Six Times a Charm

by Deanna Chase

  I knew Dimitri stood behind me. I felt him. His presence put me on edge. I didn’t know what he wanted from Grandma or from me. The folks in the bar seemed to give him a wide berth. More than one gray-haired rider nodded solemnly to the man behind me before diving at Grandma with a whoop and a holler.

  “Everybody meet Lizzie, my granddaughter,” she said with pride.” Grandma led me through the crowd. “This is Ant Eater, Betty Two Sticks, Crazy Frieda…” I nodded at the parade of Red Skulls, knowing I’d never be able to keep the names and faces straight. Not tonight, at least.

  They all seemed glad to meet me, which was nice. I wasn’t going to turn down a warm welcome after what I’d been through. Even if I was getting winked at by a witch with a rhinestone bedazzled bandana.

  As soon as Grandma fell into conversation with a group of witches, Dimitri drew me against his hard chest. Oh my. The man had abs. “I need to see you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Tonight.”

  “Not until you tell me why.” In the last twelve hours, I’d been taken from my friends, my job, my home. I’d been stalked by imps, a griffin and a demon. Now I was an honored guest at a Red Hats biker bar four hundred miles from home where a seventy-year-old-plus woman named Ant Eater sat stuffing peanuts up her nose in a disturbingly successful attempt to impress a woman named Betty Two Sticks. I didn’t need to be playing games with Dimitri.

  The crowd jostled us as Grandma hugged some friends and thumped others on the arm. I did my fair share of hand shaking and smiling as I tried to ignore Dimitri and at the same time, hear something, anything these people said above the roar of the music.

  Dimitri’s warm hand seized mine and pulled me away from the crowd, toward the pinball machines. His dark eyes studied me. “I’m serious. I need to talk to you.” His fingers rubbed at the sensitive spot between my thumb and my forefinger. “Leave your bedroom window open.”

  Well, when he put it that way… “No.”

  “Do it,” he said under his breath as Grandma hurried toward us, her posse in pursuit.

  I stared up at the massive hunk of man in front of me. “I’ll open my window when you come clean about who you are and why you think you’re my protector.” In the meantime, he could stay outside with the troll hit men, the demons and maybe a few regular old criminals.

  “Thank you, Dimitri,” Grandma said, attempting to hitch herself between us. “But I think your services are no longer needed.”

  He refused to budge.

  “Goodbye, Dimitri,” Grandma said, irritation tingeing her voice.

  The corners of his mouth tugged into a devilish grin.

  He reached down and kissed me, a brief brush of the lips. But still, I felt him shudder, or maybe that was me.

  It was over before I knew it. Heck, it was enough, with everyone watching. But he didn’t stop there. I went rigid with astonishment as he came back for more. He ran his thumb along my chin, tilting my head back for a kiss that sent molten heat coursing through my body. Claimed. In front of everyone. A wicked heat wound through my body, along with a little hum of pleasure. My first touch of goodness in a horrid night. That jarred me back to reality and I broke away.

  What a presumptuous, forward, ungentlemanly—”Jerk,” I whispered.

  His eyes burned. “You win,” he said, his lips inches from mine. “I’ll tell you everything. Tonight.”

  I touched my hand to my mouth as he pulled away. His mouth curved into a predatory smile.

  Dimitri ignored the gaping crowd of bikers, except for one. He nodded to a tall, bald fellow with a Ride Like You Stole It tattoo before he turned his broad back and strode out into the night.

  Chapter 5

  “I declare,” Crazy Frieda checked out my bloodied arms. “Lizzie Brown, you look you picked a fight with a briar patch.”

  At least she was kind enough not to mention Dimitri’s kiss. I didn’t know what to think, much less how to explain it to anyone else. He’d been gone ten minutes and I still found myself stealing glances at the door.

  Don’t trust Dimitri, I warned myself. Don’t trust Dimitri. Maybe I should write it on my hand so I wouldn’t forget.

  “You okay?” Frieda cocked her head. Geez, it was like she was the biker reincarnation of Flo from Mel’s Diner. Or maybe I’d watched too much Alice as a kid. “You don’t look so good.”

