Morgan scowled at me. I shook my head. She looked adorable. Damn it.
As if someone was twisting her arm, she muttered, “You could always try Flame Away.”
Well, shit, I could too. I hadn’t thought of that. Witches haven’t really needed it in recent times. Back during the Inquisition and Puritan times, it had been a part of our daily grooming - stockings, chemise, Flame Away, petticoat, bodice, skirt.
Back then, Flame Away was a bit sticky and would create an awful smell if worn directly on the skin. It smelled like lavender if put on cotton though. I wasn’t sure if anyone had tried to improve upon it since then.
Morgan stroked a long pale finger over the rim of her glass. I had the feeling she was about to dig deeper into the situation with Ash. I jumped in first, “seen Drake recently?”
If we weren’t best friends, I would’ve missed her reaction. Vampires are masters at concealing their emotions. It’s pointless to play poker with one.
Morgan stiffened, narrowed her eyes and turned her head slightly to the side. Then she smiled, shook her red curls back and said as casually as possible, “we’re going out tomorrow night.”
“Why don’t I hook up with you somewhere for a drink so I can finally meet him? I won’t stay long. Promise.” I could hear the challenge in my voice.
Morgan sighed heavily. A faint hint of copper wafted over the table. “I’m meeting him in Glastonbury.”
Ah. I nodded once. “Where is that?” I wasn’t familiar with any town by that name. We have towns named after fish in Idaho, Glastonbury sounded much more cosmopolitan than Salmon.
“England.”
Yee gads. I was going to need to invest in a world atlas to keep track of Morgan’s dates.
I didn’t miss the studied air of flippant ease. Whatever was going on had to do with Drake.
I wondered if my broom would hold Ash. I could always take Al along on any reconnaissance mission, but Ash’s muscles would be more helpful. Not that I would ever tell Al that.
My wand vibrated along my back. I’d cast a protection spell around my apartment and attached it to my wand before I’d left.
I pulled my wand out of my back pocket. It shook again under the force of my spell. “Damn it. That miserable little cretin is trying to get into my apartment again.”
Morgan leaned forward over the table. “What cretin and why is it trying to break into your apartment?”
Wow. This was weird. Usually, Morgan and I knew every tiny detail of each other’s lives. I wasn’t used to having to explain anything.
“The cretin is a human male. A xenologist to be exact. And he’s trying to break into my house because he knows Bigfoot is sleeping on my pull out.”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her caught off-guard until this very moment.
“Bigfoot?” She whispered the question then glanced left and right as if the gargoyles, troll or dwarves might be eavesdropping. “You have Bigfoot sleeping on your pull-out? I thought Bigfoot was a myth.”
Totally and utterly destroying everyone’s faith in that belief.
“Turns out, not so much.” I shrugged. “Large, very hairy and susceptible to injury.”
“Can I come over and see it?” Morgan almost bounced in her seat like a kid at Christmas.
“It’s a she.” You’d think in the nearly three years we’ve known each other, I would have seen Morgan excited. However, after over fifteen hundred years of roaming the earth, it takes quite a lot to get around the whole been there, done that, seen that like a million times thing.
“How do you know it’s a she? Can she talk?” Morgan’s eyes were the size of emerald lakes.
“She hasn’t spoken yet, but she knows English. And she flirted with Big Al.” I propped my fist under my chin, enchanted at this new side of my UDBF.
“Ah.” Morgan nodded. “Big Al can certainly lay on the charm when he wants.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see,” she glared around the bar and lowered her voice, “her.”
My wand vibrated again. “Okay, but I’ll need to cast a quick spell when we get to my apartment first, so no racing.” Morgan beats my broom every time.
She glanced at my wand. “Do you want me to take care of the cretin?” She slid her tongue slowly over one fang, letting go with a small sucking sound.
“No.” I shook my head. I didn’t need any more complications in my life right now. “I don’t want to kill the guy. I’ll just spell him to go home.” I grinned. “And maybe watch Lawrence Welk reruns.”
Morgan laughed. She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “I do love the way your mind works.”
We headed out of Got Fangs? I grabbed my broom from behind the bar and off we went. Morgan’s eyes gleaming and my shoulder aching ever so slightly. UDBFs are really strong.
****
If I had to do it all over again, I’m not so certain I’d bring Bigfoot home. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have tried the best healing spell I could think of - I’m just saying I would consider leaving Bigfoot to heal on her own.
Which probably makes me a bad witch. Right at this moment I was okay with that, because walking into my very own living room and finding Big Al and Bigfoot spooning on my pull-out, irritated every single nerve in my body.
I know it doesn’t make sense. He’s a Chihuahua, I’m a witch. He might have designs on me, but it would never work. Logically I understood all of this. Truly I did.
On the other hand, Big Al has been my constant companion for two years. As in twenty-four seven for the most part. He’s spent the majority of that time hitting on me. Again, in his hit-man mind, he is still human despite his current canine body.
I’ve come to feel special with Al. Not just special, but vital. His link to his human soul as well as the witch he would like to date. Being vital is not something I could ever take lightly.
But right now I could easily strangle the little mutt.
“Big Al really likes her, doesn’t he?”
I might even consider a little take down action on my UDBF.
Al lifted his tiny head, yawned widely. “Hey Morgan. How are you?” The little shit didn’t even act the least bit discomforted. It clearly didn’t upset him to be caught snuggling with some other creature.
Sweet Spirits, I was losing it.
I stomped down my hall. Behind me I could hear Morgan and Al continuing on with their conversation.
“So this is Bigfoot. And it’s a girl?” I heard rustling on the pull-out. “Yep, definitely a girl.” I refused to turn around. I didn’t want to know who was cuddling who. DID NOT want to know. My jaw began to ache. I told myself to stop gritting my teeth.
“Have you gotten her to talk? Kate said she understands English.”
I closed the door to bathroom, shutting out Al’s response. I needed a moment. Maybe more than one.
I knew my jealousy was unreasonable. It didn’t make a bit of difference. Jealousy usually is unreasonable. That’s why it’s called jealousy. A large green eyed monster with claws that dug deep named Jealousy fit perfectly. Can you imagine if we called it Frank?
Bigfoot was on the mend. The quick spell I’d cast when we’d walked in the door assured me of that. I might be able to get rid of . . . Ah, release back into the wild the poor mythological creature I’d run over.
Sigh. My metal wanderings were not going to help. I had to . . .
What was that smell?
I may not be the best housekeeper, but I’ve never let anything get to the point of that horrendous stink.
Maybe Bigfoot had gotten up and used my toilet. I’m sure she didn’t know how to flush and Al couldn’t reach the handle to help her.
I checked the toilet, but it was clean. Sniffing around I finally realized the smell was coming from behind my shower curtain.
No way. No way . . . Yep, indeedy. Bigfoot had decided to use my bathtub as her toilet.
I grabbed a plastic trash bag, a roll of paper towels, my elbow lengt
h rubber gloves and the gallon of bleach. I had too much on my mind to even attempt a clean up spell.
I gagged non-stop for the next twenty minutes. And I couldn’t help but wonder of this was some sort of new metaphor for my life.
****
My nose still burned from the bleach as I headed back into my apartment. I was confident the xenologist wouldn’t even consider the, uh, stuff in the trash bag as gross evidence of Bigfoot’s existence. I wasn’t even sure if you could run tests on that stuff to prove or disprove anything. And, quite frankly, I didn’t want to know either.
I just felt like being extremely petty. And the idea of Claud Potier lifting his garbage lid and getting a whiff of that smell totally lifted my spirits.
I came to a dead halt two feet into my living room.
Morgan and Bigfoot were sitting inches away from each other. Morgan had her mouth wide open displaying her gleaming white fangs. As I watched, Morgan closed her mouth and Bigfoot opened hers just as wide. Sharp, pointy fangs lined the front of her mouth, tapering to shorter, broader teeth towards the back. Bigfoot was an omnivore.
