by Amy Boyles
"You've got to do something, Grandma," I said.
Bugs battered the windows. The glass shuddered, the floor rumbled, and the walls swayed as if a giant hand were pounding on the house. We wouldn't last much longer.
I had to stop this. We'd be bitten to death by bloodsucking insects while the house collapsed around us. I closed my eyes, bunched up my hands—my skin stinging from all those minuscule needle mouths stealing my precious blood—and I screamed.
I choked as mosquitoes filled my mouth. They clambered for the back of my throat as if trying to see who could make it to my stomach first. I sputtered and gagged, spitting out as many as I could. Then I continued to scream.
Pop.
Pop. Pop.
Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop.
The air faded from my lungs. The sound of my voice lessened.
"Don't stop, Dylan. Keep screaming," Grandma said.
So I did it again.
Pop pop pop pop pop pop.
I opened my eyes and watched as tiny mosquito bodies exploded in the air. The popping sound resembled a piece of bubble paper twisting between two hands. It was the sound of death by rapid fire.
I continued screaming, joined by Sera and my grandmother Hazel, because neither Reid nor Nan were witches. We didn't stop until all the pests inside the house lay on the floor, and the riot of bugs covering the house had receded.
After what felt like half an hour of screaming, I collapsed onto the couch. That was, of course, after I brushed it of teeny carcasses. The whole place smelled of bug guts. Ew.
"What happened?" Reid said. "That was totally weird."
I wiped sweat off my brow. "I don't know. I'm only glad it's over."
Nan pointed a finger in the air. "I'll get the Benadryl cream."
"Great idea," Sera mumbled, swiping a hand down her welted arm. I looked at my own limbs. Red bumps swelled on my flesh. I sighed. This totally blew. They didn't itch yet, but I knew they would soon. Great.
My grandma Hazel lifted her arms. Bugs and guts vanished, thank goodness, and the scent of roses filled the air. "That's better. Now. What happened? I don't know. All I know for sure is Dylan called down a storm of mosquitoes on this house." She paused. "It reminded me of the time the winged monkey king invited a troupe of termites over for dinner. I was deep in the Amazon, investigating a rogue group of primates that were thinking of performing magic against the terms of the peace treaty they'd set up with another village of monkeys."
I raised my hand. "I'm sure it's a great story, Grandma. As much as I'd love to hear about the winged monkey king, I can't say I'm in the mood right now."
Did I mention my grandma is bat crazy? I mean seriously. Not that I didn't believe in a monkey king, but still—I didn't want to give her any reason to keep me on her tilt-a-whirl of silliness.
"Fine," Grandma said. "But you may need my help if what just happened gets out."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Reid opened a set of window blinds. "Yeah. What do you mean? It's not like Dylan meant to kill all of us by being bitten to death by mosquitoes."
"Thanks, Reid," I said.
"Don't mention it."
Sera scratched her arms. "Speaking of, where's Nan with the anti-itch cream?"
"Right here." Nan sailed in, twisted off the cap, and squirted white cream on her arms and face. She finished rubbing the thick medication into her flesh and handed the tube off to Sera.
Sera layered her arms in a thick coat of the stuff. "I think Grandma means that your mosquito trick may look like an abuse of magic."
Alarm bells blared in my head. I bolted up. "Abuse of magic? What do you mean? It was an accident."
Grandma untangled the strand of pearls from her gauzy scarf. "You know that. I know that. But if Queen Witch is anywhere around, I can guarantee she'll see it differently."
I relaxed. We hadn't seen Esmerelda Pommelton, or Em, Queen Witch of the South, for weeks, not since I'd accidentally fingered her for murder. Boy, had that teed her off royally. But it wasn't my fault that I thought she was a murderer. My old assistant had made Em look guilty. But that was neither here nor there. Because of me, Queen Witch had spent a few nights in witch jail and had been peeved about it. When they released her, she promised to get even with me for my mistake.
My gut cramped. I laughed away my discomfort. "Thank goodness Em isn't here."
The front door rattled. We all gaped as the wood bowed and buckled. It crashed open. Esmerelda Pommelton, Queen Witch of the South, filled the frame. Her cinnamon and crimson curls swirled in a magical wind, while golden bangles clanked on her wrists.
The queen sneered. "Well, well, well, look who's in trouble."
I'm guessing that would be us.
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Scared Witchless
by Amy Boyles
Copyright © 2016 Amy Boyles
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
