Lucas knew what would happen next. He squatted next to Bea and quickly put protective bubbles around them, the godmothers, still sleeping Shameless, and the two useless familiars watching The Familiar Way.
“Bitch in the hole!” screamed Dretta.
Then Eartha exploded.
Epilogue
“Honestly, that wasn’t my worst first date,” said Lucas.
He stood outside the cabin, holding Bea’s hand. They’d left the godmothers, familiars, and Shameless in the cabin and walked down to a clearing in the woods.
“First date, huh?” Bea looked at him, her mouth cocked in a half-smile.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I can’t wait to see what you do with Date #2. After all, you saved my life and fixed my zombie family. That’s a hard act to follow.”
“I’ll think of something,” he said. He drew her into his embrace and leaned down. When his lips met hers, Lucas knew she was the one who would claim his heart.
Sh*t My Witch Says
Witches Gone Wild #1
A Magic & Mayhem Novella
Chapter One
“What the hell is this thing?” The redheaded witch named Zelda poked the lizard on the head.
Imogene Hobbs stroked the bumpy back of her familiar to keep her calm while Zelda, who insisted on being called the Shifter Wanker, examined Liz. “She’s a chlamydosaurus.”
“Isn’t that an STD? Ew!” Zelda snatched her hand back. “I don’t know if I can help you. Because gross. Didn’t you ever tell her no glove, no love?”
Immie frowned. “Liz is a frilled-neck lizard, known as a chlamydosaurus kingii.” Liz, who was forest green with stripe of deep red across her spine, sank further on to the table. When she got excited, horny, territorial, or sometimes, just because she wanted to, she’d show off her orange and red frill. It made her look like a lizard head stuck in an umbrella.
As she offered comfort to her familiar, Immie stared at the Shifter Wanker. She had her doubts about Zelda’s abilities. The newest witch in Assjacket, West Virginia looked like she fell out of the pages of Cosmo, but she had the vocabulary of a sailor. A very mouthy, sweary sailor. Immie didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed.
They sat at a table in the kitchen—well, she sat at the table while she consulted with Zelda. The tall, lithe witch buzzed with energy, probably due to the amount of sugar-crusted donuts she’d been consuming, and paced around the checkered tile floor, her high heels click-click-clicking.
“Hey, you want a donut?”
Immie shook her head. That was the fifth time Zelda offered her a donut, and while she might’ve dived headfirst into the box of doughy goodness any other time, her worry for Liz had zapped her appetite.
After the town’s former Shifter healer died she’d left her home and her responsibilities to a niece no one had ever heard of—Zelda. Immie had only met Hildy a couple of times. She seemed nice. Mostly, Immie stayed to herself, hiding away in a little cottage on the outskirts of Assjacket. As a creator witch who specialized in plant life, Immie spent most of her time fabricating hybrids that held both beauty and magic. Witches and warlocks all over the world ordered her ointments, tonics, and creams.
Desperation pushed Immie to seek a stranger’s advice. Nothing she’d done today to heal Liz had worked. She was a creator witch, not a healer. Yet, not a single poultice or tincture had made Liz feel better. As dusk crept toward evening, she’d given up and sought out Zelda. She rarely ventured into town, and she never asked for help. Immie tried to stay away from people, but not because she was anti-social.
She was cursed.
She’s a terrible witch. Worse than you.
Immie side-eyed the ghost floating near her right side. Her ancestor’s nemesis. Her unwanted companion. Her family burden. “Quiet,” said Immie under her breath.
Why? It’s not like she can hear me. Hell, she can’t even see me.
No one, not even witches, could see the pain-in-ass who haunted her every step. The ghost even followed her into the bathroom. It was really hard to poop with a smartass crone broadcasting a play-by-play. She watched Dorcas zoom behind Zelda and use two fingers to make rabbit ears. When Immie managed to ignored that, Dorcas sat on Zelda’s head and farted.
“Liz has been lethargic,” said Immie, trying to choke down her laughter. Damn it, Dorcas. “She won’t eat. She won’t play. She won’t talk. I think she might be depressed.”
