Magic and Mayhem: Witchin' in the Kitchen (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Kris Calvert

  His laugh was sweet and soulful and just as a fresh breeze of air filled my lungs, a surge of adrenaline filled my stomach with flip-flopping butterflies. Something about him was familiar. I shook it off and in turn, shook my head. I’d been around the block a few times in the past three hundred years. It wasn’t uncommon for me to feel a little déjà vu from time to time.

  “I’m not a weatherman if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  It was what I was thinking. Who else looks camera ready after an EF4 rolls through town? “Fine,” I began as I stopped in my tracks on Main Street to gather myself and gaze at an empty store front across from the grocery store. Rotting fruit and vegetables littered the area around it and I wondered just exactly what kind of fresh hell I’d blown into.

  I brought my attention back to the beautiful man, hoping to muster the ability to ignore him with more verve. “Then I’m just not interested.”

  He walked toward me and I refused to acknowledge his presence, staring at my own reflection in the dirty glass of the store window. When he stood beside me in silence, I took a cleansing breath and exhaled. “What now?”

  “You seem interested in this storefront.”

  “And what if I am?” The sarcasm dripped from my lips. I wasn’t usually this vexed by a man, and yet here I was, somehow concerned with what he thought of me. Not only that, he gave off a certain earthly vibration that wasn’t magical, but more instinctual. It felt Shifter-like, but it was muddled and unclear to me.

  “I might be able to get you a good deal on the rent.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, ignoring the odd vibe and looking at his handsome reflection in the glass. “You know the slumlord who owns this rat trap?”

  He nodded.

  I couldn’t take his pressed suit and calm in the middle of the storm demeanor any longer, and turned to face him. “So you must’ve missed the tornado, huh?”

  He shook his head, but still didn’t speak.

  “Really. Where were you hiding out?” I looked around at the town, now half mangled from the storm.

  “Cellar.”

  I scoffed under my breath. “Probably a wine cellar—”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing,” I quipped, bringing my face back to meet his. “So who’s this friend of yours and where might I find him? Maybe if he thinks his storefront is damaged from the twister, I can get a better rate,” I said picking up a loose brick from the sidewalk and tossing it through the front window of the building. “Oopsie.” I giggled the word and shrugged my shoulders.

  With a crash, the crumbling brick landed square in the middle of what was left of the dusty floor display. “Can you let him know I’m willing to take this damaged store off his hands if he’ll lower the rent by one hundred dollars a month?”

  His body still, he slowly nodded his head.

  “What’s the scoundrel’s name anyway?”

  Rocking on his heels, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tan linen suit pants and grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “His name is Wesley. Wesley Links. And you just told him yourself.”

  “You?” I asked, the astonishment glaring in my voice. I couldn’t read minds, but people were compelled to tell me the truth. It was one of my Witch gifts and it made for an interesting existence. There were things a Witch should never have to hear—like the time Lizzie Borden was obligated to tell me everything.

  An embarrassed grimace covered my face. “Blast. Sorry about that Mr. ah…Mr. Links. I will replace the window.”

  He nodded again and for the first time, I noticed a sparkle in his gray eyes. “What sort of shop are you looking to open, Mrs…”

  “Miss,” I quickly corrected. “Deliverance Parker.”

  It tumbled off my lips. I’d not said it for two hundred years, but for a reason unknown to me, I’d uttered the two words I’d kept to myself for a very long time—my true identity—my real name.

  “You’re not wanting to open a strip joint or anything like that, are you?”

  “What do you mean?” I was cool in the delivery of my question.

  “Naked women dancing about.”

  I popped my eyebrows. “I’m well aware of what a strip joint is, I’m merely wondering why you would think it was my profession.” I faced his musky scent and steely eyes head on, trying to place what Wesley Links was—human? No way. Vampire? No. Warlock? Not a chance. I could smell those from a mile away.

  He shrugged his shoulders, the muscles in his arms showing through the thinness of the linen weave. “I guess it was your name, Deliverance. Do you mind if I call you Dee?”

  “No.” I sighed, thinking of my mother on the heels of hearing my name aloud for the first time in eons. “Someone very special called me Dee, so I don’t mind. As long as you don’t mind that I tossed a brick through your storefront.”

  He held out his enormous mitt for me to shake. Gladly, I placed my hand that looked like a child’s next to his, inside his oversized grip and felt a rush of familiar warmth through my body—like home or the loving embrace of an innocent child. “You’re running a little warm Mr. Links.” I did my best to hide my surprise, but the breathy tone of my voice was a dead giveaway and I knew it. “Perhaps your anxiety level is high due to the storm?” I asked the question looking for a clue, knowing I would get an honest answer from him.

  “No ma’am. Storms don’t rattle me.”

  Dropping my hand, I stared into his eyes and said, “A bakery. I’m opening a bakery. It’s something I really enjoy, and believe me, I’ve tried more than enough things in my lifetime before settling on making cakes and treats for a living.”

  I had no idea why I’d rambled on so. He didn’t ask me what I was opening, only if it was a strip club. And it wasn’t as if I read his thoughts, the answer just spilled from my lips.

