by Kathy Love
She gasped, and rage made her magic flared from her fingertips.
“Still can’t control your temper, huh?” Iris said sympathetically. “Maybe one day, right?”
Gwyneth glared at us for a moment longer, then flounced away, her mean girl posse trailing along behind.
“Ugh,” Violet groaned. “Will she ever stop being such a—”
“La chienne?” Jocko supplied.
“I’m not sure what that means. But exactly.” My sister nodded and took a sip of her wine cooler.
Iris nudged me, and I expected her to offer another snarky commentary about Gwyneth. Or maybe she wanted to point out another skating server offering vintage 80s delicacies. Instead, she nodded across the room. “Is it me or is the single warlock selection getting much better?”
I followed her gaze, and it wasn’t difficult to see who she was checking out. Three tall, dark, and insanely handsome men stood at the edge of the dance floor. They were all dressed in expensive looking, tailored, black suits, and they all looked vaguely uncomfortable.
“They must be new in town,” Violet said, also admiring them. “And how do you know they are single?”
“I don’t, but I’m about to find out,” Iris said, leaving us to confidently stroll across the room toward them. Unfortunately, Gwyneth and her crew had spotted them, too, and headed in the same direction. I predicted this would not turn out well.
“Is Iris already on the prowl?” Ghede said, joining Violet and me. I half expected him to be drinking an Orbitz, but clearly 80s soda with floating gelatin balls was where the planning committee drew the line.
“She is.” I watched as she shoved past Gwyneth’s group and smiled prettily at the men. To my surprise, they didn’t seem interested in the attention. That was unusual.
“Hi Mally.”
I turned to see Linden Lowell, a warlock, who’d been trying to get me to date him for years. And in all those years, he never took the hint. I was not interested and never would be.
Nearly all warlocks were attractive. Linden was an exception to that rule. Rumor had it that his mother had had a drunken, one-night stand with an orc, and Linden was the outcome.
I had no idea if that was really true, but there seemed to be some validity to the gossip since he had a pronounced underbite that made his wide lower jaw protrude to the point his bottom teeth were visible. He also was bulky and squat with oddly oversized hands and feet. He even had a slight greenish-gray pallor that looked especially odd with his thick, blond hair.
I liked to think I could overlook his less than handsome appearance, if he was a nice guy. But he wasn’t. He was rude, tactless, and far too handsy for my taste.
To prove my point, he reached out to pull me into a tight hug. His hands slipped down my back, but I managed to wriggle away before they could reach my butt.
He didn’t seem to notice my general look of disgust and smiled, his bottom teeth poking out. “Holy smokes, you look hot tonight. Real sexy.” He licked his lips.
I didn’t even try to hide my shudder.
“How about we show the other dancers how it’s done?” It really wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for an answer as he snagged the wrist of the hand that held my purse and Jocko.
“Let her go,” Jocko shouted, glaring at the pushy warlock through the acrylic purse. He shot up a claw, which I think was a crawfish version of giving him the finger. Linden didn’t seem to notice that either.
Ghede stepped forward to intervene, but before he could speak, another deep, smooth voice with a French accent said, “Pardon. I believe the mademoiselle promised this dance to me.”
Linden let go of me.
I turned to be greeted by a broad chest. Slowly, I raised my eyes upward to see a perfect face. Perfectly sculpted features. Perfectly shaped lips. A perfect nose. Perfect and intelligent, hazel eyes fringed by ridiculously perfect, dark lashes. And perfectly tousled, brown hair.
I immediately recognized him as one of the tall, hunky guys that Iris had seen across the room. He was even more gorgeous up close.
Mr. Perfection held out a hand, and I didn’t hesitate to place mine in it. His wide palm and long fingers totally enveloped mine. Electricity zinged through me.
I paused to give my purse and Jocko to a wide-eyed Violet. Even Jocko stared at the man, his mouth in a shocked “o”.
We headed out to the mass of dancers, leaving a scowling Linden behind.
As we faced each other on the dance floor, I considered that I might actually fulfill JR’s marriage wish, after all. Okay, not really. But a fling was definitely not out of the question.
