Bewitched
Bewitched
A Heven and Hell novella
(Heven and Hell #2.5)
By Cambria Hebert
BEWITCHED
Copyright © 2012 CAMBRIA HEBERT
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by: Cambria Hebert
Interior design and typesetting by Amy Eye
Cover design by
MAE I DESIGN
Edited by Amy Eye,
The Eyes for Editing
Copyright 2012 by Cambria Hebert
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Edward Bryan Witt, my father. I may have only had eleven years with you, but the creativity you gave me will last forever.
Acknowledgements
I would first like to acknowledge the people who told me (to my shock and dismay!) that the character I am most like in this series is Kimber. I still don’t know if I believe you—ahem—Shawn Hebert and Amy Eye, but since you two seem to know me best, who am I to argue? (Well, I won’t argue in these acknowledgements, but in person that’s another story.) Kimber is an interesting kind of gal who I both love and not love all at the same time. She can be quite maddening to write. No matter what is going on, lake bubbling, betrayal or BFF drama, she always comes back to her hair and shoes… (I mean really, I am SO not like that. Did I mention I dyed my hair red to match Kimber’s? It looked terrible—think Ronald McDonald as a girl. Kimber would be horrified.)
I wasn’t really sure where I was going with this novella (or, frankly, these acknowledgements). I just knew I wanted it to be entertaining and maybe a little creepy in time for Halloween. I wanted it to be something I could dedicate to my late father in honor of him and his birthday, which happens to be on Halloween… and also, did I mention when I was born my social security number had 666 in it? Yes, my mom had it changed, but still… perhaps
that
is why I’m allegedly like Kimber.
Anywhoo, I would like to acknowledge my father, Edward Witt, who gave me the creativity I use today so freely. I hope he looks down on me with pride the same way Heven’s dad looks down on her. Also, to Shawn, my husband, for putting up with me and my “Kimber” ways. For telling me not to quit when I say I want to, for listening to me say bad things to the computer at midnight when it won’t do what I want, and for beta reading all these books even though you really don’t like to read. I love you.
Thanks to Amy Eye, my superhero, cape-wearing editor who takes my calls (after she wonders if she can ignore them), listens to me babble on and on and on about these characters and helps me figure out where the plot is going and what they are doing (because I usually don’t know!). This novella, I think, will hold a special place in our hearts because we will always remember the phone call where we had to look up the decomposition rate of a body in a lake, and the call where you reminded me I couldn’t use “Double, Double Toil and Trouble” because Shakespeare might get offended (really, once he saw my hair and shoes, he probably wouldn’t mind).
To Cally Nicole, Amy Eye’s beautiful daughter, who lends her beauty to Kimber and traipsed through a graveyard and stood in a pool fully clothed so we could get the perfect cover shot. I hear you might be like Kimber too… Text me and we will talk shoes. lol
To myself, because I moved up the East Coast, rewrote
Tirade
, wrote
Bewitched
and republished this entire series under my own name all in a matter of two months, and I am still standing (okay, I might be lying. In my pajamas.).
To my children who are ever patient and to my street team, Team Heven and Hell, you ladies rock my socks off! Thanks for all the enthusiasm you bring every day. It is the Team and my fans that keep me going and don’t let me give up, so I thank you all for that. And finally (but not leastly – is that a word?), to Regina Wamba, my cover designer. Keep up the great work in making my books look pretty!
Now, if you will excuse me. I have to go fix my hair and put on something stylish. (I really have no idea why they think I am like Kimber.)
Kimber
I made it my business to look good at all times.
Even when I was spying on people.
Like I was now.
But I wasn’t just spying on anyone. I was spying on my boyfriend.
I knew—
knew
—there was something going on between Cole and Heven, my BFF. Heven and I had been friends forever it seemed, just as it seemed I had been forever in her shadow. I hadn’t minded it when we were young because I always knew that I would grow up to be the prettier one, the one with the better clothes, car and, in general, better life. And just like I had predicted (I’m always right), I did grow up to be the prettier one and I did have it all.
But Heven didn’t seem to get that memo.
She still somehow managed to claim the head cheerleader position. She was still the most popular girl in our class. Everyone fawned all over her knock-off, knee-high boots and generic ripped-up jeans. I’ll admit, Heven turned out a lot prettier than I thought she would and I was glad, because we were BFF’s and I couldn’t be seen with a hag.
But Hell-ooo everyone knows that redheads are better than blondes.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to get that memo, either.
Still, I never let on that her popularity got to me because with her popularity came mine. If she was Queen Bee, then I was the Princess. I was the caramel to her latté (and everyone knows a latté isn’t good unless it has caramel) and I’ll admit, Heven is nice. She has something about her that people respond to, that draws them in. I guess she does make people feel good about themselves. Like me.
