Sammie Jo

by Julia Mills

  Just the other evening, he shocked me by asking, “Were you serious when you said you wanted babies, with me?”

  Laughing a the funny way he asked the question, I swatted his shoulder and joked, “Well, I damn sure wasn’t talking about Vincenzo.” Then I thought for a second and quickly added, “Can you do that? Make a baby?”

  Waggling his eyebrows as he rolled us over until I was flat on my back and Vaughn was smiling down at me as he laid between my thighs. Leaning down until our lips alost touched, he assured me, “Oh yeah, baby, I can do that and so very much more.”

  You can guess where that night ended. Damn, I love my hunky vampire.

  Until we meet again...

  Don’t take any wooden mice and keep your butts outta trouble, I’m tryin’ to honeymoon over here don’tcha know?

  Love you guys, Sammie Jo

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  Harmony: A ‘Not-Quite’ Haunted Love Story

  Chapter One

  “WOOT-WOO, BABY GOT back.”

  “Shut up, Ernesto. I’m not in the mood,” I growled, stepping over twenty-pounds of neurotic, long-haired, Persian feline while yelling at a seventy-five-year-old toucan who was obsessed with my butt.

  “Do you have to clean yourself in the middle of the hall, Wendy?” I growled. “I’m trying to get ready for a client, not to mention that your hairballs are getting’ outta hand. I just cleaned one out of my favorite black Doc Martins. Can’t you just throw up in the toilet like a civilized cat?”

  “Yes and no,” the one-eyed cat who was having her third, or maybe it was fourth, mid-life crisis of the morning, wailed. “To answer your questions in order. This spot has the best aura to reduce the stress in my chi and secondly, I refuse to put my face anywhere near where your butt has been.”

  “I’ll reduce the stress in your chi,” I grumbled under my breath. “With a swift kick to the backside and as for where my butt’s been...”

  “Back that ass up,” Ernesto chimed in, perfectly imitating the rapper, Juvenile.

  Before I could yell at the stupid parrot to shut his flappin’ beak, I was summoned with, “Harmony, oh Harmony, are you up there?”

  “Yes, Festus. Where else would I be?”

  “In the back of my cage. Letting me slap that ass,” Ernesto added, pushing me over the edge, way past my daily limit of bullshit.

  Grabbing the thick metal bars of the parrot’s humongous six-foot tall and eight-foot wide cage, I leaned in until the bars were pressed against my cheeks, put on my best ‘shut-your-mouth-or-get-your-neck-wrung-and-get-plucked-look and snarled, “If you say one more word about my ass, I swear to the Goddess I’ll make parrot pot pie and serve it to Wendy for dinner. Ya’ get me?”

  Waving his wings in the air, Ernesto, the bastard parrot, pleaded, “Please don’t cook me. Pleeeeeease don’t let Wendy eat me. I can’t help it; your backside is just so...”

  Snapping my fingers, I conjured the biggest carving knife I could imagine, jammed it through the bars with the point just millimeters from his eye and threatened, “Shut. Your. Beak.”

  Jumping to the highest perch in his cage, the foul-mouthed fowl curled into a ball, covered his head with his wings and turned his back to me. Clanking the blade of my knife against the thick, metal bars of his cage, I added, “And stay that way. I need this client. It’s been ages since I’ve banished, summoned or bespelled anything more than a broom and dustpan. Doesn’t anybody in Asscrack have ghosts but me?”

  The sound of donkey hooves on my freshly polished wooden stairs caught my attention a split-second before Festus called out, “Harmony, darling, we are all out of tofu, and the alfalfa sprouts are all brown and slimy.

  Letting the knife I was thinking about plunging into my own ear fade into the magical ether from where it came, I slowly turned towards the mule. With clenched fists and all the control left in my five-foot-five, curvy body, I ground out, “How would you like me to get to the store, Festus? Huh?” I threw my arms open wide. “Would you like me to fly? Get out my broom and zoom through the air?”

