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

“Y’all said Bernie didn’t know she was a witch, right? But I have a question—was she ill as a child? Does anyone know? Fate kept picking up something dark and ugly—like leukemia, or something life-threatening.”


“Yes!” Ridge almost shouted. “She was sick with leukemia as an infant. In fact, she almost died. She mentioned her parents were really overprotective in her teens as a result.”

Daphne took a long breath before she said a word, closing her eyes as she spoke, as though she were trying to recite the vision from memory. “Fate says someone visited Bernie in the hospital during that time. He said he saw a woman bent over her crib, blood…and what he suspects was her father rocking her while she was hooked up to a bunch of tubes.”

Flora’s eyes widened as she gripped Gus’ arm. “No! You don’t think, do you?”

“Think what?” Ridge asked, tamping down his rising panic as his mind began to race, going over the different types of magic he’d studied with Bernie.

Winnie’s eyes glittered, but she then said what he dreaded most. “Blood magic.”

His heart sank to his stomach. Fuck, fuck, fuck.



Bernie’s head throbbed, a dull, unrelenting pound as her eyes popped open. She tried to sit up, but nausea came in a wave, making her gag. The scent of a million un-mucked stalls mingled with a damp slime assaulted her nose.

Her attempt to move only brought more pain and rising bile in her throat. As she forced herself to sit upright, she was thwarted by the distinct rattle of chains—attached to her arms and legs in loose fashion, giving her just enough room to lift her hands to chest level.

God. Could this be any more cliché? What villain didn’t tie up their victims with chains? As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized the wall at her back was where the damp smell was coming from. The floor was made up of dirt, if her hands felt correctly.

“Touchy tummy, Bernie?”

Her eyes flew upward to find Eddie towering over her, but she felt him rather than saw him. Knew his soft voice and his slow delivery.

“Must be the company. So this is rather extreme. Chains? What gives?”

Eddie sat on his haunches; she heard him squat down, heard the crunch of the hard dirt beneath his feet. “Oh, you have no idea how extreme, Bernie. I went to a lot of trouble and years’ worth of keeping track of you. It was intricate and painstaking and there was a point where I didn’t think I’d ever be rid of you and your ridiculously pathetic life. But suddenly, one day, there it all was. Like a gift from the goddess. This was meant to be.”

She tried to get a visual on where she was, but it was so damn dark. Bernie blinked again, trying to remember that she wasn’t a weakling. She’d learned a thing or two between Ridge and the others, and what better way to test it than in this situation?

That thought gave her a little confidence. But not much.

“What do you want from me, Eddie? Wasn’t it enough that I did time for you? As a witch, mind you. Do you have any idea what that was like? Not knowing I was a goddamn witch?”

Fee had been right. Eddie had known all along. She knew it in her gut. Eddie wanted something that had to do with her witch powers, but what, exactly, eluded her minimal knowledge.

He moved in close; his breath fanned her face, tainted with his favorite whiskey. “Is prison food really as bad as they say?”

“Look, let’s skip all the niceties and bullshit and get to the point. I know you’re a warlock, and you know I’m a witch. So I repeat, what do you want from me, asshole?” she screamed.

Wow. That was kind of ragey, and very unlike her. But by fuck, Eddie had let her stew in a prison for months while he got off scot-free and he was making jokes about the slop she’d consumed?

Nope. Officially not an Eddie fan.

But Eddie wasn’t at all affected by her ire. His voice remained quiet when he said, “You don’t know by now? I’d have thought your new boyfriend and the town hags would’ve figured out what I want.”

Flexing her fingers, Bernie snapped them, turning the tips into small lighters. She held up her hand as far as the chains would let her before she felt tension—and fought a gasp of horror at the scene laid out before her.

“Where the hell are we, Eddie?”

“Does it really make a difference, Bernie? You can’t escape. I’ve made sure of it. Just look around you and tell me what you see.”

The space was enormous, as long as it was wide. She was in some kind of cellar. That much was clear now. And her chains were attached to the ceiling by multiple pulleys.

Bernie gulped when she chanced a look upward.

He’d rigged the room. If she attempted to move too far, or someone tried to open the cellar doors, the pulleys would trigger a Guillotine—that would slice her right down the center of her head.

Perfect. Sure, she had magic, but she was a pathetic novice, and to her recollection, she didn’t know a spell that would release her from something like this. However, if she got out of here alive, that was one of the first things on her list to look up. How to save your head from being split in two in one spell or less.