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

Then total chaos. In a huge-kick-in-the-gut kind of way.

Chairs toppled, flying in the air and narrowly missing Calla’s head. The hiss of wands greeted his ears, slicing the air with saber-like motions. Books flew from their shelves, coffee cups splattered to the ground, walls began to bow and move.

Then Violet turned her rage on Gus, who wasn’t backing down.

Oddly limber for his age, Gus hiked up his red suspenders, climbed atop his table and hollered, “C’mon, Fancy Pants! Gimme your best shot, you plastic surgery addict—you’ll be walkin’ funny for a week!”

Just as Violet twirled her finger in the air, creating a small cyclone of wind that danced toward Gus, Bernie jumped off the podium and ran for Violet.

Hell. Violet was a pretty powerful witch, skilled in the elements, among other things. No way was he going to let Bernie go up against her alone.

Everything happened in slow motion—Bernie screaming at the seniors to get down while she held up her pants and took several of the chairs in her way like a hurdle jumper.

She flew the distance between she and Violet just as Ridge raced toward the two women, hoping to cut Bernie off at the pass.

But Bernie zigzagged, stopping dead in front of the whirring cyclone and raising her arms, opening them wide.

No. She wasn’t. What the fuck was she doing?

Holy fuck, she was going to end up splattered from here to eternity.

His heart began to crash in his chest as he realized what she was attempting.

So he began waving his arms along with the rest of the seniors. Waving his arms and moving his legs.

“Bernie! Nooooo!” he roared.



The cyclone hit her full force, almost knocking her down, tearing at her tracksuit’s jacket until it was almost entirely ripped from her body as she wrapped her arms around the funnel.

The energy moved in her grasp like an entity, struggled against her as Violet pushed harder, her ugly thoughts flowing around the moving air.

The cage holding the bingo balls began to whir before jettisoning the plastic globes out into the room rapid-fire.

From the corner of her eye, she saw some of the seniors with their wands, spewing crackling lines of electricity and aiming for Violet, who ducked them with the grace of a ballerina. Flora and Clive crossed streams, creating a sizzling arc of angry blue.

Oh, shit and piss, things were going to get ugly.

“Bernie! Forget everyone else and listen closely to me!” Fee ordered, pushing against the wind to stand by her side. “Seven hells, B, hold that bitch! Concentrate. You gotta concentrate to harness the energy! You’re in control—take control!”

As Fee’s words flowed over her, warbled and muddy, and as everything around her became a silent blur, Bernie focused, struggling, losing her balance, righting herself then pushing back until she heaved forward, almost falling to her knees.

“Wait for it, B!” Fee shouted, his claws stuck in the wood of one of the tables in an effort to stay near. “Wait for just the right time and a clear line of vision, then let ’er rip Plastic Patty’s head right the hell off!”

Violet rose off the ground, levitating, making the cyclone bigger, stronger, but Bernie pushed back with her mind—harder, gritting her teeth, sweat dripping into her eyes from the effort.

The cyclone began to shift, change shape, cut into her skin with razor-sharp pricks, making her screech in pain.

“Don’t let gooo, Bernie girl!” Fee howled, clinging to the leg of the table, his poor body almost perpendicular to the floor from the raging winds. “Show that motherfluffer who her mama is now!”

Violet’s face popped into her line of vision, smug, daring Bernie to challenge her magic skills with a catty smile on her face.

So she lost it—literally.

With a warrior cry, hoarse and raw, Bernie bent her knees and launched the cyclone at Violet, screaming an order for everyone to duck as she did.

Pitching forward, she hit the floor the moment she released the funnel, catching herself with her palms then grabbing Fee, tucking and rolling to shelter him just before the table above them exploded.

Violet howled her outrage, screamed her ire as the cyclone crashed into her. She was blown back against the far wall, taking out two ficus trees and a bookcase before she hit the wall and slid to the ground, her body limp.

Bernie tried to rise, but her legs wobbled and her ribs ached. Blood dripped from her head and spattered to the shiny white floor.

Ridge pushed his way through the debris of broken tables and scooped her up, hauling her to his chest and helping her to one of the few chairs still standing.

She leaned forward, gasping for air, sucking in as much as her lungs would allow. It was then she realized her tracksuit jacket was torn and her too-big bra was exposed.