  “I like you, Dee,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as he stroked the soul patch on his chin. “Where shall I have the contract sent to? I can have it to you this afternoon and you can get to work on the window right away.”

  I looked back to the mess I’d made and spied an ATM not ten feet from the front door of the store. “I have a little bit of cash on me,” I said, knowing I could conjure up access to one of my many accounts without touching the machine. I shoved my hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “How much for you to just hand over the keys right now? That way I can fix the glass and begin cleaning up.”

  “You’re willing to hand over money to me without signing a contract?” he asked, stepping closer. “What if I’m merely a charlatan here to take advantage of you after you’ve just blown in from this frightful storm?”

  “Are you?” I asked, conjuring ten more hundred dollar bills, thinking a thousand might not be enough if he wanted first and last month’s rent.

  “Of course not, but you shouldn’t be so trusting,” he said, now leaning into the doorframe with one hand. “Just because I look and seem upstanding, doesn’t mean—”

  “Let’s just say I have a good sense of people—you know—whether they’re good or bad, telling me the truth or not—that kind of thing.”

  He nodded and took a deep breath as if he was inhaling me. “It’s always a good lesson in life—looks can be deceiving.”

  “Mr. Links,” I said, taking a step away from his sniff test.

  “Please call me Wes.”

  “Wes,” I deadpanned. “Life can be deceiving.”

  “Agreed.”

  We stood in silence, mentally giving the other a final once over.

  “A thousand dollars a month. Utilities are included and there’s an apartment upstairs,” he said glancing above us. “It’s not fancy, but you can paint, or you know…whatever.”

  “Whatever?” I asked, raising a single eyebrow.

  “Well…”

  He hesitated and I took the opportunity to pull two thousand dollars in cash from my back pocket and held it in front of his steely eyes. “I have first and last month’s rent, Wes.”

&n
bsp; TWO

  IN THE TWO hours I’d been inside the new storefront, I’d managed to clean the walls, give them a fresh coat of yellow paint alternating with white stripes. It was a design I liked very much and had stolen from an old ice cream place in Kansas City I frequented at the turn of the century. All of the furniture in the store was old and rusty. The whole place was a little more than neglected, which surprised me considering the landlord didn’t seem to have a hair out of place. With a twirl of my finger, the furniture was repaired—every cane bottom chair restored, every rusty piece of wrought iron now freshly painted. It was a hodge-podge of four small tables and chairs, but with another twirl of my finger, each was painted a different pastel color. Pleased with myself, I stepped back, taking a good long look at my handiwork.

  “Not bad. Not bad at all for an old we-otch.”

  The back of the house would be next. Ovens, baking pans, mixers and icing pipes and tips all needed to be conjured.

  I glanced at myself in the cracked mirror behind the old bar counter and quickly waved my finger in a circle to make myself more presentable and repair the glass. I was now dressed in a full skirt and sweater set, and with an extra wink, I donned a polka-dot apron. After all, who knew if the perfectly suited Mr. Salt and Pepper would be coming back to check on his window. I wasn’t a slut, but I was a witch who’d not had a roll in the hay in over a year.

  Looking over my shoulder I could hear the door chime, the rusty bell ringing out through the now clean, but still empty store.

  “I’m not open yet,” I said without turning to greet the patron. “Come back in a few days.”

  “I heard you were here. It’s about time you finally made it.”

  The voice was inviting to me, and I was immediately drawn, as if by force, to turn and face it. “I’m sorry—. The breath I held in my lungs left my body and I suddenly felt dizzy. “I’m not open yet as you can see.”

  “You look exactly like your mother. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  I blinked hard at the woman wearing neon leggings and a sweatshirt that fell off her shoulder, exposing her delicate neckline.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, you don’t have to put on a show for me, Deliverance. I was there, I saw it all happen just like you did.”

  Who was this woman, and how did she know my name? More importantly, did she know what I was? “Sorry?” I did my best to stay calm. If I got too wound up, another storm would form right on the main street of whatever Ass town I’d blown into. All of my work for the day would be for nothing, and I’d already grown fond of the new space and my hot landlord. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look honey, you’re Deliverance Parker—Mary’s daughter. Your mother and I were friends,” she said, moving in closer as I instinctively took a step back. No one had spoken my mother’s name to me in over three hundred years. “I must say you look pretty damn good to be, what? Three hundred and twenty-five years old?”

  “Three hundred and forty.”

  The words escaped my mouth as the woman continued to close in on me like a cat stalking her prey. I’d blown my cover. I needed to get out and get out fast.

  “Hmmm, I guess you were about sixteen at the time.” She turned away from me and began carefully inspecting the space I was obviously enchanting into a bakery.

  A strong breeze blew through the open door and I knew my anxiety was kicking up the wind outside. Unless I wanted another full-blown twister today, I needed I take a deep breath and calm the hellfire and brimstone down. I inhaled and reminded myself of the time I accidentally created an EF5 in 1925 when a drunk under-skinker grabbed my breast for a squeeze in a pub in St. Louis. The mile-wide storm raged through three states and over three hundred miles. I promised myself right then and there, I could never allow my emotions to start something so destructive ever again.

