From Rags to Witches

by Michelle Rowen

  I crawled over to her foot, which happened to be clad in a nice pair of black satin mules, and hooked my claw into a silver buckle. When it came to witch transportation, I figured this was basically Business Class. “Ready for take-off,” I told her.

  This time when I saw the windy, sparkling ribbon of magic snake around us in the growing darkness, I welcomed it.

  Next stop: Assjacket.

  7

  When the colorful mist receded, I found myself still clutching Monique’s shoe and blinking at the bright sunshine. It confused me, but then I remembered that Paris and West Virginia had a bit of a time difference.

  Still afternoon here. Bright-ass afternoon. And I realized why one rarely saw bats gallivanting around in the daytime. Mainly because there weren’t any bat-sized sunglasses created for nocturnal creatures. And, according to the size of the witch’s shoe, I was currently a nocturnal creature approximately eight inches tall.

  Oh, my God.

  “Et voilà!” Monique held her arms out and smiled down at me. “Ah, this is so beautiful. The trees, the flowers. The…well, the true essence of les États-Unis. C’est merveilleux! Tell me, little one, are you so very grateful for my help?”

  “So very,” I agreed, nodding my tiny, furry head.

  “It is good.” She put her hands on her hips and turned in a circle. “I have no idea where this is, other than the town I swore I would never return to. And yet, here we are. And now that I am here, I feel I go against my own advice and make a visit to my friend Fabio, come what may.”

  “Fabio,” I muttered. “The half-naked dude from the old romance novel covers?”

  “No, of course not. My former lover, Fabio, is a powerful warlock, although he also has a charming appreciation for nudity.” Before I could reply to this, the witch picked me up as easily as lifting a fallen wallet and raised me up toward a tree branch. “A little help, little one. And now, I bid you adieu.”

  I found myself hanging upside down, clutching onto the branch with my weird little clawed feet. I watched with growing panic as the witch began to walk away. “Wait, Monique…no, please, don’t leave me here. I need you to help me find Thierry!”

  But all she did was raise her hand in farewell as she strolled away.

  Damn it.

  I scanned my current location from my precarious upside-down position. Monique had poofed us into a garden. Or—actually, it looked like somebody’s backyard. It contained many thick, tall trees, one of which I was currently occupying. There was a flower garden to my left, the flowers looking a bit wilted now that early October’s nights grew chilly. A pumpkin patch—no big surprise—sat to the right. In the middle, there was a line of clothes hanging to dry.

  Beneath the clothesline, I spotted a potential problem that froze me in place.

  It was a gray and white cat, sitting on its haunches, licking its front paw.

  While it stared right at me.

  I looked away, focusing on a fascinating acorn a foot away from my face. When my gaze returned to the cat, it had moved few steps closer to me.

  Shit.

  The cat blinked, then turned its head, and…whistled.

  Last I checked, cats couldn’t whistle.

  “Youse guys, over here,” it said. “We got a sitchiation.”

  First off, I didn’t expect the cat to talk. Secondly, I definitely didn’t expect it to sound like a gangster in an old movie.

  Two other cats approached the first one. A calico and a white cat with gray spots. The trio glanced toward me as I innocently hung in the tree ten feet away.

  “It’s a bat,” the calico said. “Just a dumb little bat.”

  “Y’think?” the first cat replied. “Dunno. Sumthin’s off about it.”

  “Weese gonna eat it?” the white cat asked with enthusiasm.

  “Mebbe.”

  “Bat barbecue.” The calico nodded. “Dats always good.”

  Meanwhile, I’ve been watching my life pass before my eyes. It had happened before, so this felt a bit like a rerun with some bonus footage added onto the end.

  The three of them stalked closer to me until they were right under my branch, staring up at me as I stared down at them.

  “Hi there,” I squeaked. “Great to meet you, really. I love cats. I’m definitely a cat person. I’m even one of the few who actually loved that terrible movie they made out of the musical. So catchy, those songs, right?”

  “Weese wondering just who you are,” the first cat asked. “Talkin’ bats don’t happen along Assjacket every day.”

