Magic and Mayhem: How To Train A Witch (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Baba Yaga Saga Book 1) Read online

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Robyn Peterman. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic and Mayhem remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Robyn Peterman, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  More Coming In This Mini-Series

  Get In Touch With The Author

  About The Author

  Other Great Magic & Mayhem Authors

  How To Train A Witch

  Book 1 of the BABA YAGA SAGA

  By

  Donna McDonald

  Dedication

  This book is for Robyn Peterman.

  Thank for inviting me into your world so I could create dragons.

  You rock.

  Chapter 1

  Making a quiet, sedate entrance had never been her style, but getting struck by lightning would definitely be a mood buster. Winds of change were blowing all around.

  The edges of her red dress fluttered around her legs as the seven of them materialized on the lawn of the Witchery U campus. Jezibaba looked up at the rumbling sky and read the darkening clouds before sighing at the violent storm she felt brewing. She told herself the lack of welcoming sunshine didn’t matter. It wasn’t necessarily a bad omen.

  But then it wasn’t just the weather she was questioning.

  Looking across the manicured campus lawn, she watched a bunch of teenagers playing some sort of game. The boys pelted each other with balls thrown from skinny stick baskets. The girls cheered and yelled at the boys. She rolled her eyes at the nonsense of it, even though they appeared to be having a good time.

  Thank the Goddess those years were several centuries behind her. She cringed just thinking about all the emotional drama the very young delighted in putting themselves through.

  Yes, it was good to be older. It was even better to be an older witch whose power had yet to stop growing. Not that she wanted to keep the title of the great and powerful Jezibaba forever. Wasn’t that why she was here? She had to find a way to keep her two replacements alive long enough to secede her.

  “Gentlemen, I need to find the proper motivation for this task. Tell me again why our presence here is necessary. I’m not used to jobs where I don’t have to kill someone.”

  Jezibaba rolled her eyes when she heard a shuffling of seven gray robes sweeping the grass behind her as they silently communicated with each other. They were probably drawing mental straws about who would give her the bad news.

  All were male witches, or warlocks as her testosterone laden posse preferred to be called. They were powerful seers, great conjurers, and fairly good at fetching coffee. Outside of that though, they were merely a bunch of devout magicals stuck in their heads. In her opinion, the whole lot was afraid to use their damn balls.

  No wonder the Jezibaba was always a female witch. A female’s irrational anger fueled a what-the-hell bravery few males could ever match. Feeling it now, she pushed her long mass of curly red hair over both her shoulders as she turned to favor them with a knowing and superior smirk. Maybe glaring was a tad mean, but it felt so damn good to vent her frustration.

  “Look, I’m not going to turn you guys into toads just for answering my question. I’m not in the mood to torture you today. It’s just that I’m having trouble believing we have to be directly involved with the lives of two children. For Goddess’s sake, Nathaniel—will you stop shuffling in your robe and speak to me. Why in Morgana’s name are we here? Nothing seems amiss.”

  Her most trusted warlock finally cleared his throat. She had been with Nathaniel for two of her three centuries in service to the Council of Witches. The warlock looked older than dirt, but he was still her junior by nearly a hundred and fifty years. She trusted the man for many reasons, but she liked him because he was the only one of her warlocks who wasn’t scared completely shitless of her.

  And okay—maybe she liked the way Nathaniel talked to her. The man spoke like they were all still living in medieval times. Goddess knew, sometimes she wished they were, except for the whole lack of plumbing thing, of course.

  “M’lady, the last divination of the Council of Witches revealed that the magical world would be switching to a multiple Baba Yaga system instead of continuing the current Jezibaba system of one witch protectoress. Two candidates have been deemed worthy prospects already. We’re just here to check on them. Their identity is being kept as quiet as possible by Council order.”

  Jezibaba snorted over the last comment because she knew better. Her gaze went back to the cheering, squealing, annoying teenagers again.

  “If the Council of Witches could be trusted to keep their silence on the matter, none of us would be here to check on the chosen ones. Personally, I trust your instincts about them being in danger far more than I trust the meager integrity of the Council. You all know how I feel about those backstabbing, sanctimonious, magic-wielding ass monkeys.”

  Ignoring the in-drawn breaths over her irreverent cursing, Jezibaba checked her nail polish before glancing at the teenagers again. She was not good at dealing with magical children of any age. The young tended to abuse their powers and that always made her angry. Her patience about such things was nil.

  Nothing Nathaniel had said meant she had to oversee the brats personally. She would gladly find them guardians which was being far kinder than the previous Jezibaba had been to her. She’d almost been killed dozens of time before she hit her mid-twenties. In fact, she’d been a woman of twenty-six before she’d even begun her training.

  “So the prophecy was correct then, I am to be the last of my kind unless I become a babysitter. Is that what you’re telling me, Nathaniel?”

  Her chief warlock stiffened behind her and his instant alertness to her tone made her smile.

