Magic and Mayhem: Witchin' A Ride (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Sharon Saracino

  “Wasted magic always is.” He pressed his lips to my forehead and turned me in his arms to face my unlikely heroes. Scorched and soot-smudged, the three wobbled out of the dissipating smoke laughing uproariously, and slapping each other’s paws in kitty high-fives. Then they plunked their tails on an unscathed patch of earth, raised their right hindquarters to the sky like a perfectly choreographed dance move, and promptly went to town on their love spuds. I opened my mouth to thank them—and sternly reprimand them for the public nut-licking—but a deep voice vibrating with barely suppressed anger halted my tongue.

  “Which one of you overweight motherhumpers wants to explain this clusterfuck?”

  Six feet four inches of redonkulously attractive pissed-off male stalked through the lingering smoke. Oddly, though I could appreciate his dark, wavy hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and a body Michelangelo would have killed to sculpt, not a single lady part quivered. Not the way they did when I looked at Garrett. That probably meant something, right? The pretty, pretty man halted in front of the hefty trio, planted his fists on his denim clad hips, and slammed his brows together.

  “Check out the perimeter, I said. Make an assessment and report back, I said. Stay out of trouble, I said. What part of that did you asslickers not understand?”

  “Geez, why ya got your boxers in a bunch?” Fat Bastard scooted his wide gray butt against my foot and glared at the man. “Did exactly what ya said. Checked, assessed, and made the big, bad warlock crispy. No effin’ trouble.”

  The big man pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then blew out a breath through pursed lips, and returned his fist to his hip. “Swear to Goddess, I’m tempted to give Zelda the keys and let her run over all three of you.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Boba Fett smirked confidently. “We know where Fabio hides the coffee cakes. She loves coffee cake.”

  “Besides, she still feels bad about killin’ him that time,” Jango added with a head bob that sent his double chins quivering. “Doubt she wants the added guilt of smooshin’ us, too.”

  “This Zelda killed Fabio, the blonde Italian who can’t believe it’s not butter?” I gasped. I loved that guy. I didn’t even know he was dead.

  “Nah,” Jango ran his tongue over a still smoldering paw. “She killed her father Fabio, the red-headed warlock and member of the Assjacket town council. Then she figured out she loved him and broke the curse. Now when he ain’t busy bangin’ Baba Yaga’s mullet into the second Tuesday of next week, he bakes like a dream. Dude would never use butter substitute. You follow?”

  “Not really.” I shook my spinning head, and glanced up at Garrett hoping for enlightenment. He shrugged and stuck out a hand to the newcomer.

  “If this is Assjacket, you must be Mac. I’m Garrett, and this is my mate, Louella Ladyfern, Adjunct Professor in the Department of Healing Herbs and Medicinal Plants at Hemlock Hall Academy.”

  “Hold on there, buster.” I stepped away from my cheeky and incredibly presumptuous wolf, and crossed my arms over my chest. “I believe I said date. Date, with a D. At no time did the ‘M’ word—”

  “Garrett,” Mac nodded, ignoring my protest and gripping Garrett’s outstretched palm. “How do you know me? Have we met?”

  “No, sir, we haven’t.” Garrett shook his head, then reached for my hand and tugged me back to his side. “But, every Shifter east of the Mississippi’s heard of the King. Your mate, the Shifter Whisperer, is pretty well-known, too.”

  “Yeah, I guess my Zelda’s reputation does precede her,” he chuckled. “Gonna keep her anyway. Just for the record, she prefers the title Shifter Wanker. Don’t ask. Guess we should get you some clothes and maybe something to eat?”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” Fat Bastard interjected, sitting up and rubbing a paw over his pendulous paunch. “I’m starving.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Mac clarified with a frown. “You’re always starving.”

  “Hey, I ain’t had nothin’ to eat in three thousand four hundred and eighty-seven seconds,” the cat groused. “Don’t that count as animal cruelty?”

  “Pretty sure I’m safe from prosecution. In case you’re interested, Fabio stopped by Zelda’s office earlier with a platter of apple turnovers—” The words had barely left Mac’s lips when all three cats scurried off into the bushes without a single word of farewell. His face split in a wide grin. “Works every time. They’re a royal pain in the ass, eat us out of house and home, and frequently engage in illegal gambling, but for better or worse, they’re Zelda’s familiars. They’re also obsessed with breasts, and way too interested in tonguing their dangly bits, but any magic thrown at the three of them combined? Bounces back tenfold on the shooter. Makes them pretty useful in battle.”