Zelda lifted one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I’m the Shifter Wanker. Not a shrink. I’m not in touch with my own feelings, so I sure as fuck can’t deal with the feelings of an STD lizard.”
“Everything okay?” The handsome guy named Fabio, who’d answered the door and introduced Immie to Zelda, strolled into the kitchen. “You need more donuts?”
“You created a Mount Everest replica out of fried dough, Dude. Dad. Dude Dad. Daaaaad.” Zelda blew out a breath. “We’re good.”
“Okay.” He smiled. Immie glanced at the man—Zelda’s father? Same hair. Same smile. Very different attitude. He stopped and rubbed Liz’s head before leaving.
He’s hot. Did you see that butt? I wouldn’t kick that warlock outta bed.
“Stop it,” whispered Immie.
Zelda narrowed her gaze. “Stop what?”
Immie pretended innocence as she looked at Zelda. “What?”
She needs motivation. I’m going kill her shoes. With fire. Tell her that.
“I will not,” Immie hissed.
Apparently, she responded much louder than she’d intended. Zelda’s expression turned suspicious. “Are you talking to yourself?” She pursed her lips. “Do you have voices in your head? Maybe the crazy is contagious, and you infected your lizard.”
“Look, if you—you know,” Immie waved her hand to mimic healing magic, “how to wank Shifters or whatever, you can at least try to diagnose Liz. You understand the unbreakable bond between familiar and witch, right? Her pain is my pain.”
Zelda blinked. “Yeah, well, I ran over my first familiar like a dozen times in a row and I didn’t feel a thing. He turned out to be my dad, so… I feel kinda bad about it now. However, I might consider running over my current familiars because, well, they aren’t my dad, and they’re all assholes. But I get the gist, okay?” She sat down, picked up Liz, and stared into the lizard’s eyes. “All right, girl. What the holyfucknuts is wrong with you?”
Zelda Shmelda. I’m bored. Put me out of my misery, and get a new familiar already. Dorcas went horizontal and started swimming around the room. For a witch born in the 1600s, she had an impressive backstroke.
Immie looked away from the ghost’s antics and watched as Zelda’s hands glowed soft lavender. Liz visibly relaxed in the healer witch’s grasp. The glow deepened to purple and pulsed around the colorful familiar.
“Whatever’s making this … uh, thing
Feel like shit
Undo the damage
And do it quick.”
The glow deepened to purple and pulsed. Liz opened her mouth, made a strange guttural sound, and vomited.
A noxious brew of bile, mushed crickets, digested mealworms, and a tiny pink high heel splattered Zelda’s blouse.
“Aaaaaaahhhh!” Zelda dropped Liz onto the table and stood up, her cheeks ballooning as she made gagging sounds. She hurried across the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and puked.
Immie’s stomach roiled, and she felt her gorge rising. Oh, Goddess. She swallowed deeply, trying to convince her body that it did not want to blow chunks. Witches had notoriously delicate gag reflexes. Well, except for the dead one next to her.
Hahahahahahaha! Sweet Satan’s Asshole. That’s hilarious. Hahahahahahaha!
“Shut up!” yelled Immie.
“You shut up!” Zelda grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped her mouth. Then she used it to sop up the mess on her lovely white blouse. Zelda’s entire being glowed green and blood red. Immie could practically feel the heat of the witch’s fury. Wait. No. That was real heat comi
ng off Zelda. The Shifter Wanker looked at her, her eyes pure red. “This is Brunello Cucinelli!”
“Ooookay,” said Immie, confused. “Is that another spell?”
Zelda’s mouth dropped open, her expression one of shock. On the up side, the glow of rage dissipated.
“Oh. Um. Your towel is on fire.”
“Fucking hell!” Zelda threw it into the sink and turned on the water. She gripped the edge of the counter and drew in deep breaths.
“Brunello Cucinelli is an Italian designer—and that blouse is part of next year’s spring collection.” Zelda’s father joined his daughter at the sink and examined the ruined shirt. He plucked the little pink shoe off his daughter’s shoulder.
“Onya, mate. Ta for the assist.” The air around Liz turned a sparkly light green, and she floated off the table, sashayed across the floor, and then stood up on two legs. “That belongs to my Happy Birthday Harpy.”
