Boxed Set: Witch Got Your Tongue & Peck of Pickled Warlocks
Aren McAllister is a beautiful but shy and withdrawn young woman who has battled a stuttering problem her entire life. But then, seemingly by accident, she discovers that she wields an incredible power: she is actually a witch and can cast potent spells . . . but only by singing them.
This discovery throws Aren into a dangerous power struggle between different factions in the society of witches who live among humans unknown by them. And for the first time she encounters a romance that may change her life as much or more than the powers she never knew she had.
She has been lied to her whole life. Her father is trapped in a hostile world, and it's her fault. Her former lover is a warlock who can't be trusted. Her only hope to put things right is a thousand-year-old talisman that once belonged to a handsome warrior who was also the most powerful warlock in all the land . . .
WITCH GOT YOUR TONGUE is the first novel in the Tongue Tied Witch series by best-selling novelist Livia J. Washburn. Aren McAllister, the Tongue-Tied Witch, is back in A PECK OF PICKLED WARLOCKS. In this sequel to the critically acclaimed WITCH GOT YOUR TONGUE, Aren searches for a way to rescue her father from the other-worldly realm of the witches' council. From the sandy beaches of the Gulf Coast to the bright lights of Las Vegas to the dangerous depths of an abandoned silver mine, Aren's quest is filled with adventure, romance, and humor.
EXCERPT
I
took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
Then I had to tug up the neckline of the costume to make sure my boobs
didn’t pop out, being careful I didn’t pull so much my panties showed. I’d been doing that all day. Even though it was Halloween, I couldn’t
believe that on my very first day on this job I’d been sent out dressed like a
sexy witch in this skimpy costume.
It
was gold with a black spider web design and had a tight orange corset with
little black paw prints, cut low in front, and the fluttery skirt was so short
the hemline was practically up to my butt.
I wore fishnet stockings and high heels with it (although I had a pair
of comfortable shoes in my car for driving between jobs). A tall, pointed,
cliché witch hat that matched the corset sat on my head. I guess I looked okay. My boss at the agency seemed to think
so. I’ve never been one for wearing racy
outfits.
I
reached out and pressed the doorbell of the suburban house. It was late afternoon, almost evening. Kids would start trick-or-treating soon. Meanwhile, I had a treat – or was it a trick?
– of my own to deliver to the guy who lived here.
The
door swung open, and the man who answered my ring stood there with his eyes
widening at the sight of the sexy witch on his doorstep. He was in his mid-thirties and looked like a
high school athlete gone slightly to seed.
He had come in from work and shed his coat, but he still wore his
tie. It was loosened and his collar was
unbuttoned, but he hadn’t gotten rid of it entirely yet. He had a drink in his left hand.
“Are
you R-Ronnie Holt?” I asked.
“Yeahhhh,”
he said, sounding like he didn’t know what to make of me.
I
put what I hoped was a seductive smile on my face and said, “I’ve g-got
something for you.”
Stop
right there. I know what you’re
thinking. I wasn’t a hooker, no matter
how I was dressed. I wasn’t a process
server, either, which is probably what the less dirty-minded of you were
thinking.