  Said the woman whose fashion choices included a paisley dog collar and a canary blond bouffant. The rhinestones on her lashes sparkled in the glow from a neon tribute to Milwaukee’s Best. I did feel rotten, though. The few hours of sleep in the car had been a tease. Even then, I’d slept with one ear open, waiting to hear if Grandma confronted Dimitri. I still didn’t know why he wanted to help us. I didn’t trust him, even if his kiss made my toes curl.

  “I need to talk to my grandmother,” I said to Frieda.

  “You will, sweetie,” Frieda’s white plastic hoop earrings dangled practically to her shoulders. “But first I’m gonna help you out.”

  Well, what would it hurt? Ant Eater had Grandma in a headlock and didn’t look like she’d be letting go anytime soon. Pirate perched on the bar, sharing a basket of popcorn with Betty Two Sticks. I followed Frieda to the back.

  It irked me to admit it, but Dimitri was right about one thing. I needed to learn more about Grandma’s past. There hadn’t been time before. Now that I was officially hiding out with the Red Skulls, I deserved to know if Grandma had killed someone and exactly what the members of her coven had done that kept them on the run for thirty years.

  Frieda led me to a door marked Employees Only. “How long have you known my grandma?” I asked. And is she a murderer? I wanted to add.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’ve known Gertie since before you were born.” She held the door open for me, and I snuck one last look at Grandma. I could barely see her flowing gray hair behind a crowd of bikers. I’d never had that many friends in my life, much less in one room. And the kicker was, Grandma had to be feeling as bad—or worse—than me.

  “Why is the demon chasing your coven?” They didn’t seem like much of a threat.

  “Don’t let appearances fool you. Our coven is old—and strong.” She pursed her lips as she drew on her cigarette. “We were the only coven capable of producing a demon slayer line.” Smoke curled out of her nose. “Vald is a power hungry monster. He hunted down and,” she paused.

  I realized she was trying to find a kind word. “Just say it.”

  She looked sad. “He stole the life and soul from every one of the Northern witches. He did the same with those whose magic is based in the East and in the West. He’s all but wiped out the minor Southern covens.”

  Yow. “Why?”

  “We think he’s trying to increase his power in hell. At least I hope that’s it. Some think he’s trying to break out of hell.” She sighed. “We’re what’s left.”

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Forty-six,” she said, heavy with regret. “We’re earth-based witches. We get our power from the land. Plus, we started running at the first sign of trouble. And we adapted. The other, more traditional branches had no chance.”

  Silence grew between us. My back throbbed, my legs ached. I plucked at my muddied khakis. They were starting to dry stiff and smelly.

  “Come on,” Frieda said, patting at my arms. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

  We passed through a small industrial kitchen and up a narrow, back staircase. Sticky booze residue clung to the concrete floor. The place smelled like pork rinds and beer.

  “Too bad you missed dinner,” Frieda said, the heels of her boots echoing on the hollow stairs. She stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into her. “Skunk Surprise.” She rubbed a manicured hand over her almost flat tummy. “We don’t hardly get it, but when we bag one or two, it’s certainly a surprise. Phew! You hungry?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I mean, no thanks. My stomach is still pretty shaky from the ride over here.”

  Frieda lit another cigarette and the s
moky fumes poured into the claustrophobic space between us. The rhinestones on her cotton candy pink nails flickered along with the bare bulb dangling above our heads. “At any rate, we set fire to the Beast Feast as soon as we heard you were coming. Like I could eat another thing. But you’re gonna love it.”

  The smoke burned my lungs. “Beast feast?” I choked. My mind raced back to the etiquette classes Hillary had forced me to take. I scrambled for a polite—or heck, less than utterly offensive—way to decline. But in no way, no how, no universe was I ready for a heaping helping of road kill surprise.

  “It’s what we got.” Frieda took a long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose. “Don’t fret if anybody nods off,” she said, a few smoke curls lingering above her pink glossed lips. “We’re used to turning in by ten o’clock or so.”

  “Why tonight? You don’t need to be staying up for my sake.”

