affixed with a gold label in my curly handwriting. It was a satisfying sight. Everything in its place. Smiling, I easily located the taro next to the tansy and tarragon.

  Clambering back down, I lined up the taro with the rest of the ingredients. Then I checked the book again. As I did so, I idly spun my fingers across the table’s glossy surface, tracing the tree knots and whorls underneath the lacquer. You could almost feel the soul of the old Scotch pine in this wood. Perhaps I loved this table more than any sane witch should, but it had been one of my first big purchases for my shop’s workroom.

  How I still savored those two words. My shop.

  The workroom, of course, was a proper one for a witch. On the wall opposite the shelves was a great tree branch, from which all manner of glass bobbles hung. Some were small planetariums, others held candles or keys or marbles. Curving along the top was a great chain of everlasting flowers, a shop-warming present from an indulgent aunt, which continued up and around the ceiling. Here, stars and moons hung off silver wire, along with twisted stalks of plants.

  Below, candles spluttered in the center of the table, more for ambiance, as there were several floor lamps throwing warm light across the room. Two windows peered east, out onto an empty street corner, where nothing but lonely leaves blew by the roots of a slumbering oak. In between these windows was a small fireplace, where a cauldron hung, bubbling at the ready for me.

  Since the table took up most of the room, there was no other large furniture except for a cushioned rocking chair in the corner by the mantle and an end table heaped with books. Around and under the table was a palace of pillows for Samwise.

  Samwise, my sweet dog, who was trotting after me with his signature waddle as I retrieved the cinnamon. Big brown eyes watched as I climbed up to get that top-shelf jar, which was nearly empty. Most of it had gone to a delicious apple-spice cider recipe earlier in the month, but thankfully I only needed a teaspoon for today’s concoction. Sam’s tail thumped the floor and he let out a mournful snort as I wobbled on the climb down.

  “I’m all right, darling,” I said, reaching down to scratch his ears as I passed. I didn’t know what I’d do without him sometimes.

  Referring to the book once more, I was relieved to see all I needed now were mermaid scales and owl feathers. Glancing around the workroom, I recalled my personal inventory had run out and I’d have to dip into the shop’s.

  Charming as my workroom was, it had nothing on my pride and joy, my shop.

  A squat arched front door, with a mullioned window set like a round eye, peered out onto the narrow side street. Painted a rich green, it had a big and round gold doorknob sunk into the middle of it. (I’d always thought Hobbit fans would appreciate that.) Two bay windows flanked the door, the glass spotless, inveigling passers-by to peer in at what was offered in The Witch’s Keep.

  If one was curious, open-minded and had a love for the fantastical, that was plenty. On the right side, there were several round tables, with artful arrangements of mystical objects. Everything from crystals to crystal balls to charms. Beyond, bookshelves lined the walls. Wrapping around to the counter, they were stuffed with everything from stories to spell books to practical magic guides.

  Dreamcatchers, moon talismans and paper chandeliers made up of different creatures hung in front of two round windows. The creatures were everything from butterflies to phoenixes to dragons to cats. I was sure once people got wind of them, they’d be a hit.

  Meanwhile, on the left, were a series of old-fashioned, leaf-patterned screens. Set around a table draped in a lovely, deep and shimmery violet material, it was stitched over with hundreds of moons and constellations from skies of far-off lands. It was a kind of heirloom, only I was the only one who’d wanted it when Great-Gam had passed away.

  Here, at this table, if a customer were so inclined – I could peer at the lines of their palm and discern their fortune. Hint at adventures. Forewarn danger. Maybe see great love stories unfold.

  Looking at the table, my eyes drifted to the old-fashioned pumpkin clock by the door and I stifled a sigh. Half-hour to five and not one single customer today.

  Guess even with the touch of magic in the air, Ordinaries weren’t so inclined to stop by.

  Moving to the front window, I peered out and studied the street. Empty of people, as usual, the cobblestones were covered in a thick pile of dusty amber leaves. To the west, if I craned my neck, I could see a strip of sunset sky above the old church.

  This time, I let myself sigh.

  By Grimilda’s chin. It was Halloween in Salem, Massachusetts. This strange, seaside town full of dark history for magic folk, and at the same time, a new age for them. Those murderous, close-minded fools of the 1600’s would turn over in their graves if they saw what it was today.

  Salem, a free-spirited, open-minded community, and supernatural stomping ground.

  Only a few streets over, the sidewalks would be packed with tourists and locals alike, all seeking out a slice of the arcane. Honestly, I’d thought today, of all days, I’d have a few curious souls who’d wander down here. Didn’t people come here for adventure?