  “I imagine so. They sure as hell saved our asses.” Garrett flashed a smile which quickly faded. “Look, as much as we’d appreciate your help, we should probably tell you the whole story…”

  “In a nutshell, we’ve spent the last year on the Baba Yaga’s shit list,” I continued, squeezing his hand. I suspected he might feel some reluctance, nay embarrassment sharing the details of his life as a stray cat-pig-wolf Shifter whose name was not Doyle with the de facto King of the Shifters. “It’s mostly my fault, and I’d never have made it this far without Garrett. I’m trying to get back to Hemlock Hollow, where I am fully prepared to grovel in order to regain my magic. We’re already indebted to your cats, and we’d truly appreciate some clothes and a meal. But, as we’re not sure exactly where we stand with Baba Yaga at the moment, we don’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

  “Grovel, huh?” The Shifter king bit his lip. “She’ll enjoy that.”

  “So, anyway, uh...” I hesitated. “What happened was—”

  Mac gave me a talk-to-the-hand gesture.

  “Save it. Now I know who you are, I’m familiar with your story. All of it.” He grinned at Garrett, then shifted his attention to me. “So, I gather you’re going on a date?”

  “Yes, date.” I nodded. “Please note the spelling. No one said anything about m—”

  “Louella, what does Garrett smell like to you?” Mac arched a brow.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When he’s in wolf form, what does he smell like?”

  “Uh…” I glanced at Garrett, who regarded me as though my answer held the secret to the origin of the universe. “Doughnuts?”

  “And do you like doughnuts?”

  “Who doesn’t?” I shrugged. Both men continued to subject me to that intense, questioning stare. Goddess, this had something to do with the ‘M’ word. I just knew it. Feaky snuckers. “I love them, okay? I love doughnuts.”

  “Excellent.” Mac reached out and clapped Garrett on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I know a couple of worried witches who are gonna be damn happy to see you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You live here?” I gasped.

  I climbed out of the vehicle in the shade of an enormous old tree that had to be three hundred years older than me, and sank up to my ankles in a colorful blanket of wildflowers. After passing through a town consisting of little more than a barbershop, hardware store, gas station, and grocery—whose main attraction seemed to be an enormous statue of a bear with half his head missing—I hadn’t expected much. Especially out here in the middle of nowhere. The huge, white Victorian perched on the hill, with a wraparound porch and numerous turrets, was quite possibly the most beautiful home I’d ever seen.

  “Nah. Zelda inherited it from her aunt, the last Shifter Whisperer. After our mating, she moved in with me. Her father lives here now,” Mac explained as we trailed up the porch steps behind him.

  “The one she killed?” I asked, preceding him into the hall when he held the door and waved me in.

  “Yeah. Technically. Fortunately, he was a cat at the time and had a couple of lives left. It all worked out in the end.”

  “I see,” I nodded, not seeing at all. At least I wasn’t alone in my dimwitted
ness. Garrett simply shrugged and shook his head when I turned to him mouthing “WTF?”

  I stood in the entry hall shifting from one foot to the other, noting the place was equally impressive on the inside. I peeked through the archway into the parlor and fell head over heels in love with the way the floor to ceiling windows bathed the room in sunshine and gleamed on the polished, hardwood floors. Comfy-looking, overstuffed furniture sat grouped on a Persian rug. The fireplace? To die for. I made up my mind then and there I would totally copy the look in my own home as soon as I had my magic back. Of course, that might be a little self-serving. I tapped a finger against my chin as the squirrels in my head ran wild. Guests! Guests should always feel comfortable and welcome, right? Bingo.

  “What are you grinning about?” Garrett asked, slipping a hand beneath the heavy fall of my purple hair and gently kneading my tense muscles. Mac had generously provided Garrett with a tee shirt, which he managed to temporarily fashion into an awkward loincloth resembling a sumo wrestler’s mawashi pending the acquisition of a more conventional ensemble. Though the important bits were covered, he still had a little too much on display in my opinion. While I could be quite content looking at every inch of him all day long, I found I didn’t much like the idea of any other witch having a complimentary ticket to the same show.