  “I—I’m Sarah,” I told him. “Sarah Dearly. Or…well, de Bennicoeur, really. I mean, I haven’t officially filed the paperwork to change my driver’s license and passport, etcetera, and I’ve been wondering if I should even take my husband’s last name. It’s really hard to spell and pronounce, for one thing. And, I mean, should I keep my maiden name as a sign of independence? That I’m not defined by my marriage or so willing to give up my birth name? I don’t know. It’s an interesting subject, really. And Dearly isn’t that common of a name, so maybe I should continue to hold the torch.”

  I tended to babble when faced with cute but predatory creatures that were ten times my size.

  “Sure. Whaddeva you say. Nice ta meet’cha,” the calico said. “I’m Jango Fett. Dis here,” he nodded at the white cat, “is Boba Fett. And dat,” a nod at the gray and white feline, “is Fat Bastard.”

  “Super,” I managed, eyeing their curious upside-down faces. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

  “Whatcha doin’ in dat tree, Sarah?” asked Fat Bastard.

  “Oh, you know,” I began. “Just…hanging around?”

  They stared at me for a long moment before they started to cackle with laugher.

  “Oh, dat’s funny. Hangin’ around! Dat’s real funny!” Boba Fett slapped his front paw against the ground. “We gotta comedienne over here.”

  “You ain’t from around here, are ya?” Jango Fett said after he caught his breath.

  “No, just visiting. Listen, I’m—I’m not really a bat.”

  “Coulda fooled me!” Fat Bastard laughed again.

  Glad someone could find some humor in my current life or death situation.

  “What are ya, den? A familiar? A Shifter?” Jango asked.

  I grimaced. “Neither. I’m human, actually. Well, a vampire, actually. My husband met with the Baba Yaga earlier today. He’s probably finished by now, and—I need to find him. Like, desperately.”

  Jango nodded. “Youse a vamp, huh? I guess dat makes sense. Vamp bat wit little vamp fangs.”

  “A warlock turned me into this so I wouldn’t be able to stop his evil plans,” I explained. “He wants to take over my husband’s body.”

  “Hey, dat’s like dat movie!” Boba exclaimed. “Dat movie with dem aliens takin’ over da bodies. Amiright?”

  “No,” I said. “Not Invasion of the Body Snatchers. This is a warlock who wants to steal the body of a master vampire he apparently hates.”

  “Da Baba Yaga is meetin’ wit a master vamp?” Fat Bastard said.

  “She is,” I said.

  “Huh. Whaddya know?”

  I cleared my little throat. “Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you put any plans of barbecuing me on hold. I need to find Thierry, and there’s not much time left. It might already be too late.” The thought was too much to bear, so I’d decided to continue clinging to my optimism much like I clung to this branch.

  “Why aren’t you lookin’ for him?” Fat Bastard asked me.

  “Well, I’m currently dealing with this bat body,” I explained.

  “You gots wings. Why doncha fly?”

  I extended the wings and flapped a couple of times. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get the manual.”

  “Manual, shmanual. You gotta believe in yoself. If youse gots wings, youse can fly.”

  “Turkeys have wings,” I pointed out. “And they can’t fly.”

  “I guess turkeys just don’t believe
in demselves enough!”

  Fair enough. I gritted my tiny pointed teeth. It seemed that I’d reached a crossroads. Since Monique had abandoned me to go stalk Fabio, her ex-lover, I was on my own and knew I wouldn’t make any progress without an ally. Or three.

  “Guys, I need your help,” I said. “I need to get to the diner, which is the last place I saw my husband. I have to warn him about what’s coming.”

  “Dats a purdy weak plan, Sarah,” Boba said.

  “It’s all I got. So, please, I’m asking you. No, actually, I’m begging you: will you help me?”

  Jango nudged Fat Bastard and muttered something under his breath that sounded like “Bat brunch.”

  Yeah, I’d go ahead and ignore that.

  The three then turned their furry heads together and discussed the matter before turning to me again.

