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  With A Witch & A Smile

  The Witch Doctors, Book One

  C.S. Edwards

  Copyright © 2021 by C.S. Edwards

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

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  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

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  The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Book Description

  Foreword

  1. The Gnome

  2. The Witch Doctor Dentist

  3. The Mystic Angel

  4. The Assistants

  5. The Family

  6. The Couples

  7. The Love Scene

  8. The Mistake

  9. The Invitation

  10. The Tale

  11. The Trouble

  12. The Release

  13. The Rescue

  14. The Forever After

  More from the Magic and Mayhem Universe

  About C.S. Edwards

  Acknowledgments

  For my family.

  Thanks for understanding, tolerating, and supporting all my crazy. I love you.

  For Sean.

  …hear me out on this. You have my whole heart, forever.

  For Robyn.

  Best friends always challenge and make you better. You are the best, best friend.

  Book Description

  With A Witch & A Smile

  This is Betty Babington. Yep, of the witch doctor Babington’s. But hold on a hot second, she’s not the Babington you're probably excited to meet. She’s the outcast. The dentist who didn’t exactly live up to the family name. Hiding out in the shadows, Betty has found her place in the sweet sanctuary of Rabbit Hash, Kentucky, where rabbit shifters, gnomes, and the 'real' tooth fairies live in peace. It’s a quiet life where she can keep her tiny witch doctor daughter safe forever. Together with an odd-ball crew, she saves all the pulled teeth from magical beings to make sure they properly transition to tooth fairies or feed the earth with their magic. It's definitely not glamorous, and she loves it - most of the time.

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  But, something is rotten in Rabbit Hash and Betty thinks too many magical beings are suffering with a toothache. What's a witch doctor dentist girl to do? Assemble the crew -- Birdie, her tiny witch doctor daughter, who's studied her whole life for this moment and is definitely better prepared than Betty to save the world; Ginger, her goldendoodle familiar is honestly no help because she only communicates by singing songs; Gnomelder, King of the rock gnomes, has only one slight disadvantage, no one can understand what he’s saying; and Molar the actual King of the tooth fairies – he's a King so, yeah, enough said.

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  Together, they’ll have to yank out the source of the evil.... and maybe, just maybe, Betty - the outcast witch doctor dentist changes her life... and gets another chance at love - yeah, there's this guy, it's a long story.

  Foreword

  Blast Off with us into the Magic and Mayhem Universe!

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  I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.

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  What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?

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  Well, let me explain…

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  It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you…the results are hilarious!

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  So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!

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  For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com/. Grab your copy today!

  And if you would like to read the book that started all the madness, Switching Hour is FREE!

  https://robynpeterman.com/switching-hour/

  1

  The Gnome

  Throwing a khaki musette bag stuffed with hammers, keys and jars across his wee body, Gnomelder propped a teensy shovel over one shoulder and began his journey through the hidden arched entrance into the mine. He’d shoved his flat, thick feet into worn blue leather boots that squished as he walked. The dusty path soaked up the wet tracks of the rock gnome as he descended further into the earth. Gnomelder whistled while he worked—a tad elfish for a gnome, but he liked to whistle none-the-less. His gentle tune echoed in the tunnel. The closer he came to the massive cavern in the earth, the louder a rich chorus of deep ringing sounds echoed back to greet his merry melody. He sped to a skip.

  Climbing over a narrow rock ledge, Gnomelder gripped an awaiting rope and slid the final six meters into a vast maze of stalagmites rising from the floor. The melodic ringing ceased as an army of rock gnomes waddled over to where he landed. Gnome culture was full of conundrums, as most are. Gnomes were stealthy and made good guardians, friends, and even spies—when the occasion called for one. Likewise, their sneakiness stemmed from a fear—of humans, loud noises, big dogs, thieves who steal treasure, and plastic pink flamingos.

  The gnomes packed together, leaving just enough space from shoulder to shoulder to accommodate their chunky arm movements. Their greetings were diminutive, much like the creatures themselves. The smiles, waves, and nods rippling throughout the tribe barely produced a whiff of sound. They followed the slight motions with a sing-songy gibberish that no one had ever translated. It was too complex, and quick in cadence, even for the magical world. Their secret language had provided gnomes with a power they didn’t care to exercise. Finding their place beside those in need of secrecy, gnomes were extra valuable to those who yearned to bury their secrets deep in the earth—so they might never surface again.

