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Witches Protection Program
Wes Rockville, a disgraced law-enforcement agent, gets one last chance to prove himself and save his career when he’s reassigned to a 232-year-old secret government organization.
The Witches Protection Program.
His first assignment: uncover a billion-dollar cosmetics company’s diabolical plan to use witchcraft for global domination, while protecting its heiress Morgan Pendragon from her aunt’s evil deeds. Reluctantly paired with veteran witch protector, Alastair Verne, Wes must learn to believe in witches…and believe in himself.
Filled with adventure and suspense, Michael Okon creates a rousing, tongue-in-cheek alternate reality where witches cast spells and wreak havoc in modern-day New York City.
Genre: YA, Action/Adventure
“I said, come on,” Alastair urged the younger man.
“I want to go to a hospital.” They stood in the smelly hallway, Wes’s bloody foot leaving a trail of red footprints.
Alastair shook his head. “What are you afraid of? Witches are synonymous with healers. Baby Fat’s practically a surgeon.”
“What do you mean, practically?” Wes roared. “I’m not going in.” He limped after Alastair, who stood firm.
“Shape-shifting witches sometimes release slow-acting hormones that can enter the bloodstream and wreak havoc on a person’s nervous system. It starts with an elevated temperature.”
Wes felt sweat drip from his temple down his warm neck.
His body shook with a tremor.
“You’re looking a little flushed there.” Alastair reached up to press his cool hand against Wes’s overheated cheek. He tsked. Wes pulled away. “Listen, conventional medicine doesn’t have a clue …”
“All right, already,” Wes said, giving in. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know if I trust her.”
“Do you trust me?” Alastair asked, his eyes boring into Wes’s. The younger man looked away.
He was still protesting after Baby Fat had placed his foot on a dishtowel on her lime velvet couch. She ignored his complaints as she poked around the hole oozing blood, which she collected into a porcelain cup. “For later,” she advised Alastair, who nodded sagely. “Nothing like fresh blood.”