  “Weese decided to help ya,” Fat Bastard announced. “Dere’s nothin’ worse than a bad warlock, and if your guy’s pals with da Baba Yaga, den we’re in.”

  “Super,” I said, breathing out a sigh of relief.

  “Youse can ride on my back.” He turned around. “Weese take you to the diner. It ain’t too far from here.”

  Talk about a leap of faith.

  Of course, I still had misgivings that three talking cats were going to be true to their word and not try to eat me, but I’d moved past the point of caution a while ago.

  I let go of the branch, twisted in the air, flapped my wings a couple of times, shocked that I was able to safely flutter to the ground. I half-expected to break a bone. Possibly, my neck.

  Didn’t I read somewhere that bats had hollow bones? The light weight helped them take flight. Or something like that. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to fly today. I was going to be taking the Fat Bastard Express across town.

  I looked up, only to be greeted by the wide-open maw of Boba Fett. I screamed as he gently picked me up and plopped me onto Fat Bastard’s back. I hooked my tiny wing-claws into his fur.

  “Whaddya think? I was gonna eat ya after weese agreed to help ya?” Boba Fett asked. “Sheesh. Rude.”

  “No, no, no.” I shook my head. “I’m just a little on edge today. So sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Fuhgeddaboudit.”

  And with that, the cats and I began our journey from the backyard paradise to the Assjacket Diner. I held on for dear life, pressing my face into Fat Bastard’s soft fur, which made me sneeze at least a half a dozen times.

  Allergies were a pain in the ass.

  Not as much of a pain in the ass as being magically turned into a bat. But, still.

  We arrived at the diner about twenty minutes later, and I was relieved to see that the rental car was still parked outside. That relief lasted only a couple of seconds before I worried that I was too late, that Damon and Alicia’s plan had already been enacted before I could do anything to stop it.

  But then I saw him.

  Thierry.

  He was in front of the diner, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, his phone pressed to his ear. When he turned in my direction, I could see his brow tightly furrowed, his jaw tense.

  “Closer, please,” I urged Fat Bastard.

  The cat did as I asked until I could hear Thierry’s voice.

  “—have been searching for you and am beginning to worry. Call me when you get this latest message, Sarah. I hope you’re with Alicia, and there is nothing to fear, but I tried to tap into our bond and felt nothing…this worries me deeply. Please, be well.”

  He ended the call and stared at the screen of his phone for a moment, then rubbed his hand over his mouth.

  The bond he referred to was something we shared. An internal GPS system that links a fledgling vampire (yours truly) with her sire. While Thierry hadn’t officially turned me into a vampire, it was his blood that helped me survive the harsh transition when my true sire found himself on the wrong end of a hunter’s wooden stake.

  I could find him through the same bond. And I would have used it if I hadn’t had recently had my entire species altered.

  “Closer,” I urged again.

  Fat Bastard sighed and trotted us a bit closer to Thierry. We finally got his attention, and, with a frown, he looked down at the motley group at his feet.

  “This town is very odd,” he muttered.

  “I think dis bat belongs to you,” Fat Bastard told him.

  Thierry blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  I strained upward to meet his silvery-gray eyes. “Okay, Thierry, don’t freak out,” I squeaked.

  He blinked again. “What is happening here?”

  “It’s me,” I said, feeling weirdly embarrassed. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He was so stoic, so controlled, so serious, and yet I’d brought a shit-ton of chaos into his life over the last year.

  Thierry waited, as if for additional explanation, that frown seemingly a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

  “It’s…it’s Sarah,” I said.

  His eyes widened. “Sarah.”

  “I can explain, but let’s just say it’s been a hell of a day.”

  It took another couple of moments before his utterly stunned look (not a frequent visitor to Thierry de Bennicoeur’s visage, let me tell you) faded and concern entered his gaze. He then reached his arm toward me, and I gingerly clawed my way onto the very fine, smooth fibers of his Hugo Boss jacket sleeve.

  I looked down at the cats. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  “Good luck, youse guys,” Fat Bastard chimed, and the other two nodded.

