Two Minutes Past Midnight Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Jane Hinchey

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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.

  Hey! Welcome to the weird and wacky world of my imagination. I hope you enjoy your time here. If you love anything supernatural as much as I do, then you’re going to enjoy hanging out with me—at least I think you will.

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  Description

  Broom rage, failed rituals, and planted bodies…

  How in the Goddess’s name did I get stuck at the Bewildered Retirement Home in Hexville, Kentucky? One word. Baba Yaga. Actually, that’s two, and it’s a name, not a word, but whatever.

  I thought my stint as a magic Bounty Hunter was over, but it appears Baba Yaga has other ideas. I can do as she suggests and investigate the shenanigans going down in the Bewitched Retirement Home where paranormals prep for the supernatural afterlife, or I can find myself enjoying some quality me-time back in the pokey.

  Easy choice.

  Turns out someone has been planting bodies in Flora, the plant Goddess’s garden, and she’s not happy about it. And who can blame her, although I have to say her hydrangeas are looking incredible!

  But Witches aren’t the only residents of Bewildered. Now I’m up to my neck in fury harpies, chaos fairies, slayer elves, and Bog Dragons. And while they may sound terrifying, watching them putter around on mobility scooters and walking frames, I’m hard-pressed to think any one of them is capable of murder. Until they all confess!

  Welcome to Twinkerhell, where wands have a life of their own, cauldrons create indiscriminate potions, and storytime takes on a whole new meaning.

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  Meet magical Bounty Hunter, Midnight, in book two of the Midnight Chronicles and part of the Magic & Mayhem Universe. Full of mystery, romance, and laughs, this book is suitable for lovers of cozy mystery and paranormal women’s fiction.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Author Note

  About Jane

  Also by Jane Hinchey

  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!

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  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/

  1

  Mornings. You either loved ‘em or hated ‘em. For some, they herald a new day, bright and sparkly and refreshingly new. For others, it’s that time of day when the events of the night before replay in your mind with a kaleidoscope of color and sound, complete with horrifying imagery and soundtrack to match, full of regret and poor choices. I fall into the latter category.

  Coffee in hand, I stepped out onto my front porch, squinting as the early morning sun hit me in the face, frying my retinas. Sliding my sunglasses into place, I surveyed my front garden. Summer had arrived, and I absently noted a few shrubs needed deadheading and the mulch needed re-doing. Still, all-in-all, things were in pretty good condition. Unlike myself.

  “So much for good intentions,” I said out loud, sipping my brew and trying to ignore the events of the previous evening, which were, unfortunately, seared into my brain.

  The rub of a furry body around my ankles announced Banks’s arrival. I reached down and scratched the blue-black fur of my cat familiar, somewhat comforted by his presence. Until he spoke. “Last night was full of bad decisions, huh?” he said.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Today is a new day, full of endless possibilities.” Pretty sure I could rack up a few more bad decisions before the day was over. I seemed to excel at them.

  “That’s the spirit,” he encouraged me. “Don’t let them get you down.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I pouted, sitting on the front step and nursing the hangover that was pounding behind my eyes.

  “It never is.” Banks sat next to me, eyes narrowed against the morning sun. A fly buzzed past, and he lazily swatted at it.

  “It was those darn Hooch sisters. They’re mean.”

  “Offered to wax your vajayjay?” Banks guessed. It was no secret the buzzard shifters had been responsible for Sassy’s waxing experience. The nerve of them suggesting if I took them up on their generous offer to not only wax but bedazzle my vajayjay, then maybe I wouldn’t have such bad luck with men. My protests that I didn’t want a man fell on deaf ears.

  You see, Aunt Tilly had been kind enough to spread the word that poor spinster Midnight had finally landed herself a man. Or a roll in the sheets at least, but who knew where that could lead? Aunt Tilly can’t help herself. She’s a hopeless romantic, and having her forty-nine-year-old niece single was a situation she’d dearly love remedied. So, when I’d met a sinfully delicious homicide detective of the New Orleans PD, Jaxon Lincoln, sparks had flown, and Aunt Tilly had been beside herself with hope.

  After closing the case that had sent me to Rhalanise Bayou, Jax and I had arranged to meet at my hotel for a little… adult time. Only the Silver Fox hadn’t shown. I burned with humiliation at the hopeful messages I’d left inquiring about his whereabouts. I’d even shaved my legs, dammit, and I didn’t go to that effort
for just anyone.

