Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance #3)

Bernie pressed the button to turn on the GPS and sat back just as Fee appeared on the passenger seat, his nose still bent out of shape, evident by the way he turned his head to look out the window.

As the screen for the GPS lit up, it said in a cheerful voice, “Bon jouuuuur, Bernieeee! It’s bingo night! N-thirty-three!”

The GPS talked, too. With a French accent.

With a smile, she found that didn’t surprise her at all.



“Left, Berniee! You must make ze left zis instant!”

Fee screeched as she made a sharp left as instructed, pulling into the senior center parking lot with only five minutes to spare. The brick structure, housed beneath Calla’s grandfather’s apartment, was welcoming and friendly. Flowers in big pots dotted the stoop and a sign with a hand-painted moon and stars swung in the light breeze from the side of the building.

Yanking up the emergency brake, she looked over at Fee, who clung to the passenger door with his claws unsheathed. “Oh stop, Drama Llama. My driving wasn’t that bad.”

Fee huffed, turning his head back toward the window. “If I were talking to you, which I am absolutely not, I’d tell you that your driving sucks the ass of a goat. It’s a modern-day miracle you didn’t take out the entirety of Main Street with those two wheels you were driving on, Dale Junior.”

She popped the door open and stuck a leg out, gathering her old-lady purse made of vinyl and plaid cloth before nudging Fee with her finger. “I haven’t driven in a long time and Jacques here is a little rusty on his directions, methinks.”

Jacques’ screen lit up in greens and blues. “Oh, Berniiiieee,” Jacques cooed. “Do not be so cruel. My spelling, she ees sometimes not so, how you say…”

“Good?” Bernie teased.

“Oui. My apologieees.”

Bernie tapped the screen affectionately. “It’s all good, Jacques. See you in a bit.” She pressed the button to shut down the GPS and pulled the key from the ignition. “C’mon, Fee. We have a job to do.”

Fee harrumphed as he hopped out of the car, but he wouldn’t even look at her as they crossed the parking lot and headed for the glass doors of the center, where light streamed from the inside and the seniors milled about, cups of coffee in their hands.

Just as she grabbed for the door and allowed Fee entry, another slender, perfectly manicured hand covered hers, shutting it behind the cat. “Bernie, right?”

Boobs, right?

Fee hissed in her head, his words swirling around. If I were talking to you, which I still am not, I’d remind you about resting bitch face and walking away from this woman. I don’t know what her angle is, but she’s got one. I can smell it on her. She can’t hide whatever the hell her issue is with all that expensive perfume she bathes in.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Violet was here. Why would she come to bingo night? Weren’t there malls to bankrupt? Car dealerships to empty?

Bernie nodded, removing her hand from the door and squaring her shoulders to turn and face Violet. “Yes. It’s Bernie. Nice to see you again, Miss Hammond. Are you joining us for bingo night?”

“I’m joining Ridge,” she cooed.

Bernie remained silent and fumed rather than let Violet bait her.

“Sweet ride.” She hitched an elegant thumb over her bare shoulder at the Pacer.

Bernie bobbed her head once more, fighting the impulse to get back in the car and run Violet over with her sweet ride.

“A feminine product right there on the side of your car for all the world to see. How interesting.”

“Yeah. Seems douches need love, too. If anyone gets that, you should.”

Violet let out an airy chuckle from tight lips glossed to raspberry perfection. “New outfit?” she drawled, scanning Bernie’s shorter frame from head to toe with a scathing glance.

Borrowed it from your mother.

Bernie. I can hear your thoughts when I’m in your head. Don’t do it. Get the eff inside here. Now, Fee whispered, his words reverberating in her brain.

But Bernie’d had enough of playing doormat to Violet’s stilettos. Sure, she was on parole, and she was afraid she’d fuck that up at every turn, but she didn’t have to take a blatant attack.

She turned the tables, scanning Violet’s outfit from head to toe, lingering on her very short white shorts and her barely there halter top in flamingo pink. “Yep. I like subtle and mysterious. You know; the opposite of ‘show them your girlie bits up front’?”

Fee paced in front of the glass door like a tiger in a cage. Bernie! Knock it off. Walk away!

Violet’s curly red hair swirled around her perfect face just as a hot wind picked up. The air had that funny smell to it, just as it had when Fee had cemented her feet to the ground.

Magic? Was that magic in the air? Did magic smell?

Violet’s eyes lit up, the color changing, swirling as the wind continued to blow.

Well, if this was magic, Violet sure had a leg up on Beyoncé and a wind machine.

Bernie! You’ve done it now. Head’s up!