The Bad Boys of Assjacket (Magic and Mayhem #9) - Robyn Peterman

Prologue

Once upon a time in the far, far away kingdom of West Virginia, there was an exquisitely enchanted place called Assjacket.

Don’t laugh. Okay, fine. Laugh. It’s a crappy name, but I’ve heard worse… Toad Suck, Arkansas… Hooker, Oklahoma… Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky.

I rest my case.

Of course, it wasn’t originally called Assjacket. But one bright sunny, cloudless, and slightly humid day, a potty-mouthed witch renamed the town. Or more likely, Zelda forgot the name and pulled the dreadful new moniker out of her ass. It’s not important to the story, so we’ll skip that part. Anyhoo, after that fated day, no one could recall the original name.

Was it a spell?

Was it providence?

Was the original name worse than Assjacket?

Who knows, but it has nothing to do with the tale, so please forget it was brought to your attention.

The enchanted town of Assjacket was filled with beautiful, magical misfits who happened to fit perfectly together—Shifters, Witches, Dryads and Warlocks… and three very handsome and lovably chubby talking cats. The cats paid me to say that—a lot. Although, I do adore them and would've spoken highly of the felonious felines without the bribe.

Even the leader of the witches, the illustrious and questionably dressed, Baba Yaga, aka Baba Yostuckintheeighties, had planted roots in the lovely town of Assjacket.

Of course, Baba Yaga was having relations with Zelda’s warlock father, but that’s another story for another time.

Back to this one…

Time after time and battle after battle, the Assjackians were torn to pieces—mostly metaphorically speaking—but always managed to put themselves back together with loving care for each other.

The magic was very real as was the love.

But in any good story, there is always a twist—usually dastardly, and in Assjacket’s case, always slightly profane.

For you see, the enchanted Assjacket was held together by an ancient secret—a mystical, magical secret… a circular-ish kind of oval-ish magical secret. A secret so old it had been forgotten. It didn’t help that the Assjacket historian had run out of toilet paper and had used the important documents for his own personal hygiene hundreds of years ago. The idiot who went by the name of Goober was run out of town never to be heard from again. Thankfully, that’s another story. And trust me, you don’t want to hear that one. It’s rather smelly.

Pardon my odoriferous digression.

As the saying goes, if history is forgotten or used to wipe one’s ass, it’s bound to cause a shitshow—pun sadly intended. Actually, that’s not the saying at all, but it is what happened in the enchanted town of Assjacket when an important piece of the magical historical puzzle went missing.

Magicals live a very private existence in public.

It’s the way it always has been and the way it must remain.

If the talisman disappears, the magic will follow. Somewhat like the circle of life… no wait, not the circle of life at all… more like if something circular-ish goes missing, chaos ensues.

The lines of safety for those who wield magic will blur and the danger shall grow dark and deadly.

It will take some very brave heroes to save the day.

If the day doesn’t get saved…

It will be the end of magic as we know it.

And that would suck.

xoxo The Goddess

Chapter One

Making my way into the kitchen and plopping my shapely, furry backside down on the kitchen table, I eyed the cheesecake perched on a plate ten inches away from me with lust. Cheesecake was sexy. Zelda would probably notice a paw print if I swiped a taste, so I sat on my paws and refrained. I was already in trouble. Actually, I was always in some kind of trouble. Trouble was my specialty.

I decided to wait until she’d turned her back then hide it under the table. A missing cheesecake was easier to explain than one with cat hair all over it.

“Don’t even think about it, Fat Bastard,” Zelda said, with her back to me.

The witch was good—very good.

“No worries, hot pants,” I lied. “Dat oral bacteria in cheese don’t agree with my flatus.”

Zelda rolled her eyes and tried extremely hard not to ask me what I meant. She failed. “I will so regret this,” she muttered, sitting down at the table and putting some distance between me and the cheesecake. “What the hell does flatus mean?”

“Kinda like a sphincter,” I explained as she wrinkled her nose. “It’s dat reflex dat expels intestinal gas through the butthole.”

Zelda let her head drop to the table with a thud. “I have got to stop asking questions that I don’t want the answers to.”

“Anyhoos,