  Damn Boston real estate prices – this was as close to downtown as I could
afford.

  No, I told myself, you know you would have bought this little place regardless.

  Shaking my head, I seized up what I needed and hurried back to the workroom. Dashing around, checking the book every other step, I began to add things to the cauldron. Soon, I was stirring feverishly and humming This is Halloween under my breath.

  As I was about to add the last two ingredients, a sound from out front caused my entire body to seize with excitement.

  The jingle of bells over the door.

  Not unlike coins in a pocket or the chimes of a Fairy wedding, it promised a good Halloween at last. Pushing my sweaty hair out of my face, I wiped my hands and flew out to the front.

  Behind the counter, I stopped short and repressed a groan with difficulty.

  Standing in my shop was not a customer, but the last person I wanted to see.

  “Mother, hello,” I said, trying to smile even though it hurt my cheeks. “What brings you–?”

  “Are these Goblin baubles?” my mother demanded, ignoring me. Her nostrils flared as she picked up a small metal trinket. “Honestly, Sadie, you’re peddling the playthings of the Netherfolk?”

  I winced. Pem Lanslieg, a Goblin metal and glassworker, had persuaded me to take it. I couldn’t say no to her, she was like four thousand years old and her family was legendary. Apparently, some grandfather of Pem’s had bitten off the ear of a famous prince and a distant cousin may have been Rumpelstiltskin. Held in my mother’s manicured hand, however, the Lanslieg star looked like battered tin. Most beautiful things, unfortunately, looked woebegone in Delia Matheson’s presence.

  Wearing a black dress from the Chanel Fall line, my mother was tall, elegant and beautiful. No fat would ever be found on her perfect frame, no sir. Green eyes snapped at me and she shook back her hair, a glorious red wave falling to her waist.

  Every inch a Matheson witch.

  Meanwhile, I barely came up to my mother’s shoulder and attempted to hide my curves in ankle-length skirts and flowy peasant shirts. This morning, too, I’d thought I didn’t look half bad.

  But as Delia’s scornful eyes swept me from head to toe, every stitch became crooked, common and pitiful. I was no longer a young witch with a flair for the bohemian and adorable dimples.

  No, I was nothing but a frumpy, frizzy mess of a disappointing daughter and a woeful witch.

  Standing there under Delia’s upturned nose, I wished I’d thought to wear something different. Or at the very least, black. My shoulders slumped and Samwise instantly came galloping out from the workroom. Spotting my mother, the dachshund’s back humped up and he growled, showing his tiny, sharp teeth.

  “Endor’s shade, give me patience,” my mother muttered, flicking a finger at Samwise. He whimpered as a muzzle dragged his head to the floor.

  Immediately, I flew over and bent down to take it off, biting my tongue the whole time.

  “A dog as a familiar,” my mother said, rolling her cat-like eyes to the ceiling. “A dog. I mean, Sadie, child – if you wanted something exotic – get a screech owl or a lynx. A witch should have something elegant, not a wiener dog, for crying out loud.”

  In response, I patted Samwise’s head and nudged him to go into the back.

  As I straightened up, my mother huffed and asked, “Are you going to come to the coven meeting tonight? It is Halloween, dear. Or did you forget?”

  “I did not forget,” I mumbled, twisting my fingers. “But I’m not going.”

  Guilt pooled in my stomach, but I couldn’t take a night of Matheson witches swooping down on me and demanding a play-by-play of every last spell performed.

  “Circe’s cup!” my mother exclaimed, then she groaned. “Are you trying to kill me? You really need to stop with all of this nonsense – experimenting and selling foolish glimpses of magic to Ordinaries.” Her lips twisted. “You need to let me train you to be a proper witch instead of running this silly little shop. Since when does a witch need to work for money?”

  I blew out a breath and tried not to roll my eyes. I should have known better and headed Delia off. Oh, I was in for it now. Worse, I should have known this was coming.

  “As witches,” my mother said, her voice deepening and the shadows leaping up. “We take what we want. Such is the way of an apex creature in the universe. Ordinaries are just that – ordinary. They aren’t to be treated as equals, you little fool. Nor are they to be entertained by us.”

  “Mother,” I said gently and the shadows melted back to the corners. “This is my life. You cannot come in here and try to bully me into following your path. How many times do we have to have this argument…?” I stopped myself before I apologized and willed her to understand.