  “Woulda been tasty,” Jango muttered. “Oh well.”

  Without another word, Thierry moved away from the cats and toward the rental car. He got into the driver’s seat before placing me gently down on the dashboard.

  “This is…quite a surprise,” Thierry admitted.

  “I’m sure it is,” I squeaked.

  “I assume this is a curse of some kind? I should never have brought you to a town renowned for its powerful witches.”

  “Not a curse, I don’t think. I’m just bespelled, or something.” I let out a squeaky sigh. “I’m so glad I found you. There’s so much to tell you.”

  Thierry’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket to look at the screen. “It’s Alicia.”

  “Don’t answer it!” I yelped.

  His gaze flicked to mine before he slid the phone back into his pocket. “It seems this assignment may have gotten out of hand.”

  “Yeah, just a little. Okay, let me fill you in on the sordid details…”

  And I did just that. From the moment he left the diner, to my getting Alicia to talk about her boyfriend, Damon. To the locket full of magical hair that transported us across the ocean to Paris. To the Rags to Riches shop and meeting the warlock in question. The elf-ghost. And then the revelation of the evil master plan.

  “Damon,” Thierry repeated. “That is a name I have not heard for a very long time.”

  “I got the impression that you two weren’t good friends.”

  “We’re not. Some witches and warlocks use their magic for good, some for evil. Damon has always trended toward the darkness. Rarely, dark magic must be used to fight against dark magic. In this case, an eye for an eye is the only way to defeat such a thing. Some practitioners of magic will delve into the darkness to help restore the light—a secret police force, if you will, that does what it can to stop warlocks like Damon and his dark plans.”

  I had a horrible thought. “Wait. How do I even know you’re still Thierry? I could have been too late, and that was your girlfriend on the phone waiting to be whisked off to…I don’t know. Somewhere romantic with her boyfriend’s shiny new body.”

  “I believe I am centuries past anything one would consider shiny,” Thierry said, raising a brow.

  “Trust me, you’re still extremely shiny, in all the right ways.” I would smile, but my bat lips didn’t seem capable of it.

  “Noted,” he said. He studied me for a moment, and the slightest glim
mer of amusement slid through his gaze. “A bat.”

  I shrugged my bat shoulders. “I know. Be careful what you wish for, right?”

  “Indeed.” His frown returned right on schedule. “I wouldn’t have thought Alicia capable of such a nefarious plan.”

  “She makes a good first impression, I’ll give you that. But she’s Team Damon. And yet, she’s definitely a-okay with him highjacking your body. I guess you’ve left a bit of an impression on the ladies. Oh, speaking of the ladies, I met another of your past flings. A witch named Monique who kindly poofed me back here and then disappeared into the Assjacket wilderness.”

  “Monique,” he repeated, nodding. “Yes, I remember her.”

  “Of course you do,” I said tightly. “I mean, she seems to remember you very kindly. But don’t worry, I’m not falling into a well of jealousy here. I know it was a million years ago, and this is the here and now. Why would you look at other women when you have all of this ultimate hotness,” I used my claw to gesture toward my furry body, “waiting at home.”

  Thierry was fighting a grin now. “You do keep my life very interesting, Sarah.”

  “I’m seriously going to need a vacation after this one.”

  “I think that can be arranged. But back to the subject at hand, you say that Monique is still in town?”

  “I don’t know. She tossed me into a tree and took off. As far as I know, she’s swinging from the Eiffel tower again by now. I had to befriend those talking cats, who had to really debate between helping me and eating me. Remind me not to come back to Witchlandia again. Like, ever. Please.”

  Thierry’s phone sounded again, and he fished it out. “It’s her again,” he said.

  “Don’t answer it—”

  But he’d already done just that, putting the call on speaker. “Alicia,” he said.

  “Thierry, are you all through with your tour?”

  “Yes. And I’m currently searching for my wife,” he said evenly. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Sarah’s not with you?” she replied lightly. “We parted ways at least an hour ago. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  Lying liar. I was going to set her pants on fire.