  Frieda’s eyebrows shot up and practically collided with her poofy, bangs. “Oh, honey, it has to be tonight. We can’t offer you our protection until we complete the Covenant Rite. Besides, you don’t want to miss the Beast Feast reception after the ceremony. Possum pate, rotisserie raccoon…” she said, like she was rattling off the courses at a four star restaurant. “We’ve got a squirrel cacciatore that’ll make your head spin. It may not be traditional, but it’s tasty. Now chop, chop.” She clapped her hands together as best she could with a cigarette dangling between two fingers.

  Frieda led me down a narrow hallway. Well-traveled photos lined the bare, plywood walls, jammed into place with silver thumb tacks. Most had been folded at one time. Two, often four creases marred the images.

  Frieda kissed her hand and plastered it over a gnarled photo of a bald man with a thick, braided beard. Humor sparked from his heavy lidded eyes and he had the look about him, like he was getting ready to tell a whopper of a story. Frieda didn’t say who he was. She sashayed down the hall, her silver bracelets clinking, all the while humming Love in an Elevator.

  She knocked twice on the wall outside a doorway draped with a yellow, flowered sheet. “Bathroom’s clear.” She pulled the makeshift door aside to reveal an industrial shower. It didn’t have a curtain, no real floor even. The water drained into a metal pipe that pushed up about an inch out of the concrete floor. “Don’t dawdle.” She treated me to a conspiratorial smile. “I was supposed to take you straight into the hole.”

  “Hole?” My voice caught in my throat.

  She gave me the same look she probably used to comfort animals and small children. “It’s nice.” Her voice trailed off. “For a hole.”

  Did I want to know? Probably not. It couldn’t be any worse than what I’d already been through. Could it?

  I ducked under the wonderfully strong shower and let the hot water pound my aching muscles. What I’d give for a steaming hot chocolate followed by a soft, warm bed. Or a nice, warm man. I groaned. Where had that come from?

  Oh, who was I kidding? I grew melty just thinking of Dimitri’s kiss.

  He’d given me the kiss of my life right in front of an entire bar full of people, and I’d enjoyed it. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It’s not like I was into public displays of affection. But I couldn’t get around how heady it felt. I liked a man who knew what he wanted.

  Honeysuckle soap sloshed down my body as I lathered my shoulders. It didn’t make any sense. We barely knew each other. It was crazy to even think about him. He was a complete unknown and besides, I knew he wasn’t quite human. Dimitri had shown up right on the heels of the griffin who’d rescued us. Coincidence? I wouldn’t bet on it. Besides, those eyes of his—I’d have been perfectly fine with green, but orange and yellow? No. I wished I could have remembered what color the griffin’s eyes had been.

  Add that to my list of questions for Grandma. I washed my hair twice with a half-full dish soap bottle labeled Wild Ass Gertie’s Homemade Sage Shampoo. What would Dimitri do if I refused to meet him tonight? Or—my cheeks flushed—what would he do if I did let him climb through my bedroom window?

  Yow.

  When my sore body had enough, I reached for the ancient towel Frieda had left on the peg next to the door. After being so utterly stinking, dirty, clean felt amazing.

  “Hey, babe!”

  I about leapt out of my skin as Frieda poked her head past the flowered sheet. “Gertie says you lost your luggage. We’re about the same size, so I put a few of my things on your bed. Third door on the right.”

  A draft snuck past Frieda and chilled my damp skin. Oh wow, I hadn’t even thought of my backpack since we threw it in one of the saddlebags on the side of the Harley. I clutched the towel around me. I’d lost everything. My wallet, my credit cards. Every stitch of clothing that wasn’t in my demon-infested house. “I need to make a phone call. If anyone finds my Visa, they can go on the shopping trip of the century.” I hardly used the thing.

  “Don’t worry. Gertie cancelled everything.” Frieda took in the expression on my face and shrugged. “We researched your background as soon as we found you. Social security number, credit history, education, criminal background check, any phobias or complications that could endanger the mission. Standard practice.”

  How could these people do in-depth background research when they couldn’t even buy a shower door?

  Everyone had their priorities, I supposed. Doubt crept into the pit of my stomach. Good thing I trusted Grandma or else I would have been very, very afraid.

  Frieda patted her bouffant. The steam from my shower wasn’t doing anything for her hairdo. “I don’t know what Gertie was nattering on about. You talk less than a witness taking the fifth.” She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “But never you mind. Just get dressed. I’m going to go check on the ceremonial whosits and whatnots.”

