Witches Protection Program by Michael Phillip Cash Read Free Book Online

“Juliet,” Bernadette said sharply. “Start behaving like the leader you were born to be!” There was a pause.
    “I understand.” Bernadette examined her pen. “I will take care of that.”
    “Who’s that?” Morgan asked.
    Bernadette hung up, her faraway gaze directed to the full -size window. “She’s out of control,” she said, more to herself than anyone else in the room. Turning to Scarlett, she continued, “Contact Reeva in Washington and tell her to keep an eye on…” Bernadette paused, staring at her niece, her face unreadable.
    “Yes, of course. I know what to do, Bernadette,” Scarlett responded.
    Lush and curvy, Scarlett was squeezed into a tight black dress. Her blond hair framed her round, artfully made -up face. Scarlett sneered at Morgan. Morgan felt her skin redden — oh, the curse of fair skin, she thought. Scarlett hated her, and for the life of her, Morgan couldn’t figure out why.
    Morgan cleared her throat. “Morning, Aunt Bea.”
    Pointedly ignored, Morgan tried again. “Morning, Aunt Bernadette.”
    Bernadette placed her pen down carefully, resting her spider hands on the face of the desk. “Get a latte for my niece,” she said, dismissing the assistant. Scarlett’s eyes narrowed to slits that appeared to steam, but this was apparently unnoticed by the mogul. Morgan swallowed convulsively.
    “Why are you here? Don’t you have” —Bernadette consulted her BlackBerry —“a political science class now?” She looked at the leather chair, then at her niece, who took the invitation to slide into it. “Sit up straight, Morgan.”
    Morgan straightened. “The professor got sick.”
    Scarlett returned with a clear glass of coffee, a precise amount of foam floating on the top.
    “Cast a spell?” Scarlett asked snidely.
    “Thanks.” Morgan took the steaming cup, sipping it cautiously. “You know I don’t like to use witchcraft.”
    “Pity.” Scarlett enjoyed a certain amount of freedom being Bernadette’s assistant. She was a few years older than Morgan, and her family had known the Pendragons for eons. She was an intern and had gotten the job when Bernadette’s former assistant had broken her hip in a terrible fall.
    “She’ll grow into it.” Bernadette’s eyes glowed, but her smile was brittle. “I didn’t waste my time teaching you to use our craft for cleaning your room or playing tricks with your little friends.” She eyed her niece’s chipped purple nails with disgust. “The least you could do is change your polish. I mean it —do it now, Morgan.”
    Morgan looked out the window, sighing with resignation when her aunt added, “If you don’t, I will, and I promise you won’t like the color.”
    Morgan reached into her bag, pulling out a bent -looking twig. She regarded it fondly. It was her mother’s. Bernandette’s lips turned down when she spotted it. Morgan whispered a few words, twirling it in the air, and a fresh coat of purple polish covered her nails. Her aunt nodded with approval.
    Bernadette stood, languidly walking around the desk. She perched herself on the corner, swinging a long, black -clad leg. Picking up the smallest of the rocks, she held it in her hand, then rubbed the pink surface with her thumb. Her eyes sharpened as she stared at her niece. The room took on a warm -and-fuzzy glow. “Anyway, you should be spending your time practicing how to fly.”
    “I don’t want to fly, thank you very much,” Morgan replied, a mutinous pout on her lips. Much as she wanted to be rebellious, she felt forced to relax, the lambent light making her drowsy.
    “Every witch flies,” Scarlett told her condescendingly.
    Morgan shrugged. “I don’t like talking about…”
    Bernadette pinned her niece with an amused stare. “What?”
    “You know.”
    “No, I don’t know.” Bernadette let the pink rock roll on the desk, then picked up the next largest. The room buzzed with electricity, pushing Morgan from her slight stupor.
    “Yes, you do,