If you ever use the term “old lady crouch” again while referring to me I will remove your tongue.
xoxo Baba Yaga
P.S. The address is on the back of the note and there is a car for you parked in the garage under the hotel. It's the green one. The purple one is mine. If you even look at it I will put all of your shoes up for sale on eBay. And yes, I am well aware you have eighty pairs.
"Motherhumper, what a bee-otch—put my shoes up for sale, my ass. And who in the hell is Aunt Hildy? I don't have a freakin' aunt named Hildy. Died violently? What exactly does ‘died violently’ mean?" I muttered to no one as I reread the ridiculous note. Goddess, I wondered what Sassy's note said, but we had gone our separate ways about an hour ago.
My mother was an only child and I hadn't seen her in years—so no Aunt Hildy on that side. My mom, and I use the term loosely, was an insanely powerful witch who had met some uber-hot, super weird Vampire ten years ago and they'd gone off to live in a remote castle in Transylvania. The end.
And my father...his identity was anyone's guess. In her day my mother had been a very popular and active witch. I suppose Baba I Know Freakin’ Everything Yaga knew who my elusive daddy was and Hildy must be his sister.
Awesome.
I hustled my ass to the garage and gasped in dismay. In the far corner of the dank, dark, musty-smelling garage sat a car… a green car. A lime green car. Even better, it was a lime green Kia. Was Baba YoMamma fucking joking? Why did I have to drive anywhere? I was a witch. I could use magic to get wherever I wanted to go.
Crap.
Did I even have enough magic to transport? Could I end up wedged in a time warp and stuck for eternity?
And what, pray tell, was this? A Porsche? Baba Yoyeastinfection drove a Porsche… of course she did.
I eyed the purple Porsche with envy and for a brief moment considered keying it. The look on Boobie Yoogie's face would be worth it. Another couple of years in the magic pokey plus having to watch my fancy footwear be auctioned off on eBay was enough to curb my impulse. However, I did lick my finger and smear it on the driver's side mirror. I was told not to look at it. The cryptic note mentioned nothing about touching it.
Glancing down at my orange jumpsuit I cringed. Did they really expect me to wear this? What the hell had become of me? I was a thirty-year-old paroled witch in orange prison wear and tennis shoes. My fingers ached to clothe myself in something cute and sexy. Did I dare? How would they even know?
Wait… she knew I called her old lady crouch. She would certainly know if I magicked up some designer duds. Shitballs. Orange outfit and red hair it was.
Thankfully the car had a GPS, not that I knew how to work anything electronic. I was a witch, for god's sake. I normally flicked my fingers, chanted a spell or wiggled my nose. The address of my inheritance was in West Virginia. How freakin' far was West Virginia from Salem, Massachusetts?
Apparently eleven hours and twenty-one minutes.
It took me exactly forty-five minutes of swearing and punching the dashboard to figure that little nugget out. Bitchy Yicky was officially my least favorite person in the world. However, I was a little proud to have made the damn GPS work without using magic or blowing the car up.
Five hours into the trip I was itchy, bloated and had a massive stomachache. Beef jerky and Milk Duds were not my friend. Top that off with a corn dog and two sixty-four ounce caffeinated sodas and I was a clusterfuck waiting to happen.
Thank the Goddess New England was gorgeous in the fall. The colors were breathtaking, but they did little to calm my indigestion. The Kia had no radio reception, but luckily it did come with a country compilation CD that was stuck in the CD player. I was going deaf from the heartfelt warblings about pickup trucks, back roads and barefoot rednecks.
Pretending to be mortal sucked. Six more hours and twenty-one minutes to go—shit. Sadly I found myself longing for even the hideous company of Sassy. Being alone was getting old.
"I can do this. I have to do this. I will do this," I shouted at the alarmed driver of a minivan while stopped at a traffic light in Bumfuck, Idon'tknowwhere.
"I'm baaaaaaack," something hissed from behind me.
