Love Croakies Sam Cheever (red queen ebook txt) 📖

“Apparently, you’ve gotten engaged,” Archie said, succumbing to hilarity that was entirely inappropriate.

I turned a glare on him. “It’s not funny.”

Grym finally gave in and laughed too. “It’s a little funny.”

I shook my head, returning my gaze to the twosome at the door. I wondered if anybody had noticed that one of them was a girl. I paled, suddenly wondering which one I was supposed to marry.

I didn’t wonder for long.

Maxine winked and blew me a noisy kiss.

The End

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Enjoy this taste of Book 1: Unbaked Croakies:

How in the name of the goddess’s favorite sports bra am I going to do this Magical Librarian job? I have no idea what I’m doing. And the woman who’s supposed to be training me is…well, let’s just say she’s distracted and leave it at that. I guess I’ll bumble through. It’s become something of a trademark move for me.

My name is Naida Griffith and I’m a sorceress. I actually found that out not too long ago. I’ve lived with an undefined something burning in my belly for a while, feeling as if something wasn’t quite right under my skin. Then, on my eighteenth birthday I started getting headaches. Bad ones. And random stuff started following me around.

Recently I was approached by a group called the Société of Dire Magic to become Keeper of the Artifacts. A magical librarian. Given that magical artifacts have taken to following me around, I decided I might have an aptitude for the job. So I said yes.

But in the first few days, I’ve been flogged by flip flops, bludgeoned by gnomes, and discovered a corpse in a suitcase. Then there’s the woman who’s supposed to be training me. She’s…interesting.

Will I survive the training long enough to get the job as artifact librarian? You might as well ask me if a caterpillar gets manis or pedis. Who knows? But I know one thing for sure. This gig is hard.

I’m going to do my best to succeed. Or die trying.

Unbaked Croakies

I stood on the street outside the bookstore, frowning up at the ugly wood sign with the picture of a spotted frog on it. The yellowed white paint was chipped and scarred, and there was a black blotch near the frog’s mouth that looked like a fly.

I kept expecting the frog’s tongue to snake out and snap it up.

It was an ugly sign. World-class ugly. But it was oddly suited given the store’s strange name.

Croakies.

I mean. What kind of name was that for a bookstore?

Soft footsteps came up behind me and I resisted turning.

“Are you ready?”

At just under six feet, the man was only a few inches taller than I was. I guessed he was about middle age. For a sorcerer that would put him in his eighties or nineties. He had piercing blue eyes that were a little darker than mine and longish, curly brown hair. He also had a truly forgettable face. I mean that literally. From one moment to the next I would often forget what the man looked like. In fact, the few times I’d seen him, I’d only been able to identify him because of the sorcerer’s garb he wore.

The thought made me frown.

I always remembered the piercing blue gaze. And the hair. But that was all that stuck in my mind.

I knew him only as Agent A.P. from the Société of Dire Magic. A formidable group whose moniker seemed to strike fear into the hearts of everyone I spoke to about them. Supernormals, at least. Since I’d been raised by a non-magical grandma, I didn’t really know that many supernormals. But the few I’d met since A.P. had knocked on my door a couple of weeks earlier, had seemed more than half afraid of him.

I had no idea what it was that scared them about the man. He seemed harmless enough to me.

I turned to look at the agent. He was less intimidating in his street clothes than he’d been in his robes. I’d only met him a handful of times. But each time we’d met previously, he’d looked just like a fairytale sorcerer in his long purple and black robes. All that had been missing was the pointy hat.

And the wand.

When I’d jokingly asked him where those two items were, he’d very earnestly explained that they were only for special ceremonies.

I hadn’t known him long enough to recognize if he was joking.

I chose to believe he was.

Otherwise, it would just be too weird.

But back to his question. Was I ready?

Taking a deep, bracing breath, I nodded. I was as ready as I was ever going to be. With a feeling that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t imagine and might not like, I reached for the door to Croakies and opened it.

A mangy black cat galloped toward the door as it opened, yowling as if he were being chased by an army of slavering canines. The feline’s headlong flight was accompanied by a prolonged shriek.

“Banshee Botox!” a woman caterwauled from deep inside the store. “Close the door! Don’t let him out.”

I quickly slammed the door behind me, cutting the agent behind me off in mid-stride.

A.P. yelped in pain from the wrong side of the entrance.

A woman came scurrying out of the stacks, rushing over to grab the cat, who was almost as big as a full-sized dachshund and sported only one and a half ears.

The feline’s longish black fur was matted and sparse in spots, making him look like he’d spent the better part his life on the streets. White fur speckled the big cat’s cheeks and chin, marking him as a feline of the older