I opened my own mouth then shook my head and continued on towards the kitchen. I didn’t know what to say and had nothing to bring to this HC and mythological version of show and tell.
Lovely. Bigfoot was charming Morgan too. What could Al and Morgan possibly see in that big, smelly pile of fur?
“Hey Doll, you okay? You haven’t said anything since you got home?” Al sat in the middle of my kitchen table. I always left one chair pulled out so he could jump up and we could converse at nearly the same level. Plus we ate our meals together at the table.
Al cocked his little head and considered me. A deep snarl vibrated in his chest. “Has Ass done anything to you?”
Not since accidentally setting me on fire, finding help to heal me and then leaving me with a maelstrom of mixed emotions . . . that had just gotten worse since arriving at my apartment.
Enough already. Time to reel my life back in.
“No, Al, I’m fine.” Maybe fine wasn’t the correct description, or even remotely close to how I truly felt, but I needed some sort of semblance of normalcy. And I’d lie like a banshee if that’s what it took right now.
“Bigfoot seems to be feeling better.” Two could play at this game.
“Yeah, she’s doing great.” Was it my imagination or did his voice drop even lower on that last word? Al blinked his bulging brown eyes at me. The shit.
I still hadn’t decided on attempting more nonchalance or squirting him with a water bottle when Morgan strolled into the room.
“What do you have for hair products?”
That one threw me a bit.
“Umm, shampoo, heavy duty conditioner, leave-in conditioner, hair lotion, hair cream, anti-frizz spray and serum,” not that they ever worked, “a few hair masques, detangling spray, some curl defining sprays and cremes, gels and custards.” I ran through the contents of my bathroom cabinet through my head. “I might be missing a few items, but that’s mostly it.” I eyed her perfectly curled, soft and gleaming locks. “Why?”
Morgan arched one elegant brow. “You actually use all of that?”
I could understand her suspicion given the usual state of my hair. It does not mean that I don’t at least try every single day. Curly hair is a constant battle.
I crossed my arms and considered giving her the stink eye. I’m sure she woke every morning and simply brushed her hair. I’d tried that once. I’d had to cut the damn brush out of my curls after it had gotten entrenched in a particularly nasty snarl and days later I’d found a couple of bristles still lost and trapped in the depths of my curls.
Lots of hair products are one of life’s necessities for me.
I gave up on the thought of glaring at her. Morgan can’t help that she is perfect.
“Some more than others,” I sighed. Trial and error. My cupboard suffered right along with me in my search for the one - or five - products that actually worked.
“Well, something has to work. Do you have a tub we can use?”
“For what exactly?” Morgan’s hair was divine and I only gave Al a bath when the hit-man had channeled away and the Chihuahua was in charge. The Chihuahua hated bath time, but at least he couldn’t argue with me.
“Harley needs a makeover.”
“Harley?”
“Well, we can’t very well call her Harry. That’s rude. And with all those muscles she is a bit of a badass so . . . Harley.”
“I like it.” Al nodded.
“Harley?” It squeaked out this time. Why did Bigfoot have to have a name?
“It does suit her, doesn’t it?” Morgan grinned at Al, quite pleased with herself.
“Yeah.” Al made an odd almost purring sound. “I like it.” Damn him.
“Harley?”
Bigfoot growled in response to my shout.
Morgan and Al both frowned at me. Drat them. They wanted to use my hair products on her. And now they were naming her? What was my life coming to?
“She looks terrible Kate. And she smells. A makeover would do her so much good and probably help her heal faster.”
Aarrghhh. I so wanted to scream. Really, really loudly.
A makeover would get rid of the smell and then I could close my windows. Plus it more than likely would help her heal faster. And the only reason . . . Harley was here in the first place was because I’d run her over. I just couldn’t get past that.
Damn it.
I marched over to my kitchen sink, flung open the cupboard and snatched up the large tub I kept underneath for Big Al’s baths.