  I took another sip of coffee. “Wouldn’t have killed him to send a text saying he’d been held up. Or changed his mind,” I grumbled.

  “You’re obsessing.” Banks sniffed with a bored tone, stretching onto his side, reminding me we’d had this same conversation countless times already.

  “Probably.”

  “Definitely. Guess you really liked him, huh?”

  “Pft. Hardly.” I could deny it all I liked, but the truth was Banks wasn’t wrong. I did like Jax. A little too much. And now I was back home in Assjacket, West Virginia, my brief stint as a magical Bounty Hunter behind me. Despite my vehement protests that I was relieved it was over, and I could get back to running my florist shop with Aunt Tilly, a small part of me missed the Bounty Hunter business. Though you could poke me in the eye with a red-hot poker before I’d admit it.

  “What happened with the Hooch sisters?” Banks asked, rolling onto his back, exposing his belly to the early morning rays.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “It wasn’t the Hooch sisters. Well, no, it was, but it wasn’t.”

  “Clear as mud, Midnight.”

  I huffed out a breath. “The Hooch sisters turned up, saw me at the bar, and immediately zeroed in, saying they’d heard I’d been stood up and offering their services as vajayjay beautification experts. I declined.”

  “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

  “It’s what happened afterward that got me into trouble.”

  Banks half sat up, and I admired that he had the strength in his abs to pull off such a move. I really should get back into doing sit-ups, tighten up my abs that were as firm as a waterbed. “Do tell,” he drawled.

  “Alice Arrowbee.”

  Banks flopped back onto the deck. “Shoulda known. When are you going to learn not to let her get under your skin?”

  I lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Probably never. Alice rubbed me the wrong way, always had, always would. It had started at school, only upon graduation, I’d hightailed it out of Assjacket to join the SIA, whereas Alice had stayed, married, had three kids, one of which had already provided her with a grandchild. And here I was. Single and childless and fast approaching fifty. Not that it bothered me. But Alice took great pains to rub my nose in it, and usually, I was pretty good at ignoring her. Until last night.

  She’d dropped by Assjacket’s one and only bar, located at the back of the hardware store, to pick up her husband, Jonny, had spotted me and decided in her infinite wisdom that it would be an excellent opportunity to pass on some home truths. You know, useful things like if I lost a little weight, maybe men wouldn’t ghost me. Did I know purple hair made me look like mutton dressed up as lamb? And the clincher, if I wanted to attract a man like Jax, I’d better lose the mustache.

  After the Hooch sisters’ comments on my lack of a bedazzled vajayjay, followed by Alice’s comments about my weight, hair color, and apparent mustache… I’d exploded. And I couldn’t even blame it on a hot flash. It had been temper, plain and simple.

  I’d smote Alice’s ass. Literally. “I turned her into a donkey,” I told Banks.

  He paused in grooming himself. “For real?”

  I nodded. “For real.”

  “Did you turn her back?”

  I shook my head. “Couldn’t. Thanks to Baba Yaga’s bracelet dampening my magic, I didn’t have enough juice left. Anyway, those teeth suit her.”

  Banks chuckled. “Zelda will take care of it, I’m sure.”

  Zelda was the Shifter Whisperer, a Witch with the ability to heal shifters, and considering Alice was a Raccoon Shifter, I knew she’d be taken care of. Otherwise, I’d probably feel worse than I already did. Remorse did not sit well with me.

  “All in all, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Banks resumed grooming, then froze. “Unless…”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, leg frozen in the air as he prepared to lick his butt.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, knowing where his train of thought was headed.

  “Baba Yaga,” we said in unison.

  2

  “What did she say?” Banks asked, his voice climbing several octaves. Baba Yaga was the reason I was thrown in the pokey in the first place. And also the reason I was let out. Provided I did her bidding. And providing I keep control of my magic. Last night's episode was a big red x in that column.

  “She liked Alice’s transformation,” I admitted sheepishly, “and she was surprised I’d manage to summon that much magic.” I wriggled my wrist, showcasing the leather bracelet bound to me by Baba Yaga. The same bracelet designed to stop the uncontrollable outbursts of magic thanks to my menopausal hot flashes.