  Gnomelder sat down his shovel and threw open his bag. Removing six blue glass jars full of ivory looking rocks of different sizes with care, he placed them in front of his band of workers. The others sighed as they leaned in, gazing at the gifts their leader offered. Closing his golden-rimmed eyes tight, Gnomelder mumbled a garbled prayer over each jars, jumped up and down three times, and led a silent wave that undulated throughout the whole miniature gnome congregation. With one speedy clap of his hands, he motioned to the army, who clapped back with the same rapid rhythm. Gnomelder topped off his ceremony with a solo whistled rendition of the Happy Birthday song, as he wrenched off the lids from all six jars, then bowed.

  Three rock gnomes inched forward, each laying a bundled round orb wrapped in brown paper at Gnomelder’s feet. They bowed and backed away. The gnome King hopped back and forth from one small wet foot to the other, flapped his hands and arms about in no particular sequence, stopped with a sudden clap, and knelt. Mimicking their King, the gathered gnomes knelt in a prayer posture, tilted their heads down and mumbled in unison.

  The prayer was over as quickly as it began. Several gnomes from the group gathered the blue jars and circulated the ivory pebbles amongst the rest of the workers. Waddling back off to the recesses of the cavern, they took up their hammering. The recommenced musical rapping hit Gnomelder’s petite pointed ears again. He crammed the wrapped orbs in his bag, grabbed his shovel, and a miniature lantern from the tip of a rock and skipped through the maze of stalagmites, further into the mine.

  He ventured down one of the long dark and damp corridors, leaving his squad of friends behind. His wet tracks were no longer obvious in the mucky earth along this passage. The deeper he hopped, the murkier it became. The lantern that flickered and swung to the ditty he whistled provided limited help. Gnomelder didn’t mind the cold recesses of this trail and the shrinking space around him. As the ceiling shrunk and the floor rose, he slowed his pace and moseyed to the end of the trail, finding another door.

  Placing the lantern on a rock ledge, Gnomelder searched his bag and drew out a skeleton key from an interior pocket. Twisting it in the keyhole, he yanked the round iron door knocker on the modest wooden door, but did not let it open. No longer able to hear the song of his kinfolk, he looked back. Blinking twice, he laid a hand under his hat and cupped it to funnel his petite, pointy ear. After a quick listen, he spun back to the door and pulled it open.

  The sparkling shine from inside this secret room shone like the sun and burst out in a brilliant ball of rainbow colors. Spilling around the gentle gnome, the color was not just vibrant, it possessed a voice which washed over him in waves of soft, effervescent laughter. He basked in the glory of color and noise, closing his eyes, swaying and breathing in the magic and the mir
acle. The crystal chorus was the stuff of myths—even in the magical world. Forever, it’s been told that somewhere in the middle of the earth existed a mine so full of every color and kind of crystal that it emanated light and music, and basking in its presence increased a witch or warlocks’ power by an immeasurable amount. For as long as magical history had been recorded, no one had confirmed the crystal mine’s existence. Its secret lay at the center of gnome culture, who had protected and tended to the crystal chorus, allowing it to thrive and grow undisturbed for thousands of years.

  The bigger secret of the mine had never surfaced, even in legends. The conglomeration of crystals weren’t your ordinary magical stones. Stronger and more powerful because of what was being crystalized, the tiny blue jars held the key to the chorus. Filled with lost teeth from magical creatures, the rock gnomes took every tooth not destined to become a tooth fairy and planted it deep in the earth. The cementum of magical teeth ran rich with all the powers and gifts specific to the being it was connected to. Once buried, the teeth crystalized like diamonds. The rock gnome population cultivated those manifestations and the magic that lived within their ordered glimmering facets. As King of the rock gnomes, Gnomelder had inherited protecting the crystals. Further still, he handled the safe passage of the crystals formed from the buried teeth, making sure they joined the others behind the wooden door at the end of the earth. The task suited him.

  Crawling into the chamber of crystals, Gnomelder locked the door behind him and placed the skeleton key on a ledge above the door. Emptying the contents of his bag, Gnomelder watched several chunky packages thump on the ground. Unwrapping the brown paper from each one, he squinted at the collection of brilliant crystals. One red as blood, glowing from the inside out, that looked hot to the touch. Another a deep royal blue, radiating such luminance it appeared white in the center. And the last, an emerald green so dark in hue, it looked near black, yet still burned with energy. Gnomelder smiled and hopped back and forth from one foot to the next — an excited habit. Again, he jumbled a gibberish pray over the gifts, sang and danced until he bowed. Gnomelder scooped up his shovel and went to work burying the rocks, their color and their magic in the mine of magic crystals that didn’t exist.