  I checked to make sure there was no one in the hallway before I tip-toe ran to my room. At least this one had a door. The space was the size of some people’s walk-in closets, and mostly bare. Nevertheless, I managed to trip over a cardboard box poking into the entry way. I slid it to the side with my foot. A beat-up child’s dresser painted white with gold trim stood by the window.

  My new clothes were spread neatly on a mattress on the floor: a pair of tiger-striped black leather pants and an orange tank top with a diamond cutout between the boobs. Lovely. To make matters worse, there was no bra in sight. Instead, Frieda had draped a pair of black underwear across the tank top. The tiny wisp of fabric looked like it was designed to fit a munchkin. I clutched my towel and leaned closer. There was some kind of writing on the panties. I gingerly picked up the underwear by the black ribbons on the sides. Eek. My first thong. The front was embroidered with a dainty announcement in pink, scrolling letters: My vibrator has two wheels.

  No way.

  No how.

  No.

  Grandma burst through the door and frowned at my towel-clad body. “Aww! Frieda told me she let you shower. Dang it, Lizzie. We gotta get you to the hole. Now.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, holding the panties as far away as I could. “Where are my old clothes?”

  She threw up her arms like I was the crazy one. “Out in the trash heap, buried under deer guts and various other entrails.”

  “I don’t care. Go get them.”

  “Cripes, Lizzie,” she said, meeting my glare head on. “Stop being dramatic. I know you had a tough day. Hell, I smashed my hog. But these people stayed up to wait for us and now they’re staying up later to give you the mystical protection you need to survive the night. So move your keister.”

  Survive the night? Now who was being dramatic?

  “Frieda told me she’d filled you in on what happened to the other covens. We’ve survived this long because we don’t fool around. We’ve learned what it takes to make it in this world and you will too.” When I didn’t budge, she sauntered over to inspect the clothes. “Now look. These aren’t bad. Be glad she stayed away from the zebra pants. I’ve seen those in action.”
/>   I tossed Grandma the offensive panties that—let’s face it—should have come with a warning label. I didn’t want to know where any of these clothes had been, especially the underwear. This was not me. I wasn’t going commando either, so Grandma had better come up with a solution, or at least some underwear that wasn’t sold with a brown paper wrapper. “There’s not even a bra in here. I wear bras. Most normal women wear bras. And I’m not going to wear someone else’s underwear.”

  “So then why are you bitching about a bra?”

  “Grandma!”

  She hooked the edges of the black underwear under her thumbs and whistled when she held it up to the light. “Isn’t she a beaut? Frieda bought this special in Lubbock. Been saving it for a special occasion.” She pointed the thong at me like a finger. “She must have taken a shine to you or she’d never have gifted you with these jockeys. Don’t you insult her by refusing.”

  Oh lord. “But this isn’t me!”

  “Newsflash, Lizzie. This isn’t about you. Or me. Or any one person.” She dug through the box next to the door. “Here.” She tossed me a plain white sports bra. “Buck up. At least you got to shower.”

  I struggled into the black leather pants while the thong gave me the wedgie of the century. “Oh yeah, Lizzie,” I muttered to myself. “Leave your home, your job, your family—dysfunctional as it may be. So you can hop on a Harley and follow Grandma Thong to the freak show of the century.” The too-tight sports bra mashed my boobs and showed through the diamond cutout in the orange tank top. Thank goodness. It was certainly better than showing more skin.

  Because there was some luck left in the world, the witches had spared my oxfords, stained and smelly as they were. I ignored the wet squish as I slipped my feet into what was supposed to be a pretty comfortable pair of shoes.

  I hurried downstairs to the bar and found Grandma next to a hole in the floor where the Pop-A-Shot Basketball game had been. I wished these witches didn’t have to be so freakin’ literal. The entrance to their ceremonial room was basically a brick-lined hole with a rust-flecked ladder leading down. Voices echoed from deep in the cavern below. I leaned closer, but had a hard time making out any actual words. Musty air tickled my nose. I paused, gathering my courage when a seventy-something man in a tricked-out wheelchair came barreling toward me. Pirate rode in his lap, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth.