Did you miss Chapter One?
From Brewing up Murder
And, so the adventure continues. I’m still in the body of a
female dog, thanks to the curse of a psychotic, revengeful
witch. The next full moon, my one time of the month I’m allowed to
walk around in my glorious man bod, is two days away, and Maeve
has dragged me off to LA.
Oh, what a joy to be back in the stupid city where I got cursed in
the first place!
Maeve shrieks as she opens the trunk of her Volkswagen, so I bolt
out of the car to check things out. She’s my only chance at becoming a
man again on a permanent basis, so anything bad for Maeve is bad for
me. Last thing I need is my only lifeline getting hurt!
Plus, I’m a little in love with her.
That’s when I see Maeve picking up a large, black bird.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Damien, my new sidekick, has apparently
decided to stow away on our trip.
“Damien, you idiot,” I say.
My little raven buddy squawks slightly. “It sure was hot in there!”
“No, really?” I snap, laying into him for his absolute stupidity while
Maeve fawns over him.
He does look pretty pathetic.
She grabs her bag, and we head into the hotel and up a flight of
stairs while she mumbles about getting him into some air condi‐
“What do you think you are doing here?” I ask while he looks down at
me from over Maeve’s shoulder.
“I thought you could use some help. The next full moon is only a few days
away, right?” he says, sounding unsure of himself.
“Don’t remind me. I’m already down to eleven more full moons before
this curse becomes permanent, and Maeve still has no idea her loveable pooch
is a grown man!” I snarl.
Suddenly, my doggie senses go on high alert. I can hear footsteps
behind the closed door of Maeve’s hotel room, and music. My ears
shoot up, my fur standing on end.
Oh, Maeve, darling, I will totally be your knight in shining armor
if you need me to be!
The look on Maeve’s face turns from scared to annoyed.
“I bet check-in made a mistake and they double booked this room,”
she mumbles pulling out her keycard.
You can never be too careful, especially now that we’re back in LA
—the same town where a witch turned me into a dog. For all I know,
Selena’s on the other side of that door.
Maeve taps the card to the key reader and the door flings open. I
run between Maeve’s legs and slide into the apartment, my teeth
showing in case we’re greeted by some hobo who managed to sneak
into the hotel. Instead, there’s a crazy looking woman dancing around
in bare feet.
The woman is singing, and I have to say she’s got some talent on
that end. Her black hair is pulled up in a tight bun, a few silver strands
giving away her age. While she sways to the blasting music, not
noticing our presence, the bangles around her wrists and ankles
“Mom!” Maeve calls out excitedly, throwing her suitcase down.
The woman spins around, looking stunned. “Maeve! What are you
doing here!” She slaps the top of a stereo sitting on the counter,
turning off the music, and sprints over. Her face is youthful, and I
guess that she simply looks younger than she actually must be to be
Maeve’s mom. She’s got a great smile and a sexy style that would
probably make those guys that hunt cougars go crazy.
“Mom, you’re back in the states? What the heck!” Maeve cries out
happily, giving her mother a hug while still holding Damien over her
shoulder like a sick baby.
“You know the old lady?” Damien asks me.
The woman embraces Maeve, then says. “Sorry, dear. I know I
should have called you, but I got your email about having to come to
LA this weekend, and I had some business here too, so I thought I’d
Maeve hugs her mom again. “I didn’t think I was going to get to
see you until the holidays.”
“Same,” her mom says with a huge grin on her face. “I hope this
was a pleasant surprise?”
“Absolutely, I’m so glad you’re here!” Maeve says, setting Damien
down on the counter. “Let me get this poor guy some water, and I’ll
catch you up.”
Maeve’s mom gives Damien the once-over with her eyes before
asking Maeve, “Have you heard anything from Frank, by the way? Or,
is that dirtbag still AWOL?”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” Maeve says and then launches into a
long story about how the police department had insisted on her
coming out to talk about the missing persons case. Their conversation
drifts from what a jerk Frank is, to being somewhat worried about
him, to Maeve asking her mom about her singing tour in Italy, and
her mother asking about the café back in Wisteria Pines. I learn that
her mother has just recently dumped her latest boyfriend – the one
who booked her the Italy tour to begin with—and I now am ques‐
tioning how Maeve turned out to be so well put-together with this
woman as an influence.
I find myself becoming distracted. I smell food, and now I can’t
think of anything else. What is wrong with me! I’m becoming more
and more like a dog with every passing of the full moon, and it sucks.
I can’t concentrate on anything when I smell food.
While I’m sniffing the air, I feel a hand on my head. Maeve’s
mother is scratching me behind my ears. My tail wags uncontrollably,
and she slips me a cracker – apparently that was what I was smelling.
“Okay, Mom, we need to talk,” Maeve says, plopping down on one
of the bar stools. “About that book you gave me.” She sets the book
down on the counter.
“Oh, goody!” her mother exclaims. “Have you had a chance to read
“Mom, are you a witch?” Maeve asks outright.
“Well, I thought that one was fairly obvious,” her mother says,
laughing. “Oh, hold on a moment.” The woman reaches into her
pocket and … pulls out a rat. A freaking rat! What strange reality have
I just found myself thrown into in which old ladies carry around
creepy looking rats in their pockets?
I jump back about a foot as this woman puts the rat down.
“Oh, wow!” Maeve cries out and picks the creepy looking black
thing up like it’s a freaking Guinea pig. “Emma! She’s still alive?”
“Getting old,” her mother says. “But, she’s still kicking.”
“It’s a freakin’ rat!” I yelp, but they, of course, cannot understand
me. “Quit petting it like it’s a teacup poodle!”
Then I hear Emma’s voice for the first time—ah, the joys of being
cursed—and it’s the most stereotypical old lady voice I’ve ever heard.
“I may be just a rat, but I bet I’m more pampered than you, you mutt,”
“So … you have an animal companion?” Maeve questions her
mother. “Like what the book says?”
“Oh, so you’ve been reading! Very good! Yes, I do. Some witches
require animal companions to channel their powers. You’re a
scent-powered witch though, yes?”
“You knew?” Maeve says.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐”I couldn’t stop reading!”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐”Fast-paced and fun. I love these mysteires!”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐”Diana Orgain is my new favorite author!”
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