As if being a high school student isn't already hard enough, Bobby Hawthorne and his best friend, Angelina Dellapicallo, struggle to understand the emerging secrets of witchcraft and magic - secrets strictly guarded by Bobby's overprotective mother and her friends. The unexpected appearance of his spirited grandfather, though, sets in motion a series of events that sweep the young teens down a dangerous path, one inhabited by an ancient evil that threatens not only Bobby and Angelina but their whole community of witches as well.
Pixies can't stop the hellhounds . . . but they have sounded the alarm . . . and the magic users must respond . . .
RJ Reviews - "This is a great, fun read that puts a very American spin on the story of witches living among us in the real world, blending Texan culture and Native American mythology together into something unique and enjoyable. If you're a fan of fast-paced, YA stories, then you need to give Son of a Kitchen Witch a read!"
Tim Hemlin has taught middle school English Language Arts in the Houston area for over 20 years and now puts his master’s degree in counseling to work as a high school counselor in the Fort Bend Independent School District. Besides running marathons, Hemlin enjoys cheering on his favorite sports teams—the Patriots, the Red Sox and the Cowboys. He currently lives with his family outside Houston, Texas.
Son of a Kitchen Witch is Hemlin’s seventh full-length novel and is informed by the decades he has spent as an educator in Houston-area public schools. Set in suburban-Houston, Son of a Kitchen Witch is a fast-paced urban fantasy about the teenage son of a witch and how he navigates the perilous terrain of young love, high school drama, and being hunted by a pack of hellhounds.
Tim Hemlin’s other works include the Houston-based Neil Marshall Mystery series and “The Wastelanders,” a dystopian-clifi novel about a futuristic world devoid of water.
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Excerpt
“Two tickets, Suzy.”
She tore them off the roll and I handed over the cash.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s so cold in here. My hands are freezing! Would you hold them and warm them for me?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied, pulling my hands and the tickets from her hands.
She pouted.
“Just sit on them,” I said, “but whatever you do, don’t put them next to your heart.” I smiled.
“Oh! That’s so mean!”
“Just kidding, Suzy.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you and Angelina are doing OK,” she told me. “The last couple of days had everyone talking. The two of you staring past each other and not saying a thing. Why, we expected word of a breakup to go viral at any moment. It was weird. I was so worried.”
I bet she was. The flirt. Angelina called her Suzy the Floozy. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I slipped the tickets into my wallet and returned to our table right in time to cross paths with Jimmy Pearson and his mouthy obnoxious self. Normality had returned all right.
“Look at the dweebs,” he said to one of his pusillanimous posse members.
“Bite me,” Angelina snapped.
I think her reaction was in part a response to watching Suzy Quinn work me.
“Oh, it speaks,” Jimmy mocked.
“Go play with yourself,” I told him.
“I’d rather play with Angelina,” he said, trying to push my buttons.
And he did.
Why’d he have to say that? I’d promised Mom and Pappy that I wouldn’t do anything to bring attention to myself. But I COULDN’T let that slide.
Maybe if Mr. G had still been in the cafeteria things would’ve been different. But he was gone.
The outliers at the table were dead silent. Jimmy Pearson was kind of big.
Just then Angelina shot up from her seat and started going off on him. And I mean OFF.
“You’re nothing but a DOPE-SMOKING DUMB-BUTT DORK WHO HAS ALL THE MANNERS OF A WART HOG WALLOWING IN ITS OWN FECES, YOU WIMPY WANNABE FOOTBALL SUCKING . . . .”
It would’ve gone on forever if I hadn’t wrapped my arms around Angelina’s waist, picked her up and started carrying her out of the cafeteria to the cheers, hoots, and whistles of practically everyone in the place. Talk about shell shocked, Jimmy Pearson stood there white as a bird-turd—alone, by the way, because his posse had skulked off—and the administrators were going to him, not Angelina. Obviously if a good girl such as Angelina went off it had to be his fault.
Starting off by calling him dope-smoking might’ve had something to do with the assistant principals leaping into action, too.
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“You can put me down now,” she said once we were away from the commotion.
She was instantly calm and straightened her burgundy sweater.
“What gives?”
She shrugged.
“You did that to keep me out of trouble, didn’t you?”
“Maybe, and maybe I’m just tired of his ugly face.” She paused. “I hate Suzy the Floozy.”
Nailed that one.”
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