The Trouble With Spells

Of
Witches & Warlocks:

The
Trouble with Spells

by

Lacey Weatherford

Book One of the Of Witches and Warlocks Series

Copyright 2011
Lacey Weatherford

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

Published by
Moonstruck Media

Kindle Edition

This ebook is licensed for
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other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and
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work of this author.

This book is
available in print.

Dedication:

To my darling daughter, Kamery, whose ever-changing hair
color first inspired me with the idea. To Connie and Larissa, who loved it
enough to encourage me to go for it. To my husband James, who put up with
everything else so I could write.

Acknowledgements:

Just a quick thank you to everyone who has been so helpful in
getting this book out there. To my terrific beta readers—thanks for all your
time, effort, input, and encouragement, your suggestions and support are always
worth their weight in gold! To my wonderful family—thanks for being so good to
help out and take care of running day-to-day things so I can have more time to
write. To the awesome “Vance Fans” out there—thanks for everything you do to
help spread the word about this series.

To my business partner and best friend, Belinda—thanks for
all your continued encouragement!

Prologue

Vance Mangum - Two Years
Earlier

I was sitting
under a tree at my new school during lunch, trying to avoid the silly giggles
and laughter from the endless parade of idiotic girls who were trying to catch
my attention. Pretending to be oblivious seemed to work best for me, so I
focused on pulling random blades of grass out of the ground while I bit into
the apple in my hand.

It’s not like I
wasn’t interested in the girls—I definitely was. I was just tired of not being
able to really get to know the ones I liked before I had to move to a new place
again. I already missed the girl I’d been hanging around with at the school I’d
just left. Amber was amazing, and she could kiss like… well, there just wasn’t
any point in thinking about her kisses because I wouldn’t be experiencing them
again.

I hated running. I
despised constantly looking over my shoulder for him, always getting so close
to being found. It was totally messing up my life. While I was already sixteen,
I was only a sophomore. I should’ve been a junior, but being on the run and
having to go into hiding put me a year behind in school. Hopefully, this time
would be different. I didn’t know if I had the same faith in this new coven
that my Aunt Marsha did. She seemed to think they might be able to help protect
us better than we’d been able to protect ourselves. I guess, deep down, I
really hoped they could—I was so tired of running.

I took another
bite of my apple, while focusing on the doors to the school, successfully
redirecting my gaze away from the group of girls who were twittering together
off to my left.

That’s when I saw
her.

She stepped out of
the door, walking next to some other girl, but my attention was instantly
riveted on her. Every emotion she was feeling at that moment washed over me. I
sucked in my breath, having never experienced anything quite like it.

This girl was
different. She was magical. Literally.

The warlock inside
me lifted his head in curious admiration. She was young, probably only a
freshman, but she was beautiful in a totally understated way. I was instantly
drawn to her, and I glanced over her small, petite form as she moved toward the
cafeteria.

A light breeze
caught her black hair, stirring it slightly away from her face, and she smiled
at her friend. The music of her laughter carried to me through the air, with
the high and low notes blending in my mind in perfect harmony. She was…
content, happy, secure, and amused about whatever her friend was telling her. She
was everything I was not, and I knew I had to know who she was.

“Excuse me,” I
said, turning to one of the girls hovering nearby. She looked down at me with a
hopeful expression. “Do you know who that girl is?”

I glanced back
toward the beautiful girl, but not in time to miss the crestfallen look on this
one’s face before she lifted her head to follow my line of sight.

“Who? The blonde?”
she asked icily.

“No. The one with
the black hair,” I replied, not taking my eyes off her while she walked.

“Her?” she replied
with an incredulous tone in her voice. I turned back to look at her, narrowing
my eyes cynically. She shrank back for a second before squaring her shoulders
and flipping her hair with one of her hands. “That’s Portia Mullins,” she
replied, looking away from me to whisper with her friends again.

Portia Mullins. Oh,
the irony.

I knew exactly who
she was. She was the underage daughter of my new benefactor who had sworn to
help protect me. She was the girl I’d been instructed not to interact with
because she had no idea she was a witch, or that her family was part of a
magical coven. I wasn’t to have any contact with her until she turned sixteen
and found out her true heritage. That was when she would be inducted into her
coven. My coven. The coven I willingly bound myself to and could not betray.

She lifted her
head and looked right at me. I had to fight for control while I turned my eyes
away from her, with what I hoped was a bored, uninterested glance. But my heart
raced slightly when I felt her emotions—her pulse picking up at the sight of me.
She felt… intrigued, perhaps even attracted, but that was immediately replaced
by deflation. She didn’t feel worthy of my notice. If only she knew.