  I took a threatening step forward, unable to control my mouth now that the floodgates were open and jabbed the index finger of my right hand towards the donkey while growling through gritted teeth, “I guess I could take my van. You know the one. It’s bright pink, has a blue and white dragon painted on the side and the license plate reads, ‘PNK LDY’.”

  Stopping three feet in front of Festus, I crossed my arms over my chest, tapped my chin with the tip of the finger I’d just been pointing at him and feigned contemplation before snarling, “But I can’t, can I?”

  Once again, my arms flew out to the side as I screamed like a loon. “Because you had a ‘date’ with Vanessa and while you were passed out on the lawn after she blew your mind with her nookie skills, she and her pony pals stole my beautiful Pink Lady and took off for parts unknown.”

  “Now, darling,” the voice of my Aunt Dot whistled through the hall a few seconds before her image appeared, hovering overhead, luckily for her just out of my reach. “You know that wasn’t Festus’ fault. Vanessa was and is his first love. How was he to know she was going to boink him silly and commit grand theft auto?”

  “How was he to know?!” I yelled, spinning towards my aunt but stopping short to glare at the other ghost in the room, Sampson, Sam to most, who had just opened his mouth, “Do not say a word. I need no help from you, Buster,” I scarily warned, before continuing to turn around.

  Looking back to my not-so dearly-departed aunt, I continued, “How the hell was Festus not to know, Dot?! Better yet, why in all that is unholy was he doing the horizontal donkey hokey-pokey in my van?” I blocked the illicit images threatening to run through my mind with a violent shake of my head and gulped a deep breath in an attempt to lower my temperature, my blood pressure, and the big fiery-red ball of angry magic floating to the side of my head.

  Letting out the breath I was holding, I tersely advised, “All of you need to go away, hide, get out of my sight until after Mr. and Mrs. Andrews have come and gone. They’re coming for a consultation for the removal of spirits from their home and I really want to get back to work.” I slowly looked every single being in my house in the eyes, before slowly (Think talking to a group of preschoolers who just had a bag of sweet tarts and a gallon of red Kool-Aid.) explaining, “And if they see you lot, I can’t begin to fathom the rumors that will be flying around Asscrack. Imagine this as the lead story on the evening news, Psychotic Witch, Kills Three Crazy Animals and Two Ghosts, film at eleven.”

  “Dear, I hate to point out...”

  Ignoring my aunt’s retort and powering on, “Not to mention, you two,” I pointed at said auntie and her partner in crime, Sam. “Are bad for business. How can I convince people I’m good at exorcising spirits with you two floating around like it’s Casper’s Day Camp?”

  “But Harmony, you know you have to want to banish a ghost to be able to banish a ghost.” Dot’s shoulder-length, gray, corkscrew curls bounced up and down as she tilted her head to the side and shrugged. Holding out her arms, beckoning me in for a hug while I stood my ground, absolutely refusing to fall for her lovey-dovey BS, I listened as she added, “And somewhere in that big, wonderful heart of yours, you know you don’t want to be rid of either one of us.”

  Rolling my eyes and heading towards my room, I grumbled over my shoulder, “Oh, trust me. I want you gone. I just haven’t found a spell strong enough, but when I do...”

  Not willing to finish my declaration and have both Sam and Aunt Dot moping around, I slammed the heavy, oak door of my bedroom to escape the madness and stalked to the closet. Grabbing my favorite orange T-shirt adorned with a sequined witch’s hat atop a cute little jack-o-lantern, black jeans and black, denim jacket off their hangers, I went about getting ready for my appointm
ent while trying to block out the fiasco from a few minutes ago. It wasn’t that I didn’t love the mixed-up, bat-shit crazy, dysfunctional band of misfits that I called family, I really did, but enough is enough.

  I had almost gotten my blood pressure back to normal and the pounding in my head to a dull roar when the scent of Raleigh Light 100’s and Chantilly perfume wafted through the room. Yippee, Aunt Dot was making another uninvited appearance.