I smiled. “Thank you. You are seriously my hero. That guy never takes the hint.”
“I guess it’s a warlock thing,” he said, confusing me. A warlock thing? Did that mean he planned to come on strong, too. And would I mind? Nope, not at all. But then he confused me further by adding, “And maybe you are my hero.”
Oh, he was probably trying to avoid Gwyneth or something. She was as relentless as Linden. But even despite my dislike of her, I could admit she was much more attractive than Linden. So, if this man was avoiding her, that only added to his perfection in my book. But I didn’t get a chance to ask him if that was what he was doing, because he moved closer and placed his arms around me. We began to sway to Lionel Ritchie’s Hello.
I decided the 80s theme wasn’t so terrible after all. I suddenly felt like I’d been dropped into a John Hughes movie. I was Molly Ringwald, and I just scored the dream prom date.
I leaned against him, breathing in his wonderful scent. He smelled like creamy pralines, sweet like caramelized sugar with an undertone of roasted chicory coffee. Two of my very favorite smells. I tried not to bury my nose into the front of his shirt.
We swayed to the music and I struggled to get my overstimulated senses under control to make conversation. But it wasn’t working. I was lost in his delicious smell, his hard muscles, and that stunningly beautiful face. So, I gave up on making small talk. Live in the moment and all that.
Given our major height difference, dancing together should have been awkward. But it wasn’t. At least not for me. And since this was my YOLO moment, I was going with the assumption he felt the same.
“Mally,” he said after a moment.
I lifted my head to look up at him. “Yes?” Then a realization hit me. “Wait. How do you know my name?”
His gaze broke from mine for a moment, and I got the feeling he was searching for what to say.
But before he could answer, there was a giant gust of wind, and rainbow-colored sparkles whipped wildly through the room like a tornado. Shouts and screams echoed over the loud, whoosh of the violently swirling magic. Streamers and balloons hurtled through the air. Witches tried to keep their dresses from blowing up and their intricate updos from falling down. Even a few of the dancers were mowed down by the rainbow magic like corn stalks in a hurricane. I only managed to remain on my feet thanks to my tall, muscular dance partner’s strength and his arms wrapped tightly around me.
As suddenly as the rainbow tsunami started, it stopped. The room was eerie silent. Streamers and balloons floated peacefully to the ground. I gaped around. The tacky 80s prom decor suddenly looked like the aftermath from the movie Carrie. Even the huge champagne fountain had toppled over, and Gooseberry Moon Punch dripped all over the floor.
“Sorry about that,” a female voice said. And we all turned to see Baba Yaga had arrived. She stood, totally unscathed from her dramatic and dangerous entrance in a tea-length, poufy, silver lamé prom dress. Her hair was product laden and teased and wrapped with a matching silver bow a’ la Madonna circa 1984. She even wore fingerless lace gloves and ankle socks with black pumps. Behind her stood her ancient warlock minions, wearing white tuxedos with ruffled shirts. Their heads bobbled, adding to their creep factor.
“This is the strangest thing I have ever seen,” Mr. Perfection stated, his hand still on the small of my back as if he expected another wave
of crazy magic to blow through the room.
I smiled wryly. “So, I take it this is your first Baba Yaga grand entrance?”
He nodded, staring at our horrendously dressed leader.
Baba Yaga raised her hands and more magic, this time blue bubbles, drifted calmly across the room, cleaning up her mess. Mr. Perfection’s arm slid around my waist, clearly preparing for things to go haywire at any moment. It was generally just her entrances that went horribly amiss, but I didn’t inform him of that. What can I say? I really liked him standing so close.
Soon, the ballroom was back to normal. Or as normal as this Samhain Ball was going to be. And despite my enjoyment of my dance partner's close presence, my worries returned. I had to talk to Baba Yaga before I lost my nerve completely.
“Will you excuse me?” I said, bummed out to have to leave my newly discovered hunk. But I had to get this over with.
He nodded. “Of course.”
