Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau Book 2)

  Black Arts, White Craft

  Hailey Edwards

  Copyright © 2021 Black Dog Books, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Copy Edited by Kimberly Cannon

  Proofread by Lillie's Literary Services

  Cover by Damonza

  Illustration by NextJenCo

  Contents

  Black Arts, White Craft

  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

  Join the Team

  About the Author

  Also by Hailey Edwards

  Black Arts, White Craft

  Black Hat Bureau, Book 2

  After a black witch pitched a hissy fit in Hollis Apothecary, Rue got stuck cleaning up his mess. That was the easy part. Repairing the damage he inflicted on Camber and Arden? That makes Rue wish she could bring him back to life just to kill him again. Slower this time.

  While Rue is setting her new life back to rights, Clay and Asa are off working a case, but it soon becomes clear that they’ll need her help to catch the vicious creature preying on locals in a small Tennessee town. She’s got her hands full at home, but Rue has no choice. She must report for duty to honor her agreement with the director. Or else.

  What she discovers leads her deeper down the rabbit hole of Black Hat Bureau corruption and promises that, no matter how grim the past few weeks have been, the worst is yet to come.

  1

  The first cupcake arrived the day after Asa left. It was delivered in pristine condition in a clear plastic box designed to resemble a diamond. I wholeheartedly ignored any symbolism associated with its packaging and devoured the double dark chocolate treat, savoring its rich cherry cordial center and candied cherry frosting.

  Two cupcakes arrived the next day, both s’mores, with an incredible charred marshmallow fluff topping.

  Three came the day after that, all silky lemon chiffon with tart icing and candied lemon peel curls.

  Then came four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine…

  Once I accepted, deep in my black heart, that I couldn’t eat that many cupcakes alone, I thrifted a plastic stool, taped a sign that read “free cupcakes” to its front, and set it on the sidewalk in front of my shop. As a thank you for the town’s continued support, I began leaving the extra treats out for everyone to enjoy.

  After I sampled the day’s flavor. I mean, they were gifts. It would be rude of me not to eat one.

  And just like that, I was back to thinking about Asa when I had a billion other things to do.

  Credit where credit was due. His daily deliveries ensured I couldn’t forget about him while he was gone.

  Not like I had a hope of that with the bracelet he’d made for me snugging my wrist.

  “Horsefly.”

  Jerked from my sugary thoughts, I located Arden waving her arms over her head like spaghetti noodles.

  “I got it.” Camber palmed the flyswatter, stalked her prey with measured steps, then swung. “Splat.”

  “You saved me.” Arden picked the bug up with a fistful of paper towels between it and her fingers. “How can I ever repay you?” Her voice carried as she went to flush it down the staff toilet. “Name your price.”

  “You’re broke.” Camber tossed her the sample bottle of our hand sanitizing gel, made from an aloe vera base with peppermint, witch hazel, manuka honey, onion and garlic extracts, rosemary and tea tree oils. “How about you do my laundry for a month? Or wash the dishes for a week? Or just stop being a baby?”

  “I’ll take option two.” Arden slathered her hands. “Option three ain’t happening.”

  The horsefly infestation was more symbolism I was ignoring. Their appearance was a wake-up call that an unpleasant task was dive-bombing into my life, and it was time to stop running and face up to it. Except I had stopped running, and I had faced up to it. I had a home here in Samford, and I was Black Hat again.

  What more did the persistent pests want from me? The spaghetti noodle dance?

  Sweat dripped into my eyes as I finished painting the trim on the shelves that held our tinctures and teas selection. November in Alabama was warm. November in Alabama in a shop with an AC unit on the fritz, well, I had sat in cooler saunas.

  That was before you factored in the manual labor of sanding the wood trim, priming it, then painting it to restore the shop to its minimalist aesthetic prior to David Taylor’s efforts to redesign the space using black magic to demo everything the girls and I had labored so hard to achieve with Hollis Apothecary.

  Stepping back from the wall to admire our handiwork, I scratched under my parting gift from Asa for the umpteenth time. The persistent tickle was as constant a reminder of his absence as the cupcakes.

  “Stop picking at it.” Camber swatted my hand. “Your boyfriend worked hard on that.”

  Never in a million years should I have told them the truth when they asked where I got my jewelry.

  “He might have asked for a list of her allergies first,” Arden countered. “Look how irritated her skin is.”

  From a box in the office, she retrieved a small tube of our popular itch relief cream. Most folks used it on mosquito bites or chigger bites in summer, but it also soothed poison oak, poison ivy, and poison sumac.

  Made with chamomile, shea butter, colloidal oatmeal, calendula, hemp seed oil, vegan emulsifying wax, olive oil, rosehip seed oil, neem oil, and a little extra that didn’t make it onto the label, it was good stuff.