"What the fu… ?" I shrieked and jerked the wheel to the right, avoiding a bus stop and landing the piece of crap car in a shallow ditch. "Who said that?"
"I diiiiiiiid," the ominous voice whispered. "Have yooooooou misssssssed me?"
"Um, sure," I mumbled as I quietly removed my seatbelt and prepared to dive out of the car. Maybe I could catch a lift with the woman I'd terrified in the minivan. "I've missed you a ton."
"You look like shiiiiiiit in ooooorrrrangeeeee," it informed me.
That stopped me. Whatever monster or demon was in the backseat had just gone one step too far.
Scare me? Fine.
Insult me? Fry.
"Excuse me?" I snapped and whipped around to smite the fucker. Where was he? Was he invisible? "Show yourself."
"Down heeeeere on the floooooor," the thing said.
Peering over the seat, I gagged and threw up in my mouth just a little. This could not be happening. I pinched myself hard and yelped from the pain. It was happening and it was probably going to get ugly in about twelve seconds.
"Um, hi Fabio, long time no see," I choked out, wondering if I made a run for it if he would follow and kill me. Or at the very least, would he get behind the wheel of the Kia and run me over… three times. "You're looking kind of alive."
"Thank youuuuuuuu," he said as he hopped over the seat and landed with a squishy thud entirely too close to me.
I plastered myself against the door and debated my next move. Fabio looked bad. He still resembled a cat, but he was kind of flat in the middle, his head was an odd shape and his tail cranked to the left. Most of his black fur still covered him except for a large patch on his face, which made him resemble a pinkish troll. He didn't seem too angry, but I did kill him. To be fair, I didn't mean to. I didn't know he was under the wheel and I kind of freaked and hit reverse and drive several times before I got out and screamed bloody murder.
"So what are you doing here?" I inquired casually, careful not to make eye contact.
"Not exxxxxxactly sure." He shook his little black semi-furred head and an ear fell off.
"Oh shit," I muttered and flicked it to the floor before he noticed. "I'm really sorry about killing you."
"No worrrrrrries. I quite enjoyed being buried in a Prrrrraaada shoeeee box."
"I thought that was a nice touch," I agreed. "Did you notice I left the shoe bags in there as a blanket and pillow?"
"Yesssssssssssss. Very comfortable." He nodded and gave me a grin that made my stomach lurch.
"Alrighty then, the question of the hour is are you still dead… or um…"
"I thiiiink I'm aliiiiive. As soon as I realliiiized I was breathing I loooooked for you."
"Wow." I was usually more eloquent, but nothing else came to mind.
"I have miiiiiiiisssed you, Zeeeeldaaaa."
Great, now I felt horrible. I killed him and he rose from the dead to find me because he missed me. I should take him in my arms and cuddle him, but I feared all the jerky and Duds would fly from my mouth if I tried. He deserved far better than me.
"Look, Fabio… I was a shitty witch for you. You should find a witch that will treat you right."
"But I looooooovvve you," he said quietly. His little one-eared head drooped and he began to sniffle pathetically.
"You shouldn't love me," I reasoned. "I'm selfish and I killed you—albeit accidentally—and I'm wearing orange."
"I can fix that," he offered meekly. "Would that make you loooooooove meeeee?"
I felt nauseous and it wasn't from all the crap I'd shoved in my mouth while driving to meet my destiny. The little disgusting piece of fur had feelings for me. Feelings I didn't even come close to deserving or returning. And now to make matters worse, he was offering to magic me some clothes. If I said yes, it was a win-win. I'd get new
clothes and he'd think I loved him. Asshats on fire, what in the hell was love anyway?
"Um...I would seem kind of shallow if I traded my love for clothes," I mumbled as I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from declaring my worthless love in exchange for non-orange attire.
"Well, youuuuuu are somewhat superficial, but that's not alllllllll your fault," Fabio said as he squished a little closer and placed the furry side of his head in my lap.