“It’s one of her Paranormal Pals. I’ll take it.” Immie got up from the table. Fabio wrapped the plastic piece into a napkin and handed it over. She tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. Then she picked up Liz and hugged her. “What did I tell you about eating shoes?”
“You said not to eat your shoes,” said Liz.
“Your familiar murders shoes?” Zelda’s expression was pure horror. “Dear Goddess.”
“I only nibbled them a bit,” groused Liz. “You can still wear ‘em.”
“Holy shit. Is that a talking lizard with an Australian accent?”
Everyone turned to face the four people who’d suddenly appeared in the kitchen. The question came from a very pale brunette dressed in jeans, a pink T-shirt with “I’m the Vampire, That’s Why” printed on it, and a pair of pink Nikes. She gazed at Immie’s familiar with amazement. Next to her was a tall vampire with wavy black hair, silvery eyes, and a chiseled visage. He was dressed just as casually, but his black T-shirt outlined his muscular chest, and his jeans fit like they were painted on.
Immie backed away a step. She’d never met a vampire before. They didn’t have the best reputations in the witch community. Next to the male vampire stood a man roughly the size of a linebacker. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Jeans that hugged muscular thighs. Whoa. He wore a pair of black cowboy boots, a belt with a buckle the size of a plate, and khaki short-sleeved shirt with pearl snap buttons.
Underneath the tan cowboy hat was the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Those angular cheeks could cut glass, and his chin sported an adorable dent. His nose was slightly crooked, but the imperfection only enhanced his good looks. His chocolate brown gaze was aimed at Zelda, and why not? She was stunningly beautiful. Still, Immie felt a sting of disappointment she hadn’t been the one to turn his head. What’s wrong with you? Relationships are not in the cards. Not ever.
Dorcas had effectively ended her love life, which at the age of twenty-three, had consisted of two whole boyfriends. She’d broken up with Boyfriend #1 on her own because he kept putting his penis into other women. Boyfriend #2 hit the road after Immie appeared to lose her mind thanks to Dorcas constantly scaring the shit out of her. She screamed a lot during those first weeks with the ghost. The warlock might’ve okay with that—witches weren’t exactly known for their mental stability—but then Dorcas went all Donkey Kong on his ass. At the end, he believed Immie was trying to kill him, so he left without saying a word.
Immie blinked. Shit. She’d really gone off the rails there for a minute. Maybe the acid trip down memory lane was because she wanted to avoid the fourth person who’d magically appeared in the kitchen.
Baba Yaga, AKA Carol, the big boss of all witches.
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Sh*t My Shifter Says
Witches Gone Wild #2
A Magic & Mayhem Novella
Chapter One
“Where does a bear shit in the woods?” The craggy voice belonged the old man sitting in Immie and Tabor Cotton’s living room. He was nearly seven feet tall and 400 pounds, and went by the name of Theobold. His gray hair fell like a silver waterfall down his back and he was dressed like the 1960s and the 1970s had gotten drunk and slept together.
“Grandpa, we have an actual working bathroom,” said Tabor. He sent Immie an apologetic look.
“Nature, man. Na-ture. I’m a bear. I like to poop in the forest and then wipe my butt with leaves. Like the Goddess intended.”
This guy’s a hoot. But he has the fashion sense of a goat.
Tabor, Immie’s bear Shifter husband and one of the few people who could see Dorcas Hoar—ghost friend and former pain-in-the-ass curse, bit back a grin. Dorcas had made it her mission to make Tabor laugh at inappropriate moments—such as this one. The spirit of the Puritan woman had haunted Immie for the last five decades. The curse that had bound the two together was gone, but Dorcas had opted to hang around. She’d behaved better in the last few months than she had in all of her previous centuries.
The bear rubbed his massive tummy. “Seriously. Where do I go?”
“Go out the back door and into the Piney Woods,” directed Tabor. “Do your business far, far, far away. The twins will be home from school soon.”
And we don’t want the sight of your hairy ass to mentally scar them.
Tabor snorted then coughed. Immie saw him swallow in an attempt to dispel the laughter.
Tell him to dip his butt in the water. That is na-ture’s bidet.
This time it was Immie’s turn to choke down her giggles.
It had been almost a year since Immie moved to Wild, mated with Tabor, adopted precocious twins, and transformed into the Great Ash, protector of the region’s magic. Her creator powers had exponentially expanded and she was still learning how to master the magic tied so closely to the earth. A couple of weeks ago, she’d accidentally created an oak tree in the bedroom, and it had shot through the ceiling. Thank the Goddess Tabor was so handy. He’d done a lot of work on their cabin since she’d gained her new abilities. And he’d been the one to build the girls’ bedroom onto the left side of the house. There was something super sexy about watching Tabor, shirtless, muscles straining, sweat glistening, that just made her day.
And her night.
She’d used her magic to furnish the girls’ room, making everything from wood she’d conjured from downed trees in the Ash Forest. The girls had powers of their own, way more than they should at their young age. They took over the decorating, and it changed all the time based on their whims. The twins would be six-years-old in a couple of weeks. Immie and Tabor were happily planning the birthday party.
“Catch you on the flip side.” Theobold rose from the couch and threw up two fingers in a peace sign. He lumbered through the kitchen and out the back door.
“I don’t know if I can take a week of that,” said Tabor, rubbing his face. “I can’t believe I forgot it was my turn to host him.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why he just doesn’t apologize to his girlfriend.”
“Bear Shifters are notoriously stubborn. Or so I’ve heard.” She grinned at her mate and then patted Tabor’s knee. “It’s only seven days, right? We can handle that.”
Earlier Tabor had explained to her that Theobold Rusch was one of the oldest shifters in North America. Despite his attachment to 1970s fashion, he was a respected elder in the bear Shifter community. Everyone called him grandpa. Apparently, his witch girlfriend had kicked him out of their abode, and for the last few months, Shifters throughout the United States hosted him for one week and then he moved on to the next location.
“Do you know what happened between him and his girlfriend?” asked Immie.
Tabor shook his head. “Theo’s not the confiding type. I do know he was head over paws for her.”
Another lovelorn Shifter. Oh joy. Dorcas floated up to the ceiling, her expression contemplative. What’s on the agenda today? Let me guess. Smooching. Smooching. More smooching. And then building something. Or cooking something. Or watching something. She returned
to stand in front of us. If I weren’t already dead, the boredom would kill me.
“Wait for the girls to get home,” I said. “I’m sure they can make your afterlife more exciting.”
They treat me like a dress-up doll. You know what they put on me yesterday? A duck costume. Followed by a rabbit costume. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, they put me in a horse costume—but only the butt part.
Immie and Tabor laughed. The children could see Dorcas and manipulate her energy. Oh, Dorcas grumbled and groused, yet she never missed their nightly ritual of tucking in the girls and reading bedtime stories. Truth be told, the old bitty adored the twins.
“Take a vacation, Dorcas,” suggested Tabor. “You can go anywhere you want. Why not Europe?”
Europe? Hah. You think England was a fun place? We left there because of all the assholes. Why would I want to go back?
“That was centuries ago,” said Immie. “Europe has changed quite a bit.”
Dorcas rolled her eyes. You’re not getting rid of me. Live with it.
“It was worth a shot,” said Tabor, grinning.
Dorcas flipped him the bird.
They heard the rattle of the doorknob and then the girls, Eden and Erin, entered the house. They carefully closed the door behind them and put their backpacks down. Then they skipped to Immie and Tabor, going immediately for after-school hugs.
After-school hugs turned into tickle fests and after a few minutes of non-stop laughter, the girls collapsed onto the couch between Immie and Tabor, grinning.
Dorcas floated nearby, her usual scowl verging on an actual smile. Dorcas complained about the girls—the ghost complained about everything—but the truth was that she lo-oved the twins.
“Can we keep them?” asked Eden.
“Please?” added Erin.
“Keep what?” Immie asked.
“The bunnies.”
“Crikey!” Immie’s lizard familiar, Liz, scurried into the living room and plopped her scaly ass onto Immie’s lap. “We’re under attack!”
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Magic and Mayhem: Sh*t My Zombie Says (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Witches Gone Wild Book 4) Page 4