  Stepping into the bathroom, ignoring the hovering image of my favorite relative, I brushed my long, brown, wavy locks and put it up in my trademark ponytails with the new orange and black hair ties I’d ordered from Amazon. Taking off my glasses and laying them on the counter, I slapped some powder over the multitude of freckles that dotted my peaches and cream complexion and leaned in close to the mirror make sure it was even.

  “I need to do something to brighten up these dark eyes,” I mumbled to myself, getting the mascara out of the drawer and brushing it on my long, dark lashes. “And just a little bit of blush, too, I think,” I added, still effectively ignoring my aunt while also making myself feel better. (And that’s how you multi-task, girls.)

  Looking at myself in the mirror, happy with the way my outfit hid the curves I didn’t like and accentuated the ones I did, I put on a thin layer of my favorite burnt honey lip gloss, slid my glasses back on and headed out of the room. Thankfully, all the patients of Harmony’s Hospital for the Harried had taken my earlier hint (Read that as command.) and were either hiding under the furniture or completely gone from sight.

  Hopping down the steps, my mood magically lightened the closer I got to my office. Opening the French doors, the long plates of glass etched with a dragon flying across a full moon, the scent of sage, cedar, sweetgrass and lavender beckoned me in. Not only was my space sacred and cleansed, but it was welcoming and inviting. Continuing to take deep inhales and long slow exhales, I made my way to the circular, mirrored-topped granite table, taking a seat in my favorite high back chair, and sinking my pleasantly-rounded behind into the fluffy, red velvet cushion.

  Closing my eyes, I sat silently, feeling the beautiful, white magic of my ancestors filling my spirit. Pink bubbles and purples stars burst to life behind my eyelids as all the stress of dealing with my ‘family’ faded away. Relaxed and ready for my appointment, not even the scent of cigarette smoke and old witch perfume dampened my spirits as the doorbell outside the separate entrance to my business chimed the melody of ‘That Old Black Magic’.

  Opening the painted red wooden door, I smiled at the nervous couple on my doorstep who stood arm-in-arm, holding one another up, and beamed, “Welcome.” Taking a step back, I swept my hand to the side and added, “Come on in. There’s freshly brewed tea on the table and some homemade pumpkin cookies.”

  Following the couple, as they ever so slowly made their way to the table in the middle of what used to be Auntie Dot’s massive and severely underused library, I had to hold back a chuckle while they looked around every corner and under damn near every piece of furniture before taking a seat. Pouring their tea, I chattered away, trying to make them more comfortable and failing miserably, before giving up on easing their tensions, sitting down and straight-forwardly asking, “So, tell me about the last time you tried to have the spirits in your house removed.”

  The skin under Mr. Andrew’s combover immediately turned a brilliant shade of red at the precise moment that all the color drained from his wife’s face. Watching carefully as they looked at one another then at their hands then at me, I smiled as sweetly as possible and added, “I know there are a lot of charlatans out there, so please don’t be embarrassed. I just asked so that I can gauge how much you truly know about the spirit world.”

  “Harmony, something’s not right,” Auntie Dot’s voice floated through my mind.

  “Get outta here. You’re gonna scare away the paying customers.”

  “Harmony Jane, you listen to me.” Using her magic, my dear old auntie whopped me on the back of the head while commanding, “Open your eyes, girl. Look at what’s right in front of you.”

  “Aunt Dot, get the...”

  The rest of my snappy comeback was stolen from my lips as Mr. and Mrs. Andrews’ bodies melted away like the wax on a burning candle only to immediately be replaced by two cackling, squealing, poltergeists dressed like Al Capone and arguing like teenage girls. “Where did the dame go? We gots to bump her off before Johnny Law finds out about the boss’ stash of hooch,” the tall, thin guy with a long nose and sunken eyes demanded.

  “I dunno,” the short, round man with bulging eyes and a dark wool flat cap shrugged. “But I ain’t goin’ to the big house for Mikey’s mistake. Ain’t no skirt worth all that.”