"Thank you, I think."
A compliment was a compliment, no matter how insulting.
"You're most welcome," he purred. "How would you know what loooooove is? Your mother was a hooooooker and your poor father was in the darrrrrk about your existence most of your liiiiiiiife."
"My mother was loose," I admitted, "but she did the best she could. However, my father, whoever the motherfuck he is, just took off after he knocked up my mom. And P.S.—I'm the only one allowed to call my mom a hooker. As nice as the fable was you told me about my dad… it's bullshit."
"Noooooooo, actually it's not," Fabio said as he lifted his piercing green eyes to mine.
"Do you know the bastard?" I demanded, noticing for the first time how our eyes matched. That wasn't uncommon. Most familiars took on the traits of their witches, but I wished he hadn't taken on mine. It would make it much harder to pawn the thing off on someone else if he looked too much like me.
"I knoooooow of him."
"So where the hell is he if he knows about me now?" My eyes narrowed dangerously and blue sparks began to cover my arms.
Fabio quickly backed away in fear of getting crispy. "Asssssssssss the story goes, a spell was cast on him by your moooooother when he learned of your existence. From what I've heard he's been trying to break the spellllllllll by doing penance."
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "How's that working out for the assmonkey?"
"Apparently not veeeeeeery well if he hasn't shown himself yet."
I considered Fabio's fairytale and wished for a brief moment it was true. Maybe my father didn't know about me. I always thought he didn't want me. That's what my mom had said. Of course she was certifiable and I'd left her house the moment I'd turned eighteen. I did love her but only in the same way a dog still loves the owner who kicks it.
Fabio's story was utter crap, but it was sweet that he cared. Other than Baba Yopaininmyass, not many did.
"Where did you learn all that fiction?" I asked as I eased the lime green piece of dog poo back onto the road before the police showed up and mistook me for an escaped convict.
"Yourrrrrrrr file," he answered as he dug his claws into the strap of the seat belt and pulled it across his mangled body. "Evvvvvvery familiar gets a file on their witch."
"Here, let me," I said as I pulled the strap and clicked it into the lock. "Was there anything else interesting in my file?"
The damn cat knew more about me than I did.
"Nothing I caaaaaan share."
I pursed my lips so I wouldn't swear at him—hard but doable. I wanted info and I knew how to get it. "What if I reattached your ear? Would you tell me one thing you're not supposed to?" I bargained.
"I'mmmmm missssssssing an ear?" he shrieked, aghast.
"Yep, I flicked it under the seat so you wouldn't flip out."
His breathing became erratic. I worried he would heave a hairball or something worse. "Yesssssss, reattach it, please."
I opened my senses, and let whatever magic Baba Yasshole had let me keep flow through me. Light purple healing flames covered my arms, neck and face. Fabio's ear floated up from under the passenger seat and drifted to his head. As it connected back, I had a thought. It was selfish… and not.
"Hey Fab, do you mind if I fill in the fur on your face?" It would be so much easier to look at the little bastard if I didn't see raw cat skin.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh my, I'm missing fur?" He was positively despondent. Clearly he hadn't looked in a mirror since his resurrection.
"Um, it's just a little," I lied. "I can fix it up in a jiff."
"Thhhhhhank you, that would be loooovely."
The magic swirled through me. It felt so good. The pokey had blocked me from using magic and I'd missed it terribly. The silky warm purple mist skimmed over Fabio's body and the hair reappeared. Without his permission I unflattened his midsection, reshaped his head and uncranked his tail. It was the least I could do since I'd caused it in the first place.
"There. All better," I told him and glanced over to admire my handiwork. He looked a lot less mangled. He was still a bit mangy, but that was how he'd always been. At least he no longer looked like living road kill. "Your turn."
"Your Aunt Hildy was your father's sissssssster and she wasssss freakin' crazy," he hissed with disgust.