  “And? Back to the pokey?” Banks asked. “But then, if that were the case,” he continued, his tail thumping on the deck, “you wouldn’t be here now. She’d have zapped your ass back there immediately. So, what did she want?”

  I peered into my cup, waiting for the caffeine to do its job.

  “She has another job for me.”

  “An assignment?” Banks asked hopefully.

  I frowned, swirling the coffee. “Apparently, I’m a full-time Magical Bounty Hunter now.”

  “Not temporary, like you’d thought?”

  “It’s not fair!” I tossed the contents of the cup onto the front lawn, the taste of it suddenly bitter on my tongue. “She knew I didn’t want to go back to that life, that I’d left the SIA for a reason.”

  “But this isn’t the SIA,” Banks pointed out.

  “Pft,” I snorted. “No. The Magic Bounty Hunter Bureau is black ops to the SIA. They send their operatives into dangerous and violent situations. Black magic type situations, where rules don’t apply, and backup doesn’t exist.” I ended on a dramatic note.

  “Oh, come on. Rhalanise Bayou wasn’t that bad,” Banks protested.

  “Three Witches died,” I pointed out.

  “Besides that.”

  I chewed my lip, irritation stiffening my shoulders. “I told her, back in the pokey,” I ground out. “One case, and I’m out.” Although it had been my stipulation, Baba Yaga hadn’t agreed, and I’d always suspected she’d turn up again at some point. I’d lost everything to the SIA, and as I’d clawed and scratched a new life for myself, I refused to lay that on the line. Never again. I conveniently ignored the thrill that being a Magical Bounty Hunter gave me and my earlier conviction that it wasn’t that bad.

  “Come on then, spill.” Banks resumed licking himself, no doubt sensing my inner turmoil but deciding to ignore it anyway. Bloody cats.

  “I’m to go to the Bewildered Retirement Home in Hexville, Kentucky.”

  “Crikey, things aren’t that desperate, are they?” Banks gasped. “I mean, I know you’re approaching fifty, but a retirement home? Really?”

  “Not for me, silly.” I sighed. “Someone has been planting dead bodies in the garden.”

  “Riiiggghhhtttt.” Banks dragged out the word and squinted at me. “Does that mean…”

  I nodded, running a hand around the back of my neck to knead away the tension building there. “Yeah. Murdered. Someone is killing the residents and burying their bodies—not very successfully, mind you—in the garden.”

  “How many dead?”

  “Three. Claude, a Flaming Dwarf. Irving, a Warlock. And Janet, a Water Sprite.”

  “This is right up your alley. No wonder Baba Yaga wants you on the case.” Banks stood up, arching his back in a stretch.

  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Hello. Your gardening know-how. Oh, and your sleuthing skills as well, I guess.” Banks returned to grooming his nether regions, and I turned away. There’s nothing more unappealing than watching him lick his gonads.

  With a groan, I pushed to my feet. “Suppose I’d better pack.”

  “Pack? We’re not teleporting?” His voice was muffled.

  “You know I don’t like to teleport. Not anymore. Not since…”

/>   “Not since going menopausal on the town?” He sniggered. “Fine. The jeep it is. Hexville isn’t that far, I suppose.”

  Much like the town of Assjacket, the Bewildered Retirement Home in Hexville was bewitched to look like a total dump on the outside so humans wouldn’t visit. But inside the ramshackle structure, everything was pure enchantment. Once I’d hip-and-shouldered my way through the rotting wooden doors, I was met with a broom to the face. Well, almost. If it weren’t for my lightning fast reflexes, I’d be sporting a black eye.

  “What the Goddess?” I cursed, snatching the broom in my left hand and holding firm. A wizened old Witch approached, pushing a walker that sparkled rainbows with every shuffling step she took. She couldn’t have been more than four feet tall, with stark white hair set in bright green curlers.

  “Hey, twinkle toes.” She raised a fist, then hastily grabbed the handle of her walker before she fell flat on her face. “Give that back. It ain’t yours.”

  “What are you doing with a broom, anyway? You don’t need it to fly.” Witches only used brooms to fly for show… or if they were bored. It was the same with wands.

  “Never you mind. Now hand it over.”

  I glanced around the foyer. Now that I’d passed the threshold, the dilapidated old building had undertaken a metamorphosis into a well-appointed facility. Directly ahead was a reception area, to the left a café, and to the right, a long corridor with double doors at the end.