“I didn’t know you had one of those.” Big Al prided himself on knowing all the little details of my life.
I was tempted to tell him just what I used it for, but even now I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Double damn.
Morgan cocked her head, brows drawn slightly together as she considered me. “How about a nail file and some polish? She needs a mani-pedi too.”
Oh no. Not my polish too. The hair supplies were bad enough, but to invade and use all of my stuff? No way.
Bigfoot took that precise moment to let out a mournful wail.
I was never going to drive down dark roads in the rain ever again.
“It’s all in the bathroom.” I think I may have pouted as I said that.
“And, how about . . .” I tensed. Nearly moaning the loss of something else of mine.
“Making some Cosmos?” Our girls’ night drink? Morgan wanted to make our special girls’ night drink while she gave Bigfoot a makeover with my stuff?
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Maybe after a couple three Cosmos I might not feel the need to scream and beat my head against the wall.
“I’d like a whisky, Doll.” Al jumped down onto the chair and then the floor. Morgan took the tub and they went to collect my stuff for Harley. Stupid name. I could hear them whispering as they walked out.
I pulled down the vodka, triple sec and whisky from an upper cupboard and the cranberry juice and a fresh lime from the fridge. I got down three martini glasses and Al’s bowl. I started mixing the first drink and decided “to hell with it” and downed the shot of vodka.
My eyes, nose and throat burned. I coughed and choked and contemplated screaming all over again.
“Doll, you all right?” Al hollered from my bathroom.
“Fine.” I coughed again. “Just have a tickle in my throat.”
I couldn’t harm Bigfoot. My conscience and my two best friends wouldn’t let me. I might not like Harley - was jealous and convinced she was out to ruin my life and take all of my friends away - but I could’t do anything more to hurt her than I already had.
Being reduced to a whiny adolescent by a large pile of fur did not sit well with me. I chugged another shot of vodka to deal.
I know I have crappy coping skills. Nonexistent or immature could be interchangeable with crappy. I get it. I do.
I was also perfectly comfortable with t
hose coping skills at the moment. Bigfoot reigned supreme on my pull-out. How is one witch with a host of issues supposed to compete with one not-so-mythological creature?
19. My Life In Ruins.
Okay. Fine. I’ll admit it.
Harley’s not such a bad name after all.
It suited her.
I’d had my doubts when I woke up with a nasty headache and a bad taste in my mouth, but after a lovely healing spell and a strong cup of joe, I’d decided it wasn’t so bad.
That might have had to do with the gorgeous fuchsia glistening on the end of my fingers. Or the extra bounce and limited amount of frizz in my curls.
Mostly, I think it had to do with Al sleeping with me last night, and Morgan sleeping with Bigfoot on my pull-out.
Regardless, I was feeling much more mellow in regards to Harley.
I’d had a fuzzy memory of closing my black out drapes when we’d hauled out the Twister game around 4 am, but I didn’t trust my memory after all those Cosmos. So when I’d woken with the sun heating my face, I’d fallen out of bed in my rush to check the living room.
I now had several shots of my UDBF spooning Bigfoot on my phone. I planned to make judicious use of them as the need arose.
“Hey, Doll, you make coffee this morning?” Al swayed slightly in the doorway, his bulging eyes at half mast.
I started to nod, got a really good look at him and promptly choked on my coffee.
“You okay?” Al yawned. He sat down and used his hind leg to scratch his left ear. I choked some more.
“Ahm finn.” I set my coffee mug on the counter and nonchalantly swiped my phone from the counter. Al looked up when he heard the click of my camera phone. I cleared my throat, chanted the words to a quick healing spell and waved my hands in his direction.
“Thanks, Doll.” He cocked his head to the side as he stared at my phone.
“You ready to go outside?” I slid the phone into my back pocket and casually strolled out of the kitchen.
We walked back upstairs in record time. Al in desperate need of a lick of coffee.
Bigfoots Don't Do Mini Coopers (Kate Storm Book 1) Page 13