Chapter Seven
I managed to stride across the ballroom toward our leader, only to stop a few feet away. I pulled in a deep breath. Baba Yaga was scary, but she was fair. She would understand my predicament.
The pep talk wasn’t working.
I started toward her, just as a group of witches all in 80s garb approached her. I stopped again. That had to be the Samhain Ball planning committee. Maybe this wasn’t the right time to talk to her. I should probably wait until after she’d had time to speak to them. To all the guests, really.
In fact, maybe I should wait until the end of the ball. Like the very end. Like right before we were about to leave. No sense in ruining her whole evening with my problems, after all.
I knew I was chickening out, but...yeah, I was chickening out. Maybe another drink would help.
“Mally.” I turned to see Violet rushing toward me.
Her eyes were huge with panic and her red locks poked out all over head. Something had to be majorly wrong for her not to immediately cast a spell to fix her updo.
“What’s wrong?”
“I lost Jocko during Baba Yaga’s arrival. He blew right out of my hands and now I can’t find him.”
I scanned the room. I hoped he didn’t have whiplash or something worse. Although...if he was injured that would probably require me taking him home. Really? Was I wishing injury on my familiar just to avoid talking to Baba Yaga? Yes. Yes, I was.
“Where were you when she arrived?” I asked.
“Getting TCBY.” She pointed to a machine in the corner that I hadn’t noticed before.
My eyes widened. “They have TCBY?” Man, I loved that frozen yogurt. Now, there was something I really did miss from the 80s.
She nodded, momentarily excited about the frozen treat, too “With a sundae bar.” She sobered again guiltily, then admitted, “I actually wasn’t holding your purse when Baba Yaga made her whirlwind entrance. I’d just set it down to add sprinkles to my yogurt.”
I patted her arm. “I would have done the same thing. Extra sprinkles even. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. That exoskeleton of his is pretty tough.”
She nodded, but still looked upset.
“Come on, let’s find him.”
We wove our way through the crowd, peering around the floor and around the revelers’ feet.
“Excuse me,” I said to a group of witches chatting in a circle. “I’m looking for my purse. It got caught up in the magic storm when Baba Yaga arrived. It’s clear acrylic with my familiar in it. Have any of you seen it?”
“Your familiar is in your purse?” A tall witch in a slinky evening gown with a side slit up to her waist raised a disbelieving eyebrow at me. “What in the Goddess’s name is your familiar?”
I frowned, not sure why that mattered. I wasn’t asking her why she’d decided dressing like a 70s lounge singer was a good idea.
“A crawfish,” I admitted, somewhat reluctantly.
“A crawfish?” The Hoodoo witch beside the lounge singer witch laughed. Her dark, curly hair bounced with each chuckle. “I’ve heard it all now.”
I tried not to scowl at the group. I failed.
“Yes, really,” said another witch, who looked like she was in her late forties, which meant she was probably a gazillion years old. She stroked the fur of her familiar, a brown, cotton-tailed rabbit. “And you keep it in your purse? That has to be familiar abuse.”
Abuse? How else was I supposed to carry Jocko around? Witches could be so judgy.
I glanced at her rabbit. The poor creature looked miserable. It twitches its nose and whiskers at me, then rolled its eyes back as if to silently say a gazillion years stuck with this witch had been hell on earth. At least, Jocko was generally content with his life of glass balls, acrylic purses and debauchery.
“We haven’t seen anything,” the Hoodoo witch said, waving a hand to dismiss me.
I rolled my eyes like the poor rabbit but moved on to continue my search. But not before I heard one of them say, “I think that’s Freya Jourdain’s daughter. You know the one that’s different.”
Different was definitely not a compliment in this case. And this was why I hated the Samhain Ball.
I ignored them, well, as best as I could. But it was hard to blow off the comment. Because it was true. And my “different” was about to be dumped in Baba Yaga’s lap. Forget ending up in the witch pokey. I might end up in the witch nuthouse. Did they even have one of those?
“Mally,” I heard Violet call to me. “I found him.”
I hurried over to her, hoping the little shellfish was all right. Maybe I should find a better way to transport him.