Portia and her
friend entered the cafeteria. Even though she was gone from my sight, I could
still feel her.

Unexpectedly, I
became very angry. I’d found a person I connected with on a level I had never
experienced with another living being, and I couldn’t even get to know her. I
felt the need to punch something.

I stood up and
strode across the parking lot to where I left my motorcycle, knowing fully well
I was going to get in trouble for ditching on my second day of school, but I
didn’t care. One thing was for certain, I was going to stay in this place and
get to know Portia Mullins… even if it got me killed.

Chapter 1

Portia Mullins - Present Day

I thought I was
the typical teenager—a normal fifteen year old, eagerly awaiting my sixteenth
birthday, which was in just three days. I was mostly excited because I could
finally get my driver’s license and, of course, the dating thing.

My family had a
strict no dating policy until I turned sixteen. It didn’t bother me too much since
I’d seen some sad results from other girls who were allowed to date before then—not
that those stories were always their fault. It just seemed like guys who didn’t
respect girls had an easier time taking advantage of them when they were
younger.

Even though I
hadn’t hit the official dating scene, it wasn’t like I didn’t have guy friends.
I’d always been a happy-go-lucky girl, and cute too, in a sort of Goth girl way.
 The funny thing about that is I wasn’t Goth at all. I just happened to have
naturally straight black hair that flowed down past my shoulder blades. My sweet,
little upturned nose matched perfectly with my bow-shaped lips, but it was my big,
nearly black eyes, with thick dark lashes, against my almost translucently pale
skin that set off the entire look.

I tried tanning,
but somehow only seemed to be able to turn a beautiful shade of lobster red
before my skin puckered, peeled off, and revealed a lovely, new white skin
beneath.

My best friend,
Shelly, whom I happen to call Barbie behind her back, tried to make me over
many times without success. My hair wouldn’t hold a curl, and the extra makeup
made me look a bit like a hooker. Since I’m so style challenged, I religiously
tried to avoid wearing too much black, sticking to jewel tones and that shabby
chic kind of look I adore. That, perhaps, makes me come off as a gypsy of
sorts, which is a taste in fashion I’ve picked up from my grandma, of all
people.

Grandma Mullins
was my most favorite relative in the world. She’s an eccentric, sixty-something,
free-spirited individual—the kind of lady who’s always smiling, but you feel
like you might be missing the big secret behind it.

Grandma’s tall,
slim, and graceful. Her hair is straight like mine, but it’s a beautiful
chestnut brown, and it looks like it was purposely streaked with gray
highlights. She always dresses in light, flowing clothes with way too many
layers and styles of jewelry on at the same time, but somehow it works. She was
going to be throwing my birthday party for me this week.

“Portia!” my mom
called from downstairs. “It’s time for breakfast!”

I groaned, hearing
my name. I didn’t hate it exactly, but my dad goes on and on about it. He’s the
one who chose it. It was sort of a joke he did, using a play on words.

My dad and his
buddies were really big into cars in high school, and according to the many
stories I’ve been told, they used to have some heated verbal disputes over
whether their favorite car was called a “Porsche” or a “Porscha” in their
pronunciation. My dad promised his buddies someday he would “own a Porscha.”
After college, though, he had a hard time finding work in his field of
expertise. He ended up becoming an encyclopedia salesman and working his way up
through the company, but he quickly began to see his car dream fade. Then I was
born, and he suddenly found a way he could own a “Porscha” once again. He
wanted to even spell my name like the car but
,
thankfully
,
my mom
put her foot down.

“Hey, Mom,” I
said, dropping my backpack at the foot of the stairs.

I gave her a quick
peck on the cheek before grabbing a piece of toast from the stack and
slathering it with jelly.

“I have to work
the swing shift again, so I won’t be here when you get home from school,” she
said.

My mom was a nurse
at the Verde Valley Medical Center. I figured she was most likely the reason
our family stayed afloat financially, since I didn’t think there were really
many people out there buying encyclopedias in mass quantities.

“That’s okay,” I
said, looking at the cartoon-covered scrubs she often wore to work with her
pediatric patients. “I’ll go hang out at Grandma’s after I get my jobs done.”

“That’s fine. Just
remember to take out the trash this time before you go.”

I sighed heavily. I’d
only ever forgotten to take out the trash once, and that was over a year ago. She’d
never forgotten it.

I quickly finished
the scrambled eggs she gave me, while she rattled on about some of her
patients, before carrying my dishes to the sink.