  “This place is amazing. I’ve been inspired.” I smiled. “Just thinking maybe I’ll do a little redecorating when we get home.”

  A shadow flitted across his expression. He opened his mouth, but before he got a word out, Mac stepped inside, banging the door behind him.

  “Mac?” A man’s voice called from the back of the house, which I presumed was the kitchen based on the mouthwatering aroma of coffee and baked goods wafting down the hall. “That you?”

  “Last I checked,” Mac called back. His confirmation produced a high-pitched and prolonged squeee, followed by the staccato tap-tap-tap of heels on hardwood rushing rapidly in our direction.

  “Thank Goddess!” I barely had time to identify the blonde bulldozer who yanked me into her arms in a suffocating hug that forced the breath from my lungs in a loud whoosh. It’s also entirely possible she fractured a rib—or five. The pain mingled nicely with the herniated discs in my still throbbing back. “What were you thinking?”

  Wrestling free of her iron grip, I bent at the waist, braced my hands on my knees, and gasped for air. Then I straightened slowly, staring daggers, and callously enjoying the way her face paled in direct proportion to the number of minutes it took me to respond.

  “What was I thinking? I thought you were a financially over extended garden center flunky. I thought you didn’t believe in witches, warlocks, or anything remotely magical. I thought you were my friend. What I never thought? I never thought you were a forking witch! I never thought you were a big, fat lying sack of hidden magic. Clearly, my thinking is faulty, Tina.”

  For the first time ever, I was glad I didn’t have my magic at my disposal. I’m pretty sure I would have set the Persian carpet on fire. Or a table. Or the house. Although some of my anger may have had less to do with Tina’s deception than with her double-breasted wool tweed jacket paired with the matching flared skirt and a floral crepe de chine blouse. I hadn’t worn anything that pretty in an awfully long time. The tulip print leather pumps with jeweled appliqué embellishments were simply salt in the wound. I didn’t even want to know what kind of purse she’d paired with the ensemble.

  “I am your friend, Ella. Didn’t I give you nice things whenever I had a chance?” Tina twisted her fingers together in front of her and blinked away the moisture welling up in her big, blue eyes. “Don’t you see? I couldn’t be too obvious without blowing my cover. But, when that Ekimmu showed up, I knew something wasn’t right. When I finally tracked down the Yaga, just as I suspected, she didn’t know a thing about it. I rushed right over to your place to spill the beans and get you out of there, but you were already gone. I…well, I can’t even tell you how sick I felt.”

  “Not as sick as I feel right now,” I snapped.

  “Are you going to forgive me?”

  “Probably.” Her expression brightened. Until I added, “But, not today.”

  “Goddess sake, Ella. Get over it.” Baba Yaga’s voice emanated from a glowing cloud of purple smoke and sparkling blue bubbles that coalesced in the entry hall. As the fog dissipated and the Yaga appeared, a huge man with auburn hair and laughing green eyes strode from the kitchen to her side. She latched onto his arm with a flirtatious grin. This, I assumed was Fabio, Zelda’s formerly dead father who did not use butter substitute. Baba’s ensemble was surprisingly subdued—for her. Orange leggings topped by a boxy pink blazer with shoulder pads as wide as a linebacker’s, all balanced on a pair of neon green wedge sandals. But, oh my Goddess, the hair! Her blonde tresses looked as though they’d been teased to the limit, then smashed in the middle and pushed forward into something resembling gremlin ears with a surfer dude swoop.

  Garrett gripped my shoulders from behind and leaned close to my ear.

  “Don’t say it, Buttercup. Just don’t say it.”

  His warm breath ruffled my hair, and his deep voice turned my bones to melted butter, but I locked my knees and managed to maintain my verticality. I also bit my tongue and managed—though it required a herculean effort—to refrain from asking the Yaga if she’d just finished shooting a Flock of Seagulls video.