"You knew her?"
"Ahh no, but sheeeeeee was legendary," he explained.
"Why the hell did she leave me her house?" I asked, hoping for some more info. I'd already assumed she was my deadbeat dad's sister. I wanted something new.
"I suppose you will take ooooover for her," Fabio informed me as he lifted and extended his leg so he could lick his balls.
"Get your mouth off your crotch while we're having a conversation," I snapped.
"Youuuuu would do it if youuuuuu could," he said.
"Probably," I muttered as I zoomed past six cars driving too slow for my mood. "But since I can't, you're not allowed to either."
"Can I dooooooo it in private?" he asked.
"Um, sure. Now tell me what crazy old Aunt Hildy did for a living so I know what I'm getting into here."
"No clue," Fabio said far too quickly.
"You know, I could run your feline ass over again," I threatened.
"Yeeeeeep, but I have six lives left."
I put my attention back on the road. "Great. That's just great."
— Visit The Web Page For More Info —
Excerpt: Ready To Wear
Shift Happens, Book 1
Book Description
I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever.
I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed – a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.
Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return.
But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don’t have to eat my words and my paw.
***This novella originally appeared in the Three Southern Beaches collection released July of 2014. This is an extended version of that story.
Chapter One
“You’re joking.”
“No, actually I’m not,” my boss said and slapped the folder into my hands. “You leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to see your hairy ass till this is solved.”
I looked wildly around her office for something to lob at her head. It occurred to me that might not be the best of ideas, but desperate times led to stupid measures. She could not do this to me. I’d worked too hard and I wasn’t going back. Ever.
“First of all, my ass is not hairy except on a full moon and you’re smoking crack if you think I’m going back to Georgia.”
Angela crossed her arms over her ample chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Am I your boss?” she asked.
“Is this a trick question?”
She huffed out an exasperated sigh and ran her hands through her spiked ‘do making her look like she’d been electrocuted. “Essie, I am cognizant of how you feel about Hung Island, Georgia, but there’s a disaster of major proportions on
the horizon and I have no choice.”
“Where are you sending Clark and Jones?” I demanded.
“New York and Miami.”
“Oh my god,” I shrieked. “Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?”
“Those douches do have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You’re the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you’re going to Georgia. Period.”
“Fine. I’ll quit. I’ll open a bakery.”
Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. “Excellent, I’ll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet because you want to bake cookies.”
The Council consisted of supernaturals from all sorts of species. The branch that currently had me by the metaphorical balls was WTF—Werewolf Treaty Federation. They were the worst as far as stringent rules and consequences went. The Vampyres were loosey goosey, the Witches were nuts and the freakin’ Fairies were downright pushovers, but not the Weres. Nope, if you enlisted you were in for life. It had sounded so good when the insanely sexy recruiting officer had come to our local Care For Your Inner Were meeting.
Training with the best of the best. Great salary with benefits. Apartment and company car. But the kicker for me was that it was fifteen hours away from the hell I grew up in. No longer was I Essie from Hung Island, Georgia—and who in their right mind would name an island Hung—I was Agent Essie McGee of the Chicago WTF. The irony of the initials was a source of pain to most Werewolves, but went right over the Council’s heads due to the simple fact that they were older than dirt and oblivious to pop culture.
Yes, I’d been disciplined occasionally for mouthing off to superiors and using the company credit card for shoes, but other than that I was a damn good agent. I'd graduated at the top of my class and was the go-to girl for messy and dangerous assignments that no one in their right mind would take... I’d singlehandedly brought down three rogue Weres who were selling secrets to the Dragons—another supernatural species. The Dragons shunned the Council, had their own little club and a psychotic desire to rule the world. Several times they’d come close due to the fact that they were loaded and Weres from the New Jersey Pack were easily bribed. Not to mention the fire-breathing thing…
Fashionably Dead (Hot Damned Series, Book 1) Page 37