  After nudging the bracelet up my arm, she rubbed the lukewarm cream over the pink spots.

  “Thanks.” I studied her face, the new shadows in her eyes she worked hard to hide. “Are you still drinking your tea?”

  “Yes.” She withdrew. “A cup before bed, as prescribed, which makes me have to pee ten minutes later.”

  Firmly in mother hen mode, I might as well pester Camber while I was at it. “You too?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “How long until we’re cured?”

  Never was too harsh an answer, but it was the honest one. Good thing I was used to filtering my truths.

  As far as they knew, the blend of California poppy, lemon balm, ashwagandha root, lavender, linden flower, passionflower aerial parts, and red rooibos tea was to help them sleep and banish night terrors.

  “One more week.” I crossed my heart. “Then I’ll let it go.”

  The girls would remember what David Taylor had done to them for the rest of their lives, but the tea the girls had been drinking since they were released from the hospital blurred the edges of their recollection of the more peculiar aspects of their abduction until their brains filled in mundane
excuses for the worst of their trauma. The fact they were best friends, and shared the burden between them, meant the more they talked about what happened, the more their experience blended into a cohesive, believable whole.

  Between that, and the potion Asa dosed them with prior to the paramedics arriving at Tadpole Swim, we had done all we could to help them cope with the muddled aftermath of their ordeal. Or so Clay and Asa had assured me.

  The person I was becoming marveled the girls held nothing against me. But I was quick to remind myself the fine details eluded them. They would feel differently if they knew the truth. About David Taylor…and me.

  Still, life in a small town meant it was common knowledge that my fake ex-boyfriend was to blame. I wouldn’t have been shocked if that link to me was enough to get me written off by everyone, but I had done my job well. I had instilled in the population of Samford a wide protective streak that kept me safe.

  The person I had been, the dark and power-hungry void in my gut, wasn’t surprised that I had purchased the girls’ forgiveness with lies and half-truths, given all the groundwork I had laid to this point. That cruel remnant was downright proud of how I manipulated a whole town into protecting what they ought to fear.

  Me.

  Accused witches had been burned at the stake while townsfolk toasted marshmallows in the flames, and that inbred fear never left us. White witches blended better, with their herb gardens and medicinal gifts, but black witches didn’t have a hope to hang their pointy hat on when a pitchfork-carrying mob marched to their cursed doors. They were always guilty of something. Usually of worse than their accused crimes.

  “Your wrist looks better already.” Arden capped the lotion with satisfaction. “How does it feel?”

  “Yes.” Camber sat on the floor to finish painting the baseboards. “How does it feel to be in lurve?”

  “I’m not in lurve.”

  “Aww.” She paused with her brush in the can. “Your boyfriend will be heartbroken to hear that.”

  Yup.

  Never should have owned up to Asa giving me jewelry as a parting gift.

  Chalk it up to a hard lesson learned, never to be repeated.

  “You do mean love, right?” I measured her expression. “Or do I have to consult the Urban Dictionary?”

  “She means love,” Arden clarified. “Plain old vanilla romance.”

  “Asa is not plain or vanilla.” Camber wet her lips. “He’s like that streusel-topped French toast with maple buttercream sprinkled with candied bacon cupcake from day four? Day five?”

  That was a mouthful. Both the description and the cupcake itself. I remembered it well. It was delicious.

  “Can you confirm or deny?” Arden arched her brows. “Have you taste tested your boyfriend yet?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” I resisted the urge to scratch my wrist. “This is a friendship bracelet.”

  Made from his hair. By him. Designed to ward off other men. Without any discernable way to remove it.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Camber clucked her tongue. “A boyfriendship bracelet.”

  “Can you please stop saying boyfriend like that?” I started to twitch. “How about stop saying it period?”

  For a full minute, she squinted at me, pretending to ponder her answer. “Nope.”

  The bell over the front door tinkled a greeting to a potential customer.

  Except the shop wasn’t open, and I could have sworn I locked up to prevent this exact scenario.

  “We’re closed for renovations.” I pasted on a customer service smile. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

  A man ambled into the shop despite the warning and perused the empty shelves.

  His brown hair was clipped short on the sides but left long in a strip down his scalp to create a fauxhawk.

  The rips in his jeans appeared earned rather than bought. His tee was tight over his frame but faded the way a well-loved shirt got after too many washings. His dark boots were dinged and scuffed and lived in.

  Between the outfit and the thick beard, he could have been a lumberjack, if I put an ax in his hand.

  Must be a tourist on his way someplace else. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a local, and he wasn’t listening.

  “I apologize for barging in.” He slid his gaze past me to Arden. “I came to visit, not to shop.”

