Table Of ContentArtie,
the Good Witch
Scarlet Hyacinth
Published by Silver Publishing
Publisher of Erotic Romance
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Rie Langdon
Artie, the Good Witch © 2011 Scarlet Hyacinth
ISBN # 9781920484767
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Dedication
For my little familiar, Fred.
You're the best cat ever, even if you're not black.
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For Dummies books: John Wiley & Sons
Artie, the Good Witch Scarlet Hyacinth
Chapter One
Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, there
lived a wicked, evil wizard. In his tall tower he dwelled,
surrounded by the evil minions he sent out to torture the
poor, unsuspecting souls of the human villages nearby.
This persecution ended when a noble knight braved
the horrible dangers of the wizard's creatures and
destroyed the vile being. The villagers rejoiced when they
saw the knight burn the wicked creature at the stake and
crowned the knight king.
Or so the story goes… But really, other than the
"once upon a time," all that is a tremendous lie. Folk make
up the stupidest tales, I'm telling you. Our kingdom isn't
even so far, especially with the recent advances in
technology. I'm particularly fond of the new model of
broomsticks, but regretfully I don't own one. Most likely, I
wouldn't even know how to use one. But I digress. The
supposedly tall tower is a ruinous, pathetic thing, and the
evil disciples are black cats that, granted, torture one with
their yowls.
I would know. I live there. And of course, the wizard
in question was just an eccentric old man who ate far too
many pastries. Granted, he did have a wicked way with his
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Artie, the Good Witch Scarlet Hyacinth
staff, but unfortunately, this talent didn't help his
cholesterol.
And so, Brennan, or Brew, as I called him, found
his death through the consumption of a delicious éclair.
Mind you, few people have this close knowledge of Brew's
proclivities, but you're just a diary, so I trust you won't tell
anyone. The thing is Brew's death is not only very sad, but
also problematic for me.
You see, I am his grandson, and as such, I inherit
his possessions: the tower, his cats, everything. Even you,
my grandfather's magical journal. However, in the process,
I also inherit his responsibilities, a tradition I find very
stupid, but that is the way of the wizards. Believe me, I have
many times tried to change his mind. I am not even a
wizard, mind you, but a witch——and yes, there is a
difference that has nothing to do with gender.
The old man was, however, a rock on this point,
claiming he could not think of anyone better who could take
on his important duties. "Artie, my boy, you just haven't
found your way," he'd say. "You'll know when you do."
Oh, Goddess, now I'm crying. Perfect! Stupid old
bastard! Why did you have to eat so much cake?
Anyway… Someone's knocking at the door. I'm
going to check. I'm sure it's some creditor Brew
conveniently forgot to tell me about. Perhaps I can just
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Artie, the Good Witch Scarlet Hyacinth
hide inside, but it's unlikely. Those damn loan-sharks have
a way to getting anywhere these days. Damn it!
I closed the heavy journal, coughing as dust began
to settle around me. It was a mystery why I'd decided to
even open the damn thing. Perhaps it made me feel better to
procrastinate rather than think about all the things Brew
had left behind when he departed this world for pastry
heaven.
I made my way down the dangerous stairs of the old
tower, the experience of many years living here the only
thing that kept me from falling and joining Brew in the
afterlife. The stupid black cats seemed to dislike their new
master, as they kept getting in my way.
"Would you stop it already?" I shouted at them.
Cat Number One gave me a bored look. "Sorry," it
replied. "We're hungry."
Stupid feline didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, it
sounded quite pleased with itself. I wished I had my
grandfather's power and could set its tail ablaze.
Unfortunately, as a witch, my only power was communing
with nature. Lame, I know. So unless I talked the cat to
death, I didn't have a chance of ever getting it to fear me.
With great difficulty, I reached the bottom floor.
After an arduous trek among artifacts whose only purpose
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Artie, the Good Witch Scarlet Hyacinth
was to collect dust, I found the door at last. No lie. I found
it. Due to a dubious spell that went awry one night when
Brew ate some liquor-filled chocolates, the door now
changed positions. Mostly, it remained on the bottom floor,
although we did have some interesting episodes when Brew
had been forced to levitate us to the ground due to the
door's position. None of this was apparent from the outside,
but in fact, if my unwelcome visitor tried to get inside, he
or she would run into an interesting surprise.
Now panting—yes, I needed to exercise more—I
opened the door. There was a man somewhere to my right,
standing where the damn thing should have been. He turned
as he saw me, and didn't look surprised at my sudden
appearance.
He didn't look like a creditor, and I immediately
bemoaned my decision of ever answering the door. He bore
the clothing of the royal house, and I remembered that
around this time, my grandfather would have had duties at
the castle.
"Brennan Penedental?" the messenger asked in a
pretentious tone.
I had the sudden urge to offer the man a
handkerchief to blow his nose, but quickly suppressed it,
and smiled instead. It was a smile I did not feel, of course.
In spite of everything, I loved Brew. A part of me always
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