by Angie Fox
The witches worked a crude assembly line in front of the boat. Frieda led a group as they scrubbed glass jars in several saddlebags filled with soapy water. Bob, with Pirate riding shotgun, transported the jars to Ant Eater and another group of witches, who seemed to be baiting them like traps.
“Lizzie! I’m here, Lizzie!” Pirate splashed through the puddles and leaped into my arms. I shut the hog off just in time to catch him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Mmm…wet dog. My wet dog. I squeezed my puppy tight.
“You miss me? I missed you.” Pirate wriggled in my arms.
“What’s with the flooded boat?” I asked.
“Um, yeah. You might not want to mention that. Frieda is sensitive about that as it is. She tried to clear out some of the cobwebs with a wind spell and, well, you know how tricky that can be.”
I had no idea, but I’d take his word for it.
“Lizzie.” Ant Eater jogged over to me, as she unwrapped a fun-sized Snickers bar with her teeth and plunked it into the jar under her arm. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”
“Me too.”
She cocked a brow at my black T-shirt. Make that Dimitri’s shirt. The thing felt itchy all the sudden.
“Don’t ask,” I said.
“Wasn’t going to,” she replied, smacking the black leather cell phone holder attached to her hip.
I should have thrown Dimitri’s phone off the balcony along with his pants.
“Now stop farting around,” she said, heading back to the stack of jars. “We got a problem.”
“What do you mean you cursed the boat?” I asked as we stood at the edge of the Dixie Queen’s rusty gangplank. The third-floor fountain splashed into the river on our right, tossing splatters of dull brown water that occasionally nipped at our legs and feet.
“Unscrew this.” Ant Eater handed me an airline bottle of Jack Daniels. I watched as she poured the whiskey into the jar with the Snickers bars. “We weren’t planning on coming back. So we booby-trapped the thing. Problem is, we were a little preoccupied.”
“Drunk on dandelion wine,” Bob added. I hadn’t even heard him pull up behind us.
Ant Eater sniffed. “And hell, it’s been twenty years.”
“So we’re not sure exactly what we booby-trapped.” Bob navigated over the bumpy ground between Ant Eater and me. He reached into a bag slung over the back of his wheelchair and pulled out a ziplock bag of—ohmigosh—tails. Ant Eater offered him the jar, and he dropped two tails inside.
“What are you making? A counterspell?”
Ant Eater grunted out a throaty chuckle. “Oh no. That’d only make ’em mad. We lure the spells out, then, whomp,” she clamped the lid shut, “back in the slammer.”
“Why are you creating new magic?” Or simply a big mess. “What happens to the old magic?”
Ant Eater guffawed. “God, you are dense, Lizzie. This isn’t magic,” she said, shoving the Snickers-Jack Daniels rat tail mess under my nose. Ew. The pungent aroma of dead rat and whiskey stung my nostrils. “This,” she said, screwing on the lid and shaking the thing up, “is a magical trap.”
Pirate leaped into Bob’s lap and I cringed when Bob scratched Pirate’s head. I knew where that hand had been.
“Choking spells love Snickers,” Bob said. “You can sometimes catch a Disintegration spell too. They go for most anything chocolate.”
“You’re talking like these are live things here.”
Bob blinked. “They are. Our magic is most definitely alive.” Bob thrust his chair backward toward the witch assembly line. He moved forward a few feet, then spun around to face me. “Forget that and you could wind up hurt.” I followed him to the stack of jars already swirling with colored muck. “We’ve cleared out two dozen of the little boogers already.”
“I helped with that one!” Pirate said, dancing in front of a Smucker’s jar filled with a greenish haze. “I call him Larry.” He spun twice. “See? Lizzie, Larry. Larry, Lizzie,” he said, as if making an introduction.
Frieda dashed up to Ant Eater and thrust a jar into her hands. “I think I found it. This has to get rid of the, um,” she eyed me, “issue on the main deck.”
“What are you not telling me now?” Heck with magic spells. I needed a good old-fashioned lie detector around these people.
“It’s nothing,” Frieda tittered about an octave too high and patted her canary yellow hair.