  “Did you honestly think I would send you alone and unprotected into the mortal world without your magic?” She disentangled herself from her fella, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me forward into a perfunctory embrace, releasing me quickly. “Of course, I wouldn’t. You insulted my attire in front of the warlock posse. Not that those icky suckers would recognize style if it bit them on their dusty, black robes, but I have a reputation to uphold. I had no choice but to call your bluff. However, I would never deliberately put one of my witches in harm’s way. Let’s just Thank Goddess all’s well that ends…” Her gaze fell on Garrett and his improvised attire, then moved to his hands on my shoulders and the lack of distance between our two bodies. Her eyes narrowed, lit by a speculative gleam. A sly smile crimped her cheeks. “Well, well, well. Very well, indeed. You’ve learned the lesson. I’m proud of you, Ella.”

  I ducked my head as warmth suffused my face. I had no idea what forking lesson she was talking about, but what girl doesn’t appreciate a compliment? I couldn’t help noticing Tina’s eyes, which I initially supposed were staring at her toes, peered up through her lashes, and were glued to my wolf’s physique. I stepped in front of him, blocking her view.

  “Eyes on your own paper, Tina,” I barked. A dark flush crawled up her neck and stained her cheeks. She nodded, cleared her throat, and shifted her attention to the ceiling. Then she dragged the sleeve of her wool tweed double-breasted jacket across her mouth to capture the drool. Frankly, I couldn’t fault her. I found I struggled to control the mouth faucet when I looked at Garrett, too. It was a nice touch. I decided to forgive her next Thursday.

  “Oh my,” Baba tittered, waving her manicured fingers in Garrett’s direction. “This succeeded even better than I anticipated. Still, I’m sure Garrett would feel much less conspicuous with clothes on. Fabio, darling, would you mind? You’re so much better with menswear.”

  “Of course, my sweet. Would you prefer something from Paris or Milan?” He captured her hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips into her palm. She curled her fingers into a fist and pressed it to her heart, fluttering her lashes.

  “Surprise me,” she tittered like a prepubescent girl. I gagged a little.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but maybe something a little less, um…” I turned to Garrett as he paused and knit his brows together. His shoulders were hunched so high, they fell somewhere just below his ears. I sensed his dilemma. My wolf didn’t have an ostentatious bone in his body.

  “Maybe just something a little less,” I suggested, arching a brow. I turned back to Fabio. “Jea
ns, perhaps?”

  “Versace?” Fabio raised his fingers with a hopeful expression.

  “How about something a little more blue collar? Maybe something like mine,” Mac offered. I bit back a laugh as the warlock’s face fell.

  “As you wish,” Fabio sighed as silver and gold flames shot from his fingertips. “Will that do?”

  I spun to examine his handiwork. The skin tight jeans and snug black tee accentuated, rather than detracted from, Garrett’s appeal. He caught me staring and winked. Good Goddess, the man was hotter than Satan’s underpants on the Fourth of July.

  “Perfect,” I assured Baba’s boy toy. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Time to eat crow. “Now, about my magic—”

  “Goddess, I completely forgot!” I had to hand it to her. Baba Yaga had the eye roll of all eye rolls. I was seriously impressed. She waved a hand in the air. Glittering stars erupted from her fingertips and rained down to kiss my skin like warm dew. My scalp tingled. I grabbed a fistful of hair and held it in front of my nose. It gleamed a deep, rich brunette. Enchantment seeped into my soul, and I raised a hand in front of my face to watch the golden flames caress my fingers. My heart nearly burst with bliss. Thank Goddess, I was back.

  “No groveling required?” I grinned at the most powerful witch on the planet.

  “I do enjoy a good grovel,” she confided. “But, it’s my opinion—which is the only one that matters in case you wondered—any witch who can keep her stomach contents from decorating her shoes in the odiferous and offensive presence of an Ekimmu deserves a pass. No groveling required. This time.”

  “This time?”

  “My subtle way of telling you there’d better not be a next time. As for that outfit…” She shuddered and latched onto Fabio’s arm with one hand, and flapped the other in my direction. I gave my head a subtle shake, thinking I should probably introduce my tiny little upmarket clothing addiction to Garrett gradually. The Yaga smiled her understanding. In a heartbeat, I also sported jeans—albeit they were not blue collar—and a soft cashmere sweater. If the soles of my shoes happened to be red? That was between Baba Yaga and me.