  “Calm down, for Pete’s sake,” she said turning to face me again. “I’m not here to harm you.”

  I stared at her and took another gasp as the heady wind stopped all at once. The vacuum of air in the room shut the door to the store, leaving us alone in the quiet. “Who are you?” I breathed the question, unable to speak.

  “You know, it was the one thing I wanted your mother to tell you, but noooooo,” she said hanging onto the word. “She thought she could shelter you from what you are—keep you out of the line of fire in Salem. And look at you now. What a beautiful Witch you’ve grown into. Although I think you need to have better control of your powers.”

  “I beg your pardon,” I snapped. “I have perfect control of my powers.”

  The woman who looked like she’d been plucked out of a bad eighties shampoo commercial shot me a stare that sent a chill down my back.

  “I know this is a lot for you to handle, dear. I mean you’ve been kicking around the globe for a long time.”

  “Three hundred and twenty-four years, but what’s your point?”

  Reaching for me, she took my small hand in her long and manicured fingers, the red tips of her sharp nails closing around it one by one. “Did you really think you were the only one around here?”

  I looked to our hands and back to her. “You’re telling me you’re a Witch?”

  She kept her tight grip on my hand and nodded. “I’m not a Witch, honey. I’m the Witch.”

  “Really?” I scoffed, pulling away. “The Witch of what?”

  “Everything and everyone. And you’ve just landed in possibly the best or perhaps the worst place ever—at least for you. It took you three hundred and twenty-five years to get here—”

  “Three hundred and twenty-four,” I corrected.

  “What-ever. You need to close your mouth and open your ears, child. You are finally fulfilling your destiny.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, turning away from her, pretending to be busy. “What’s that? Because from where I stand, I’m cursed. Cursed to wander this world. I can’t break the spell, I can’t find true love, I can’t stay in one…” The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow me to continue.

  “There, there,” she said placing her hands on my shoulders. “Baba Yaga is here to help you.”

  “Baba Yaga?”

  I turned on my heels to face her. “You’re Baba Yaga? Your name is written in my spell book.”

  She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is. You’re gonna find me all over that book of your mother’s. She was my best friend. No one could conjure a party like the two of us. Unfortunately, like you, I was there the night it all happened. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “You haven’t been trying to tell me anything. You walked in here all smug and glib, looking like Molly Ringwald in a John Hughes film and being as evasive as you possibly could.”

  “Well,” she sighed. “One thing’s for certain. You inherited your mother’s mouth. And I thought only your bitchy sister Sarah got that quality.”

  A strong wind blew open the door of the store, ushering in stray paper and leaves. My emotions were showing. “Don’t speak of my mother and sister that way.”

  “Calm down, Deliverance.” Baba Yaga tamped the air between the floor and her open palms. “I’m going to let you have this one little rant because I know you’ve been through a lot and you’ve been on your own for far too long, but it’s high time you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “You’re not alone. Especially not here,” she said opening her hands as if to welcome me to the world for the first time.

  “I know there are other Witches. I know there are Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Faeries, I get it. I know.”

  “Yeah? Well, little miss know-it-all, did you know John Hale is still out there looking for you?”

  Lightning struck outside the storefront and left the sidewalk smoking. “What did you just say?” The winds kicked up another notch.

  With a twirl of her hand, bright green dust flew through the air and the storm died down. “Knock that shit off.
Do you hear me?”

  I couldn’t control the tears in my eyes and just as the wind and lightning ceased, rain began to fall gently from the sky.

  “Eh.” Baba Yaga shrugged her shoulders at the showers outside. “I’ll let that go. We need the rain.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sitting at the sherbet colored table. “I can’t help it.”

  “Hogwash,” she replied, taking the seat across from me. “Now listen, and listen good.”

  I pulled my weepy eyes from my hands and stared at her. There was something comforting about her. Like a mother grizzly bear, she gave me a protective feeling, and yet I knew she had claws. I knew the red nails were merely a symbol of what she was capable of. Now so close to her, I could feel her power. She was like garlic cooking in an Italian restaurant—overwhelming and wonderful at the same time.

  “I can’t believe he’s still out there. Reverend Hale.” I whispered his name as if it was an abomination. It was.

  “I know child, I know. It’s a crap-load to handle even if you have had three hundred and twenty years to heal the wound.”

  “Three hundred and twenty-four.”

  “My point is this,” she said pointing her red nail in my face. “You have two choices here: you can either join your mother, or break the spell.”

  I shook my head at her. “You don’t understand, I’ve tried to break the spell. I’ve tried to fall in love. It seems like I’m close sometimes, but then a storm blows in and I have to start all over again.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been watching over you all these years. I promised your mother I would. But let’s face it Deliverance, you really haven’t been trying all that hard to do anything but explore new careers.”

  “That’s not true.” I stood abruptly, kicking the chair out from under my feet as thunder grumbled in the distance.

  “Seriously?” Baba Yaga followed me across the store, joining me to look out the window at the storm I’d started brewing again. “If you can’t be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with? Now you listen to me. I don’t care what you need to tell yourself to get your tight three hundred and forty-year-old ass in gear on this one, but Hale is out there. And he comes to this very town all the time.”