“Ant Eater?”
“None of your goddamned business.” She held the jar to the light and studied the swirling contents. “Thing is, I hate to blast her out of here if we don’t know where we’re sending her.”
“I programmed it for the Poconos,” Frieda told her. “Phoenix likes the mountains.”
“Phoenix?” I asked as Frieda practically jumped out of her platform sandals. How many Phoenixes did these people know…other than my mom?
Frieda gasped. Ant Eater’s fingers tightened on the jar as she continued to swirl the liquid inside.
“Oh now, come on people,” I said. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Frieda, Bob. Leave us alone,” Ant Eater said, still focused on the jar.
Bob’s wheelchair crunched across the leaves scattered on the ground. Frieda followed, reaching out to catch a ziplock full of mushed snake and stuffing it back into Bob’s pack.
Ant Eater stared daggers at me. “Your mother is dead.”
“Thanks for the sympathy.” Couldn’t these people be honest for five friggin’ minutes? “Hey, I only want to know what’s going on and nobody’s answering my questions.”
“Because, hotshot, what happened to your mom is for you and your grandma to talk about. I’m not getting involved.”
Since when? “Funny, you don’t seem to have any trouble involving me in your messes.” As if it heard me, the riverboat groaned on its moorings. “Grandma could have told me the truth herself, but you know what? I didn’t have much time with her until she was kidnapped and dragged to hell trying to save you.” And me. “The least you can do is tell me the truth when I ask.”
“That’s where it gets hazy.”
“No, it doesn’t! Grandma is accused of killing my mom. There’s no haze. There are the facts, and you owe me an explanation.”
She tossed the jar at my head, and I struggled to catch it. “Seems to me you’re pretty good at figuring things out on your own, lover girl.”
“What? Did you know about Dimitri too?” Probably. Not like they’d tell me anyway. To them, I was just a walking, talking magical bag of tricks—to be used whenever they felt like it. They’d sold me out to the werewolves before I’d even begun my training. Sure, Lizzie will get rid you of a bunch of black souls, no problem! For them. How much worse was it going to be now? Well, I wouldn’t be around to find out. As soon as I rescued Grandma, they could kiss my butt good-bye. A collar jingled, and I caught sight of Pirate out of the corner of my eye. He danced in circles, like he did every time his nerves got the best of him. “Pirate, take a walk.”
“Oh, but Lizzie. This is just getting interesting.”
“Pirate!”
He dispatched a sullen glance before he trotted for a patch of wild ivy.
“You done?” Ant Eater asked. “Because we gotta clear this place out, and you’re not helping.”
“Fine. You want me to help?” I stalked toward the rusted gangplank. If all I was good for was to clear out spells, face demons and basically do their dirty work, I didn’t belong here any more than I belonged in Cliff and Hillary’s big empty McMansion, or in my small boring house. I was sick of trying to be everything to everyone and coming up short every time.
“Lizzie, don’t go in there!”
“Or what? I might inhale a few death spells? Maybe meet whoever you have hidden on the main deck?”
Ant Eater kicked the gangplank and nearly threw me in the water. I leaped the last two feet onto the boat and braced myself in the doorway as I caught my footing.
Her face crumpled with fury.
“We never believed that about your grandma.”
I turned to face her. “You didn’t do anything about it, either.” They were a bunch of observers. They ran, they hid. They couldn’t even go on their own friggin’ boat.
The dark spells churned in the musty ship behind me. They stomped and demanded my attention. I’d never been so attracted to danger in my life.
Whether it was anger or my demon slayer instinct to run for trouble, I used my foot to shove the gangplank the rest of the way into the water. If Ant Eater wanted to annoy me now, she’d have to chuck a jar at my head. I didn’t put it past her.
A green-and-white flecked spell danced just inside the entryway. It zoomed for my neck and I swiped it out of the air. It buzzed in my hand like a fly. Choking spell. I crushed it in my hand. A second spell swooped from behind my left ear. I caught it. Giggle spell.
Too perfect. Yeah, it was wrong, but Ant Eater looked so furious down there on the lawn. I hurled the giggler at her and she exploded in a squeal of delight. Her rough-and-tumble body vibrated with titters, her trunk-like legs stomped as if fighting it before they relented and hopped daintily in time to her peals of laughter. Oh yeah. That was the first time I’d felt myself smile since Dimitri and I…I didn’t want to think about it. Ant Eater might try to kill me later, but it was worth it.
The rest of the witches backed up ten paces. Except Bob. “Try to save a few.” Bob tossed me some jars.
“What? Can I put a bunch in one jar?”
“Depends on the species.”
Yeah, well I wasn’t about to stop for a lesson in Magic 101. I’d capture a few of the ornery ones and destroy the worst magic. I’d already seen what could happen when a death spell got out of hand.
“Just don’t trip any Giggle Bombs yourself,” Bob hollered as I ducked inside. “We need you coherent for to night.”
The ship rocked underneath my feet. Slot machines crowded the entryway, as if the Dixie Queen’s original patrons couldn’t wait to get started. To my right, a roulette table stood abandoned, chips stacked on some of the numbers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had interrupted a game. The white wood facade, rotting at the edges and chipped by age, extended back to a matching bar. Old-fashioned gaslight lamps lined the walls. As I watched, flames ignited in the glass bowls. It made me jump enough to rattle the glass jars I held, but I tried to look on the bright side. Nothing had tried to eat me or possess me—yet.
Beyond the large picture windows at the back, I could see the ship’s balcony, flanked by a bright red railing. According to the emergency exit map, three floors rose above river level, one below. And of course, we had Ant Eater’s mysterious visitor on the main deck, right above the massive, red water wheel.
A slot machine whirled and chimed, odd since the plug was nowhere near the electrical outlet. Instead it swished like a three-pronged tail. “Two in one day!” The machine’s Lucky 7’s spun around and landed on 7-7-7. “Tell me, young lady. You feelin’ lucky?”
I hoped it was a pre-programmed voice. “Are you talking to me?” Please don’t be possessed. I didn’t have the time.
“Funny you should ask. Nobody’s ever asked me that before. But I tell you, it’s been lonely around here. Just the other day, or was it year? I was—”
Enough. I plucked a freeze spell from behind the roulette wheel and chucked it at Lucky 7. His voice, thank the heavens, groaned to a stop.
I couldn’t believe I was wasting time on this boat when I should have been getting ready for my trip to hell. Or at the very least, I should have been in Dimitri’s bed. If he hadn’t been such a liar. Hell’s bells, I was dumb. I heaved a fistful of betting chips. They clattered on the parquet floors. Everybody needed me for something. For as long as I could remember, Cliff and Hillary needed me to round out their perfect-looking family, like a wall prop with a manicure. Dimitri needed me to end the curse. The witches needed me to stuff a bunch of jars with magical wildlife. Why couldn’t anybody just want me?
I stomped through the casino and toward the main deck, plucking magic from behind the round Dixie Queen life preservers and under poker tables. I learned to avoid itch spells, got caught up in a few transport spells. I had my suspicions about who planted those, since they always sent me to the men’s john. And eyow—love spells tended to bite. None of it made me feel any better. If anything, by the time I made it to the back of the ship, I felt worse.
The main deck seemed empty. Leave it to Ant Eater to chase phantom strangers. She’d probably lied to keep me off the boat. Really, though—ever since I’d faced down the black souls, I felt pretty good about my odds with the average human. A gooey spell clung to the underside of the huge, red paddlewheel. I leaned under the railing to snag it with my fingers.
“Stop!” A pair of shiny red pumps clacked across the back deck of the ship.
I snapped upright. Oh my word. My voice dried up as I stared at a cheap imitation of my adoptive mother. The woman wore the same fashionable crimson glasses, as if she’d decided to be Hillary for Halloween. She’d styled her hair into blonde waves, like Hillary. Her gray pantsuit, although not as expensive as Hillary’s (I hoped) accentuated her figure. Unlike my adoptive mom, it looked like this woman could put away a cheeseburger. Still, I noticed an unsettling resemblance, right down to her French-tipped fingernails. A green-and-white flecked choking spell zoomed for her neck.