She handed the purse over and we peered in at him. He floated, motionless, on top of the water. And the water was a strange, murky, pale green.
Oh no, this was not good. Was he hurt and oozing bodily fluids? It was true. I was a terrible familiar owner.
“Jocko? Oh Jocko, are you okay?”
He continued to float there. Just as I was about to open the purse and cradle his lifeless body, begging for him to come back to me, he spit out a stream of the murky water like a fountain. Then he giggled merrily. “I’ve never been better, bebe.”
I stared at him, my fear turning to irritation. “Where did you find him?”
“He was under the beverage table,” Violet said, frowning at my weird, little familiar.
Of course, he was.
Jocko struggled to right himself, his bow tie crooked and his eyes rolling. “It was like a gift from above,” He slurred. “When that Baba Yaga chick arrived, I blew across the room. Hoo lawd, I saw my life flash before my eyes.” He pressed a claw to his chest dramatically. “But then, I came to a sudden stop. I had no idea where I was. I was accessing myself to be sure I was all intact, when this green liquid started rushing down over me. A flood. I thought I was going to die again. The liquid rushed in. And then I tasted it.” He grinned.
I stared at him and sighed. “The Gooseberry Moon Punch.”
He nodded. His smile disappeared, and he said somberly, “Mally, I had to drink and drink to save myself from drowning.”
“Right,” I said unconvinced.
“I did. Crawfish honor.”
Again with this crawfish honor thing.
He lounged onto his back, taking a large gulp of his liquor water as he did. Then he popped up again. “This technically counts as my second drink, right?”
Before I could say anything, which was to inform him that his booze swimming pool constituted a month’s worth of drinks, Baba Yaga’s voice came over the loudspeakers and stopped me. Everyone turned toward the sound.
“Is this on?” Our leader tapped the mic. She looked out at us all from her spot on the balcony. “Oh good. Please everyone gather around. I have some very important announcements to make.”
All the attendees congregated to look up at her and her bobblehead minions, who were framed by the tacky balloon arch. My mother and father joined Violet and me. They both looked almost nervous. I studied them curiously, but then looked b
ack to our leader as she started speaking again.
“First of all, I want to thank the Samhain Ball committee for these beautiful decorations and all their hard work. Isn’t it stunning?” She clapped with appreciation at the group in their 80s finery.
The rest of the room also applauded, although it was notably less enthusiastic.
“Normally, on a night of magical fun and celebration, I would avoid witch politics, but this is such a landmark moment in our history, especially to the witches and warlocks of this region, so I decided this was the perfect time to share some important news with you.”
Hushed murmurs filled the room. I had to admit I was curious, too.
“We have some very special guests with us tonight.” She shifted to call forward…
Mr. Perfection.
I’d been so distracted by the bobbling heads and balloons and silver lamé. I didn’t even notice him standing at the far side of the balcony with the other two tall, hunky men he’d been with earlier.
He joined Baba Yaga, while the other two remained where they were. Mr. Perfection stood very straight and stiff, which accentuated how incredibly tall he was. His expression was serious, almost grim. He didn’t give the vibe that he was overly thrilled at being a special guest. Of course, I witnessed firsthand that he was confused by the events of the evening thus far.
“I would like to introduce his Highness Etienne Henri Dubois, the Crowned Prince of the rougarous.”
The room immediately flooded with shocked gasps and frenzied murmurs. Some of the crowd stepped back. I did none of the above. Instead, I swayed on my feet, feeling like I might lose my pizza roll or pass out. Or possibly both.
Was the prince the rougarou, who I healed? He had said maybe I was his hero. Holy, holy broomsticks.
He nodded regally to the flabbergasted throng. Baba Yaga offered the microphone to him, but he politely declined.
“The strong and silent type,” Baba Yaga said with a slight laugh. The crowned prince looked unamused. Baba Yaga quickly continued, “Prince Dubois has very recently reached out to me about the long-standing conflict between our two communities. After several very productive talks, we have both decided the feud between the witches and rougarous has gone on long enough, and we have both agreed to form a truce.”