  “I’m not telling you to do anything, Jezibaba. I would never presume to do that. I am merely informing you of the same details we discussed yesterday when we were planning this trip. You alone will have to determine if the children need additional protection.”

  “I guess I’d pushed that annoying discussion from my mind.”

  She wanted to laugh when Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed beneath his black hood.

  “Don’t get your loin cloth in a twist over my honesty. I’m here, aren’t I?” she declared, lifting a hand to point to the teenagers.

  Real intimidation was a power rush for her… and the closest thing to an orgasm she’d had in months. Men who could handle her real nature—and her power—didn’t grow on trees, not even those in the sacred grove of Morgana The Red. She knew that for a fact because over the years, she’d bedded every mythical creature the Goddess had made, but had never found one she could care about more than a few months.

  In the last decade, she’d shrunk to an all time low, seeking out those like herself who at least respected her magic. Unfortunately, she’d found nothing but self-absorbed warlocks
who couldn’t get a witch off properly without magical help. Her feminine ego had nearly hit rock bottom before she’d figured out that she was better off alone.

  Maybe her libido was more unhappy over her abstinence than she’d realized because it suddenly conjured a man who gave her body hope. She lifted an eyebrow as she watched a professor exit one of the buildings and head towards another. Professor Hottie certainly filled out his clothes well for an intellectual type. Muscles rippled under the loose white shirt he wore beneath his forest green academic robe. His slacks molded the rest of his shape in a way that immediately jumpstarted a fantasy or two about what remained tantalizingly out of sight.

  But something about him triggered a memory… or an instinct… or some sort of something. It was one of those feelings a smart witch would never ignore.

  Dreading the truth but having to know, Jezibaba waved a hand over her eyes and swore at what her magical sight revealed. Knowing now what he truly was only made her appreciate her innate caution more. Professor Hottie, with all those rippling muscles, was a fire-breathing dragon, which meant he was totally off limits to her.

  Sighing in resignation, Jezibaba gave up watching his sexy, masculine walk and started trudging towards the field of teens who were still screaming at each other. They had never ceased as far she could tell. Might as well get the introductions over with so she could put the frustrating day behind her as quickly as possible.

  “Forgive me, m’lady… but you’re going the wrong way.”

  Jezibaba swung a questioning gaze back to an equally confused Nathaniel, her eyebrows shooting up and making her whole facial expression match.

  “What do you mean the wrong way?”

  Nathaniel cleared his throat, adjusted his druidic style hood, and pointed a long boney finger at the building the now off-limits Professor Hottie had exited a few moments before.

  Jezibaba fisted hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious, Nathaniel. That’s elementary level. Are you telling me the chosen ones are not even riding their brooms yet?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Believe me, mistress. I’m not confident in the matter either, but I consulted the Fates to check the Council’s determinations.”

  “The Fates! Goddess, I hate those nosey old biddies.” Jezibaba stalked back to the front with the rest of her warlock posse.

  “Yes. Well, the feeling is mutual between you, M’lady. They seem to hate you as well.”

  Since killing Nathaniel was out of the question, Jezibaba genuinely glared at the messenger instead. “The Fates have a burr up their butts because I refuse to die on their command. If they don’t like me surviving their many predictions, they can take it up with Morgana. She’s the one who made me Jezibaba. I didn’t have any choice in that either. It was decided generations before I was born.”

  “Regardless of your tragic history, I must unfortunately report that the two chosen ones are merely ten years old. I sought the counsel of the Fates in order to confirm their ages. The Fates laughed when I asked for more information. They said we’d have no trouble finding them if we went looking. Both descend from proper lineages. There’s no other reason to question this, unless you can think of some reason the other warlocks and I haven’t.”

  Jezibaba sighed in frustration. “No. I guess I can’t think of any reason the chosen ones can’t be ten if they’re freaking ten. Very well, Nathaniel. What are their names?”

  “Hildy and Carol.”

  “Rather ordinary names for the chosen ones,” Jezibaba said, making a face.

  “Indeed, M’lady. I thought the same. Your birth given name is much nicer,” Nathaniel stated.

  “Oh, you’re sucking up now? Good show, Nathaniel. That’s why you’re still my favorite.”

  With a long suffering sigh, Jezibaba started towards the “right” building, her fashionable red dress billowing in the breeze. The first thing she’d done when she’d inherited the position was change the damn dress code. She was the Jezibaba—the most powerful witch ever born—not some drab mythological hag from a children’s story.

  She refused to wear her ceremonial black robe for anything but Council proceedings. She wanted to garner attention, not pity, from those who saw her. The red dress was far more striking and commanded a lot more attention when she needed to get people focused on doing her will. Nathaniel carried both her emergency witch hat and her ceremonial robe within his own grim looking clothes. That was as traditional as she was freaking willing to be.

  Before she could put out a hand, the youngest of the warlock posse scrambled around her to open the door. She had barely nodded at his deference when Professor Hottie zoomed through the opening ahead of her, cutting her entry off on his mad dash inside. Her indignant huff over his rudeness caught his attention. Instead of apologizing though, he turned to her and smiled.