  The mellow resonance of his voice caused Arden to drop the lotion with a high-pitched squeal of delight.

  “Uncle Nolan?” She tackled the stranger in an oxygen-depriving hug. “How are you here?”

  “Well, you see—” he grunted from the impact, “—they have these things called airplanes…”

  “You know what I mean.” She let go then punched him. “I thought you were in Spain.”

  “Surprise.” He rubbed the spot as if mortally wounded. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, Ardy.”

  The nickname caused her to wrinkle her nose, and I couldn’t blame her.

  “I am.” She drew back to soak him in, head to toe, as if she couldn’t believe it. “I’m just surprised.”

  “And violent.”

  Done waiting, Camber rose—brush in hand—and flicked paint onto his grinning face.

  “You’ve grown ten feet since I last saw you.” He lifted a hand over his head. “You’re a giant.”

  “I’m only five-five, Uncle Nolan.” She scuffed her sneakers on the tile. “I’m perfectly average.”

  The girls were as close as sisters, so I wasn’t thrown when Camber called Nolan her uncle too.

  You didn’t have to share blood to be family.

  “There’s nothing average about you.” He planted a smacking kiss to each of her cheeks. “I missed you two troublemakers. You’ll have to come out to dinner with me tonight and fill me in on the hot gossip.”

  Clearly used to his teasing them about living in a pinprick on the state map, they rolled their eyes.

  “Are you going to introduce me—” I shoved a damp curl out of my eye, “—or should I go on break?”

  Hmm.

  The prospect of a break made me wonder if there were any cupcakes left on the stool out front.

  “This is my uncle.” Arden kept her eyes on him, as if worried he might vanish. “Nolan Laurens.”

  “He’s a wildlife photographer.” Camber jittered with excitement. “He travels all over the world.”

  The longing in her voice made me wonder if she wouldn’t spread her wings after graduation.

  The choice was hers, and I would support her dreams in whatever form they took, wherever they carried her, but my selfish heart shriveled when I dwelled on a future without the girls. And Arden would follow. Their bond ran deeper than friendship. Their witch blood, as thin as it might be, compelled them to stick together, whispered in the form of instinct that they were stronger that way.

  And I couldn’t deny, given recent events, they would both be safer far away from me.

  “His pictures win fancy awards,” Arden bragged while he groaned. “They’re in magazines and galleries.”

  “Girls.” He rubbed his nape with a tattooed hand. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the pretty lady.”

  Pretty lady served as a reminder that handsome out-of-towners didn’t know my sordid dating history.

  Had I chosen a different cover story, I might have had more luck in the dating department.

  Not that I wanted or needed a complication, um, a man.

  Or a dae with silky midnight hair and fathomless eyes that tracked me like prey.

  “Uncle Nolan.” Arden detached from him and scooted to my side. “This is Rue Hollis.”

  A shadow passed behind his eyes, gone too fast for me to be certain, but his smile didn’t waver.

  Maybe I spoke too soon. Thought too soon? He must know my history, as it pertained to Arden’s ordeal.

  Now it was his turn to give me a once-over, and I could tell he liked what he saw, but he gave away nothing else.

  Rue Hollis was fast becoming every bit as inf
amous as my other aliases had been.

  I had kept the round cheeks of my childhood, and their always flushed appearance made me look as if I had sprinted across town to be here. Pair that with wide blue eyes and wheat-colored waves that hit me mid-spine, and I could pass for a kid fresh out of high school, though I was three times that age.

  The camouflage had served me well, and make no mistake, it was camouflage. Nothing about me had been left to nature or to chance. I was the culmination of generations of selective breeding that resulted in power, beauty, and intelligence wrapped up in one girl-next-door package.

  “Nice to finally meet you.” He stuck out his arm. “The girls talk about you all the time.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” I shook his hand. “I didn’t know Arden had an Uncle Nolan.”

  The touch of his skin swept tingles down my arm that raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

  Asa warned me the bracelet would act as a citronella candle to any men buzzing around me, but zapping me? How was it my fault I had to shake hands to observe social norms? I was being polite, dang it. There weren’t enough cupcakes in the world to excuse an attempt at shock training me to shy away from men.

  “Most of the time, she calls me Uncle MIA, or just MIA when I go too long between calls.”

  “MIA?” I laughed when it hit me. “I thought you were an aunt, named Mia.”

  “And it was hilarious.” Camber high-fived Arden. “I can’t believe we kept the joke running for so long.”

  “Thaaanks.” Nolan dipped his chin. “I can only imagine what your boss must think of me.”

  I thought he was exactly the diversion the girls needed to get out of their heads for a while.

  Given the timing, I didn’t have to wonder why a long-lost uncle had chosen to resurface in Samford.