  Stunned speechless, I watched as they walked around my office talking like it was any normal day, picking up even the smallest crystals on the shelves looking for the woman who ‘ratted’ them out to the police. Finally snapping out of my trance while shutting out Auntie Dot’s recriminating taunts of, “I told you so. You just never listen to me,” I tapped the mirror that served as a tabletop and watched as the refreshments popped out of existence.

  Pink bubbles and purple sparks surrounded by bright yellow smoke floated over my head as thick white clouds swirled in the depths of the looking glass that dated back to the Salem Witch trials, or what my ancestors like to call our Coming Out Party. Clapping my hands, I winked at the awestruck ghosts who in that very moment realized they weren’t alone as I teased, “Whatcha boys doin’ here?”

  Stepping towards me like I figured they would, (Did I mention they were both a couple pumpkins shy of a patch?) the phantoms asked in unison, “Are you the broad? The one what’s ratted out the boss?”

  “No, boys. I’m not the broad.” I grinned, wrinkled my nose, and added a wink for good measure as I got to my feet. “I’m the witch what’s throwing your asses back where you came from.” Raising my hands, I chanted, “It’s off to the Twenties you go. Out of my house and out of my sight. Into the mirror and back across time, have a good flight and get outta here.”

  My magical pink bubbles burst like firecrackers on the Fourth of July while purple stars cascaded from the ceiling resembling a sparkling waterfall as the two gangsters were sucked into the looking glass, spinning and whirling round and round before disappearing like suds down a drain. A loud pop shook the windows in their frames and threw me back into my seat as rainbow glitter floated to the ground while my ears rang like church bells on Easter Sunday.

  No sooner had my hearing cleared than the bell on the front door chimed ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead’ (Yes. I have two doorbells. This place is huge, and I thought it was cool. Sue me.) and Aunt Dot announced, “It’s your friend Lola, and she’s got Zelda with her.” Her face instantly appeared before me as I walked towards the foyer. Sticking out her tongue and blowing me a raspberry, she taunted, “Hope Zelda doesn’t report you to the Baba Yaga or better yet sentence you herself for cruelty to your ancestors, namely me.” She harrumphed. “You won’t last a minute in the magical pokey.”

  Snapping my fingers and smiling as Auntie Dot was whisked into the basement, locked inside the brass urn I’d bespelled to hold her - well, at least for a little while - I opened the door and smiled, “You two sure have some shit timing. Come on in. Join the party. You’re never gonna believe what just happened to me.”

  Get the Rest of the Story HERE!

  About Julia

  HEY, Y'ALL! JULIA MILLS, the Sassy Southern Storyteller here. Thanks so much for stopping by.

  Just a little bit about me - I'm Southern to the bone, love my children more than life itself, and adopt animals like most people collect dust bunnies. (Oh, come on, we've all got them under one bed or another.) I came by the tagline Sassy, Southern Storyteller honestly and many years before I ever started writing. (My dad thought it was a hilarious nickname for his kindergarten teaching daughter.)

  I live by three simple rules - (1) Treat people how you want to be treated. (2) Smil
e lots. (3) Try everything, 'cause hearses don't have luggage racks.

  Now, go out there and create your own story!!! Dare to Dream! Have the Strength to Try EVERYTHING! Never Look Back!

  I ABSOLUTELY adore talking to readers!

  Send me a message ANYTIME at https://www.juliamillsauthor.com/or on Facebook.

  XOXO Julia

  Also by Julia Mills

  Find Them All on HERE!

  The Dragon Guard Series

  Her Dragon to Slay, Dragon Guard #1

  Her Dragon’s Fire, Dragon Guard #2

  Haunted by Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #3

  For the Love of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #4

  Saved by Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #5

  Only for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #6

  Fighting for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #7

  Her Dragon’s Heart, Dragon Guard #8

  Her Dragon’s Soul, Dragon Guard #9

  The Fate of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #10

  Her Dragon’s No Angel, Dragon Guard #11

  Her Dragon, His Demon, Dragon Guard #12

  Resurrecting Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #13

  The Scars of Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #14

  Her Mad Dragon, Dragon Guard #15

  Tears for Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #16

  Guarding Her Dragon, Dragon Guard #17