  An irritable sigh escaped my mother, but she desisted. “At least close early and come to dinner.” Her green eyes were flat. “It’s not like you have any customers…”

  “No, thank you,” I said firmly, ignoring the sting of her words. “You go and have a lovely evening. Tell the coven I say hello and no offense meant, but I’m quite busy. In fact, I have a spell I’m finishing up right now. So, I bid you farewell, mother.”

  Giving up, my mother swept to the door in a swirl of black and red. With a curt farewell nod, she exited, slammed the door and vanished up the street.

  Back in the workroom, I tried to shake off the encounter. First, I checked the potion’s list again. But I kept rereading the same part of the page. Trying to pull my mind back to the task, I grabbed the scale, then the feathers, and tossed them in the cauldron. With an elegant twist of my hands, I snapped my wrists and spread my fingers. A puff of smoke wheezed out and I frowned.

  Glancing around, an inkling of dismay hit me. Nothing had happened.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  Deeper and more ominous silence.

  “I did everything right,” I yelled into the cauldron.

  Suddenly, the bells jangled again and I wondered if my mother had brought reinforcements. I could not deal with my grandmother or cousins tonight. Especially after yet another failed potion. Hurrying out front, I smiled in relief when I saw it was my best friend Belinda.

  “Cheerio, love,” she said, affecting a British accent and flipping her dark hair back from her face. “Have I got some delectable news for you.”

  “Hi, Bells,” I said, coming out and hugging my pixie-like friend. She was all dark blue tones and impish smiles, but thankfully, as good a witch-friend as you could ask for.

  “Sadie Matheson, listen to this.” She grabbed my forearms. “There is a massive and totally secret Halloween party going on tonight!” Belinda loved her italics and exclamation points. “It’s at that old Haulhead House, you know, the mansion right at the edge of town…” She paused for dramatic effect. “The haunted one.”

  “Haulhead, huh?” I asked, trying to think if I knew any ghosts who hung out there.

  “Yes,” Belinda crooned. “Word is, some rich guy rented it out, decorated the place and it’s going to be so brilliant! Costumes, free drinks and free food. Should be a bloody blast.”

  “Oh,” I said, gently freeing myself from Belinda. “I’m not sure I want to go… I’m not really into parties, you know that.” Plus, I have to figure out what went wrong with that spell and there are a million other things to go do… And I had more excuses where those came from.

  Belinda’s face fell and she glanced around the shop as though to find something to convince me. Her eyebrow shot up. “Oh hey, when did you get a parrot?”

  “Huh?” I asked, turning and following her gaze. A bright blue and purple parrot was perched on an old coatrack. As we stared at it, the parrot let out a bark.

  Oh no, no… My jaw dropped. Samwise, no…

  I’d turned my beloved dog into a parrot. One that barked. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I suppressed the urge to scream or make myself disappear. Although, come to think of it, I’d probably turn myself into a troll if I tried it.

  “Ooh…” Belinda said, wincing as
she caught on. “Well, Sades, it could happen to anyone.”

  No, I thought. It would only happen to me. The Matheson muddle of a magician.

  Samwise let out a whimper and shuffled his feathers as Belinda went to look at him more closely. Watching them, I then glanced around my otherwise empty store.

  I started as it hit me. I’d been trying this for over a year now with little success.

  My life was going nowhere.

  No customers. Failed experiments. Dog was a parrot. Mean mother. Annoyed coven.

  Heart sinking, I wondered if it was time to close it all up. Throw it in as a bad job. More than that, maybe it was time to throw away my “rulebook”, as it clearly hadn’t been working for me.

  It had to be that thought that prompted my next statement.

  “I’ll go,” I heard myself say. My voice was robust and sure for once.

  Belinda whirled, clapping her hands. “Oh, girl, we’re gonna have fun tonight.”

  Silently, I vowed to do just that. To step out of my shell. It was Halloween night. If anyone should have a good time, it was a Matheson witch. Even if I was the family screw-up.

  Then, tomorrow, I was going to take a good and hard look at my life. Perhaps I was destined for the fate of an Ordinary, far away from Salem and the weight of the Matheson witches’ name.

  Sometimes the truth hurt…

  Chapter 2

  I’ll put a spell on you… And now you’re mineee!

  Bette Midler’s voice crowed through the room as Belinda danced over to me, waving a long, filmy green scarf. She tied it around my hair and fluffed out my curls. I submitted to her fussing without protest, even as I tried to flatten down the skirt of this silly costume, which kept riding higher due to the amount of taffeta under it. But then, grabbing her purse, Belinda whipped out a sparkly pink makeup case and I was hard put not to wince.