  “Sorry, beautiful. You have very nice legs, but I’m extremely late for class,” he explained, his admiring gaze dropping to them as he spoke.

  Jezibaba stepped through the door enough to allow Nathaniel to enter behind her. “How would you like to teach class as a giant dragon toad today?” she asked faux politely.

  Even knowing the fire-breather was on her forbidden list, Professor Hottie’s husky chuckle over her threat still made her woo-hoo vibrate. She raised a hand to make good on her threat—and to show her woo-hoo who was boss—but lowered it when two children rushed out of a nearby classroom and grabbed one long, incredible fit man’s leg each.

  The Council of Witches would fine her and reduce her salary if she reduced innocent kids to tadpoles for no good reason. Goddess knew, she couldn’t afford any garnishments. Retirement was on the horizon for her and she was hording every cent she made. Her daily ritual of checking her investments allowed her to sleep more peacefully at night.

  “Professor Smoke, did you see them run out here?” Hildy demanded.

  “See who, Hildy?” he asked gently, running a hand over her hair.

  “The kittens. They were three of the tiniest, cutest kittens ever. They danced and let me pet them before they disappeared.”

  “Because I scared them away,” Carol bragged, laughing as she looked up in her favorite teacher’s face. “But I swear I didn’t hurt them, Professor Smoke. I just let them blink out the way they wanted. I even waved goodbye and they said they’d see me again.”

  “Us again—they said they would see us again,” Hildy corrected.

  “No. Me,” Carol insisted. “They said me. You just can’t believe animals might like me better than you for once. Admit it, Hildy.”

  “How would you like to look like the big lying toad you are, Carol?” Hildy demanded. She turned loose and raised her hands.

  Jezibaba fought back a grin when Professor Hottie’s larger ones closed around the little witch’s hands while he shook his head in warning.

  “Hildy, do you want to lose your recess privileges and your best friend?”

  Jezibaba covered her mouth as Carol turned loose of his leg, crossed her arms, and smirked when Hildy narrowed her eyes.

  “They said me, Hildy. Live with it.”

  To keep from openly laughing—and from being pissed at the Fates for being right about these two miscreants—Jezibaba decided she needed to intervene. She let loose a shrill whistle which split the air, effectively ending the debate. All eyes turned to her with proper respect at last as she slowly removed her fingers from her teeth.

  Professor Hottie had the audacity to wink at her attention-getting ploy. She gave him a warning finger wag for his grin which she took as flirting because his gaze kept returning to her legs. The girls were both still frozen in place, staring at her in outright fear now, which suited her just fine. But she ignored them to glance over her shoulder and smirk at the cloaked warlock staring at them in equal shock.

  “The future’s so damn bright, I need to wear shades… or maybe have ten tankards of troll ale so I can deal with this,” Jezibaba declared merrily, sweeping her hand at the frightened girls as she look
ed back at them. She snorted at their continued stares. “I swear if you two were older, I’d throw you both in the magic pokey and hire smelly tutors for you. I bet you’d learn to appreciate each other then.”

  Both girls drew in sharp breaths over the cursing… and the threat.

  Jezibaba smiled brilliantly at their quaking knees, her power swelling to fill the area with a fine golden mist. Stressful situations caused the occasional power leak, but it was not enough to worry her. No one seemed to mind walking around in gold glitter when it happened and she’d always liked sparkly things anyway.

  “M’lady—it’s impossible not to notice that the one named Hildy apparently shares your fondness for turning people into amphibians,” Nathaniel pointed out, leaning in close enough to her to whisper. “However, Carol’s superior attitude is oddly reminiscent of your demeanor when we first met. They are both tiny mirrors of your greatness.”

  “They’re children, Nathaniel. Just children,” Jezibaba declared, but she could also feel their power tugging on hers as they stared. “Neither can be called yet and I won’t allow it to happen anyway. The Council is probably just worried because I’ve served longer than any Jezibaba before me. I realize three hundred and sixty-six seems old to some of them, but I don’t look a day over a human fifty. And these children are not—I repeat not—to be called until they are of a proper age to choose the path for themselves.”

  Professor Hottie held her gaze as he leaned down to talk to his charges. “Girls, head to class now. Tell Ms Turner to start reading the spells, but no casting until I get there.”

  When they didn’t move, Jezibaba met his inquisitive gaze and shrugged to show him she was not holding them with any kind of restraining spell.

  Grinning at her reaction, he lifted the girls by the backs of their shirts and turned them away from her. Once released from his hold, they shot off into the room like bolts of lightning flying off his fingertips.

  Jezibaba watched Professor Hottie turn and walk slowly toward her. His guard was up now, wondering who and what she really was. But she could tell his worry was mostly for the children and rightly so. They would need a champion or two… or seventy… before they were old enough and strong enough to take over her work.