Witch Slapped (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 1) by Dakota Cassidy Page A

fumble the cup. My scarf now askew from my temper tantrum, I spilled the hot liquid all down the front of my silk shirt.
    The shirt that suddenly became quite see-through.
    Ugh.

Chapter 8
    “ T he good news is, you had a bra on, Stevie. I’ve seen more skin on SpongeBob SquarePants than you were showing.”
    Belfry’s attempt to make me feel better wasn’t helping.
    “If you only knew how much I wish I lived in a pineapple under the sea right now!” I whisper-yelled.
    “I didn’t see a thing. Pinky spy swear,” Win chimed in with his support.
    I stomped up the street, passing Tito my taco vendor, who had the audacity to turn his back on me the moment I came into view, but not before he gave me the evil eye.
    Several people, tucked into their winter vests and knit hats, literally looked the other way as I stalked along the curb toward nowhere in particular.
    But when one of the shop owners, sweeping the sidewalk along his store, looked at me with obvious suspicion, I think I officially lost it a little.
    Enough was enough. I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, raised my fists to the gloomy sky, and bellowed at him and anyone else in my path, “ I am not a murderer !”
    “Stevie! Steady the hull, huh? It’s like being on a roller coaster in here, for cripes’ sake!”
    I winced, cradling my purse to my chest and peering into the interior with remorse. Poor Belfry.
    I sucked in a deep breath of cool air to ease the tightness in my chest. “Sorry, buddy. I kind of flipped my nut there.”
    “Tell me again why we decided to come back to Seattle? I almost think it would have been better to stay in Paris and take those batty witches and all their guff. At least you knew your enemy.”
    “Didn’t they call me a murderer there, too?” I regretted saying as much the moment the words came out of my mouth, but there they were. All out in the open and so very ugly.
    “Come again?” Win whispered in my ear, his presence there now quite cold.
    Belfry poked his head out the top of my purse. “Aw, leave her alone, Winterbutt. She’s had a rough month.”
    “Aw. Poor Boo. I died. Whaddya have to top that?”
    I knew I’d eventually have to explain to Win why I no longer was a part of my coven, and where my powers had gone, but in some passive, pathetically misguided notion, I’d hoped someone in the afterlife would tell him for me. In this case, I was almost glad I couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t pressured me about it, but I wanted to be open about my ability to help.
    “I said leave her alone, or I’m gonna fly up outta this musty den of lipstick and tampons and—”
    “Belfry! Stop. It’s okay. I do owe Win an explanation.”
    “Like the one he gave you about what happened to him ?” Belfry yelped with disbelief.
    “I’ve just given you everything I own, including a hefty sum of money. I’d think an explanation would be a courtesy you’d want to extend. But if you’d prefer, I can wait. No pressure here.”
    That was more than fair. He should know whom he was doing business with.
    I stopped at the corner just past the coffee shop and darted across the street to the bus stop shelter, where at least I’d be dry while I laid my baggage on the carousel for Win to see.
    Dropping down to the seat, I looked out at the dismal day, musing at how it mirrored my emotions. “Okay, so first of all, ‘murderer’ is a little dramatic. Only one person actually said that, and while most of my friends rushed to defend me, it didn’t make hearing it any easier. I guess that particular accusation kind of stuck with me.”
    “So you’re not a murderer then?” Win asked in his no-nonsense way.
    “Didn’t anyone in the afterlife tell you how I ended up losing my powers?”
    The first week after I’d suffered the loss, Belfry had fended off more inquiries than the Spanish Inquisition. Most of them had come in like messages on an old ham radio, full of static and choppy, but the distress from my ethereal