I wasn’t about to admit that I wanted to be number one. That it bothered me people only saw me when she wasn’t in the room. And besides, Cole had. The minute we all seemed to develop hormones, he only had eyes for me (I’m telling you, it’s the red hair). He was perfect: tall, dark hair, blue eyes, with wide shoulders and a wicked smile. He played football to my cheerleader, and we fit together so well that as soon as I saw that look of interest in his eyes, I made sure everyone knew that he was mine. Even better was the fact that he seemed to realize what no one else had: I deserved to be noticed more than Heven.
He was a smart guy.
But lately he’d been acting stupid.
I lifted the black binoculars to my eyes, focusing on Heven’s yard and the truck parked next to the house.
Uh-huh. I knew it. He’d come here. The jerk.
I should have known he was a two-timer when I caught him kissing that hag Jenna. I forgave that little indiscretion (after I taught him a lesson, of course), but this… This was going too far.
I heard a sound and turned the binoculars in that direction. Damn the darkness. Note to self: make Daddy buy you some night-vision goggles. I heard Cole’s voice and then saw the beam of a flashlight shine down onto the grass. I pressed the binoculars close and watched Cole shield his eyes from the light. I glanced up and saw Heven leaning out the window, looking down at him.
A minute later, Cole was going around to the porch and going inside. I hadn’t felt this angry since I was at the mall on Black Friday and someone snatched the last pair of black cashmere gloves out of my hands.
I smirked and glanced at my hands, covered in said black cashmere gloves. That woman didn’t know who she was messing with and neither did Heven and Cole. I took a deep breath and watched the door close behind him, cutting off whatever they were doing. There was a rustle nearby and I turned toward the sound, but it was so dark, I couldn’t see a thing. I listened for a few moments and when no other sounds came, I turned back toward the house to see if anything happened.
Cole was drunk. He’d been at my house. We were down by the lake and we got into a fight. I never thought he would get in his truck and drive away. Drinking and driving is one of the stupidest things a person can do. I mean, really, it’s just asking to hurt someone or end up in jail. And of all the colors I do look good in… a bright orange jumpsuit isn’t one of them. Talk about a major clash with my hair. I suppressed a shudder and sighed.
I hadn’t seen Cole act this way before. He seemed different… He was pulling away. So was Heven. At first, I thought she was just spending less time with me because of Sam, because she seemed to be getting her confidence back (just when I thought I would take over the Miss Most Popular spot, Heven went and got rid of her scar). But then Cole started acting off and becoming distant, and now he’s drunk and inside her house. Something was going on. And no one was telling me what it was.
Another sound, closer this time, caught my attention and I whipped around. Still, I saw nothing. A feeling of being watched—of not being alone—came over me. I didn’t like it. I thought about calling out, but it seemed drawing attention to myself wouldn’t be a good idea. Maybe spying (no matter how good I looked doing it) wasn’t a very good idea. This was creepy. The dark was creepy. It would be stupid to keep sitting out here where I felt like I wasn’t alone. Finding out what was going on with Heven and Cole was a definite must, but getting hacked into little pieces by some stalker wouldn’t accomplish that. And it would mess up my hair. Gripping the binoculars, I turned away from the house to walk back to my car. I tried to ignore the way my heart began to pound with fear.
Get a grip, Kimber,
I told myself.
I was a lot of things (like charming, stylish and beautiful), but stupid wasn’t one of them.
I paused when I heard the door to the house open and slam shut, but I didn’t turn back. I thought for a millisecond about calling out—warning them about the potential stalker lurking out here, but I didn’t want them to know what I was up to. This spy mission might be aborted, but there would be future missions.
They just wouldn’t be on my deep conditioning night. Maybe the fact that they were outside meant Heven would send him on his way. Maybe I should park at the end of the driveway and wait for him, follow his truck to make sure he gets home okay. Things might not be great between us, but I did love him. I loved him more than anyone and I wouldn’t want him to hurt himself or anyone else.
We would get back on track and then everything would be okay again.
I stumbled a bit as I walked, the heel of my black boot catching on something on the ground. I tugged the heel free and began walking again. Seconds later, the heel snapped and broke. I tripped and hit the ground.
Ew. I did not do dirt.
I looked down at my broken heel. “Really?” I whined. “I’m very disappointed in you,” I told my shoe as I held it up to inspect the damage. As much as I paid for these boots, they should hold up to spy missions.
I got up, brushing the dirt off my Juicy Couture pants, and began limping toward my car. This was not my night. I wanted a latté. I wanted my fuzzy bathrobe and a hot bath.