  Making quick work of his chores, he rewound his steps to the crystal room, behind the small wooden door, deep within the mine. Rejoining the army of rock gnomes, Gnomelder received more smiles, waves, and nods as he passed his fellow secret keepers—all swinging their hammers to the earth, creating that beautiful melody that made him skip. So, he skipped back to the rope.

  Grabbing the braided jute, Gnomelder hoisted himself up a meter before a vibration of epic proportions hit the ground and walls around him. He slid back to the floor of stalagmites and planted himself against the wall. The flurry of scurrying gnomes was louder than pleasing, and Gnomelder laid a finger on his lips to shush his frightened friends. Bravery did not come naturally to gnomes, hiding from danger did. A second vibration hit the mine. Fortunately, Gnomelder was blessed with more curiosity than fear, which is precisely why he’d risen to be the leader of the rock gnomes. Thumps and bumps had happened before and he’d protected his friends and the crystals. Gnomelder remembered those times. With one hand on the ground, he felt for the source of the disruptions. Rock gnomes could move through solid earth like air. They’d burrow as an escape if needed. His hand lingered on the cold, damp soil—a safe-haven that spoke to him. No evil bubbled up to meet his palm. He looked at the top of the ledge. The rumbling was coming from out there. Being his normal action hero self, he grabbed the rope and swung back up to the dry path out of the mine. Looking back down, meters below him, he smiled at the sea of dark brown eyes blinking up—the sea of gnomes waving and nodding.

  Returning the nod to his kindred, he headed back to the arched doorway that began his journey to work, but this time without whistling. Another smaller tremor sent him sideways on the path. He got to his feet, dusted off his coat, straightened his stocking cap, and treaded forward. As he reached the original arched doorway, another quiver of the earth stopped the small gnome. He creeped forward, cupping his hand under his hat, against his ear and to the door to listen. With silence on the other side, he knelt and peered through the keyhole with one golden-rimmed eye and blinked twice. There was no trouble to be seen. But then again, most rarely saw trouble coming—even gnomes.

  Gnomelder inched the door open and slid outside.

  “There you are. I’ve been pounding on that door forever. I need that dust. Did you bring me the dust?”

  “Fa rouce, giter owher,” Gnomelder jabbered, and dug in his bag for a small glass vial. “Molder velo elpin ou orf staly-arkes.”

  “That’s a good gnome. Pay dirt. Now go on, get outta here.”

  Gnomelder shuffled off mumbling, “Molder nd Ancisgra akes neoney yapyap.”

  2

  The Witch Doctor Dentist

  Betty Babington stared down at the fanged mouth of a wolf, the last place she thought she’d be at 33 years old. But, here she was, looking straight into the wide open, heavy breathing mouth — full of 42 golden hued, perfectly aligned teeth. She knew the risks, and that hadn’t dissuaded her. What stopped her in her tracks were the massive four inch fangs protruding from the wolf’s jawline like claws, glistening with saliva and ready to crush whatever they encountered. Those things were meant for gripping and puncturing, and they looked as if they’d seen their fair share of activity—a lot of gripping and puncturing, in her opinion.

  Taking a deep breath, she leaned in for a closer look, and pushed her black-rimmed glasses tight against the bridge of her nose. Mesmerized by the magnificent magical creature, Betty’s eyes wandered over the thick silver fur and grey eyes before adjusting her headlamp. Guiding the large LED light into the darkest recesses of the creature's mouth, she searched for the wolf’s biggest and strongest molars, the ones used to devour their prey. She sighed.

  The wolf twisted his jaw, moaned, and shifted in the chair.

  “Relax, Fritz,” her tone almost a whisper, her breath measured. “Relax.”

  “’ow am I, ‘posed to ‘elax,” the enormous wolf slurred through his stretched jaw.

  “Fritz, I can’t see what’s going on if you don’t let me look.” Betty pushed back her rolling chair and sat the headlamp on the top of her well-appointed, low ponied red hair. “Maybe you should, you know… shift?”

  Fritz growled and grumbled, flailing to his feet. Once calm and sitting, he planted all four paws in the curved valley of Betty Babington’s dental chair. Swiping his saliva soaked mouth with the fur on his huge front leg, Fritz glared at Betty.

  “Dr. Babington, I will shift if you insist. But my teeth don’t hurt when I’m in my human form, just when I’m a wolf.” Fritz stretched his mouth open wider and raised his head to the ceiling. “They feel, owooooo, I don’t know. They feel weak. Like they’re going to fall out of my head at any minute. Especially when I’m eating.”

  Betty wrangled the images of Fritz the wolf Shifter ‘eating’, bouncing around in her brain, and tucked them into her mental ‘do not open’ file, smiling. “You know what, let’s try to look one more time.”