“Watch out!”
She flicked it away and I watched it land with a plop in the river. “Oh don’t worry,” she said, misjudging my open-mouthed horror, “it can swim.”
I felt my concentration falter. The gooey spell tried to sneak behind me. It’d be heck to catch if it made it under one of the tables. I lunged for it.
“Lizzie, no!”
Terror seized me as I watched my hands disintegrate. There was no pain, only a horrible numbness. Blood poured from my wrists. It too faded, along with my forearms, my elbows, my—oh my God!
“Elizabeth Gertrude Brown! Stop that immediately!”
The spell blew away on the breeze. Bit by bit, like a macabre puzzle, my hands came together again. I swallowed hard and flexed my fingers, trying to get a grip on what had happened.
I stood there for a long moment, stunned.
“I’m sorry I yelled, but you should be immune to those spells. I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she scolded.
It couldn’t be. “Mom?” I asked shakily, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from my arms and hands. How else would she know my middle name?
A single tear slid down the ruddy blush line on her cheek. “It’s me, baby.”
Chapter Eighteen
This was so not the Oprah-style family reunion I’d dreamed of as a kid. I stood slowly, apprehension prickling my spine. “Are you dead?”
She wiped at her cheeks. “Not that I’m aware,” she said, reaching into her pocket, then thinking the best of it. She withdrew her hand slowly.
I froze, every nerve on high alert. The devil takes on many forms.
“How do I know you’re my mom?”
Her expression softened. “Do you still have that strawberry birthmark on the back of your left thigh?”
Cripes. After all these years—how did she get here? And why? “What do you want?” It came out harsher than I’d intended. Blame it on shock, or pure self-preservation.
“You’re leaving with me. Come on,” she said, heels clickety-clacking as she tried to lead me off the main deck.
Say what? I held my ground. “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t just show up after thirty years, from the dead no less, and expect me to start following orders. And what about I missed you, Lizzie. I love you, Lizzie.
I regret abandoning you, Lizzie.
She turned, her hands thrust on her hips. “You have no idea what kind of danger you’re in,” she said, desperation mixed with annoyance.
And she did? “Why are you in such a rush to save me?” I asked. After Xerxes the demon, imps, werewolves, black souls, Harley
witches and a lying…whatever Dimitri was, “Why now?” I asked, reaching for my switch stars. I grasped the cool metal handles with my fingers.
“I thought I’d hidden you from this kind of life. These people. And those terrible switch stars. Please stop spinning that.”
“What?” I glanced absently at the switch star on my finger. “Wait. You knew where I was all these years?” When Hillary put me in a fat camp for being five pounds overweight, when I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans, even in the house, when I had to pose at those stupid society picnics when all I wanted to do was run around like a normal kid.
I’d dreamed about this moment—about meeting my birth mom. And it sucked.
“Lizzie,” she said, and held up her hand. “We have to leave. Now.” She made her way toward the pilot house, beckoning me to follow. What? Was she going to try and launch the ship? I could see us now, sailing down the Yazoo, mother and daughter on a bewitched boat.
I followed, mainly to bag a particularly nasty-looking lose your keys spell. I plunked it in the jar. If only we could rid the world of those things. I’d be willing to bet they reproduced like rabbits.
Oh, who was I kidding? I had a question I’d been wanting to ask for decades.
Mom said a few incantations over the door and the lock clicked open.
Now or never. The question burned in the pit of my stomach. “Why did you leave me?” I asked. Please let it be because you loved me.
She paused, doorknob in hand. “We don’t have time for this.”
“We do,” I told her, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. “Because I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.” No matter how much it hurt. She owed me a heck of a lot more explanations than this one.
She shifted from one sky-high pump to the other, the thick, humid breeze blowing her overstylized hair up in wings around her head. “Lizzie, you have to understand. I gave you up precisely so I’d never find you again. And so these people wouldn’t either. Do you know what they want you to do? Of course you do. You draw those switch stars like a gunfighter. But it’s not fun and games. You could lose your soul.”
